April 5th
Frederick von Rathsenburg sat at his desk, tapping his finger in rhythmic succession. The moon light grew ever brighter outside his window. He was expecting a messenger right about now. A truly unreliable service in this day and age but what can you do? It was all he could work with. Being the so called lucky charm of the king brings about such perks but for dear old Frederick, give a young boy the coin to buy his next meal and he’ll sing his heart out for you like court bard would on his best day.
Suddenly, a knock.
Frederick sat upright in his seat. Could be the messenger he thought as his hand traced slightly against the cinquedea resting in his belt.
“But at the same time.” He continued, muttering to himself. “someone not so nice.” Frederick continued to the door, his brisk steps leaving a sound so faint only a mouse could hear them. He peaked through the door. The faint silhouette of a small framed man stood outside.
“Message for you sir.” the man cried out.
“Slip it from under.” Frederick replied, taking care not to raise his voice into a scream or shout.
“As you say sir.” the messenger received. “Alas, I shall require a tip if you would so indulge a poor messenger working on a beggar’s coffer.”
“Come in then. You’ll get your tip and after that. No more!” Frederick unlocked the door, revealing to him a closer image of the small framed messenger still standing earnestly outside, seemingly not a complaint in the world.
“Milord Ambrose said youse a private one sire.” The messenger said, speaking in a tone suggesting a strong desire to be liked.
“Drop the tone boy.” Frederick scolded. “I’m just the Ambrose’s captain. Nothing more nothing less.”
“Begging your pardon sir. I don’t quite understand.” The messenger though he remained calm, his posture suggested otherwise. His feet shook in their boots and his brows twitched, proving to be very bad cover for his eye sockets who told a very different story.
“When all is said and done, I’m just a man whose good with a sword.” Frederick said, unsheating his blade. The faint moonlight glimmered in it’s beautiful craftsmanship.
“You must really know your way around a blade then.”
“But enough talk about sport boy.” Frederick said unsheathing the blade back into its sheath but not before reaching into his pockets to pull out a handful of gold coins. Gold sparkling coins. Gold sparking coins. Gold coins that could only have been obtained on a king’s ransom. The boy’s eyes lit up as he could feel his mouth watering at the sight.
“Ten golden oros!” he silently exclaimed. “ten gold-I could buy-thank you for this milord. Your generosity is not misplaced.”
“Just take the damn gold.” Frederick said, holding it out to him.
“Why yes. Why of course I will. My, my. The adventures you would have to go on to earn such a bounty.”
“Work hard, work fast and you shall be rewarded. Your parents ever tell you that?”
“Begging pardon sir but-” boy said quickly said only to be interrupted by Frederick.
“Go. Enjoy your gift boy. Spend it on what you like now leave me be.”
“Oh of course I will!” the boy exclaimed, stuffing his coins into his pocket. “Good day to you sir!” Sheepishly waving back, Frederick closed the door behind him, placing his recently arrived note on the table. After pouring himself a mug of the castle’s freshly brewed ale, he began to mull over the letter’s context.
To Frederick. My oldest friend and most trusted ally.
I am writing this to you because I feel like I have become compromised. The walls are closing in and I suspect the others are plotting against me. I know you may think me mad but there is a reason I am entrusting this letter to you. You have stood by me for as long as I can remember. Heard schemes that even the great king of Sweden could call mad. But never have you ever questioned me. You have chosen to hear me out no matter how absurd it may all seem. But now, I would like you to visit Baile aid bonn na beinne. I have managed to procure the whereabouts of a skilled assassin. One of the best in town. I fear that one of my most trusted subjects is plotting to kill me. I want you to hire this man. Hire him to kill me. To try to kill me. It shall fail like I expect it will but hopefully witnessing a failed assassination may make these people think twice and realize I am not an easy man to kill. I never was.
Proceed to the stables with haste my friend for if the slightest snag in this plan should be revealed. I fear for what might become of me.
Yours in confidence
Ambrose Lavinia
As Frederick turned the letter over in his hands, noticing how the ink stains in the parchment seemed to bleed into it’s backside. He turned it over. The following words froze him to the bone.
A final postscript: Kill the messenger who gives you this letter. He has been useful to me thus far and I doubt his mother and father would miss him. If they even would.
Frederick stroked the hilt of his blade, staring back into the parchment.
