Anita Ensal
“I wonder what it would be like to run the city,” Lord Slaughter said thoughtfully during a House dinner. He wasn’t speaking to the entire room, just those sitting closest to him, so Lady Slaughter, who was at the other end of the long table, didn’t hear him.
His eldest son, Marco, shrugged. “Probably difficult, time-consuming, and boring, father.”
Marco’s best friend and Lord Slaughter’s First Lieutenant, Dean Hodos, nodded. “Marco’s surely right, my lord. But if anyone could run the city well, it would be you.”
Lord Slaughter smiled fondly. “You are too kind.”
The House of Slaughter’s newest assassin, Melissa Katano, shook her head. “No disrespect meant, my lord, but, despite assumptions, assassins tend to make terrible leaders. We don’t like compromise and we really don’t care for the idea of dealing with issues in daylight, particularly before midday. It’s why I left my home city and came here, after all.”
Lord Slaughter sighed. “You are most likely right, my dear. And I would not contradict your experience or impressions.”
Melissa looked thoughtful. “Yet … you, my lord, not only rose to the top of our Guild, but you did it at a remarkably young age. You have ruled us for many years successfully with no successors even wishing to attempt to usurp your seat. That was not true of any Guild in my home city and is not true of any Guilds other than ours here in Jannpar.”
Lord Slaughter chuckled. “That is more likely due to my good lady wife, Marco, Dean, and, these last ten years, yourself, Melissa.” He sighed. “The city is in disarray and our politicians do nothing. Guild houses are far better run, regardless of changing leadership. I wish …”
They waited, but Lord Slaughter didn’t continue. “You wish for what, father?” Marco asked gently.
Lord Slaughter shook himself. “Melissa is no doubt correct, as she so often is.”
Marco noted a tinge of regret and longing in his father’s voice. He looked down the table at his mother, who was laughing at something said to her. However, Marco felt the laughter was forced. His mother looked and sounded bored, though it was well hidden—just not from her eldest son, even at a distance. He turned back to Lord Slaughter. “Mother might enjoy the prestige, though.”
“And she might laugh at the mere idea,” Lord Slaughter countered. “No, it’s a passing fancy, nothing more. Nothing to even think about as you go out on your assignments tonight.”
They returned to casual conversation and their meals, but Marco didn’t listen to his father’s suggestion and instead pondered the idea of his father becoming the City Leader. He was sure that Dean and Melissa were pondering as well, and not just because the three of them outranked all others in the House other than Lord and Lady Slaughter.
That Marco was one of the top three assassins in the House wasn’t a surprise—his father and mother were both Master Assassins and they’d trained their children in the family business from birth. Marco’s younger brothers and sisters were all accomplished and, currently, all on assignment in other cities in the land. Marco, as eldest, remained in Jannpar in order to ensure that their parents were protected.
Protection of Lord and Lady Slaughter also fell to Dean, who was as enthusiastic about the charge as Marco. The House of Slaughter had taken Dean in when he was just a small, orphaned child living on the streets of Jannpar. They met when he tried to pick Lady Slaughter’s pocket. He didn’t succeed, but she was impressed with his attempt, seeing as the only reason she knew he’d gotten her purse was that Marco had spotted the lift and had, therefore, tackled Dean in the middle of the Night Market.
Normally, someone picking an assassin’s pocket would end up dead—either from touching an object prepared with poison or because assassins had rules, and one of them was to kill anyone trying to rob them. But, at age five, Dean had charmed Lady Slaughter—after she had separated the two boys, retrieved her purse, and determined Dean’s history—and he was brought into the House, where he and Marco quickly bonded and then went about beating up anyone older than them who was doing things they disapproved of.
Melissa’s rise in the house had been unprecedented. No one other than Lord Slaughter himself had risen in rank so quickly. The House was extremely picky about who was allowed to join, and most new recruits failed the tests of entry—most by dying, some by running away—even those who had been raised in the House as children. Melissa, however, had passed with highest honors. She’d even outdone Marco and Dean and, considering those two held the highest entry scores for House Acceptance, Melissa was impressive indeed. Lady Slaughter always said it was because Melissa was a woman and so was naturally more dangerous than any man could ever hope to be. Considering Lady Slaughter’s vast and successful record, no one argued this point.
After the meal was over, Dean parceled out the night’s assignments. Some of these would be long-term—where the assassin would have to stalk his or her prey to determine the best method of achieving the death requested—and were paid for fifty percent in advance. Some were faster jobs, where death was required but subtlety was not. Naturally, some assassinations were required to take place in the daylight hours, but most were done in the dark of night. Marco, Dean, and Melissa worked daylight as well as night, though not all in the House of Slaughter were allowed that rank.
But there were no daylight assignments, and Dean had determined that the few long-term assignments were dull, the quicker ones even duller, so had spared himself and his two closest friends the boredom. Meaning, ultimately, the three top assassins had nothing to do.
“Shall we wander the Night Market?” Marco asked once all the others had left for their night’s work.
“I can always get more jewelry,” Melissa said. She didn’t actually wear a great deal of ornamentation, unless a job called for it, but she liked the getting and having more than the wearing.
“One can never have enough knives,” Dean agreed. So, they headed out.
Assassins have excellent night vision, are trained in how to improve it, and there were spells that cost a great deal of money that enhanced it as well. The House of Slaughter was well-funded—every working assassin had the enhancement spell cast on them every fortnight. So the three assassins took no torches with them, meaning they could travel along as if they weren’t there, since assassins trained to walk in shadow as hard, if not harder, than they trained to see perfectly at night.
They walked along unseen for about a block before Marco spoke again. “Do you think Father meant it?”
“About ruling?” Melissa asked. Marco nodded. “Maybe,” she said slowly. “But he might just have been wondering aloud.”
“Couldn’t have a better ruler,” Dean said loyally.
“Can’t with the way things are,” Marco pointed out. “Father would have to offer himself up for the candidacy and you know he never will.”
“We could do it. Nominate him,” Melissa suggested. “It’s allowed.”
Marco grabbed their arms and pulled them into an alleyway. They did a quick perusal to ensure they were alone, then he spoke. “We could, but Father won’t do what’s needed. He’s afraid that Mother wouldn’t like the limelight.”
Dean snorted. “And I thought your parents knew each other well.”
Melissa looked thoughtful. “Lady Slaughter would never admit to wanting that much attention, but, after the career she’s had, she might enjoy it. She and Lord Slaughter never go out on assignment anymore.”
Dean nodded. “They tell me to ensure that the younger assassins get the experience. Though they both do keep their hands in.”
Marco shrugged. “They’ll never be better than the best, but even so, the best sometimes like a rest. And Father’s run the Guild well. I’ve looked into the records.”
“Not as closely as I have,” Melissa said. “I wasn’t saying it to gain favor—Lord Slaughter has run this Guild better than any other Guild in the land. And I don’t mean just assassins. I mean any Guild. He’s a natural leader and a wise one, too, and that combination is very rare.”
“He hasn’t been killed by his rivals because he’s the best assassin still,” Dean added.
“And his main rivals in the House are the three of us,” Marco pointed out. The others nodded. “So, do we do it?” he asked. “Do we help Jannpar by putting the best leader in as Chairman?”
Dean cleared his throat. “This must be said. Without a fee or an assignment, we’re breaking House rules. The punishment for that is death or banishment, depending. Are we willing to risk losing our home and our livelihood over this?”
The three of them looked at each other. They put their fists over their hearts as one. “Yes,” Melissa said. “Let’s do what should be done.”
* * *
The planning for Lord Slaughter’s unknowing rise to power took a few weeks. The list of those who needed to be removed was long and all the deaths had to look accidental. They agreed on death for all opponents, because dead men and women could share no tales of threats and persuasion.
However, they’d been taught to always have at least one backup plan. Said plan was to ensure that, should those in authority start investigations, they would find a secret conspiracy to overthrow Jannpar’s stability. The conspiracy would, of course, implicate the dead or those who might need to be dead who hadn’t been removed yet.
The existing Chairman had to go, of course, or there would be no new election by the Houses. But they determined that removing the potential candidates prior would be wisest and ensure that Jannpar retained stable leadership.
While the Heads of all Houses could run for Chairman, as could any landed noble or citizen with enough money to ensure they could afford to leave their current occupation and still keep their property and such, most would never have an interest. Other than those from the Merchant’s Guild.
The Merchant’s Guild was the largest Guild in Jannpar, and the land of Tavaria as well, and had provided the majority of Jannpar’s Chairmen over the years. Though the Guilds of Educators, Military, Religion, Financiers, and even Thieves had all had representatives running the show at one time or another, seven out of every ten Chairmen came from the Merchant’s Guild.
The Guilds of Healers, Whores, Entertainers, Builders, Artisans, and Farmers had never successfully put forth a candidate, and the Guild of Magicians was never allowed to offer one. The Assassins had never put forth a candidate, either. And, technically, they weren’t doing so now. At least not yet.
Marco, Dean, and Melissa planned and, while they went about their normal routines and assignments, they studied their future targets and set up their backup plan.
While Melissa poisoned the man who had gotten her wealthy client pregnant, then run off to seduce a slew of other woman—using the age-old technique of feigning sexual interest and then giving him a tincture of aconite in his ‘before the sex’ drink—she rifled through his things, finding several convenient weapons, disguises for both Marco and Dean, as well as a listing of most of the influential families in the city. This list had the names of all the females of birthing age, listed in order of years of expected child bearing and attractiveness—with the least attractive first.
“We’re well done of you,” she murmured as her target expired. “Though I credit you with an interesting and, no doubt, enjoyable plan to control and influence the wealth of our land.”
She also left a set of clues—well-hidden yet findable should someone keen on the job be searching—that would implicate him in the conspiracy.
Marco and Dean created a bar fight that gave them an almost laughably easy way to knife a tradesman who’d kept more than his share of Marco’s client’s profits and an ambitious young financier whom Dean’s client wanted dead versus challenging for said client’s position. They also lifted papers from several merchants who had access to those they’d deemed likely candidates and planted evidence of the conspiracy on these merchants and some lower level financiers, because efficiency was a House watchword.
And so it went, assignments assisting in the setup of the overall plan, spare time spent shadowing targets, planting fake evidence, and casing various buildings—they had the layouts of every building in Jannpar memorized, but people tended to be less predictable than clay and wood—all while biding their time until they felt everything was in place with nothing left to chance.
* * *
Plan finally in motion, Melissa headed out at dusk. Early for a normal job, but she wasn’t officially working. She was taking a few personal hours; at least, that’s what she told anyone in the House who asked.
She walked with purpose to the Artists Quarter. While the Guild of Artisans had never forwarded a successful candidate, one of their members was quite popular and looked to be a real challenger for the Chairmanship.
Iria was an exceptional artist, skilled in paintings, tapestries, and pottery. Melissa, Dean, and Marco had spent quite a lot of their earnings on her works in recent days. Not so much as to draw attention, but enough, once Iria was dead, to ensure a good return on their investment.
Therefore, Iria greeted Melissa with happy expectation, particularly since the Quarter was shutting down and almost devoid of customers. Melissa returned the greeting, ignoring the pang having to assassinate Iria gave her. “Shall we go for tea once you close?”
“I’ll close right now,” Iria said.
“Excellent, I’ll meet you there and secure our table.”
Melissa went into the alleyway they used to get to the tea stall and waited. Iria came into the alley a few minutes later. “I have the table and realized I hadn’t given you a greeting hug.” She included a special extra.
“What was that?” Iria asked as their hug ended. “I felt something prick my back.”
Melissa looked around and squinted. “There’s a bee nearby.”
Iria went pale. “I … I am allergic …”
Melissa slammed her hand against the wall. “I’ve killed it. Let me see.” She turned Iria around and pulled her blouse up. “I don’t see anything much,” she said doubtfully.
Iria grabbed her neck. “My throat … closing …”
“I’m sure I have an antidote with me.” Iria gasped as Melissa fumbled around in her pocket. Melissa pulled a needle out and shot it into Iria’s arm.
“Thank you,” Iria gasped, right before she stopped breathing.
Melissa heaved a sigh. She wanted to close Iria’s eyes, but that would indicate someone had been with her. Instead she let the body fall as it would in a case of anaphylactic shock and hurried off to her appointment at the massage tent at the other end of the Quarter. She was almost asleep when news of Iria’s untimely death reached them.
Dean had arranged for the Merchant’s Guild dinner to be imported quail. That the quail had all been fed hemlock-laced feed—which the birds were immune to—and that, therefore, their flesh was deadly if ingested, was seen as terribly bad luck. It was considered a tragic choice by the Guild’s chef for buying food from outside of Tavaria and the Chef was only fined, not imprisoned or executed.
Marco, meanwhile, had weakened a footbridge several of the potential candidates from the Guild of Religion used when attending monthly meetings at their favorite bar. A collapsing bridge wasn’t exactly news, nor was it a surefire way to kill anyone—unless those falling hit onto rocks sharpened to a knife’s point and tainted with arsenic. The river’s water washed away the arsenic traces, and the water would dissipate the poison enough that others wouldn’t be harmed and some might even gain a slight immunity. It was a public service, really.
And so it went—a choking death here, an allergic reaction there, a mugging gone badly, even a suicide. All normal deaths for Tavaria’s largest city.
They’d decided on a slow death for the current Chairman, in no small part because he was a terrible leader and the very reason Lord Slaughter had been musing about leadership in the first place. Melissa had ensured that pills the Chairman, and the Chairman alone, ingested daily were treated with a slight dusting of arsenic. Since the pills were those the Chairman took to give himself more sexual virility in order to indulge his sexual appetites, this method allowed him to, essentially, kill himself, which the assassins found rather poetic.
As they moved to more obvious targets, less obvious methods were required. Tragic accidents required many moving parts, but they were one of Dean’s best skills.
Horses being spooked were commonplace, and something a top assassin shouldn’t need to bother with, but they tended to do the trick. How the horse or horses were panicked was where the skill came in—on any given day, there was something happening in Jannpar to upset the most nervous of the Gods’ creatures.
Dean was quite good with all animals and he enjoyed using their natural natures to assist him in his work. Nothing spooked a horse faster than a deadly snake, and then the snake was there to ensure the target died if the horse didn’t do the job. Sadly, despite their effectiveness, asps and other deadly serpents were rare in Jannpar these days, so his preferred choice was out.
Flying insects were plentiful, however, and a good sting on the rump could cause many a horse to throw its rider. A swarm of stinging beetles was effective to the point of certainty—even the best trained warhorse didn’t want stinging beetles in its face and would react from nature and by instinct versus training. And, if the right circumstances were in place, the situation and resulting death were unsuspicious.
So, just before dawn, Dean broke a jar of honey over a pile of dung outside the entrance to the brothel the Chairman and several of their top targets preferred. This location was perfect, since three potential candidates—and therefore, three targets—worked at the bank across the street.
He joined the others on the roof of the bank and waited to watch the show. “Those in the brothel should be leaving just as those going to the bank arrive,” Marco said softly. “Wait to trigger the beetles until we see the Chairman leaving, though.”
“I wasn’t trained yesterday,” Melissa replied, with more humor than rebuke in her tone.
They waited. And waited. People came and went, but none went into the bank or came out of the brothel. “Why aren’t the financiers arriving?” Dean asked. “They should have been here an hour ago.”
“Why aren’t those in the brothel leaving to get to their homes or businesses?” Melissa added.
“Something’s wrong,” Marco replied. “Get ready to run for the House. Alibi Number Twelve.”
“Spent all night playing cards because we had no assignments,” Dean said. “Check.”
Melissa jerked and put her hands on their arms. “Wait.”
They froze and then the men heard what Melissa already had—women screaming.
Whores ran out of the brothel, screaming their heads off. The three assassins listened intently. “Customers died in their beds,” Melissa said. “Several of them.”
“I heard at least one name, and it was a name on our list,” Dean added, as town guards began to arrive.
“Time to go.” Marco grabbed the others’ hands and pulled them away.
They headed back to the House quickly but carefully, put the beetles back in the storeroom, and were all in Melissa’s room playing cards and looking tired when the door opened to reveal Lady Slaughter.
“I apologize for not knocking,” she said. “But I’ve been looking for you three and I already checked Marco and Dean’s rooms.”
“Mother, what can we do for you?” Marco asked casually.
She shook her head. “Nothing. I wanted to let you three know—several murders happened last night. None of them ordered by the House.”
“Do we need to investigate?” Melissa asked.
“No, not yet. But please be aware that someone seems to be working outside of our laws or has taken assignments without advising the House, meaning stealing from us.” She smiled fondly at them. “Though, not you three, of course.”
She closed the door and the three looked at each other. “What now?” Dean asked softly.
“Now,” Marco replied, “we find out who was killed and how many of them were on our list.”
* * *
“All of them,” Melissa said hours later, as she returned from the Day Market and joined Marco and Dean in Marco’s room. “Every person who died last night was on our list. And they all died in their beds. Some from ‘explainable’ reasons, some from their throats being slit.”
“Father is at a Guild meeting,” Marco told her. “Explaining that our House is not responsible for any of these deaths.”
“We aren’t,” Dean pointed out. “We didn’t kill them. We planned to, but someone beat us to it.”
“Far less elegantly,” Melissa added with a sniff. “Even if they were effective.”
“The problem isn’t elegance or effectiveness,” Marco said. “The problem is that it was done all at once and in an obvious manner, meaning that someone else is likely after the Chairman’s position.”
“Which is now open,” Dean said. “Since the Chairman got his throat slit at the brothel.”
Before they could fret about this, or formulate a counter plan, there was a knock on the door and Lady Slaughter put her head in. “I just wanted to let you all know—a conspiracy has been discovered. I need you to come to an All House Meeting right now.”
They pointedly didn’t look at each other as they followed Lady Slaughter to the meeting room. All the House, other than Lord Slaughter, were in attendance.
“There appears to be a conspiracy to undermine the stability of Jannpar,” Lady Slaughter said without preamble, “which would then undermine all of Tavaria. All assassinations are, therefore, in abeyance until the city has stable leadership.”
“What do we do, then?” Dean asked.
“We wait. Our Guilds are choosing a new Chairman as we speak.”
The three assassins still didn’t look at each other, but they all felt discouraged. All their planning was now useless, because someone from the Merchants Guild would likely step in and it would be dangerous for the House if that person was killed.
“Where does the conspiracy originate?” Melissa asked. “Do we know?”
Lady Slaughter nodded. “The Magicians Guild has contacted their Houses in Tavaria’s other cities—none of those other Guilds will admit to being involved and we have confirmed that by contacting my other children, who know of no Houses working against us. This, in fact, tracks with what’s been discovered here in Jannpar. The threat seems to be from outside Tavaria’s borders. As near as we have determined based on the clues found so far, assassins not associated with any known House have taken the assignment to disable our government. Signs point to either Cadnis or Veed, or both.”
So, their backup plan was working. One small victory. “Is retaliation planned?” Marco asked.
“Not as yet,” his mother replied. “Our tensions are always high with those lands, but since Jannpar is nowhere near either lands’ border, we are waiting to see what those who run Tavaria feel is best.”
“Politics as usual,” Melissa said quietly.
“Perhaps,” Lady Slaughter replied. “Perhaps not.”
* * *
The Guilds’ selection of a new Chairman took a week. The Magicians Guild hadn’t had this much work to do for a long time—every member was using all their powers to speak with Guilds across the land. Marco hadn’t talked to his siblings this much in ages, either, so there was an upside.
But finally the decision was made. Everyone who could squeeze in was at the town square in front of the Chairman’s Office. The Assassins were all on the roofs, however, so they had a good view without being crowded—the rest of the city felt safer this way, as well.
The Head of the Merchants Guild was speaking, his voice projected by a spell. Aldroth droned on for a bit, talking about the conspiracy and how Jannpar and Tavaria’s enemies would not be allowed to triumph, but he finally got to the relevant part of his speech: who was to be the new Chairman.
“Think he’s going to introduce himself?” Dean asked.
“Unlikely,” Lady Slaughter replied. “It’s bad form.”
“Didn’t stop them from nominating the last Chairman,” Marco muttered.
“Hush,” Lady Slaughter said gently.
“After much careful deliberation, we have chosen a new Chairman who we feel will send a strong message to our enemies,” Aldroth said.
“Going to be from the Military Guild,” Dean said. “Mark my words.”
“The Gods help us,” Marco replied. “We’ll be at war forever if that happens.”
“Hush now,” Lady Slaughter said.
“Our new Chairman did not seek this position,” Aldroth continued. “He, in fact, tried to refuse it. But his sense of loyalty to Jannpar and Tavaria overruled his desire to remain a simple Head of his Guild.”
“By the Gods, he is going to announce himself, isn’t he?” Melissa gasped.
“Hush, children,” Lady Slaughter said a bit more strongly.
“I am therefore pleased and gratified to present our new Chairman,” Aldroth went on. “One who has proven time and again that he is a man of honor and of his word. And a man who these rogues who want to destroy us will fear more than any other. I give you … Chairman Slaughter!”
Lord Slaughter walked out to the cheering of the crowd. The Assassins were, of course, the loudest of those cheering, but no one seemed upset with the outcome, other than Lord Slaughter, who looked a little embarrassed.
“Our new Chairman is the greatest Assassin in the land, nay the world!” Aldroth exclaimed. “These rogue assassins fear him, as well they should! Our Assassins Guild is the strongest in all of Tavaria, and, as his last act as Head of the Assassins Guild, Lord Slaughter has pledged them to find and destroy those who have done this treachery, sparing our brave soldiers any unneeded bloodshed. Therefore, in his first act as Chairman, Chairman Slaughter has proven he’s the leader Jannpar needs!”
The cheering got louder. Lord Slaughter waved. “I appreciate your support and pledge to run Jannpar as I have run my House—with fairness and compassion for all but those who wish to destroy us.”
The cheering and celebrations went on all day and into the night. Many hours later they were all back in their House and Lord Slaughter was in bed, sleeping the sleep of the exhausted but victorious.
Marco, Dean, and Melissa were in Marco’s room, waiting until they were sure the rest of the House was sleeping to discuss the day’s events, when Lady Slaughter came in without knocking.
“Mother, is everything well?” Marco asked as she shut the door tightly behind her.
She nodded and flicked her thumb—a silence web encircled the four of them. This was an expensive spell and Lady Slaughter had never used it with them before.
She smiled at their shocked and nervous expressions. “I just wanted to compliment the three of you on your backup plan. It was truly well-executed and made things so much easier. Only a few things had to be altered.”
“Excuse me?” Melissa asked, as Marco and Dean stared.
Lady Slaughter chuckled. “You were so meticulous, but you were just taking far too long. I couldn’t keep feeding Lord Slaughter the right things to think and say forever, children. I allowed you to set the stage, but I believe I understand the political landscape a bit better than you three do. Mass hysteria is a very useful thing if you’ve planned properly.”
The three assassins all gaped. “It was you?” Marco asked finally. “All of them, in one night?”
“There were over two dozen, in all parts of the city,” Dean added.
Lady Slaughter smiled modestly but didn’t reply.
“It would be close to impossible,” Melissa said. “But not for the best assassin in the land.”
“Thank you, dear,” Lady Slaughter said. “We’ll keep this between us, of course. Due to your father’s move to Chairman, I have taken the post of Head of the Guild. I’ll be assigning our top assassins, ergo, the three of you, to the hunt for these ‘rogue assassins’ and other conspirators. Enjoy your ‘banishment’ during your grand tour of Tavaria and be careful when you go into Cadnis and Veed—we don’t want to start a real war, after all.”
“You can count on us, Mother,” Marco said.
Lady Slaughter hugged each one of them. “I know. But, this time … you’ll be following my plan. Agreed?”
The three assassins looked at each other, then back to Lady Slaughter.
“You mean, we’ll be following your plan again, don’t you?” Melissa asked.
Lady Slaughter smiled. “I have no idea what you mean, dear.” And with that, she flicked her finger and the silence web disappeared. She nodded to them and left the room.
They were quiet for a few long seconds. “How long do you think she had this planned?” Dean asked.
“Months?” Marco suggested.
Melissa shook her head and grinned. “Knowing your mother? I’d say she had this planned, potentially, before she met your father.”
Marco grinned back. “Well, she is the best.”
Dean laughed. “And long may she reign.”