Chapter 1
*Thunk*went my dagger
as it sailed into the table.Idid not have time for this.
Three hours late. Three foolish hours. Three foolish hours in which Brock
Silverstein was going to dearly regret when I got my hands on his pathetic,
dirt bag body. The first hour I considered accidental, I mean Plowe was a large
and bustling city in which many people could get lost in… and miss the large
inn and tavern The Golden Apple.. Which was located in the main square... Where
everyone had to cross in order to access other streets…
The second hour became suspicious. Brock may have been a cowardly liar (soon to be dead) but he was not stupid. His ego was not that inflated that he could not ask for directions to the massive inn located in the main square.
The third and final hour of Brock's life was spent devising how to properly kill him and make him regret his decisions. Really I should have expected this, it wasn't even a surprise. But I had a temper and I did not like being played for a fool or lied too.
I stood up, knocking over both my mug of ale and stool in the process. I knew he was in the city, my men had told me so. He had been seen entering the city late yesterday afternoon and promptly making his way to the nearest whorehouse. He proceeded to then conduct his own business activities, and after they were completed, went to the nearest tavern and got absolutely inebriated. One pm was the time in which Brock Silverstein was to meet me at this inn, to deliver the fee for the job I had conducted for him. However he was not, instead he was in the flashiest and most secluded hotel in the city- The Tights Hill. Without a doubt I knew he would be there, right this moment. What he was doing once again depended on how intelligent he was. Was he A) Sleeping off the hangover he obtained last night, proving that he was an ignorant man that underestimated my Intel on his location or B) packing his bags and making final arrangements which would me he also underestimated me and my skills in tracking him down before he left the city.
I wanted my money. My ample amount of money. My money that I earned. That I deserved. I had obtained his object of desire from the Monumental Carlos Museum, which was no easy feat but nonetheless achieved. I had sent it to him and was sent back a response detailing his robbery and loss of the funds I was intended. Being the reasonable person I am, I gave him one month to reobtain these funds and decided upon Plowe to be the place we were to meet as I knew in advance he had business there he could not miss. Prepare for every situation. He responded back immediately guaranteeing my payment during the one months’ time.
Thievery was not a simple task and I deserved every penny I got, although my skills did far surpass the job Brock had given me.
I entered the Hotel now. It really was flash. High ceilings, high wooden pillars. Reasonably plush carpet. Polished mahogany desks. I sauntered up to the check-in desk, leaning over so my dark hair spilled onto it. I looked the clerk; a fair headed, pale young man with a thin build. Easy as pie.
I looked him dead in the eyes, twitched a smile to my lips and asked in my most innocent voice, "Hello, I'm meeting an… Acquaintance of mine in his room, though unfortunately I do not know which number he's in.. Brock Silverstein?" I fluttered my eye lashes prettily (or dementedly).
He gulped, obviously wondering what kind of acquaintance I was. Let him think what he may. He began sweating under my steady gaze, his dirty blonde hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. He gulped again "Ma'am we are not really aloud t-to give out p-personal details o-of our guests-s"
I smiled sweetly again "Well sweetheart I'm sure you can make an exception"-i leaned over further-" for me" gone was the innocent look, I was channelling my inner, very inner, seductress. I ran my fingertips down his hand that was converting the guest check in book.
One more gulp and then "B-brock S-silverstein was it-t?" He checked the book with trembling hands. "He's in room 26, floor 3"
I'm sure my smile was much more like a cat that had caught its rat than an appreciative one but meh, what's a girl gonna do.
"Thank you darling" I said with one final touch and then I turned and made my way to the stairs.
BAM! The door flung open from the force of my kick and shut again with the heel of my boot. I threw myself onto the bed which held a startled and dazed Brock Silverstein. I was right A) dumb, dumb, dumb. He made a grab for the pistol on his stand but I knocked it away with a flick of my wrist and in one motion was straddling his body, inches from his face; my dagger stabbed into his pillow promisingly.
He was scared now. The gaping mouth, the look of startled fear in his clear eyes and the frantic beating of his heart underneath my legs.
Hmm, to be sadistic or eerily calm? The latter, that way I can be both.
"Hey Brock, long time no money", I said with a smile "Just came here to get it since it looks as though you've overslept". I took a leisurely look around the room, a look which was reserved for talking over tea.
"Great room, looks like you've already packed though”, I said gesturing to the trunk at the foot of the bed with clothes that looked to have been hastily thrown in. I looked at his stand beside his bed again and saw a slip of paper. "Oh look a ferry ticket, going to Boon I see. 5 o'clock your ferry is, wow its good I woke you up then! What is it"-I looked to my non-existent watch-" Three and a half hours past one o'clock? Huh. Lucky."
Enter sadism.
"Brock, Brock, Brock…" I drew my dagger across his lips, parted in fear. "My money, where?"
I pressed the dagger hard enough into his bottom lip that it drew a drop of blood, the burst of pain seemed to shock him out of his daze and with the look of a person knowing their own demise is soon to come, he began to cry.
"I-I don't h-have i-it h-here its w-with m-my a-accountant" he began to sob. Dumb, dumb, dumb.
"Oh Brock, you never intended to give it to me did you?" I gave him a sympathetic look, taking in his golden locks, lovely blue eyes and sun kissed skin. Such a waste.
"I risked my life for you Brock, albeit it was an easy job but do you know of the enchantments in that Museum! I could have been boiled alive or flung with one thousand darts or hear this- cast into the netherworld! Don't know what the fuss is over such old and boring stuff, but never the less."
I fingered the daggers tip, "Where's your accountant, Brock?"
"An hour from Boon, in Charts Town-n... P-p-pleas-s-e" He sobbed
"Shhhhh… its too late now. Now is your accountant innocent?" he hesitated "C'mon Brock, you're one chance at retribution. Your fates inevitable, but you might actually get a chance at a pleasant afterlife if you give me this!"
With that he stopped sobbing and his expression turned malicious. "You are going to go far, far, far down into the pits of hell Isobel, you are going to die at the hands of Arden and you will wish you gave mercy to everyone you disposed of!" Spittle flew into my face with his last proclamation.
I sighed and gave him a wounded expression "Brock, baby, what you do not understand is that I give mercy. I am reasonable. People, against their own better judgements choose to take advantage of that, people like you for example", my voice took on a sinister edge. "Filthy, scum of the earth cons like you who take advantage of the poor and exploit the innocent", he looked surprised.
"Yes I know of your dirty dealings, I actually have another agenda to being here, in this room. Turns out your victims do not appreciate you're ways and have decided to dispose of you through my means."
He looked pale, I went close enough to his face that I could have kissed him and said thoughtfully "double the pay, I say" and with that retrieved my dagger from the pillow, where I had place it again, and drew it across his throat in one clean stroke.
The life fled his eyes, and for one second I was empty, I was the thing that resided deep within myself, hopeless. I was a Thief first and an Assassin second, but it was hard times and I took what I could get. Fleetingly I was disappointed I had killed him so quickly, his shady dealings had begged for more, but I hadn’t been able to stop myself. He was scum.
I hopped off him before his blood soaked through my pants, wiped the dagger on his pillow, retrieved his ferry ticket and gracefully climbed out his window, going down the trellis that grew down the side of the hotel. I looked to the town clock into the distance. Twenty minutes before the ferry left. I smiled to myself "Perfect".
