Antagonist

Smoke still brings back the memories I prefer to leave long forgotten. It is as unavoidable as the smell of freshly turned soil or the sweat of a horse. Smoke is the worst of them though and at times it is almost as though the smell of it never left after that long night. The night that was burned into undying memory is easily and often recalled. It matters not whether I wish to recall those events. The sight of turned soil dominates my vision with an inordinate clarity. Buried shallowly beneath it is my father. My mother is in the shallow grave next to his. The wind shifts again and the smoke drifts my way, bringing even more tears to my eyes. It is a dark, heady smoke that wafts up from the blackened mass of debris that we had once called a home. To this day I am unaware as to why they did what they did, the men who came in the middle of the night upon their lathered horses. For the life of me, I cannot remember the words they exchanged with my father as my mother watched from the doorway and I further behind her. They spoke, my father yelled, they yelled, and my father screamed. The argument ended in that definitive way that all arguments can easily be settled, with a crimson spray and a bloodied blade. Even though the words my father spoke, yelled, and screamed cannot find their way back to my memory, I can remember the grunt as he fell to the ground. I can remember the ragged gasps for breath as he clutched at his throat and tried desperately to staunch the flow of blood. I watched with wide-eyed shock as he slowly bled out on the ground, the men on the horses laughing and joking as they too watched him slowly bleed out on the ground. There was a scream that I barely heard and I knew that it was my mother. I glanced at her and could see the terror and uncertainty in her face, though I would not know of either until years after. Should she go to her beloved husband, to be with him in the last moments, or should she go to me, her only son. Perhaps it was good luck disguised as ill that guided the arrow to her heart and removed the need for her to answer. She looked at me with her pale blue eyes, both welled with tears, and tried to speak. But as the blood bubbled up from her mouth and her eyes seemed to dim, I knew that she would not say what she wanted to say. I wanted to go to her and I wanted to go past her to my father. I wanted to be with them in their last moments of life, even though I knew that my mother was already gone. Instead of either I just stood there, out of sight. Fear had crept into my young heart and turned me into a coward. I could feel the anger growing within me as I watched the men jest more at the sight of my mother's sprawled corpse, but just as the fear had overcome me, so had sadness. All the anger I could ever feel was no match for those two. The men did not enter the house and for that I was glad, am glad, for they would have easily found me and I would have easily died. Perhaps it was their sole intention all along to dispatch my mother and father or perhaps not. Perhaps their

intentions were not nearly as deadly, though they seemed to revel in their deeds. After all, they came well equipped to burn our fields and, to my horror, my own home. The house was the last thing they burned and as the smoke and heat built around me, I still could not find the strength to move. The sword that took my father's life began the etching of my memory, the arrow that pierced my mother's heart continued it, and the smoke that poured in from the roof and walls, colored it in. Try as I might, the events between then and when I stood staring down at the fresh graves of my parents will not come to me. It is the one black spot in my memory, the part of the etching singed to nothing. Smoke brings back the memories and the old man knows this, but he claims that the mild winter of the city aches in his bones. Only a good fire, he says often, can whisk the pain away. *** "What's your name boy?" To say that the question startled me would be an understatement. My thoughts and attention were lost to the graves before me and I had no more to spare for anyone or anything else. Hindsight tells me that I should have spared some of my attention, but I was young and nothing else mattered but the then and there. What if the men came back, what if something came around looking for the dead flesh it could so clearly smell? But as I said, nothing else mattered to me, not at that age, not with what I had just experienced. "What's your name boy?" The man asked again, but by then I was already startled and sparing that attention. He did not have to ask a third time. I looked up at the man, dressed neck down in swarthy clothes with a concerned look on his face. He had deduced what was before me, how could he not? "Does it matter?" I asked, unsure of what else to say, unsure of what my name even was. "No, I guess not," he replied, "but, little graveling, I think a name would serve to honor the two in the ground before you." "Graveling," I said, testing the word. "That works." The man did not look pleased when I answered him, but it was not my intention to please him. "What is your name?" I asked before he could say anything else. He smiled. "Does it matter?" "No," I replied, "I guess not." The silence that followed was not as welcome as it should have been. I wanted to be left alone with my parents, to spend all the time at the graves that I should have spent as they were dying on the ground. Somehow though, I already knew that it wouldn't be possible.

"Your parents then?" I sighed and nodded, but did not answer further than that. The man didn't say anything for a few moments and when he finally did it was another question. "Any other family?" "No." The answer was almost immediate. I had an aunt and uncle somewhere, but I did not know where and for all I knew, they were already dead. "No," I said again, "no family." "Well, Graveling, I can't leave you out here with the wolves and the monsters. Want to come with me?" My thoughts were not clear, not with the night before looming in my memories, and I was tired, but I still felt a tinge of wariness at the offer. My family lived far from the cities where terrible things were more prevalent, but they had warned me of such things. Suddenly I found that I didn't care though. "I've nowhere else to go." "Is that a yes?" the man asked. "Yes," I answered as my vision grew dim and sleep overtook me. The last thing I remember was the soft thump as I fell to the ground. *** The man was a thief and he decided that I would take up the trade as well. My mind was young and impressionable and having lived out in the middle of nowhere, what did I know of stealing? I took to the knowledge he shared with me eagerly, but it was some time before he trusted me enough to allow me to put it to use. Meanwhile we lived and we moved, we moved a lot. It seemed that Gray, which I had taken to calling him for the gray that peppered his black hair much to his chagrin, was not the best at his profession. Eventually he would be caught at something and we would be forced to run, but at the time I found it exciting. It was a temporary interruption of my learning, but the sights as they rolled by and the new cities we entered was more than enough to make up for all that I didn't learn. Years passed in such a way. We moved from one city to the next, Gray stealing until he got into trouble and, eventually, the both of us stealing until one or the both of us got into trouble. I count them as the happiest years of my, thus far, short life, but perhaps that is because I can barely remember what happened before my parents were killed. *** The thievery was fun and it was profitable, but there was no denying that it was not the easiest work. The difficulty did not come from our marks or from the stealing itself, out problems came from the competition.

I started out low, as all thieves must, placed on the streets with all the other little urchins that the guild filtered onto the streets. The competition knew which marks to hit better than I did. After all, no matter the city, the streets had long belonged to them. I was an intruder, a know-nothing amateur not worth the rank air I breathed. That was all I was to them, I was hardly even competition. The guild-rat urchins worked in teams and occasionally worked with each other despite the rivalry between the guilds. Neither would work with me though and I can't say that I blame them. As a thief, even such a low one, I was a failure. I couldn’t' pick a pocket no matter how much or how often I tried, It was an impossible task for me and one that often left me in the hands of the person whom I had attempted to steal from. An undesired predicament and one that led me to discover that I was particularly good at escaping. Be it by lock, key, or grasped hand, I found a way and made a break for it and then it would be time to run again, to find a new city, a new home with new marks and another useless attempt at trying my hand on the streets. "I am sorely tired of moving," he would say, his eyes narrowed at me the entire time. There would be books and papers framing that face, days, weeks, or months of planning all put to waste because of the latest trouble. "As am I," I would counter again and again. The blame could not be placed on me. A lot of it, perhaps more than that, fell direction on Gray's shoulders. He was as good a burglar as I was a pick pocket and yet he assigned me to the streets while he broke into houses. Thieving was supposed to be fun, it was supposed to be profitable, I always knew that it would not be easy. Thievery did not fall in with fun or profit, not in my experience, not while I was on the streets and Gray in the houses at least. Instead it was a frustrating vocation dominated by the dim-minded homeless thugs that the guilds pulled off the streets. At some point Gray gave in to my incessant demands to start working the houses. Perhaps it was because he finally determined that pick-pocketing just wasn't for me or perhaps it was because he was getting old, older than when I had given him his name. The black hair had lost its war with the gray and was subjugated to tiny patches here and there. He couldn't move as well as he once had either. 'Feels like my fingers are growing stiffer every day,' he said when he sat me down to tell me the news. 'My knees ache, my bones creak, and by the time midnight rolls around my eyelids are heavy with sleep,' he went on. I thought, hoped, I knew what he was getting at and I held on to every word with excitement. 'You've worked the streets long enough,' he paused as if deep in though and smiled, 'perhaps too long. I am getting a bit too old to keep at the houses, all that climbing and sneaking about is just not for me anymore.' Gray's words broke off suddenly and the smile left his face briefly. The man who I had come to think of as a second father looked at me then, his eyes narrowed though not in anger. 'Perhaps it was never for me,' he said at last, 'just as the streets were never for you.'

'I can't be leaving it off just yet, got some things to teach you yet, but it is about time for you to move up,' Gray didn't quite look at me as he said it, his eyes settled above my shoulder and at the wall behind me. 'Before we begin you have to listen to me, you understand?' I was never even given the chance to answer, though it was obvious what I would answer. 'The houses ain't the streets, you ain't going to be competing with rats. Your competition will be trained and backed by the city guilds, you ain't either. You understand?' This time he did give me the chance to answer and my answer was just the same as the first, 'Yes.' He nodded when I said it, he had expected the answer. 'Good, because this is important. You ain't backed by the guilds and you won't be, the guilds want the clever sort of mindless they can control and guide. We ain't that, you and me,' Gray grinned, though I wasn't sure why. I still don't know why. Maybe he realized, just as I realize now, that we weren't exactly clever. The guild wanted people mindless but clever, but most importantly they wanted people good at what they did. That was not us. 'Luckily we don't have to be part of a guild to work in the city, but it means we ain't gonna have anyone to back us if we get into a spot. You already know that though, we haven't been running from city to city so much for nothing.' Gray grunted as he finished, likely thinking about all the ruined plans over the years, and sat back in his chair heavily. 'We'll start tomorrow,' he said quietly. 'Until then,' he continued louder than before, 'to the streets with you, see if you can get something.' I didn't respond with anything save a nod as I walked out the door to spend my last night bumping into people and competing with the guild rats. *** The skinny house stood apart from the rest of the buildings on the street and in the quarter. The quarter was the merchant quarter and lacked the dizzying maze of alleys that the poor quarter sported, houses shared walls with other and often shared space with shops. A small gully, no wider than a hand spans, was the closest thing to an alley that could be found in the quarter. Yet despite all that, the skinny house stood apart from the rest of the buildings like an unwanted outcast. To either side of the building was an alley, a real alley, several feet wide and free of debris. There was no gulley behind the house, instead several feet of cobblestones extended between the back wall of the skinny house and the back wall of building that stood behind it. It was because of the unique separation of the skinny house and the rest of the quarter that allowed windows all around the house, back, front, and sides. The moon was just a sliver in the sky as the rearmost window's latch flipped up and out of its catch with a click. A cloud crossed over it as the windows pushed in with a quiet creak and I climbed into the skinny house with the help of a small hand

lantern. A flicker was all that anyone would see from the outside of the house, a play on the windows from their own lanterns or the brief reflection of the moon as another cloud passed. The room I entered into was small, its shelves lined with shelves filled with books and scrolls. The floor was covered in stacks of them as well, all haphazardly strewn about. Gray told me that the owner of the skinny house was a collector of the things, but I did not think the collection would be so large. Books were expensive, not to mention rare, and to see such a collection anywhere except the homes of the wealthy held only a small chance. The owner of the skinny house claimed possession of a treasure trove in the small room at the rear of his house with the window so easy to open and the owner of the skinny house had not a thing to worry about. Books were rare and expensive, but they are heavy and easy to trace. No thief, not even the truly stupid, would attempt such a thing. A creak, quiet yet sounding like the world being torn asunder, rang out as I opened the door. I opened the shudder on my lamp briefly and scanned across the room to get a general layout before closing it once more and allowing the tiny beam of light to act as my only light source. There was nothing on the bottom floor for me to take, a lot of heavy junk. Gray assured me that everything valuable was on the second floor. He didn't tell me where he had gotten the information, just called the person who relayed it a 'friend'. Somewhere deep inside of me there was a small voice that demanded the truth of it, to be sure that I was not walking into a waste of time, but that tiny voice of reason was drowned out by the constant droning of several louder voices. Greed the chiefmost amongst them. I was told before, by Gray, and after, by several others, that the skinny house was one of the oldest in the city. This fact was one that I could easily believe. It seemed as though the entire house creaked with every step I took and I could not be more thankful that the owner of the house was not home because he would have surely heard me long before he ever saw me. By the time I made it upstairs I was sure that the whole of the city would be bearing down on me at any minute having heard all of the racket I was making. A silly notion, the creaks and groans of the house as I moved within it was, of course, louder to my nervous ears. First right, I thought to myself as I made the top of the stairs. I took the right and walked down the whitewashed hall. Gaudy paintings were spaced evenly on both walls, each and every one in some different style. Then the first door on the left, I reminded myself as I turned to the right and faced the plane door before me. Gray didn't tell me what I would find behind the door, just that it would be a very good and that I would know it when I saw it. This set that small voice within me to screaming again. The voice wanted the truth, but I already knew what it was. Gray could not tell me what was behind the door, in the room, because the person who had given him his information did not tell him. I swallowed my doubts that day and allowed my greed to drown out the voice of reason once again.

The door did not open with a creak, so far it had been the only part of the house that didn't. I was surprised to say the least. That surprise pales in comparison to the surprise that awaited me as I swung the lamps narrow beam into the room and saw the glint of the riches that I had been asked to collect. Gold and silver, both jewelry and coinage, all bagged and in the open. My mind screamed trap, but I didn't listen, the voice of greed silenced it. If I had thought the books a waste of time in stealing, what lay in front of me should have stricken me as moreso, but I ignored that niggling feeling. The bags of silver were shunned for the bags of gold, something that I should have known better of at the time and something that even now I curse myself over. But I left them be and took the heavy gold. Somehow I managed to get out of the house without being caught, somehow I managed to struggle my way through the streets without hearing the horrible call of a whistle, and in the end I barged into our small apartment, breathless and covered in sweat, to show our riches to Gray. And he cursed at me and raged, though his barrage did not last. It was gold, yes, which he could not help but be happy about, but we would be forced to leave the city before first light. That amount of gold did not just turn up, especially not in the hands of a pair who shared an apartment in the middle of the poor quarter, and definitely not in the hands a pair that had no apparent work. All of his plans were ruined, but it was not as bad as it could have been. He mocked anger, but I knew that he was happy. A few weeks later, and several cities away, I would learn that the skinny house was owned by a noble. A Duke in particular, though I would not learn his name until later, who did not trust lending houses and kept everything of value secreted away in a rundown little house in the middle of the merchant quarter. He never found out who did it that I know of, which means that I got lucky. The Duke was angry, but stories about him, told after the incident, would paint him as being constantly angry no matter the situation. They would also describe in detail his hatred and method and dealing with thieves. I would learn this for myself several years later and my life would change in ways I never expected. *** The years had been kind to me, though not so kind to Gray. My skills grew over the years, each house more practice. My time in the streets, those lousy years, had not shown any improvement to my lack of skills, if anything I had gotten worse. I was pleased at the positive outcome. Gray was not so fortunate. Age had taken what little skill he had, his hands always pained him, as did many of his joints. With every passing day I saw him grow more sullen and there was little I could do to raise his spirits. They dropped with my every success, they dropped even further with every move we were forced to make, they dropped and dropped and that was all. He became quiet and bitter, but he pretended to be happy if only to spare me. He was never much of an actor. Despite it all, he plotted and he

planned, making use of all the informants and contacts that he had gathered over the years. The cities were a circuit for us, we'd be forced to leave one and head for one that had long forgotten our transgressions, whatever they were. We were successful, but for all that we were unhappy. It is obvious why Gray was unhappy, but why was I? Quite simply, I was bored of it all. There are only so many houses you can break into, each one almost the same and so simple, before things lose their fun and become tedium. That is what happened to me and that is why I was so unhappy. Some change of scenery would have done me no good, I needed a challenge. I was only allowed to steal from merchant houses, I could not rise above their class. And I wanted to, I wanted to so badly. It didn't matter who, a wealthy merchant, a noble, a city official, anyone! Every time I brought it up Gray would excuse the idea. 'Too dangerous,' he would say before ignoring any argument I could produce. Perhaps it was because of this that I decided to go against him and his wishes. We had returned to the city of the skinny house, which had been torn down and replaced by a simple shop, and I had made up my mind. I would have my challenge. The house, if it could be called that, was one that I had selected at random. It was large enough to fit the hotel that Gray and I were staying at twice over and could probably hold a bit more than that as well, but I feel my point is well made. *** The owner was not home, at least that was what my contacts had told me. I trusted their information and was a fool for doing so. The house was easy enough to break into, not much different than a few of the more paranoid merchants. Things went downhill from there. I entered through the window and found myself in a small room. The walls were lined with shelves, which were filled with books. There were even stacks on the floor, scattered haphazardly about. It was then that the uneasy feeling began, a small discomfort at the center of my gut. I had seen something similar before, but my memory refused to be jogged, not when I had to work to focus on. The door made not a sound as I opened it to reveal a darkened hall beyond. The house was silent, not even the barest hint of sound and there appeared to be no lights lit within eyesight either. With another quick glance around I crept into the hall and began to look around. I didn't try for the closed doors, there was no telling what could be behind them. Could be riches, could be a sleeping servant or even the owner of the house, though I was repeatedly told that he would not be home and I there was nothing to worry about. For such a large house there was so little about. Sure there was expensive items, but I could hardly carry off a vase the size of a man and I refused to believe someone would pay for the hideous paintings that hung on the walls. Perhaps it

would have served to pay more attention, but my mind had wandered at the size of the place. I had forgotten myself and I had forgotten about being quiet. I made a mistake. My mistake was punctuated by a growl, not from an animal, but from a man. It came from behind me and I was more than a little surprised by it. I wasn't given the chance to turn around before the man started to speak. 'Another thief,' the man said, I could tell it was through gritted teeth. 'I wonder,' he began, 'I wonder if it could be the same one that stole from me before those years ago.' The sound of a hard sole clicked on the stone floor and briefly I wondered how I had not heard them before. 'Oh, but it takes some balls to break into a noble's house, don't you think? I can't begin to think of the size of the pair the man who breaks into two of my houses has.' As the boots clicked towards me I found myself struck silent and unable to move. I had never been caught before and I was unsure of exactly that I was supposed to do. I knew that I had to get away, that much was certain. The how was another matter. 'You see, I think you are the one that stole from me back then. I do not know why I think that, I just do. Maybe you are not, maybe you are, what are the chances? Either way, I never got the last one, so you can stand in for that bastard as well.' The man, who I realized to be the Duke, laughed softly. Meanwhile, as he walked towards me ever so slowly, no doubt armed, a plan came to me. As I pondered that plan afterwards I finally came to the decision that it was a stupid, stupid plan. 'I am,' I said. The Duke stopped. 'You are what?' the question came out as a snarl. "I'm the one who broke into your skinny house,' I answered. I'll never know why, but I turned then to look at the Duke, a smirk on my lips. The Duke was an older man, not so old as Gray I would guess, but in his middle years. I try and try, but I can't remember what the man really looked like. I can recall a short beard and trimmed mustache and a pair of narrowed eyes that promised death and exuded hatred, but that is all. My smirk faded as I continued, 'And here I am now, back for more. Obviously the skinny house is gone, so I had to come to the source.' 'You little bastard,' he screamed and continued towards me. His hand moved towards his waist and the hilt of a knife I saw jutting from his belt. 'I'll kill you, but first I think I'll remove that pair you have, thief!' The Duke was not the only one armed, though I had hoped to never have to use the knife I kept tucked up my sleeve. I wasn't skilled with it and I hadn’t even bothered practicing with it for years, but I kept it with me anyway.

'Get your hands in the air, thief,' the Duke demanded, his knife extended in my direction. 'Get them up in the air or I will make it hurt worse than I intend to.' I complied with his demands, but not before I slipped the knife out of its sheath and into my palm. I wasn't sure if I could kill anyone, even someone trying to kill me, but it gave me some small amount of comfort. 'You know, usually most would call the constabulary for this sort of thing. You'd lose your hand for sure, but it gets worse. I'm not some minor merchant, I could make sure you get slipped into the cell with some large guy who hasn't seen a woman in years, let alone touched one.' He grinned. 'Now wouldn't that be pleasant? Oh, but more likely you'd just be strung up by your neck and strangled until your death.' The grin disappeared and he spat on the floor. 'Too good for you!' He moved closer and closer, each hard-soled step clicking on the floor. His eyes glared at me still, but his mouth remained closed. Click. Another step. Click. Another. He waved his knife at me, perhaps in an attempt to look menacing and I have to admit that it worked. I was terrified and shaking. The handle of the knife I had palmed was hot and slick with sweat, but I held on to it. Click. Click. Click. Three steps, only a few more to go. My mind raced and I knew that my initial plan was foolish and stupid. I was going to die and I knew it. I looked this way and that - click - and saw nothing. There was no way to go, nothing to do. I panicked and chose the one way I had open to me: forward. I screamed as I brought my arm down, knife forward, and I think he screamed as well, but I can't be sure. I can't be sure of anything. I remember a moment of resistance before the flesh gave and the warmth of his blood spilled onto my hands and arms. I can remember removing the knife and stabbing it back in. Over and over I did it. There was a clatter as his knife fell to the ground and a clatter as mine did the same. I backed up away from him, my eyes darting dizzily back and forth. The look on his face was one of confusion as he fell backwards and onto the floor. His stomach was a ruined mess, his throat was much the same. Blood bubbled out of his mouth as he looked up from the floor towards me, but the Duke said nothing. The Duke was dead. *** The Duke eschewed servants, his paranoia was too great for him to trust anyone free range of his home. Once a day he would allow a small group in and they would proceed to do their duties under his direct supervision. I was not aware of this, yet another failing on my part to gather the proper information, and fled the house with all haste, only stopping to pick up my dropped knife. Any thoughts of stealing were cleared from my mind as I ran from the manse, my hands empty and sticky from the blood. My mind reeled and by the time I dropped from the window I was dizzy and stumbling. I felt as though I would vomit or pass out, perhaps both. There was an

odd feeling beyond that though, a feeling that I was hard pressed to define or realize at the time. I recognize it now and I would recognize it not so long after that night as well. It was a source of confusion then though, I felt sick and guilty, but beneath all of that was happiness and a sense of excitement. It is a feeling I still get, which I suspect keeps me going. The grass of the lawn that surrounded the manse was dew-slicked and I fought valiantly to keep my footing as I crossed it. The moon was bright, I was dizzy, and it felt as though I was crawling across that open lawn. I would be caught, I knew it for sure, but I trudged on anyway. All I had to do was get to the merchant quarter, it was not far, then I could slip into one of the gullies. It was likely the dizziness, but I was in the merchant quarter and tucked into one of the wider gullies before I knew it. Even then I could not remember what happened between the time I began stumbling across the lawn and when I came to. My head was still reeling, but a few of the facts from the evening had begun to sink in. The cough startled me. The realization that I was not alone should have struck me earlier, but it hadn't. Fear latched my heart in its icy grip even as I jumped away from the sound in surprise. I knew I would be caught, I had moved too slow across the lawn and I couldn't even remember how I had gotten to the gully in the first place. Anything could have happened. My legs began working before my mind did. There was no room to turn around, so I started to back away down the gully as fast as I could. The cough had come from further down the gully, a darkened area sheltered from the moon. I couldn't see the man, somehow that made everything worse. Despite my efforts, subpar though they were, I did not get far. The man, dressed in black, rushed forward out of the darkness and into the moonlight, coming towards me faster than I could back away. I slipped, but he caught me by the wrist and pulled me forward before I could fall into the murky water that settled in the center of the gully. I went for the knife, returned to my sleeve, but it was gone. He let go. A silvery flash, the light of the moon reflecting off the blade of my knife, greeted me as the water seeped into the seat of my pants. 'Looking for this?' he asked as he gave the knife a little twirl. The man presented an imposing figure. He was dressed in all black from his neck down to his toes and wore a black tricorn hat atop his head that hid his face in shadow. No other skin was visible except for his indistinguishable face. I tried to give him a hard look, the sort that promised pain for the frustration and annoyance he had caused me, but the haze was in my head and I knew that it was utterly ineffective. A crooked attempt at a sneer paired with a pair of squinted, unfocused eyes was all that I managed. It did not have the desired effect. It did not have one at all.

The man just stood there above me twirling my knife. He didn't move beyond that and didn't make any attempt to speak. I could feel his eyes on me though, staring like I was attempting to do. It had the desired effect. I was afraid. My mouth moved, but no sounds escaped. Better for that, I think, since there were no words I could think to say. I wanted to escape, dearly so, even though I already knew that there would be none. 'So,' the man began, his tone quiet, 'you somehow managed to kill the Duke, eh?' If I could see into the shadow that covered the man's face, I would have probably seen him smile at the absurdity. 'The Duke,' he continued, 'is quite the opponent. He's killed many in and out of the dueling circle. You must be very good at what you do.' He stopped talking and my knife came to a halt in his hand. I had nothing to say, my mind still struggled to think of a single word to attempt to push soundlessly through my lips. 'Or lucky,' said the man as he resumed twirling the knife. 'Though since you are sitting in that disgusting water, I have come to doubt that. Who are you?' 'I-,' I began, though I was unable to get far. No other words would come to me. I stuttered the word, the letter, a few more times before the man sighed. 'It doesn't matter who you are,' he growled, his quiet tone gone. 'What matters is that you cut in on my job. I had planned his death down to the very minute detail and you came along and undid all of it!' The knife had stopped its twirl and the man held it, blade towards me. 'You are a fool,' he spat, 'a lucky fool.' 'I am a thief, not a killer,' I said at last. 'What's that then? Not a killer?' He laughed and I cringed at the harshness of it. 'Boy,' he said, 'you weren't a killer, but you are a killer now. A messy killer and a pathetic thief. You killed him, there was no one else there, and yet you stole nothing. You left!' 'I didn't know that there was no one else there,' I replied. 'Oh, but you should have. You are a thief aren't you? That is part of your job. You should have known that no one else was there, moreover you should have known that the Duke was there. Oh ho, but you did not even know that much did you?' Another laugh, though a little quieter than the last. 'Pathetic.' The knife started twirling again. 'You know, I don't give a damn that you killed the Duke or that my plan was ruined. The man is dead and you aren't a part of the guild. Job is done, the money is mine either way.' The hand that wasn't holding my knife moved and I felt something hit my chest hard. For a brief second I thought that the man had put a knife of his own into my

chest, but whatever hit me fell into my lap. I felt around for it, discovered that it was a large pouch, and lifted it up before me. It was heavy and I was confused. 'What?' 'Your cut,' the man explained, 'you are the one who killed the Duke, you deserve a small part of the reward. Even if it was unintentional.' The man paused and I thought I heard him sigh. His had moved again and something else hit my chest. Again I feared it was a knife plunging into my chest, though that notion did not last long. 'You are a pathetic thief,' the man stated, 'had you bothered to actually steal something, you would have come up with three times as much as what is in that pouch. You'll have to settle though.' 'Thanks,' I said, unsure of what else I could possibly say. 'Don't thank me, boy,' replied the man. It was almost as if that laughter was riding at the edge of his words. 'You have doubled my reward even with you cuts taken out.' He looked down at me. 'Now get up and go, the dizziness should be over by now.' I pushed myself up out of the water and onto unsteady legs. A nod was the only answer I gave to him, what else could I do or say? My mistake was not one that I would have known then, but it was a lesson I would never forget. I had turned from the assassin and started making my way towards the end of the gully when pain blossomed in my shoulder. "Oh, and one more thing," said the man, once again in his quiet tone, 'you are a killer, no matter what you think, and a killer must know the taste of a blade.' I tried my best to reach the knife, but at my best I could only graze the hilt of it. 'No, don't try to pull it out, leave it in,' the assassin commanded. 'It'll hurt worse, you'll lose a lot of blood, and in the end you'll just do more damage. Get someone to take it out for you.' *** Gray was the only person I could trust, but he would want to know what happened. I spent the majority of the miserable walk home trying to come up with something, anything that sounded half believable. By the time I made it to the door of our tiny apartment, burdened by my cut of the job and the knife stuck in my shoulder, I had come up with nothing. There were no good excuses that I could tell the man, none that he would believe. Of course I could lie, be he would know I was doing so. I knew one thing though, I could not tell the truth. *** 'What happened to you?' asked Gray, his eyes wide and his mouth agape as I opened the door and allowed my body to collapse into the room.

I didn't answer, I didn't want to answer, but I did allow a groan to escape my lips. It was not an act of course, I was in enough pain that a few screams would not be out of place. Gray cursed in response to it and I heard him rummage about the room for a few seconds. Before long he was kneeling next to me and telling me over and over to slow down my breathing and try to calm myself. 'Hold still,' he finally told me and I felt pressure on the knife. I tried to tell him not to, to wait, but only gibberish came out of my mouth. 'Just hold still,' Gray reiterated. He grunted, the pressure disappeared, pain blossomed once again, and everything went black. *** 'So what happened?' As it happens, there are a few things I want to hear when I wake up. That question is one of them. Gray didn't even give me a minute to realize where I was or how I had gotten there, though I already knew those answers. 'What happened?' I asked. I wanted to buy a little time, but I also wanted to try and clear some of the fog from my head. 'Yes,' Gray replied, though slowly this time, 'what happened? You came bursting into the room with a knife, your knife, in your back and a few sacks of gold.' The sound I made was somewhere between a sigh and a groan. I knew it was coming, there was no stopping it. 'Robbery gone bad,' I answered without hesitation. It was not exactly a lie, it could work. 'Very bad, I suppose,' said Gray, there was no smile on his face, no caring look. It was a hard look, one that I had never before seen him use. 'What did I tell you?' He never gave me a chance to answer. 'You have to plan, if you don't then bad things like this happen. If you aren't going to plan, and plan properly, then you take the targets I give you.' 'But, I—" "No! I don't want to hear it. This is why I didn't want to take you off the streets. You never did any good because you couldn't choose the right targets and if you did find one then the others would already have him. You don't have the eye for it.' He sighed. 'Or the skill,' he muttered. I heard him say it even if he had not meant for me to. 'Now hold on there, Gray,' I replied, trying to muster at least a little anger in my voice, 'you can't tell me I have no skill. You especially, cannot tell me that I have no skill. Last I checked you were slightly better than a corpse at robbing houses.' My breath was not coming to me easily. 'Look around you, what do you see? A room, an apartment. It is small, but it is larger than anything you managed to get us. We eat well, you and I, better than we ever did. Our tools are maintained and our clothes are not threadbare rags

stolen off a poor quarter clothes line!' It was becoming harder to breath. 'You have no room, no right, to say that I don't have any skill.' 'While you may have skill as a thief,' said Gray, once again speaking slowly, 'you lack the skill and forethought that allows you to plan properly.' 'That may be so, but I actually did plan for the robbery,' I responded. 'In the end it all boiled down to wrong information.' 'Something that you should have accounted for, but you would know this if you knew how to plan these things.' He sighed again, a sound that I would grow more and more accustomed to. 'Don't think it is a failing on your part and don't think it is a failing on my part, I surely don't. People can't be the best at everything, that is why most thieves work with guilds. There are many roles to be played and most only ever master one.' Neither of us spoke for a little while after that, which bought me my time although at the cost of my pride. My only consolation is that I figured I had hurt his pride a little as well. I had my silence though, a few minutes to think of just went wrong in my imaginary theft gone wrong. In the end it was I who broke the silence to tell my made up tale. I think, just that once, he was sufficiently out of sorts that he actually believed me. *** I was forced to stay in bed for a few days until I regained my strength, which was fine enough for me. It was for the best anyway, better if I stayed off the streets for a few days. Gray was never far away and remained insistent on leaving town, though I assured him that there would be no trouble. It took a little over a week for the news of the Duke's death to filter down into the poor quarter, mostly because it took nearly as long for someone to notice that something was out of the ordinary. I could see it in the way that Gray looked at me, in his eyes and in his expressions. My lie was exposed. He never brought it up though. Instead he packed up one night, all of our belongings, and told me plainly that we would be leaving town. According to him there was trouble brewing and it would be better if we were far away from the city when things finally broke. I didn't argue with him, I knew what he was doing. Even if he never brought up the murder, I knew that he had a good idea about what happened that night. I doubt he could have guessed how I had gotten my knife buried into my shoulder, but that didn't matter. He was trying to protect me and because of that, I could not possibly fight him about leaving town once again. The road seemed like an old friend, but things were awkward as we made our way to the next city. Our travels had always been filled with talk and teaching, I can think of very few times when such was not the case. That trip though, that trip was quiet and awkward. The tension between Gray and I was thick and I could tell that

there were things he wanted to say to me and there were things that I wanted to say to him. Instead we remained silent or we held short conversations. The days on the road trudged miserably on. *** 'Are you going to bother to steal something today, boy, or are you just going to kill again and leave everything in the house for the taking?' My hands froze as I worked at the latch on the window. I knew that voice and its quiet tone, I knew it better than I would ever possibly want to. I could almost feel the pain in my shoulder flair up at the sound of it. My hands dropped from the latch and returned my tools to their proper locations. I trembled as I turned. 'You are very easy to sneak up on, you know that?' asked the man. He was dressed in the same outfit as before, though his voice seemed to have a merry edge to it this time around. 'A thief, or killer, should not be so easy to sneak up on. Granted, I am better than your average citizen or constable, but even so.' For some reason, I did not find myself as afraid as I was the first time. It may have been because of the situation I was in the first time or because I knew very well that this man could kill me if he wanted to and there was nothing at all I could do about it. 'Well, I am not a killer and I happen to be a pathetic thief,' I replied. 'True on the last part, not on the first,' said the man. 'You killed, brutally so, and that makes you a killer whether you think so or not.' 'What are you doing here?' I asked, there was no point in arguing the point with the man. 'Well,' began the man, 'as it happens, I have a job to do here.' 'What about the guild though?' 'The guild? The guild gave me the job, boy. What do you think this is, some two-bit thieves’ guild?' Actually, I did think it was like some two-bit thieves’ guild, but I wasn't going to tell him that. I elected to keep silent instead, hoping that he would go on without an answer. I was lucky enough that he did. 'Our guild does not stop at walls or borders. We aren't some simple operation based in once city like the thieves’ guilds you are used to. Also, unlike those thieves’ guilds, we do not allow freelance work. Just to let you know that ahead of time.' 'That's well and good,' I replied, referring to the latter part, 'but I have no intention of killing again.' 'Oh, really?' the man actually managed to sound surprised. 'I think you are fooling yourself. Would you like to know why I think this?'

Something told me that I wouldn't be getting on with my business as soon as I would like and I felt uncomfortable standing there in front of the window. Not that anyone could see me tucked away in the gully, of course, but still. I leaned against the wall and slid down to the stone under the window, well away from the dirty water that pooled in the center of the gully. I did not need a repeat performance of that night. 'Go ahead,' I said as I settled down. 'You see, I was there that night. Not just in the vicinity, but in the house and I saw everything. You should have seen your face, it was truly a sight to see. There was such anger there, but your smile grew with every stab. Then it was over. The smile disappeared, the anger disappeared, and a look of horror crossed your face. Oh, but it wasn't just horror, there was some confusion in that look.' 'What's your point?' 'You realized that you liked it. Oh, perhaps not there, but you surely had an inkling then.' He leaned forward, but I still could not see his face. 'You are a killer and you will kill again, there is no doubt about that, there can be no doubt about that. You have done it once and you liked it, no matter how much you deny the fact.' He was right, I did like it. I thought to deny it, but I would never be able to fool myself into thinking otherwise. 'You still lack a point,' I replied, wondering just what he was trying to get at by telling me what I already figured out for myself. He straightened. 'As it happens, by some measure of coincidence, I have business sleeping soundly inside.' A knife appeared in the assassin's hand as if from out of nowhere, 'I am sure you understand my point.' The knife disappeared back to where it came from and he shrugged. 'Odd that you would chose this house, isn't it?' Was that a rhetorical question? Did he expect an answer? I kept silent just in case. 'Hmm,' began the man, 'I have an idea. How about you join me?' 'Uh,' was the most that I could come up with. 'What?' he asked. 'It is an easy go. We go in, kill them, and then you have all the worry free time in the world to discover their valuables.' My mind rebelled at the thought of it, part of it at least. There was some small part that wanted to say yes, wanted it badly. They were going to die anyway, why not make use of their deaths? At short while passed while I thought it over. 'All right,' I finally answered, unsure of just how that small part had managed to win me over. The man laughed quietly and briefly. 'Well then, killer, get back to your work so we can get on with it.' I nodded even as I was turning away, my hands going for the tools I had tucked away. ***

'You go upstairs,' the assassin said when we were in the house, 'I'll deal with things down here.' 'What is upstairs?' I asked. 'Your targets,' he answered. 'And what is down here?' "My targets,' he said, 'the children.' It bothered me, the fact that he was killing kids, the fact that I was helping him to murder an entire family, but the excitement of what I was about to do had already sunk in. I wanted to stop him, or some small part of me did, and tell him that I could not do it. I didn't stop him though, I didn't do anything except make my way upstairs, drawing my knife as I went. *** The couple was in bed, asleep and on their separate sides. There for a brief moment I thought to pray to the gods, to thank them, but it seemed oddly wrong to thank them for making it easier for me to murder the pair. The man, I decided, would be first and I crept towards him quietly or as quietly as I could manage in my frightened and excited state. It would be safer, I explained to myself, to kill the man first. The woman wouldn't put up much of a fight if something went wrong and she woke. It did not take long for me to cross the room and I stand next to the bed. The man lay on his back, he was a thin one, not the sort that looked like he could put up a fight, but there was no way to know. I hesitated as I stood over him watching him sleep, but it was not so much out of fear or doubts, but because I could not decided in which way to do the job. I could attempt to smother him, but I was not large and not the sort of person that looked like he could put up a fight. Besides, the pillows were all under their heads. My sigh was low and quiet, but to me it sounded horribly loud. Finally I decided and I slipped my blade down until it hovered above his throat. Living in the poor quarter means that you see all sorts of bodies and how they were killed. I saw people laying on the ground with their throats slit plenty of times, but I never saw the acts. I left the blade of my knife where it was and moved my hand directly over the man's mouth just in case. 'Do it.' I jumped at the quiet tones of the assassin and my knife scratched along the man's throat, not enough to cause much damage, but enough to wake the man. He moved to say something or to scream, but I clamped my hand over his mouth and pushed down. At the same time I returned my knife to where it was and this time cut deep as I pulled my knife along.

There was no time to appreciate the murder or to keep the man quiet or still. The woman rolled over towards the man and groaned. Her eyes opened, then went wide as she saw us and the dead man. Her lips moved, but no sound came out, none that I can remember. The assassin said something to me, but I did not hear it, I was already moving. I passed over the dying man and pulled her back before she could roll out of bed. There was no hesitation as I stabbed my knife into her chest. Once, twice, and a third time. She went slack then and just twitched a bit as she slid from the bed and onto the floor. I could feel the warmth of their blood on my hands, my heart was beating fast, my head was pounding with the flow of blood. I smiled, I did so without even wanting to do so. I knew I should have been horrified by what I had done, but I wasn't. I could feel the rush, that excitement of it all. I did not feel guilt though, not then and not after, and still to this day, I do not. 'Oh, good job,' said the assassin with a small clap, 'I am glad to see my confidence in you has paid off.' 'You weren't paid to kill them, were you?' I asked. I didn't wait for an answer though, the rush had set my thoughts into motion. 'You just followed me here and claimed that you were sent to kill them. You wanted to prove your suspicions, not only to yourself, but to me. Is that right?' The man's arms went wide, palms upward. 'You got me,' he said, 'you're exactly right.' I should have been angry at his admission, but I could not bring myself to be. I made the choice for some reason and no one else could be blamed for that. 'Why?' A few seconds passed before he answered. 'You are a pitiful thief,' he said, his voice bereft of its normal quiet tone and certain. I was annoyed, 'You did all this because I am a pitiful thief? I chose to be a thief, pitiful or not. Who are you to turn me into something different?' 'You did not chose to be a thief, your vocation was foisted upon you by that old man you travel with and you are just are only slightly better than he was. I didn't turn you into anything different, I just showed you something you should have known, but would have undoubtedly denied until the day you met your end.' 'How can you know about Gray and I?' I asked, my voice a near growl. 'What, do you think there are so many guildless thieves out there?' He laughed. 'I have news for you: there aren't. Guilds are there because they are needed, a guildless thief doesn't survive unless there is a significant amount of luck involved, as with your friend. You don't have that luck, killer, you have yet to pull off any job you've planned yourself.' His voice was slow and clear. 'You are not a thief, no

matter how much you pretend to be. You are a killer, pure and simple, and I have watched you, I see the pleasure on your face and in how you act afterwards.' 'Three kills!' 'One is enough,' he replied, 'three just proves it.' 'Why?' I asked again, my softer. My anger had begun to fade along with the annoyance and frustration of it all. I was weary of it, I just wanted to know why. 'There are so few of us in the guild,' he answered, 'the sort of person who enjoys killing. The ones who don't really enjoy it, who treat it as a job and only a job, they tend to look at us negatively. They don't trust us for some reason. They dislike the fact that passion and emotion fuels us instead of their cold practicality.' The man sighed. "We take the jobs others don't and we do so because it makes no difference to us just as long as we get to kill. Obviously these aren't easy jobs, which is why no one else will take them, and we die. So, year after year they bring in people like themselves and those like us dwindle down further.' 'So what is this, are you trying to recruit me?' It didn't sound too bad, to be honest. 'Yes,' he answered, 'if you are willing.' The answer was already known to me, even if it disturbed me. I enjoyed killing, he was right about that and I had grown tired of theft long before. Houses were a novel thing, a breath of fresh air that got me away from the streets that I abhorred, but it was not something that I wanted to do. Still, I didn't want to immediately say yes, nor did I want to spend too much time debating it. I looked down at my hands, at the blood on them and my knife, and smiled. I wiped the blade of the knife off on the couple's sheet and slipped it away. 'I am willing.' If I could have seen the man's face I believe he would have smiled. 'Good,' he said, 'but you will need some more practice before we get started. We can go over that later, for now, you have some stealing to do.' He laughed quietly and to himself. 'We don't want the old man to think anything is amiss.' 'No,' I replied, briefly thinking of Gray and the time we had spent together, 'that is the last thing I want.' *** A year has passed since that night, when I accepted the man's offer and started my new life. I've learned many things, much of which I would have never guessed I would learn. All of which Gray would never have wanted for me. Each night I go out, no matter the city, and I train with the assassin. Forgive me, he has never offered his name and I have never asked. I pretend to steal in order to appease and deceive my old friend, the man who raised me, but I think he knows. Gray certainly has the ability to gain the

information he seeks, I will give him that. The smoke is a tell, I believe. He knows how it affects me, how it brings back those old memories I would rather leave in the recesses of my mind. I suspect he hopes that those memories will persuade me down a different path, to perhaps bring back the sense of guilt I slowly freed myself of. Maybe he just hopes that the smoke will smother us in our sleep. My time with him is coming to an end, though I am not sure what I am going to do with him. He's my friend, my mentor, my teacher, and my surrogate father. I could leave with nothing saying that I will not be returning or I could say my goodbye and leave without explaining. There is a large part of me who wants to smother him in the night, leave him dead and ignorant of everything. However, there is that small, silent part of me that wants to tell him everything, apologize, beg his forgiveness for the things I have done, and leave with him to some other city and go back to as things were. I know though, that it will never happen. I have started down a road that I can't turn away from and that road takes me away from Gray and my life as a thief. The innocence that I once knew is gone and will never return, nor do I wish it to. I am a killer, perhaps from the very moment that my parents were taken from me all those years ago. The assassin was wrong though, I am not a pathetic thief. After all, what is a killer if not someone who steals lives and futures?