Even though I dumped it dangerously close to the wharf, the civic guard takes forever to find Dega Goodall's body. If any of the guards from the High Castle tower just so happened to have been looking that way they would've seen me drag her down the wharf, tear up the grate at the end of the main drainage pipe and plop her down easy.
Once they do find her I sneak close enough to the scene once the guards isolate it, to hear them state the time of death so I know nobody will even suspect there were two Dega Goodalls out there at any point in time. My only concern is that Lady Goodall was already hypothermic when I returned to the murdercave, so maybe they mistakenly determine an earlier time than what it was. Technically I'm safe but I like to know what to expect.
The townsfolk around me have gathered as close to the pier as the security would let them and are in deep chatter about the scandal, the Goodalls, about who could've done this. Everyone around me is dressed much fancier than I am; softer fabrics, vivid colours, lighter voices, brighter eyes. If these people had half of an idea about what goes on a few miles behind them up in the hills... or if they cared.
The sun has begun its descent behind the High Castle when the guard commander Mason comes down to the scene. The crowd around has mostly dispersed so I'm making rounds around the security line and acting overtly concerned, joining a group of loud people who "just want to know if their families are safe from the plague". Then they bring the body up from the pipe covered in a white tarp while Mason exchanges a few words with the investigators and I overhear the words "possibly", "two past midday" and "liver".
Excellent, I'm out of here.
The bells ring for eight o'clock when I break out of my lair dressed in full professional attire. I'm comfortable and light; the heaviest thing on my body currently is my grappling hook. The second I saw the amount of guards in Ecklehold I knew I would have to make a quiet drop-in and leave as soon as possible. It's not that I'm unequipped to handle them it's just that I don't want to risk leaving my daggers behind.
I've had protected targets before but not ones locked away in the deepest corner of a stone box half-buried underground. They usually get on the move eventually or there's a change of guards, or some sort of window but the only place my current target would be going is the gallows.
Which is why this job has been weird from the beginning. I was grabbed on the street just by my usual supplier's store and paid upfront the most handsome sum of money to kill a man who was already on death row by then. Even better/worse than that I was hired by a shantee, of all people.
But I'm not paid for asking questions unless I'm already on the job so I took the money and got to work. Only three days later I'm outside the stone walls of the fence surrounding Ecklehold, the residence of the vilest criminals in all the country Zavier has no more use of, and some of the petty ones he no longer wishes to pretend to feed.
Social commentary aside, I choose the spot where the fence is closes to the wall of what once was the rectory; with the additional height of the wall built over it to form the biggest block in the back of the prison estate. It casts a shadow at just the right angle for me to hop the fence – or as others would say, scale the thirty-foot wall – and wait behind it patiently until it's safe to grapple over to the prison block wall.
I can't get on the definitely guarded roof because it's overseen by anyone in the bell tower and on the buttress looking this way. I squeeze myself against the wall, holding myself up by the hook embedded in the wall and the spikes of my boots planted firmly below me. I'm small and still in the shadows but it only takes one observant guard, and then what am I going to do?
Run? Give up the job?
Give back the money?
I peek over the wall to see six guards patrolling the block roof, three the buttress, and another sniper looking over to this side of the estate while the one I saw some hours ago is overlooking the entrance area.
Well, motherfuckers gonna have to drop.
I estimate eight yards between the bell tower and myself so I gently slam my arm over the edge of the roof and plant it with my elbow, aiming to the best of my knowledge and firing at a fifty-two degree angle at the bell tower. My elbow and feet slip as the gears of my gauntlet propel the arrow forward but I catch myself and move my aim to the left by half an inch to fire again.
It's only the snipers' outlines that I can see from here but I can make out one head bopping to the side and the other slip all the way down below the window frame so unless the two of them got busy in there it means they're fast asleep. Now for the nine guards on the roof...
In my line of work there are refined jobs. Ones you plan for weeks and execute flawlessly within minutes without being detected or even suspected once. All the disguises are spot on, the guards patrol on a schedule and in a predictable patent, there are conveniently placed chest high walls everywhere, and even if your gauntlet jams or you forgot your ammo bag at home the infiltration goes on without a hitch and you're out before anyone notices your target's been in the bathroom for way too long.
Some jobs, however, you end up jumping on the edge of the roof, grappling the two guards closes to you to each other and elbow them in the face, throw a discombobulator at the next two, sleep dart the fifth and the sixth, and by the time the other three standing on the buttress could do anything about it you body slam one, overdose another with sugar tulip powder, and choke out the third.
Trying my damnedest to see out of my eyes when the sugar tulip dissolves further in the air I decide I can shame myself for how clunky this infiltration is going once I'm done with it, and keep going for now. It won't be long before someone looks up and sees the missing snipers in the tower.
After sawing the roof open with nothing more than a wire and a blade I throw another discombobulator into the main body of the church and wait before descending with my handy grapple in hand. I'm down in time to hear the last of the bodies thud on the ground around em, and with a glance I make sure no sparkle set anything on fire, and that everyone's out cold.
Good, those things cost three fortunes.
The inmates in the cells are all fast out, the guards alone the walls slid down, and the five by the reception desk are flat on their backs.
I leave my Rope of Descent behind.
This time I take the stairs going down to what is the most claustrophobic cell block ever. Once I'm down, a hallway barely broader than their biggest guard's shoulder span opens in front of me with cells embedded into the walls, the bars sloppily stuck between the ground and the ceiling. More narrow hallways like this open after every five or six cells to both directions, every one of them lit worse than the previous.
The ceiling goes only as high as the cells so you'd think this is a pretty straightforward setting but in its deign this place is a maze. The hallways go far into the darkness, I see lone guards walk down and turn at random corners, and of course it's not like the names of the inmates are written by the cell gates. If I only so much as miscalculate the turns I take I'll never find my way out of here without having to murder than what I was paid for.
Luckily most of the prisoners are asleep and the rest of them don't care about my presence. These really are the hopeless cases but as a good prison director would, Cahrriere has written to the king to note him about this week's executions with the next one being – drumroll, please – the exact person I came to kill. And as a good, hopeless, bitter director would, he had him placed in a cell close to the entrance.
"...where the nameless petty thief you asked us to keep in the basement has been placed in section B, awaiting execution", the letter read. And section B is four hallways to the right and two to the left as the maps by Charriere's desk suggested.
One guard passes inches by me without noticing me, his shoulders scraping the walls on both sides, and I'm starting to wonder if it's the lack of air down here that makes this the creepiest place I've ever visited. It feels less like these are people on death row and more like actual living dead. There's just enough air to keep them alive down here but not enough to keep them sane.
Why the king himself wanted an apparent petty thief to be placed down here is even more interesting. But not my business. I grab a torch from the wall and proceed down section B that had a gateway I almost bumped my head against, and the letter B carved into the wall above it; the carving painted black lazily, streaks of paint staining the wall and the gate below as it trickled down.
Most cells are so deep I have to physically stick the torch through the bars to see whoever's in them, therefore I take too long in proceeding down the hallway to find my mark. What's even worse is some of them are lying in the corner with their faces to the wall, or sitting crouched, or downright asleep, some even dead from what I can see. Only a few are found stood in their box, their faces yellow, their sockets sunk deep, their eyes bloodshot, bones damn near piercing through their skin. Most of them don't even notice me.
There must be thousands of cells here... who are these people?
I get to the eleventh cell in the section when a guard appears in front of me, his head hung low, walking towards me. I stop dead in my tracks. He looks up, stops.
Well, this motherfucker's gotta die now.
I break into a sprint and before he could even follow me with his eyes I jump, both feet against his chest, and I pin him to the ground, one hand against his mouth, the other around the neck. I don't think he hit his head too much but he doesn't even struggle. He spreads his limbs as far as the walls will let him then goes limp. My choking hand can still feel a pulse but he might still be conscious and just acting.
For shame but I can't tell so I take a sugar tulip grenade and shove it down his throat. Once it dissolves I'm once again reminded that I should really add a pair of goggles to my disguise as I'm struggling with an avalanche of tears while searching to guard's belt for keys.
I only find one so I take it, whatever it's for.
I pick my torch back up and leave the guard's body for lack of a place to hide it.
To my incredible luck the cell I was going to check next has exactly who I'm looking for. In my mind the face of the man my employer brought to me comes up; a tall, broader in the shoulders, long face, scar on his upper lip, brown hair, another scar spanning from his right ear to the top of his forehead.
Though the picture was only drawn, I'm sure that man is sitting in the back of his cell, legs pulled up, his arms resting on his knees. He looks up at me with a clear glance, slightly flinching when the flame of my torch reaches his eyes. He stares me down then returns to my face.
"I know who you are," he says, a deep tone that hasn't spoken in a while.
"Excellent, then you know what this is," I nod and take the torch out of the cell.
Still, if he wanted to he could charge up to the bars and grab me before I could get out of range. There seems to be enough consciousness in his mind that if the life is enough in his body he could choke me for a good five seconds before I cut off his hand. Which reminds me to keep an eye out on the cell behind me in case that guy gets a funny idea.
"They sent you to kill me?" he scoffs with a smile and the corners of his eyes wrinkle. He doesn't look that old but there's something worn out about him. "They're hanging me tomorrow."
I take out a dagger I picked up from an unrelated merchant's chest cavity a few weeks ago. Mind you, it wasn't me that put it there.
"Listen, I just pocket the money, I don't really care what beef my clients' got."
"Who's your client?" he stands up. I ready my dagger. "Who could want me dead so badly that they would hire Caelmoor's deadliest assassin to kill me before I die tomorrow?"
"You don't know?" I chuckle." You're a thief, you probably stole some important shit from some important dick."
"Wait, you don't know who hired you?" he steps closer, the movement shaking dust out of his hair. "Were you looking away or...?"
"Some geezer from the shanty town," I shrug and run my gloved finger along the blade of the dagger. "He dumped so much money on me, he's just a middle man. Which is... weird I guess..."
"That is weird," he says with eyes wandering as he rubs his stubbled face. "Are you sure you have the right guy?"
"The scars are pretty telling."
"Right."
"Were you trying to escape?"
"I wasn't going to try," he says. "I was just gonna do it."
"Want to still try? I like a moving target."
"I think I'm good here. I've been living out of compulsion for a few years now. With you here my chances to survive are technically zero. I'm glad you came, I can finally rest."
"Dude, that's really depressing."
"Tell me about it."
"Very well," I nod. "Any last words? If anyone asks I'll tell them."
"No one will ask."
"Alright, then uh... you want to... kneel or... turn your back? Any requests on how I should do this exactly? I planned to be quick but if you want to agonise slowly I know just the vein to hit."
The man takes a few steps back and puts his arms to his side then kneels down with his eyes closed. An awkward angle but sure, it's his execution.
Despite how quick and dirty my getting in was, I can't believe I'm getting two hundred thousand silvers for this job. Two hundred thousand to kill some depressed fella who was about to die anyways!
I put the blade between my fingers and raise it over my shoulder next to my head.
This much money for a target that kneels before me. Ridiculous... I can finally finish my running side project.
"It is weird, isn't it?" I say and he opens his eyes, some air escaping his lungs.
"Fuck me, why are you stalling?" he hisses.
"Two hundred thousand silvers. Somebody paid a poor bastard to pay me that much money so their identity remains secret," I say and grab the metal bar of the man's cell. I can feel my pulse rise. "People don't usually care who knows if they got someone else killed. You won't live to tell the tale and I don't give a shit so who is it that would pay this much to cover up their tracks? And the king put you down here with the dangerous criminals, I read the letter... did he expect someone to break you out of here? So did he hire me? Or someone close to him? Or are you more than just a petty thief?"
"What's your point?" he frowns, still kneeling.
"Aren't you a little bit curious?" I squint. "Not even a liiiittle bit curious."
"Sure but does it matter?"
"Doesn't it?" I dangle the key I've just taken from the guard in front of him.
"And you'd be willing to give the money back?" he asks and stands up, his arms folded over his dirt- and whatever else-stained shirt that once must have been white.
"I'll have other jobs," I shrug. "I've been mindlessly grinding to save up for some time and the money's good but this is the best thing that's happened to me in my career. Whoever would pay me this much to kill you before your execution is probably more worth finding. Who knows what awful secret's behind this? Maybe you stole something you didn't know was valuable. Maybe we can wring so much more money out of my employer if we just find them. What do you think?"
"You're seriously going to make me do this," he sighs and looks up to the ceiling while I'm bouncing on my tippy-toes. This wasn't how I planned my evening and it's turning out pretty great. "I literally just told you I was glad you came to kill me."
"I'm a dirty enabler."
I extend my arm further in to dangle the key in front of his face. He takes his sweet time looking at me behind it, my grin wide as this hallway, covered by my mask, then he takes it and a moment later we're making out way back down the hallways where I came from. We see some guards patrolling here and there but they don't seem aware.
I stop on top of the stairs to look around and for my partner in crime to catch his breath.
"Do you do this often, Bloodslinger?" he wheezes with his hand over his chest. His short hair's sticking to his damp forehead.
"For the record, I never agreed to that nickname," I say and declare the main building still discombobulated. I must have been in the basement for five minutes, total. "Do you think the Iron Slayer would put up with such an awful name? No, she wouldn't! And no, I've never let a mark live."
"Lucky me," he chuckles as we run out and under the previously cut hole under the ceiling. He looks up and laughs out loud. "Really?"
"I don't tell you how to steal things. Get over here, can you climb?
He stops for a second and puts his hands on his skinny waist.
"Just out of curiosity, what exactly would be your plan if I said no?"
Holding back a genuine laugh since this situation is pretty damn ridiculous; I try to act annoyed and reach for my dagger with a sly smile. We get up on the Rope of Ascension and quickly reach the roof despite him probably not having eaten in a while.
The few minutes I spent downstairs weren't enough for the guards to notice that I emptied the rooftop or the sniper tower, so I pull my grapple rope up and point towards where I jump the fence. He nods, runs up, and clears the gap. I make sure I'm not leaving anything behind then follow him close.
Seamless.
"Do you have a getaway vehicle or something?" he asks, looking around the road. We could potentially be spotted from four directions but the cobbled streets look vacant except for a few parked cars and lanterns around to witness our escape.
"Ya legs," I point him towards the street perpendicular to the fence. "End of this street, onto Redwalk, up the hill across Pillar Pass, and into my crib."
"Into the shanty town," he pants. He might actually drop dead soon. "Are you sure this wasn't a kidnapping?"
"I am but for you it's going to be a surprise," I give a cheesy wink, and take off running. I half-expect him to ditch me but we end up jogging along the road with ease, and I'm taking off my hood to avoid looking assassin-y, at least from afar.
We stop and squeeze against the brick walls of every street and corner we pass by, let late night cars make their way past us, see some patrolling civic guards but only until we run past Pillar Pass, one of the five main roads of Caelmoor that leads to the city centre. After that there's one more wall to climb, a garbage dump to jump over and a wood plank to walk across.
My partner barely makes past the last two stages.
Once he stumbles over my window he sprawls across my apartment's floor on his back and breathes so far I'm afraid he's about to spit out his lungs.
I cover the window we came through and light another candle as the one I had on for safety reasons is starting to die. The room is small so one candle is sufficient for late nigh hubris. I check the hallway outside the bedroom then the bathroom for any sign of anything, then stand next to him with a glass a water.
"You sound like an exhaust pipe, you want a drink?"
He agonises for another minute before he blurts out an answer.
"Maybe hanging wasn't such a bad idea."
"I can take you back tomorrow."
"Cheers," he says and holds up a thumb. "My name's Cephas, by the way.
"Mine's Violet."
"It's not."
I pour the water on him and he laughs. He sounds way too jolly for someone who just admitted to being okay with dying.
"Wow," he sits up. "I wish I had friends to tell what just happened. This is insane, I'm in the Bloodslinger's lair!"
"Please don't call me that."
"The most wanted for death and for hire assassin in all of Caelmoor, and she just saved my ass from certain death."
"You just said you would've escaped.
"Yes but I wouldn't have been, like, super committed," he says and jumps up, almost hitting his head against the chandelier. "You got some grub, Bloodslinger?"
"Please, it makes me sound like a monkey."
I get him some food, more water to drink and to clean himself with, and a fresh set of clothes from what rugs I have on hand but nothing fits him so back in his dirty clothes it is. Mostly I'm bothered by his bare feet; he's going to track dirt all over my place Tomorrow we have to go clothes shopping.
After he falls asleep on my sofa I start second-guessing myself. At first I think of all the money I'll have to return somehow but another thought comes to mind too.
I sit by the window, looking out through a small gap in the curtains. I don't do this. What are we going to do now? Investigate? I'm not a damn private eye, though half of my job is that I guess. But why? Is this case really that interesting? Damn, it actually is, I've never been more curious in my life!
"Are you going somewhere?" I ask after I hear the slightest creak of the wooden floor.
"I thought you were sleeping," Cephas says and I turn to see him literally tiptoe to the door.
"I just freed a wanted man who, for all I know, could be a murderer, genius."
"Alright," he frowns and I see him sway to the side slightly. "Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful and I will never out your generosity or location but if I'm going to track down who wants me dead I'd rather work alone. You of all people should understand that."
"I do. I know there's little damage you can do to me but I still can't let you go. It's not safe for any of us. So you either let me help or..."
"...or you're going to kill me?" he chuckles but it comes out as a throaty cough.
"No," I stand up and push the sofa forward slightly with my foot as he falls forward and hits it face first. "I'll just let the anaesthetic I put in your food knock you out."