The Queen's Blade Prequel I - Conash: Dead Son (24 page)

“I'm glad you
came back.”

He shrugged. “I
need a place to stay.”

“You're so
young. Is this your first assassination?”

“Yes.”

“You did well.
Rendar was a good fighter.”

“I'm an
assassin.”

She smiled. “Of
course, I didn't mean that you weren't good enough. Where did you
leave him?”

“In an alley on
the way to the taproom. The Watch should think that he was attacked
and robbed.”

“Good.” Sherin
sipped her wine.

“When they tell
you about it in the morning, you should try to look a bit grief
stricken.”

“I will. I'm
glad he's dead, though. I hated him.”

Blade drained
his wine. “I'll return in a few days, when the hue and cry has died
down.”

She nodded,
standing up when he rose. “Thank you, Blade.”

“I don't
require your gratitude. You paid me, remember?”

“You didn't
have to kill him tonight. You saved me.”

He scowled. “I
already told you -”

“I know, but
whether or not it was intentional, you still saved me.”

Blade shrugged
and headed for the door. “Think what you will, I don't care.”

Chapter Fourteen

Blade sat at
the back of the Beggar's Purse, his latest haunt, and scanned the
room for potential customers. So far, he had waited at the Grumpy
Grannie, the Herder's Son, the Golden Goose and the Merchant's
Paradise. This place was no better than the rest, all similar in
their gloom, dirty floors and much-repaired furnishings, as well as
the sour wine and bitter ale they served. Polished brass pots hung
over the fireplace on the far side of the room, where a ragged boy
turned a spitted pig slowly, yawning. The redolence of roasting
meat mingled with pipe smoke and the rancid aroma of alcohol.
Muttering groups of patrons, mostly men, filled the shabby tables,
and the occasional clank of tankards broke the deep-voiced hum.

Six moons had
passed, and still he had not been hired again. Apparently his youth
was a greater problem than even Talon realised, and at this rate he
would soon be destitute. Sherin gave him room and board, so all he
required was a few coppers each night for a cup of wine, which he
nursed for the evening. Even so, the five silvers and golden were
almost gone, and he wondered what happened to assassins who could
find no work.

Now he
displayed his mark in open invitation, which earned him many hard
looks and a lot of furtive spitting. A smiling serving maid
approached, swinging her hips. At all his previous haunts, the
serving wenches had soon grown accustomed to his one cup of wine
per night policy, but this girl seemed particularly dense. She
glanced at his half full cup and sighed, striking a pose.

“You don't
drink very fast, do you?”

“I try not
to.”

“I hope you're
going to leave me a nice tip tonight.”

“Why would I do
that?”

She pouted. “If
you do, I might sit with you and keep you company.”

“I don't want
any company.”

“Then why do
you come here?”

“None of your
business.”

The girl placed
her tray on the table and leant over it, displaying a handsome
cleavage. “Maybe if you tell me, I can help.”

“Really. Why do
you think I come here, then?”

“I think you
want a woman.”

He smiled, and
she blushed. “If I did, I'd go to a brothel, don't you think?”

“Maybe you
don't want a dirty whore.”

“Indeed. Why
would I want a sluttish serving wench, then?”

She recoiled as
if he had slapped her, frowning. “I'm not a slut!”

“If you're
offering to sleep with me, you are.”

“I wasn't!”

“Good. In that
case, bugger off.”

The wench
glared at him, then flounced away with a toss of her head. Blade
sighed and drained his wine, deciding to call it an evening, since
it was quite late. As he headed for the door, he noticed the girl
talking to two burly men, who watched him pass with glinting eyes.
His scalp prickled, and he strode up the street rather more quickly
than he would normally. Halfway back to Sherin's house, the tramp
of boots came from behind, and he walked faster.

Turning a
corner, he almost collided with a man who stepped out in front of
him, and sidestepped with a curse. The man grabbed Blade's
shoulder, but he twisted free and jumped back when the man lunged
at him. The thug swore as Blade turned to run, and another man
stepped into the street ahead, blocking his escape. Blade swung to
face the first thug again, then made a dash for the nearest wall as
the cutthroats closed in. He found a gutter and hauled himself up
it, but one of the roughnecks grabbed his leg and yanked, breaking
his grip.

Blade fell with
a grunt, banging his head on the wall, and looked up at the men who
stood over him, smirking and sniggering. One reached down and
gripped the front of Blade's jacket, hauling him to his feet.

“So, you want
to bed Mella, hey?”

Blade rubbed
the back of his head. “Who? Oh. No, not particularly.”

“That's not
what she said. She said you did, and cursed her when she
refused.”

“She's lying.
She was flirting with me, and I told her to leave me alone.”

The thug cocked
his head. “Now why would you do that? She's a comely wench. I think
you're the one who's lying.”

The assassin
considered. It certainly would seem odd for a man to refuse the
blandishments of a young serving girl, so the truth would not
suffice. He nodded. “You're right. Who wouldn't want to bed a tasty
strumpet like Mella? But I didn't curse her.”

The man glanced
at his companion, frowning. “Why would she say you did then?”

Blade fingered
the lump on his head again and winced. Clearly these two roughnecks
were the girl's admirers, and would take a dim view of any
aspersions on her character. “I was cursing myself for making such
a foolish blunder with a fine girl like Mella. She must have
misheard what I said.”

The cutthroat
glanced at his cohort again, looking confused, and the other man
shrugged, also clearly at a loss. If Blade was telling the truth,
their reason for beating him had evaporated. Or at least, he hoped
it had. The men, however, were not so easily dissuaded, and
apparently itching for a fight. The ruffian thrust his face closer,
his expression hostile.

“Well, we're
still going to teach you a lesson for even thinking that Mella
would bed a dirty assassin.”

Blade raised a
finger. “I'd like to point out that, as a dirty assassin, I'm not a
good man to pick a fight with.”

“Oh, so you
think you're better than the pair of us, do you?”

“Well, let's
just say that if you want your throats slit, you've come to the
right man. I sell death, remember?”

The thug
smiled. “Oh, I remember. You deserve a beating even if you didn't
insult Mella, and we're going to give it to you.”

“I -”

The man's fist
cracked into Blade's jaw, made him stagger back and ripped his
jacket from the ruffian's grasp. He shook his head as stars flashed
in his eyes, and the cutthroat came after him, his cohort closing
in from the side. Blade ducked under their grasping hands and made
a dash for freedom, but one of the men grabbed Blade's collar and
yanked, sending him sprawling on his back and banging his head on
the cobbles. The thugs loomed over him, and a boot thudded into his
ribs. Blade yanked two daggers from his belt and slashed at the
men's legs. They jumped back, cursing, and one drew a knife.

“So, you want
to play with knives, eh?” he said.

The young
assassin climbed to his feet, brandishing his weapons. “Leave me
alone, and I won't hurt you.”

The men
sniggered, and the taller one said, “Hark at him! He thinks he can
scare us, Drumal!”

Drumal snorted.
“He's got another think coming, don't he?”

“I reckon he
does.”

Blade backed
away, and the cutthroats followed. A wall stopped the assassin's
retreat, and he sidled along it, seeking a way around the men. They
sniggered and feinted at him, their expressions scornful.

“Cowardly
assassin,” Drumal sneered.

“He's as yeller
as a dog,” the other man scoffed. “Look at him! He's almost pissing
in his britches! I'll wager he's chicken kin!”

“I'll not take
that wager, Argot, I reckon you're right!”

“I reckon he
needs to learn a lesson!”

Argot lunged,
and his knife sliced across Blade's ribs as the assassin swayed
aside. Blade stabbed the thug in the side of the neck, and the man
recoiled with a howl, dropping his weapon to clasp his throat.
Drumal gaped at Blade, then scooped up the knife and slashed at
him. The assassin jumped back and stabbed the man in the arm. He
grunted and dropped the knife. Argot fell to his knees, his eyes
wide as he strived to stem the bleeding. Blade's stomach churned at
the sight of it, and he thrust past Drumal and ran.

By the time
Blade reached Sherin's house, blood soaked his trousers and his
head spun. Sherin always left a lamp on in the kitchen for him to
use when he went up to his room, and he took out the box of
medicines. Finding a clean cloth, he filled a basin with water, sat
at the table and stripped off his jacket, shirt and vest to inspect
the wound in his flank. Although shallow, it bled profusely, and
bile stung his throat. Digging in the box, he found a roll of
bandages and the bottle of salve. Reaching the injury was awkward,
and hurt, making him curse and grit his teeth.

The creak of
the stairs made him glance around. Sherin entered the kitchen, and
hurried to his side with a cry of dismay.

“What
happened?”

He frowned and
dropped the soaked cloth in the basin. “Louts.”

“You were
attacked?”

“No, I cut
myself shaving. Of course I was attacked!”

She shrank from
his venom. “You're angry. Are you drunk?”

“I'm not your
bloody husband, Sherin!”

She shook her
head. “I'm sorry. Let me help you.”

“I can do it
myself.”

“No, you
can't.” She put her lamp on the table beside his and rinsed the
cloth, then knelt to wipe the blood away with extreme gentleness.
Blade glared across the room, uncomfortably aware of his state of
undress. She dabbed at the wound timidly, but he hissed, even so,
and she shot him a worried glance.

“It's not too
bad. I don't think it needs stitches.”

“Good. Just
bandage it then.”

“I'll put salve
on it first, so it doesn't fester.”

Blade grunted,
then hissed when she dabbed the stinging ointment on the wound, and
she shot him another worried glance, her hand trembling.

Her timid
attentions annoyed him, and he said, “For God's sake, woman, quit
dithering and get on with it. I'm not going to bite you.”

“I'm
sorry.”

Sherin dabbed
the wound, then put away the salve and picked up the bandages,
eyeing him. “It would be easier if you stood up.”

Blade rose to
his feet, and she wound the bandage around his waist, which forced
her to embrace him in order to pass it behind him. Her proximity
discomfited him, but she seemed to enjoy it. Her fingers lingered
rather too long on his skin, and she shot him a coy look that
increased his unease. When she had tied the bandage, she rummaged
in a cupboard and brought a bottle of wine to the table, pouring
two cups.

“You look like
you need this.”

Blade gulped
the wine, and Sherin sipped hers, gazing at him in a way that made
him frown in suspicion.

“You didn't
find any work?” she asked.

“No.”

“What will you
do for money?”

He shrugged. “I
don't need much.”

“I... I was
hoping you would be able to pay for your lodgings,” she said in a
rush.

“You offered it
for free.”

“Yes, I know.
But... I have little money left.”

“You've been
living on savings?”

She nodded.
“What else can I do?”

“Find a
job.”

“As what? I've
only ever been a wife. I was wed at sixteen.”

“Don't you have
a family?”

She shook her
head. “My father's dead, and I only have three sisters.”

“What about
your husband's family?”

Sherin shook
her head again. “They won't help me. They'll take his children, but
they don't want me.”

“And this
house?”

“Rented.”

Blade refilled
his cup. “So, you thought you'd live off me, once I found
work?”

“I hoped that
you would help me.”

“How
disappointed you must be.”

“Why can't you
find work?”

He scowled at
her. “Even if I do, I'm not supporting you and your brats.”

“I'll send them
to their grandparents. Just me. Please, Blade. What else am I to
do? I've helped you, and I'll take good care of you. In every
way.”

He snorted.
“I'm not interested. And I can take of myself.”

“What will I
do?” Her eyes filled with tears.

“Why don't you
have a good cry? That will help matters, I'm sure.”

“You'll have to
rent a room when you leave here. I'll cook and clean for you, wash
your clothes... whatever you want.” She rose and came around to
kneel beside him, but Blade jumped up and moved away.

“I don't need a
bloody housekeeper.”

“I'll be more
than a housekeeper. I'll make it worth your while, I swear.”

“No.”

She stood up.
“What am I to do?”

“Do what any
woman in your situation would do. Become a whore.”

Her face
twisted. “I don't want to sell myself.”

“Except to
me.”

“That wouldn't
make me a whore.”

“Of course it
would, and a cheap one.”

Tears ran down
her cheeks. “How can you be so cruel?”