I didn't sleep very well that night. I was afraid of what was going to happen the next day. When the man came into my room in the morning I was already awake, but I was fighting to stay that way. When he looked at me and sighed, I couldn't help but yawn in response.
"You didn't sleep," he said, but I remained silent. "I told you that you had a long day ahead of you, and you didn't sleep. Did you think that was a good idea?"
"No...I'm just... scared..."
"Of what? Of me?"
I nodded slowly.
"I see," he said, looking me over. His slate grey eyes were dark and dangerous and I had to force myself not to start shaking. "I suppose you are young. There's nothing that can be done about that. I take pride in being intimidating, anyways. Helps with the job. But regardless, we're going to get you up and start teaching you. I think I've found the perfect name for you – we'll see if that changes by the end of the day. Let's start with breakfast."
I left the bedroom, wanting to take the fluffy blanket with me, but I left it behind. The floor creaked underneath my feet as we walked and it made me feel uncomfortable. I didn't like the house. It was old and noisy. As I had sat in the bed the previous night hoping to maybe catch a few moments of sleep, I had heard the house creaking. How the man managed to walk so quietly on the creaky floorboards was a mystery. I wanted to be able to walk that quietly. The thought of running away passed through my thoughts again.
"What about lunch?" I asked suddenly.
"We don't typically eat lunch," he said. "We won't have the time with your training. I'll start out letting you eat lunch but be prepared not to eat it every day anymore."
"Mama liked lunch," I whispered.
"What did I tell you yesterday? You will never see her again and she will never come for you."
"Oh," I said.
When we had reached a room resembling a kitchen, he spoke again. "Do you know how to make eggs?"
I nodded in response. Mother had showed me how to make them once because they were the easiest thing to make for breakfast.
"Really?" he didn't sound like he believed me.
"Mama showed me once..." His eyes flashed at the mention of Mother again. I bit my tongue.
"Stop mentioning her," he commanded. "I told you already. You are my property. I own you. Whatever memories you used to have of your mother and your father—"
"I don't have a Papa."
"Good. Less for you to forget."
I didn't know how to respond to him. I wasn't sure there was a response to give to begin with.
"Luckily for you," he said, changing the subject. "I've already made eggs. But in subsequent days you will be responsible for getting up on time and making your own breakfast. If you wake up late I'm not going to give you time to eat. Your body will get used to waking up on time. It might take a while, and you might miss more than a few breakfasts, but you'll get used to it."
I nodded even though I didn't understand. My heart felt sad and my tummy didn't feel good.
He seemed to think I didn't fully understand, but he turned around and left the room anyway.
I looked at the table. A small fork was by the plate on top of a paper napkin. I pulled myself into the chair and picked up the fork. Without wasting any time I began to shovel the food into my mouth. I was hungry, even though I had eaten the night before.
I hadn't noticed he'd come back into the room until he took my empty plate from me.
"For a small girl, you've got quite the appetite."
"I'm... I'm sorry." I apologized because I didn't know what else to say.
"I don't really care," he said. "Just get used to not having as much food. You've got a very small amount of time in the morning to actually eat, so you won't have as much time as you had today. You'll have to start cleaning, too. I'll go through a list of your responsibilities later. I'm eager to start your training. I've never taught anyone before, so this will be a learning experience for us both."
"Can...Can I please go home?" I asked. "I don't want to kill people. Ma—I was told killing people is bad..."
"At least you're learning," he said. "Don't mention her. Stop thinking about her. Don't think about anything she ever told you, either. I don't care if she told you lying was bad. You're going to have to lie. I don't care if she told you stealing was bad. You're going to have to steal. I don't care if she told you killing was bad. You're going to have to kill."
I started shaking then. I couldn't stop myself. I didn't want to kill anyone. I didn't want to lie or steal or hurt. I just wanted to live my life with Mother and make sure that she was always going to be okay; that people like this man wouldn't lie to or steal from or hurt her.
"Did Mama know?" I asked, despite my brain telling me not to.
"Know that I'm an assassin?" he asked. This time, he didn't seem to care that I had mentioned her. I guessed he thought it was okay because I was asking him a question. I wondered if he liked questions. Could I ask him anything? Anything at all? "I don't know," he said, and sounded truthful enough. But if he was telling me to lie, how did I know he wasn't lying to me now? "I suppose if she did she didn't care. She didn't love you, I know that much. She thought you were a burden. Why else would she try and pay me to take you away?" He looked away from me as if he were beginning to get lost in his own thoughts. "Unless she was simply that mental. I believe she was. Most people don't give away their child and their money." He turned to look at me again. "Regardless, come. We're going to start your lesson."
~*&*~
I followed behind me as he walked towards another room in the house. It was made of a darker shade of wood. Even though the rest of the house was made out of relatively dark wood to begin with, this wood was even darker. It was almost a black.
There was a bearskin rug on the floor and I wanted to touch it. I had never felt bearskin before. Pressed against the wall under a medium-sized window was a light wood table with a chair that was falling to pieces. It looked like it would break were any more pressure put on it. How the man managed to sit on it and not break it was beyond me.
"This is my room, more or less," he said. I noticed a bed shoved against a wall between a large bookcase that I hadn't noticed before. It was messy with a muddy green blanket and a single, tattered pillow. There were books everywhere. On the floor, at the foot of the bed, in the bookshelf. Even books barely balanced on the window sill and all over the desk. I was curious, but I couldn't read.
"The work desk and books will become invaluable to you," he said, and I tried to hide the concern on my face. He seemed to notice t anyway. "Can you read?"
"A little bit," I lied.
"I see..." he said slowly. "We'll have to fix that, then. It's a skill you'll need to have in this profession."
I felt my heart drop a little. I kept hoping that I would either wake up suddenly or he would have a change of heart. He looked me over as if he noticed my disappointment, but I tried hard not to let any more of it show. It seemed he was simply too perceptive for me. Although I didn't want to be an assassin or hurt people, I wondered if working with him would make me as perceptive as he was. It was like he had a hidden eye that he saw the world through; I wanted to have that eye. I wanted to be able to see the world the way he saw it. Wasn't there a way to get that kind of eye without killing people?
"Stop thinking," he said, and I looked at him in confusion. "Thinking will only cloud your judgment. You need to be able to make split-second decisions, knowing you're making the right one, without having to think at all. It should be the one thing, if anything, that you learn from me: never hesitate. If you hesitate, you're going to be the one that gets killed."
"I didn't know thinking was dangerous..." I murmured. If he was going to force me to do these things, I decided I'd at least make an effort to try and understand what he was teaching me. This was more for self-preservation than anything else. I didn't want him to get angry and hit me again, so I figured if I followed his instructions, he would be less inclined to hit me.
"Your first lesson is about poisons," he said, "But..." he stopped to think, then sighed. "First things first. You need to learn how to read. I suppose I can't expect you to read my notes on all these poisons when you can't even read a few pages in a children's book. That will be our first priority; I'll put the lesson on poisons and herbs for a later date."
He looked upset by the setback, but I couldn't help the fact that my mother had never taught me how to read. I had wondered before if she had even known how to read. I watched as he walked over to the bookshelf and pulled off a few smaller books. "We'll start small and work our way up. I want you to be completely proficient in language. In fact, not only in English, but in Latin, which will be especially useful when looking at animals and herbs and poisons. I want you to be able to write the alphabet and recite it forwards and backwards perfectly. I want you to be able to read every book on this shelf and be able to understand what every single word means. It might take a while, but I will get you to that level of proficiency."
I stared at him dully. He already used words that I didn't know the meanings of, but I was too afraid to ask him for definitions. I didn't want him to think I was stupider than he probably already thought. Mother taught me everything she could, even though I was sure there was more she hadn't had the time to teach me yet. Mother knew everything, I was positive. She just didn't have all the time in the world to teach them to me. But now it seemed like I was completely uneducated. I didn't like to think that I was so inferior to him, but I couldn't help it. Mother never taught me everything, and I couldn't change that.
He sighed thickly and shook his head. "We'll get you there," he murmured under his breath. "For now, we've got something more important to do, but it falls under the category of language. Do you remember what I told you we were going to do?"
"Umm..." Truthfully, I had forgotten.
"We're going to—"
"Oh!" I said, remembering. "My name..."
"Yes," he said, not looking pleased that I had interrupted him. "We're going to give you a new name."
"I like Liliana though..."
"I don't care."
I felt tears welling in my eyes though I couldn't explain why. There was nothing to cry over. Mother didn't call me by my first name very often. She liked to call me "dear," or "child," more frequently, just as my new teacher liked to call me. I wondered if he'd finally start calling me by my first name once he had chosen the new one.
"From now on," he said, looming over me. "You will be known as Jae'sa Roemira Gifuhildi."