James had been fifteen and covered in blood when he first met Clevon. A bar fight had gotten out of hand, and James had hidden in a nearby alleyway to avoid the Red Shields. But it wasn’t Palace soldiers who discovered him. Instead, a plainly dressed man with a sun-darkened face and unshaven chin had come into the alley.
“None of that blood is your own, is it, lad?” Clevon had asked.
James didn’t answer. The drunkard from the fight wasn’t his first kill—James had learned early on to strike first and strike hard—but the aftermath still wasn’t easy. He didn’t like the feel of someone else’s blood drying on his skin.
Clevon continued. “You’re fast, and you don’t hesitate. You were clear across the room by the time anyone even noticed the fool had been stuck.” Clevon reached into his belt pouch and pulled out James’s knife. “This your only knife?”
Leaving it in the man’s body had been beyond foolish. James gathered himself to fight.
“Never carry just one knife,” said Clevon. He studied the blade, rotating it so that it reflected light onto the alley walls. “But I’ll make you a deal. I give your knife back and hide you from the Red Shields—if you come work for me.”
That was how James had joined the Guild. Bacchus and Rand had come in around the same time. The rest of their cohort had either dropped out or died since then, but James found that the work suited him. He was good at it, and over the years he grew used to the feel of blood on his hands.
The job today was a routine one, which meant that James and Bacchus wouldn’t know the specifics until they spoke to Gerred. The Guild’s second-in-command held court in various locations—sometimes public, sometimes private. Today, he was in the back room of a carpenter’s shop.
The smell of sawdust and the soft crunch of wood shavings underfoot greeted them as they entered a room cluttered with tools and lumber. Gerred sat at the carpenter’s work table and acknowledged them with a nod. He was middle-aged, with a paunch that testified to his recent success, though anyone who mistook his girth for weakness did so at his own risk. A few of Gerred’s subordinates were scattered by the walls, and behind Gerred stood a man who was fast becoming familiar to James. The man wore the clothes of a commoner, but his bearing gave him away. He stood tall and looked at people as if they existed at his pleasure. It was Lord Hamel, one of the richest noblemen in Forge. He’d always believed in spreading his influence, and he didn’t restrict himself to legal means. Not for the first time, James wondered how much of his bread and butter came from Hamel’s coffers.
“We’re errand boys for the wallhuggers,” Bacchus muttered. For once, he had the good sense to keep his voice low.
James didn’t give any indication of hearing him, though he agreed. Talesinger accounts of the age-old Assassins Guild abounded with romance and mystique, but actually, the Guild’s current incarnation was pale ash compared to what it once was. A hundred years ago, Guild members had been feared and influential. Nowadays, they were just hired thugs who did unpleasant jobs for pay. James’s own jobs had become more menial over the past few years, though he suspected this had more to do with Gerred taking over job assignments than with the wallhuggers’ meddlings.
“Ho, Gerred,” James said. “How are things?”
Gerred had been writing in a ledger and put his pen down. James did have to give the man credit for being organized. Gerred’s meticulousness had brought a new efficiency to Guild operations. “We’ve got trouble with Red Shields coming after our men,” said Gerred.
“Is that so?” James let the question fall with an unfinished note.
Gerred gave them a probing look. “Clevon’s dead,” he said abruptly.
James briefly considered feigning surprise but decided against it. Gerred needed to know that he wasn’t able to hide as much as he wished.
“When’d you plan on telling us?” asked Bacchus.
“I told you just now, din’t I?”
There was a shifting of energy within the room, and James felt eyes settle on him, waiting for his next move. If the others were expecting a show, they’d be disappointed. James kept his expression carefully neutral. “When?” asked James.
“Six days ago. Red Shields. Three of them.”
“That’s unfortunate,” he said.
Gerred rubbed his knuckles and squinted at them. “Things’ll be shaky for a while. Can I count on your loyalty?”
“Of course,” said James coolly. Around him, the other assassins settled, and the tension dissipated a notch.
Again, a long stare from Gerred. Then, he cleared his throat. “The job today is for Lord Hamel. An associate owes him money.” He handed them a name and address on a parchment. James took it, since Bacchus couldn’t read. James himself had only learned to do so after he’d noticed all the leaders in the Guild were literate.
Gerred gestured toward the parchment. “You know him, don’t you?”
“Name looks familiar. He still hasn’t paid up?”
Behind Gerred, Lord Hamel cleared his throat. “He’s owed me money for several weeks now.” The nobleman spoke with an elegant diction. “Be more persuasive this time, will you? I don’t imagine that will be a problem for the two of you.”
Bacchus snorted. “It won’t.”
They took their leave. Most of the city had gone to sleep, and the streets were quiet. After they had gone a few blocks, Rand materialized from the shadows and fell in step with them. “Any news?” he asked.
“Clevon’s dead,” said Bacchus. “Gerred ’fessed up.”
Rand cursed under his breath. “Think Gerred’ll take over?”
“Seems he already has,” said James.
Their conversation fell off as they reached the man’s house. James nodded, and the three of them moved in.
The door was in such disrepair that it swung open with a single kick from Bacchus. James watched as the other two dragged a disoriented man out of bed. Their victim was still blinking and shaking his head when they dumped him in front of James. Rand pulled him to his feet and held him firmly by the arms.
“One hundred coppers, due three months ago,” said James. “You remember, don’t you?”
As the man came to his senses, he started to gibber about his health. James exchanged a glance with Bacchus, who rolled up his sleeves and moved closer with a grin. Bacchus enjoyed this type of work.
James watched him deliver the first few blows. Beatings had to be done, but he didn’t take pleasure in them. After a while, he caught Rand’s eye. The redheaded man nodded. He would keep Bacchus in line, and James was free to go home and check on the dancing girl’s other warning.
James lived in a single room with a sloping ceiling, tucked above a smithy. Its location meant that he got some extra heat in the winter from the forge below, though it was sweltering in the summer, and the blacksmith’s hammer constantly echoed through the walls. The noise was a boon tonight, since it hid sounds of his return. He climbed the stairs quietly and timed the turn of his key to a hammer stroke. Then he threw the door open.
A man was by his bed, sliding his hand under the mattress. In the moment the intruder stared dumbfounded, James closed the distance between them, dodging the man’s hasty punch. James threw a solid blow to his stomach, and when the man doubled over, brought the hilt of his dagger down over his head. The intruder crumpled to the ground, stunned. James checked him for weapons. He found three daggers—one at his waist and two on his shins, which James tossed into the corner. The man stirred, and James ground his knee into his throat.
“Who sent you?” He kept his voice soft, speaking between the rings of the blacksmith’s hammer. “Don’t lie to me.”
The man hesitated, eyes rolling in confusion. James repeated the question, opening two slashes on the man’s cheek for emphasis.
“Gerred.” The man’s voice was tinged with panic.
Somehow, James wasn’t surprised. “What did he want?” he asked.
Another hesitation, which disappeared when James moved the knife closer. “I was to look for letters, money. Anything to see if you were gathering folk to you, with Clevon gone.”
James flicked his knife across the man’s throat, just hard enough to draw blood. The man cursed at him, and James dragged him to his feet.
“Let’s go pay Gerred a visit.”
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Thank you for reading! The entire Poison Dance novella is available for purchase in ebook and paperback at all major vendors.
Buy links here: http://liviablackburne.com/poison-dance/
Poison Dance is a prequel to my novel Midnight Thief, coming in July 2014 from Disney Hyperion. Learn more and preorder here: http://liviablackburne.com/midnight-thief/