Imperial Assassin (35 page)

There was not much time. Ferdand . . . ‘The Guildmaster,’ she told herself firmly. ‘I’ll not think of him as Ferdand. Lord Ferdand no longer exists. He is dead. There is
only the Guildmaster.’ The Guildmaster would not waste time. He would have her captured as soon as he could. He knew her capabilities. He knew the danger she represented.

Femke slipped through the door and into the corridor behind it. The torches along the walls guttered in the slight through-flow of air created by the open door. If the man were alert for someone
coming from this direction, then the flickering of the torches alone would put him on his guard. Careful not to make any noise, she eased the door closed behind her. It was likely he was
concentrating on the potential re-appearance of Reynik. There was no reason for him to expect an attack from this direction, she reasoned.

Like a stalking cat, she crept along the corridor to the door into Reynik’s living room. She had thought herself soundless, but as she reached the open door a voice addressed her.

‘Come in, Foxy lady. You’re early. Does that mean you’ve come to play? Wait a minute! You’re not Fox . . .’

The man had been relaxing in a chair with his back to the open door. It was only as he stood and turned to look at her that he realised his mistake, but by then it was far too late.
Femke’s knife hit him square in the chest and he sank to the floor with a groan of pain.

The wound was a mortal one. She had seen enough knife wounds to know the man would not survive long. Even as he fell, she heard the door open at the far end of the corridor. Multiple voices were
audible and closing fast. The Guildmaster had gathered his forces even quicker than she had anticipated.

Femke threw the door closed and dragged the armchair across to wedge it shut. She tilted it such that it fitted under the handle. It was heavy, but not heavy enough to prevent a determined
assault on the door. The angle it was propped at would help, but not for long.

She looked around for more pieces of furniture with which to barricade the door. The dahl table was easy to move, but did not add much weight. The bookcase to the right of the door looked more
promising. She ran around to the far side of it and, putting her shoulder as low down the side of the bookcase as was comfortable, she pushed it with all her might.

There was a juddering scrape, and the heavy-laden wooden frame slid across the floor until it was hard up against the armchair already wedged under the door handle. Pain stabbed Femke’s
ribs once more, causing her to clutch her side. Only the very end of the bookcase was blocking the door, which would not be of much use. Bending lower, she grabbed the back of the bookcase. It was
easier to spin it round than it was to push it across the floor. The handle of the door turned even as she moved it the final few hand spans into position.

‘Open the door, Femke. Barricading it will do you no good. There’s no way out. We will break it down if we have to.’

Femke did not answer. She had nothing to say to Ferdand. Her focus was on holding out until Reynik came back for her. There was no question of falling back to the bedroom as a second line of
defence. This was the room that Reynik would transfer in to. Her stand had to be here.

The chaise longue was next onto the barricade. Again, it was not as heavy as she would have liked, but it might just delay them a few more seconds. What else was there? Not a lot that she could
move alone, she realised.

A loud thump rattled the door. They were beginning the process of smashing the door in. It would not be long now.

‘Come on, Reynik!’ she muttered, standing behind the pile of furniture and looking anxiously at the door. ‘Please come soon.’ Another loud bang reverberated through the
room. Femke’s eyes strayed just slightly from the door to the stonework around it. Uncommonly good stonework, she noted again. Familiar stonework – familiar from where, though?

It was there, hovering in her mind just beyond reach like a word that feels to be on the tip of one’s tongue, but is refusing to be articulated. Where was it? It did not feel like a recent
memory, so she must have been quite young when she had seen it. Like crawling up the side of a muddy pit, Femke felt she was nearly there. She could almost reach up and grab at the goal, but it was
still tantalisingly out of reach.

Without warning a vice-like grip clamped around her ankle and her feet were pulled out from under her. She managed to extend her hands in time to break her fall, but her ribs spiked another
protest of pain through her body. The assassin she had written off for dead had used her distraction and the noise of the people trying to break the door down to conceal his snail-like progress
across the floor towards her. Dying though he was, the killer was not willing to go without a fight.

Femke saw his other hand rise with a blade ready to strike. Panic surged through her, lending her strength she did not know she possessed. Twisting like a snake caught by the tail, she kicked at
the assassin’s raised knife hand, sending the blade flying from his grasp. Spinning through the air, the knife bounced off the wall, hit the stone floor and skittered under the display
cabinets. A strange, writhing struggle ensued with neither combatant able to get into a position to hurt the other to any great degree.

Locked in silent combat, Femke could do nothing about the continuing assault on the barricaded door. There was another crash. This time the wooden door splintered. Another surge of adrenalin
rushed through her body but, despite her desperate efforts to break free, the assassin’s grip held firm. She was helpless.

‘Thank you! You won’t regret it, I promise you,’ Reynik called over his shoulder. He broke into a run, heading back through the streets towards his transfer
point.

The Legionnaires had taken a lot of convincing. It had looked at one point as if he would have to meet with the patrol’s File Leader before they would take him seriously. Fortunately it
had not come to that. The senior Legionnaire present had over-ruled the others, claiming he would take responsibility for the decision to take in the two injured men as prisoners and let Reynik go.
Reynik knew he owed the man more than a few drinks for taking on that responsibility. Questions would be asked. It was inevitable. It was the military way.

There was little chance of his meeting another assassin now. Cougar had been quite informative under threat of instant death. A series of rapid-fire questions before the soldiers reached them
had revealed that Shalidar was in the Imperial Palace looking for him, whilst Bear was somewhere outside the Palace in the city centre. As far as Cougar knew, there were only four of them out in
the city actively searching for him and a watcher at each of his transfer points.

Reynik knew there was a distinct possibility Cougar was trying to feed him misinformation. However, there was something in the man’s voice that rang true. Strange things happened in a
man’s mind when he faced death. Even the strongest in appearance could break under such circumstances. For now, Reynik decided to take the information at face value.

By a process of elimination, Reynik knew he had dealt with one of the watchers, so it made sense to head back to the same transfer stone he had left by. He would still need to exercise caution
when he approached. There could have been a shift change, but it seemed unlikely. The watcher he had confronted could not have been there more than a few minutes when he had emerged.

The streets were quietening. Midnight was drawing ever closer. As Reynik sprinted through the dimly lit streets, he found it hard to believe that so much could happen in a single evening, and it
was not over yet. He still had to get back into the Guild, meet Femke and get out again. There were plenty of things that could go wrong with that sequence of events.

When he had left his quarters, the Guildmaster and another assassin had been entering. Did that mean there was to be a guard inside his rooms as well as at the transfer points? It did seem
likely. If so, would Femke have been able to leave the bedroom? Reynik nearly chuckled aloud. It would take more than a single assassin to keep Femke from doing anything that she really wanted to
do, he realised. However, the possibility of someone hostile poised waiting for him to appear in his room at the Guild was a serious concern.

He had been incredibly fortunate on more than one occasion this evening. Had he not dived for the transfer stone when he left the Guild, he would have emerged at his transfer point only to be
pinned to the wall by a crossbow bolt. Would it be worth trying something similar on his return? The danger if he transferred in with a large amount of momentum was in the direction he emerged.
There were no guarantees that he would not crash straight into a table or chair and make lots of unwanted noise. Drawing attention to his arrival could get him killed as easily as if someone were
waiting to skewer him as he emerged.

Reynik reached the back street from which his transfer stone alley branched. Concealing himself in the shadows, he took a few moments to recover his breath. How long had it been since he left
Femke? It felt both ages, yet not long at all. Would she have had enough time to explore the complex? The questions were meaningless. There was no way of telling without going back in to find
out.

Taking conscious control of his breathing, Reynik took a deep breath in and held it. After a few seconds, he exhaled slowly. He repeated the process twice more. Then, breathing normally again,
he concentrated for a few moments on not hyperventilating, but regulating the speed and depth of his breaths until he felt his body could continue automatically.

The discipline helped clear his mind. This was not a night for questions. For Reynik it was a night of action. He knew he could not delay. If Femke had not yet finished her spy work, then he
would have to wait for her in his rooms, or seek her out. Events were boiling to a head. He must move with the flow or risk the tide sweeping him away.

Content that his breathing was quiet enough to proceed, Reynik flitted through the shadows until he reached the entrance to his alley. Standing in silence for a full minute, he scanned the
rooftops overlooking his transfer stone, and listened for any sign of movement. There was none. This was no guarantee that all was safe, of course, but it was the best he could do. He dared not
wait any longer. He had to go back in.

Somewhere in the heart of the city a single bell began to toll. Even as he was about to step into the alley, he paused to listen. It was a deep, sorrowful sound, unlike any bell Reynik had ever
heard before. He wondered what it heralded, for it was certainly not giving the time. Femke would know, he thought. Femke was a mine of information for such things.

Without further pause, he stepped boldly into the alley. If there were a watcher, Reynik knew he would be seen no matter how stealthily he tried to approach the stone. His reconnoitre had not
revealed anyone, so he decided to be positive. He walked over to the wall in which the stone was embedded. Rather than trying to be too clever, he knelt down next to the wall and reached up with
his spider icon. At least he would not be the target shape anyone waiting for him would expect, he thought. Here goes nothing.

Lord Tremarle sat bolt upright in his armchair when the solemn bell began to sound out its doleful toll. A grin spread slowly across his face and his tongue instinctively ran
across his lips.

‘Shand alive!’ he breathed. ‘He’s done it!’

Placing aside the book he had been reading, he pushed himself up out of his chair. The old Lord walked over to his drinks cabinet and poured himself a large glass of brandy. He felt alive
– more alive than he had in months, maybe even years, he reflected. Euphoria swept over him as he sipped at his freshly poured drink. The flavour of the fine old brandy set his tongue alight,
the alcohol warming his throat as he swallowed and sending a wave of heat all the way down to his stomach.

Unbidden, a chuckle started from deep within that grew until Tremarle was doubled over laughing. With some difficulty, he checked his mirth. He could not afford to be seen reacting like this.
People might suspect something. A wrong word by a servant and he could be strung up on the city walls before he could blink.

Composing his features into a controlled mask of sobriety, he crossed to the writing desk and lowered the front to form a writing surface. He reached inside and drew out the roll of parchments
from the slot at the far right. With trembling fingers, he leafed through the sheets of parchment until he reached the final sheet. He placed the others aside, drew out his quill and removed the
stopper from the ink well.

Taking a deep breath, Tremarle calmed his excitement as he signed against his name. Lifting a candle from a nearby holder he held a red wax block to it and melted a small pool of wax onto the
parchment below his signature. Into the wax he pressed his seal – the seal of the House of Tremarle. All that remained to secure the future of his House was the signature of his designated
heir, and the lodging of this document with the Clerk of the Imperial Court.

‘What a son he’ll make,’ Tremarle muttered. ‘The House of Tremarle will live on after all.’

CRASH! The door splintered again. The damage this time sounded far greater. They would be through within a minute, Femke realised, kicking out at the assassin with every ounce
of strength she could muster. It was no use. No matter what she did, he refused to let go.

Suddenly there was a hollow sounding ‘clunk’ and the assassin’s grip loosened.

‘Quick! Let’s go. Now!’ Reynik’s voice was urgent. Femke did not need telling twice. She had not seen him arrive, but she was more than glad to see him. Before she could
move Reynik grabbed her hands, pulling her to her feet so fast that she overbalanced into his arms. In a half-tangled hug they staggered across the room to the transfer stone. There was another
wood-splitting crash. The barricade lurched, as the remains of the door broke apart. Reynik grabbed her hand and placed it on the spider icon. As she felt him touch the spider to the transfer
stone, Femke looked into his eyes.