The Queen's Blade Prequel I - Conash: Dead Son (19 page)

Conash shot a
glance at the corpse. “You jest.”

“No, I don't.
Pick him up and bring him.”

“He's
dead.”

“I'm aware of
that.”

Conash leant
closer to his mentor. “He stinks.”

“I'm aware of
that, too.”

“This is not
something I'm willing to do.”

Talon's brows
rose. “You refuse?”

“No, I...”
Conash glanced at the cadaver again. “Couldn't we hire a man to do
it?”

“Are you too
weak?”

“No, I -”

“Aren't you a
man?”

Conash frowned.
“I'm an apprentice assassin, not a damned labourer, or undertaker,
not to mention corpse carrier.”

“But you're my
apprentice, sworn to follow my orders.”

“That doesn't
include carrying stinking corpses all the way across the
slums.”

“Actually, it
includes anything I see fit, including ditch digging, floor
sweeping, dish washing, boot polishing, dagger sharpening, clothes
-”

“All right!”
Conash said, his brows knotted.

“Wrap him in
the sheet and bring him.”

The apprentice
approached the bed warily, breathing through his mouth to cut down
on the intensity of the stench. “Didn't she ever bathe him?”

“You're getting
far too fanatical about baths, Conash. Every day is too often, in
my opinion.”

“This man
hasn't seen soap and water in at least five decades.”

Talon snorted.
“He's dead, that's why he smells. It happens to corpses. As I
recall, you smelt worse when I found you, and you were dead too,
weren't you?”

“I didn't ask
you to carry me.”

“But I
did.”

Conash pulled
the sheet over the corpse's face and around the body, swaddling it
and cutting off some of the foetor. The old man's corpse was thin,
but seemed heavy when the youth picked it up and slung it over his
shoulder. The cadaver burped and farted, and Conash almost threw it
down again. Talon's face went stiff as he struggled not to laugh,
and they shuffled past the harridan, who watched them with tearful
eyes.

“A decent
burial, Elder, please,” she rasped.

“Of course, old
mother. As if he was my own father, I swear.”

“Thank you,
Elder. Tinsharon's blessings be upon you.”

Outside, Conash
almost trotted down the alley, eager to get the arduous and odious
journey over. Talon hurried after him, chuckling, and Conash shot
him an angry look.

“This is
disgusting.”

“If you keep
jolting him, he'll fart some more.”

“God! Why do we
need a stinking corpse, anyway?”

“When we get
home, I'll show you.”

The youth
quickened his strides, the carcass bouncing on his shoulder. He
made a sound of disgust when the corpse farted again, and Talon
chuckled. A yellow liquid seeped through the cloth in the region of
the corpse's head, and Conash swallowed bile, almost trotting now.
Talon kept pace, grinning.

“You're going
to have to get used to death in all its forms, Conash. It's not
pleasant.”

“I didn't know
that assassins had to dispose of bodies, too.”

“We don't. This
is for your benefit. Don't think I'm enjoying this any more than
you are.”

“You're not the
one carrying a belching, farting, oozing corpse.”

Talon chuckled
again. “But I did, when I was an apprentice.”

“Did you enjoy
it?”

“Certainly
not.”

“Then you know
a little of what I feel now. Only I'm probably more disgusted by it
than you were,” Conash said.

“And why is
that?”

“Because I
wasn't raised in this stinking city, surrounded by garbage and
squalor.”

“But I'll wager
you witnessed far worse in the Cotti camp.”

As always, the
mention of the Cotti brought silence from the apprentice, and the
rest of the journey was achieved thus.

Talon pushed
open the door of his shack, and Conash dumped the corpse on the
floor, straightening with a grunt of disgust. Shaking his head,
Talon indicated the table.

“Put it
there.”

“We eat off
that.”

“So you'll
scrub it when we're finished.”

Conash lifted
the corpse and dropped it on the table, turning away when his bile
rose again. Greenish-yellow stains mottled the grey sheet, and a
large, yellowish-brown patch sullied the region of the cadaver's
rear end. The stench hit him, and Conash stumbled to the door and
retched.

“God! He's got
diarrhoea!”

“Well, he had
to have died of something.”

“Couldn't you
have chosen a younger, less diseased corpse?”

Talon shrugged,
tugging off the sheet. “This one's fine, and cheap.”

“We could catch
some illness from it.”

“No, he died
primarily of old age, with a bout of diarrhoea for good
measure.”

Conash glanced
around and shook his head. “I'm not touching that.”

“Yes, you are.
I'm not doing this for my benefit, you know.”

“I don't see
the point.”

Talon frowned
at him. “Conash, your obsession with cleanliness is becoming
fanatical. Assassins can't be squeamish.”

“I still don't
see the point.”

“We're going to
have a look at his insides.”

“You jest!”

Talon shook his
head. “Not even a little. This is an important lesson. You need to
learn what the vital organs are, and where they reside, so you'll
know where to stab your victims. If you miss the heart, you could
end up dead. A dead assassin reflects badly on his mentor. Come
here.”

The youth
approached the table, holding a hand over his nose. Talon shot him
an irritated glance. “Cut open his chest.”

“Ugh.”

The elder
pulled a dagger from Conash's belt and pressed it into his hand.
“Start just below his collar bone, here, and cut him all the way
down to his abdomen.”

“That's
bone.”

“Just cut the
skin.” Talon turned to the cupboard and took out a meat cleaver.
“Then you'll use this.”

Conash leant
over the corpse and pressed the dagger to the skin of its chest,
slicing it open from collar bone to pubis. Dark blood oozed out,
and he ran to the door to empty his stomach outside. Talon clicked
his tongue.

“Don't tell me
you can't stand the sight of blood. How will you kill a man if
you're busy vomiting all over the place?”

“I'll
manage.”

“You'd better.
I didn't train you for two years for you to turn green on me now.
Or yellow, for that matter. Here.” Talon thrust the cleaver at
him.

The youth took
the utensil and returned to the table, gulping. Talon stepped back
and nodded encouragingly. Gritting his teeth, Conash chopped
through the cadaver's sternum, his face twisted with disgust. Talon
stepped forward.

“Good, now pull
it open.”

“Eew?”

“Stop acting
like a girl, Conash.”

The apprentice
pushed his fingers into the gash, shuddering, and pulled the
corpse's ribs apart, wincing at the sound of cracking bone. Talon
peered into the cadaver's chest, pointing.

“There, you
see? That's the heart, between the lungs, on the left side.”

Conash nodded,
biting his lip. Talon indicated various organs, then ordered the
youth to pull out the corpse's intestines, exposing more organs,
which he named, informing his apprentice of the efficacy of
wounding a man there.

“For a slow
death, you stab a man in his entrails, using a twist, like so.”
Talon mimed the motion, then pointed to two organs close to the
corpse's spine. “Also, flip him onto his stomach and stab him in
those organs. He'll piss blood and die a little quicker. The
slightest nick in the entrails will cause his death, however. He'll
rot from the inside, and it takes about three days. It's also very
painful.” He stepped back. “Now, stab him in your chosen area, and
make sure you hit the heart.”

Conash picked
up his dagger and stabbed the corpse in the flank, between the
third and fourth ribs. It was sickening to thrust the weapon
through sticky flesh and spongy lung. He was able to see the dagger
penetrating the corpse's heart, however, and practiced it until
Talon was satisfied. The experience nauseated Conash, but Talon was
a thorough teacher, and would not allow the youth any leeway,
despite his squeamishness.

After he had
practiced the flank stab until the elder was content that he had
mastered it, Talon made him stab the corpse in the eyes, then the
neck and gut, impaling the two vital organs he had shown his
apprentice earlier. Finally, Talon ordered him to close the
corpse's chest and stab it from the front, then the back, until
Conash was shaking from the ordeal

Talon nodded.
“Good. I think that's enough. Bury him, then clean up this
mess.”

“Where must I
bury him?”

“I don't care.”
Talon headed for the door. “I'm going home, before the smell
sickens me, too.”

***

Conash stepped
up onto the platform and glanced at Talon, who watched him, tapping
his teaching staff. The elder had used the stick many times to rap
various parts of the youth's anatomy, mostly his ankles and elbows,
with painful effect. Over the past two years, Conash had received
many stinging blows during his dancing lessons, and wondered what
blunder would earn him another today. For five moons, he had
carried rocks, then, when he had improved, Talon had wrapped chains
around his ankles, weighing him down even more. Conash had
struggled to perform even a clumsy, slow rendition of the Dance
while so hampered, but gradually had improved until his performance
was adequate.

Talon enforced
a stiff regimen of daily exercise that consisted of running,
push-ups, pull-ups and lifting weights. When Conash was not dancing
or exercising, he practiced his dagger skills, throwing, thrusting,
slicing and stabbing, until he had perfected all the moves.

The elder
assassin rapped his staff on the platform. “Today you'll complete
the Dance from beginning to end, without a single mistake. Throw
away the rocks and take off the chains.”

Conash's brows
rose, but he was eager to drop the stones and bend to remove the
chains from his ankles. Talon tapped a slow rhythm on the boards
with the staff.

“This is the
beat that begins the Dance of Death. Find the cat inside you, and
show me a performance that will win you the title of Master of the
Dance. Now, begin!”

Conash bowed
his head and looked deep within himself to find his tenuous,
half-forgotten link to his kin. Closing his eyes, he flung back his
head and raised his arms in a graceful sweep as he tapped the first
slow steps on the boards. Springing high, he spun, tucked up his
legs and clicked his heels behind him, his arms descending in a
flowing motion. He landed lightly, his boots rattling on the
platform in a set of complicated steps. Talon nodded, his eyes
narrowing.

Conash leapt
again, twisting as he spun, one leg lashing out, the other tucked
up. His hands described graceful motions, and he hit the platform
running, kicking up his heels in the next set of stamping steps. He
seemed to float, his feet blurring as the taps blended into a buzz,
then he spun and kicked, his foot ascending above his head. Talon
fought to quell a surge of awe at his apprentice's performance,
which outmatched the current Master of the Dance, Lash, by an
entire category. The youth was faster, more precise and more
graceful. His leaps carried him so high that he seemed to fly.

The performance
was so far superior to anything Talon had ever seen before that he
knew, without a doubt, that he was watching the next Dance Master.
While weighed down by the chains and stones, Conash had given an
adequate rendition. Without them, his dance was flawless and awe
inspiring. Pride filled Talon's heart, and he smiled when Conash
performed the final leap and fell to one knee, his chest heaving
and sweat sheening his brow. He looked at Talon, his expression
expectant.

The elder
nodded. “Nice. You'll have to improve your technique, but that's
not bad.”

“Not bad?”
Conash jumped up. “I think it's better than the apprentices I've
seen at meetings, and they got their marks.”

Talon hid a
smile at this gross understatement. “I said it was good, but you
need to do more work on it. You can dance once a day, at the end of
your dance session, without the rocks and chains.”

“You mean I
have to keep them on?”

“The rest of
the time, yes.”

Conash groaned
and sat on the edge of the platform. “Do you torture all your
apprentices like this?”

“No, but they
were all mediocre. None of them had the dedication, or perhaps
stupidity, to obey me and use the rocks and chains all the time.
They cheated, and by doing so, robbed themselves of greatness.”

“You think I'm
stupid to obey you?”

“No.” Talon
shrugged. “Maybe a little. The difference is that you've done
nothing for the past two years except practice everything I've
taught you until you've mastered it. They went drinking and
wenching, or sat in the sun instead of training. Therefore, you're
better than any of them.”

“So I'm ready
to be tested?”

Talon turned
away to hide his expression, which might have given away his
agreement. Conash had, with that dance, convinced him that he had
been a party to training the best assassin in Jashimari. He could
not take all the credit, though, for his other apprentices had not
excelled like this. “Not yet.”

“When?”

“Soon enough.
Patience, remember?”

“I think I'm
ready.”

Talon sighed.
“You would. I still have a few lessons to teach you, though.”

“Like
what?”

“Let's have
some wine.” Talon set off through the trees.

Conash caught
up to walk beside him, and the elder patted him on the back. Over
the years, the youth had come to accept Talon's rare gestures of
appreciation, encouragement and even affection, though he did not
seem to appreciate them. He no longer shrugged them off quite so
often, though.