“No, but it was probably Miss Nyles coming by the kitchens. Probably turned tail the second she spotted us.”
The first man grunts. “We gave her a good beating last night, didn’t we?”
“Not so good as the tupping we gave her the night before that.”
Their laughter fills the corners of the room like a disease infecting a body. I peer over the edge of the table to get a look at them. Two brutes, mostly dark silhouettes next to the meager candle they have on the table between them. They’re spearing cold meats with a knife before filling their gobs and passing a flask back and forth.
I could creep past them silently, leave the mansion with no one the wiser.
But I’m not about to do that after the conversation I just overheard.
It’s a risk to attack with two of them fully alert, but it’s one I’m willing to take.
I move under the table and push between two chairs. I am no more than a shadow as I waltz behind the pair and draw my sword. I strike the bigger one first, smacking him on the back of the head with the pommel of my rapier. The second turns and manages the first note of a yell as I slam his head down onto the counter. Both don’t rise again after slumping to the floor, unconscious.
Footsteps pound above my head, roused by the short-lived sound, and I have a choice to make. I can still slip away, lose them in the winding city streets.
Or …
I stare at the duo on the floor.
Or I can see vengeance done.
It isn’t really a choice.
I slip back into the dark entryway once I ascertain no one has reached this level yet. A banister lines the stairs, with rails connecting it to each step. I reach out to see if my hands will fit into the spaces between each rail.
They do.
As the men race down the winding stairs, lanterns held aloft, I climb them from the side with my arms, hauling myself up rail after rail. Reach, grip, pull. Repeat.
My legs are too high off the ground by the time the men hit the main floor for them to notice me. Four individuals cross underneath me to reach the kitchens. I let myself drop when the last one is in just the right position. He collapses to the ground under my weight, and I snap his neck before he can rise.
The first two men are already in the kitchens, but the third turns at the sound of his crewman falling. I slice his throat with the tip of my sword before he can make sense of the scene in front of him. I flick the blood from my rapier as I race for the doorway, placing my back against the wall just beside it. I sheathe my sword and draw my dagger.
“Two knocked out cold in here,” one of the men says. “Sound the alarm.”
The one following orders dashes out of the kitchens. I grip his arm, throw him against the wall, and rake the blade across his throat.
“Hello?” the remaining man calls out, likely having seen his crewman pulled out from his line of sight before the doors closed.
Why do people call out a greeting when something highly suspicious happens? Do they expect us monsters to announce ourselves?
He follows up with “Who’s there?”
I adjust the grip on my dagger as I wait to see what he’ll do.
He shouts for help, cluing me in to his approximate location in the kitchens.
I throw the doors open wide, sight my mark, and fling my blade. The dagger lands true, embedding in his throat. I don’t retrieve it just yet. Time is precious now.
I veer to the right, where the hidden servants’ stairs rest. Meanwhile, men rouse from their beds and burst out into the hallways. I see them on each landing as I make my way back to the top level. The dark works to my advantage. I’m used to being in its caress. I doubt there’s a soul alive who has better night vision than I do. While I can see the outlines of Vordan’s men, they haven’t a clue I’m a handful of feet away.
Not a soul even looks in my direction. No one thinks to use the servants’ stairs. They might not even know they’re tucked away here. These are murderers, thieves, and all other manner of foul scum. They’re not used to the layout of fancy accommodations such as these. And since Vordan kept the staff on hand, his men would never have had occasion to use this route.
I reach the third floor, where Vordan’s corpse has started rotting, and peek through bedroom doors one by one.
When I find a man who wasn’t roused by the shouting, I enter, tread to the bed, and slice open his neck. It’s not the most creative way to end a life, but it is the most efficient with the least amount of effort. And I have many more throats to slit, so I’ve got to reserve my energy.
“Six down!” someone from below shouts. “Spread out and search the mansion, and you there, go rouse the captain.”
I bolt back for Vordan’s rooms and slip under the bed. The blood has stopped trickling. It’s partially congealed on the floor at the opposite side of the bed.
The door sways open, and boot-clad feet reach Vordan’s resting place. “Captain, there’s an intruder.” He steps back, likely because his hand has come away sticky.
I pull his feet out from under him, climb atop his wriggling body, and prepare to go for the throat.
At the last moment, I turn my hand to the side and land a punch with my knuckles still wrapped around the dagger, right where Mandsy taught me to if the intent was to render someone unconscious.
The lad can’t be more than twelve. He’s all height with no muscles to his limbs. He’s fallen in with a bad crowd, but even I don’t murder children.
Back out in the hallway, I creep through the house, quieter than a ghost. I hear doors slamming beneath me, swords coming out of their sheaths, and men murmuring to one another. I search the rest of the bedrooms on this floor, slitting three more throats, before returning to the servants’ stairs and taking them down to the next level.
With just my head peering down the hallway, I watch a pirate enter into a bedroom to secure it. I follow after him, sneak up behind him, and cover his mouth with one hand while my dagger rakes across his throat. Back out in the hallway, I note that only some of Vordan’s crew are holding lanterns. Should they see my silhouette, I will merely look like another pirate searching through the mansion just like everyone else.
I follow another man into another room, employing the same tactic as before. This one gets down on his knees to look under the bed and doesn’t hear me as I come up behind him. Blood trickles onto my fingers from the knife as I right myself, so I take the time to wipe it and my hands off on the bedsheets before exiting again.
Two figures come toward me down the hall without their own light sources, so I flatten myself against the wall to let them pass.
I pull a second knife from my person as I follow them into another room. The first man gets a dagger thrown to the back where his heart rests beneath the skin and muscle. The second turns, but I’m already launching myself at him, slitting his throat with the second knife.
As I rise, I try to remember the last time I killed so many men in a single night. In fact, I don’t think it’s happened before.