The Innocence of Teacups

Swish swish swat swat swish.

Beating away cobwebs was a rare pass time of Freyr’s, so rare this was the first time he’d seen his master batting away delicate yet sticky threads. Poor spiders must have worked hard at their spinning and would be scuttling for cover. At least flies would be safer.

“Lanzo and his shadow never went to the mountains. Oh no they came round here late last night, snooping. I heard them, sneaking round the graveyard. If you can even call it sneaking with Shadow’s clumsy steps.”

Swish swat, there went another cobweb from a corner. Freyr was stood up on a stool, looked as though he were going to lean too far and fall. “When they were done, I followed them. Know where they went?”

He shook his head, even though Freyr couldn’t see seen as his back was to him.

“Into town. They’re staying at the Vibrant Violet. Stupid, tacky inn, full of bloated commoners! Why can’t people leave us alone? Everyone should quit poking their noses into my private affairs. Not that I know anything about secret labyrinths. I’m sure they’re a cover up. What those two really want are my coins.” Freyr turned to face him, brush in hand, full of broken cobwebs. “You are going to have to kill them.”

His face fell or at least must have done for Freyr jumped down from his stool, came over to him, waving his brush round in the air. “I know it’s so soon after the mayor but we have no choice in the matter. They’re bad men.”

He winced.

“Bad men, Eagle. They shall be quite the challenge for you. But you are quite capable I would never send you if you weren’t.”

He slanted his eyes at Freyr, really protesting killing after doing so only two nights ago.

“Honestly you crush me! After all I’ve done for you and you’re prepared to see me robbed. How will we eat if I get robbed? It’s a cruel world out there, Eagle. Cruel to the core so we must fight to keep alive and comfortable.” Round and round in the air went Freyr’s brush as he waved it madly.

He placed his hand against Freyr’s shoulder. The brush lowered and his master clasped his hand.

“That’s the spirit. A real team you and me. I earn the money you keep us safe. Now how about you get rid of the remaining cobwebs while I count my coins? I need to make sure those two scoundrels didn’t get their greedy paws on any.”

The brush was pushed into his hand. Freyr hurried off to collect his coin pouch from wherever he kept it hidden. Honestly his master was far too obsessive over his coins.

Night came far too quickly. He was treading his way through town, keeping to the shadows as told, dressed all in tight black. Instructions were stored inside his head. He knew the town’s layout well having been made to scour it at the age of twelve to learn everything there was to know about Violet Town. They did this with most towns they frequently visited.

As towns went this was one was small. There was a single inn and no taverns. Few people made visits to the mountainside town, only those who happened to be crossing over the mountains. He himself had travelled far however not in the direction over the mountains for the laws were different there meaning Freyr didn’t reckon he could get away with his dodgy dealings as easy. That and over the mountains were plagued with spirits. This side of the mountains in Kazara was much more comfortable a place to live or so he was told.

His skin grew sticky with sweat thanks to the tight clothes and muggy air. The mask he wore was a bother; he didn’t usually wear a mask, only when his victims happened to have seen his face before. The mask was wood, painted black, with only slits for the nose and eyes. Breathing through the mouth was a no go because it was way too noisy. Shallow breaths through the nose were best for an assassin. Down down down this side street. At such a late hour most towns folk would be sleeping in their beds. Save for him, and scrounging raccoons, hustling for scraps of food. He was much more raccoon than eagle.

There it was the Vibrant Violet standing all alone with a long sandy pathway leading up to the front entrance. Potted all along the side of the path were violets to fit in with the name. He stood on the deserted path searching for lights at the front of the inn. Was hard to figure when the window shutters were all done up. All he had to go on was his sneaking around. Silent to match the night he went down the path. When he got to the inn he pushed his body close up to the walls, slunk along in shadow until he came to the back where there was supposed to be a trap door. Here was the place ale barrels got rolled down to the cellars. Crouching down he padded his hands along the wall until he came to a part that stuck out. His gloved hands slid down to the middle of the wooden trap door. He gave it a push. Bolted from the inside. This was to have been expected but was going to be the most efficient way to get inside without rousing any attention. The wooden doors were flimsy really. Any fool could bash a booted foot through such lame wood. One loud crack then silent again. He stood stock still, waiting to hear if anyone had been aroused by the noise. Stood there silent a good five minutes and no one came. Either they were too lazy to bother to come all the way down to the basement for a mere noise or were too deep in sleep upstairs to hear anything.

The ramp was creaky so he dropped from the trap door down to the ground, landing in a crouch at the bottom of the cellar. Straightening up he went swerving round barrels in their islands on the floor. It was so dark he was being very careful to keep from bumping into those islands. Where were the steps up out of the cellar? He knew the layout of town well however the inside of buildings was rather a different task. After a moment of wandering he found the steps and went up them, came out behind the counter.

Right last night Freyr followed Lanzo and Sasha here and saw them ask the bar tender for the key to room five which would be located upstairs with all the other rooms, obviously. Chills sang down his spine on stepping up the main staircase. Those chills always came moments before murder was committed.

You’re a super cool assassin. Trained by the best. There’s no need to feel guilty because everyone will be fast asleep including your prey so they’ll not feel a thing. Besides they want to steal from Freyr, they only have themselves to blame when my steels slam through their bones. Super cool assassin. Trained by the best.

Or so he told himself on reaching the upstairs corridor. There was nothing super cool about killing anyone but he needed to think of something to keep himself from running away. He closed his eyes a moment before walking down the corridor. Remembered how Freyr’s teachings started off like a game. When he was six, Freyr told him to see if he could sneak up on people and follow after them without being seen and as a reward for being successful would get a slice of cake. From there the teachings escalated into stalking actual threats, and learning to wield his knives in the sunlight, then in darkness, and finally blindfolded well the being blindfolded exercises only started a year ago.

His fists clenched round his knives, he opened his eyes and padded along the corridor. Door one to the left, then door two. On the right was door three. A very big room indeed. Round a corner still on the right was four and there it was door five on the left. Please let the door be open and occupants asleep. Of course it was rarely as easy as all that. He pushed down on the door handle. Certainly locked and no one inside noticed the handle attempting to push down. Time to take a chance, there was no other way inside except to have the door opened from the inside. The bar tender probably went round with a key for all the doors but this possible key could be anywhere. Softly he rapped on the door with his knuckles then stepped to the side, away from the door. Nothing, which meant he’d have to try again, louder this time. Someone gave a grumble from inside the room. He knocked a third time.

“Would you leave us alone? It’s the dead of night,” said Lanzo.

Knock knock knock. That was enough. He stepped right to the side as presumably Lanzo stamped through the room by the sounds. His hands flexed round the knives. This would be viper quick. An in out job into Lanzo’s chest as soon as he opened the door, then onto Sasha and flee. The door flung open.

“This best not be a joke,” said Lanzo.

He ran towards the door, lifted his knife, sent it plunging, crash into metal. Lanzo was armed. Ready. These young men must really be expecting to constantly come up against opposition.

“Sasha to arms we have an intruder!”

His second knife swiped, slashing through Lanzo’s cheek, giving him time to slink through the door and spin round with a fresh attack. Both knives clashed into Lanzo’s sword. Sasha stumbled about, searching for his sword. He was quick and kicked Lanzo in the shin as he pulled out of their lock. Sasha abandoned looking for his weapon and came round the back of him. Unlucky for Sasha he knew he was coming and span, all set to swipe him round the face. Lanzo figured the time to strike was perfect, not really. Up high, Lanzo lifted his heavy sword. Sasha caught his arm tight as he tried to restrain him from making another move. Lanzo’s sword would be down upon his head in seconds. Swerve, knife squelched into belly flesh and cut deep into guts. Lanzo wheezed in air. Sasha vice gripped his arm, he tried to keep hold of his knife but the grip was too tight. Hurt so much.

Crash, Lanzo was on his knees, at the same time his knife fell to the floor.

“Lanzo!” shouted Sasha then flung him over to the bed with an enraged bellow of, “you bastard!”

He bumped down onto the bed and watched as blood bubbled from Lanzo’s mouth as Sasha attempted in vain to quench the wound with a blanket. His own stomach was bubbling with something, which was certainly not blood. Guilt felt worse. Blood came out, guilt stayed stored inside. Seeing there was no way Lanzo was going to be able to make it, Sasha picked up the fallen knife and span on him.

“Get here you cowardly sneak!”

Through the slits in his mask he stared at a livid Sasha. What had he done? Turned a kind guy into a bellowing killer. He eased himself from off the bed, as he heard people rousing in the room next door. Finishing off Sasha was essential. His knife hilt bit into his hand as he readied himself for the next attack. Guilt choked him. The knife refused to stay still in his hand. Sasha charged at him. He made a dash for the window. Hurriedly undid the latch. Sasha reached out to grab him. He slashed backwards, managing to cut through Sasha’s arm somewhere. He bashed his elbow into the shutters just as Sasha swiped for the back of his neck, and jump, he was out, falling to the ground. Would be okay, wasn’t a major way to fall. Especially for someone whose hobby was acrobatics. It was all about how you landed. Landed in a crouch then straightened up and fled down the sandy path into the night, losing himself in shadow.

Oh demons, he’d gone to pieces in there. Freyr was liable to rattle him when he got home. Even still all he wanted to do was get home as fast as possible; away from Lanzo’s bubbling blood and Sasha’s fierce eyes. Run run run, ran all the way to the church and rushed in through the double wooden doors. Wanted to stop and pant because he was out of breath however Freyr rose from his counting shrine and came to meet him in the middle of the room, and caught hold of his shoulders, restraining him from pushing away so he could take off to his attic.

“Did something go wrong?”

He wanted to breathe but the mask was suffocating.

“Hey, calm down. Cool and collected is the way to be, panicking never solves anything.” Freyr took his mask off and threw it over his shoulder. “Do we need to make a hasty get away?”

He shook his head.

“So no one recognised you or followed you here?”

He shook his head again and held out his one knife.

“You lost a knife! Failed didn’t you?”

Managing to get a few rational breaths down he pointed out Lanzo’s blood shining on the knife.

“You killed them?”

He nodded. Letting Freyr know only one of them was killed was what he should do however there was no way he could go back out there and finish the job, even if it was done another evening. Freyr rubbed his shoulder, to keep him calm when all he wanted to do was shove Freyr away.

“A missing blade is that what’s got you rattled up? Silly Eagle. Those bad men are extremely tricky to take down; I am very impressed. Were they hard to kill?”

Another nod.

“Don’t worry about your knife. You’ve earned a new one after tonight’s big success story. Yes we’ll replace it, and tomorrow you can do whatever you like, take the day off. How about that?”

Swaying on the spot and collapsing was exactly how he felt about anything. None of these things happened. Instead he took a gulp, feigned a smile and stepped away from Freyr, to show there was no longer anything wrong when really there was a lot wrong. Nobody ever listened; Freyr thought exactly what he wanted to hear. They were the roles though, master and apprentice. The apprentice wasn’t supposed to be right; it was an apprentice’s job, no duty to trust master’s judgment and do exactly as told. A harsh deal but that was how they had always worked since him being abandoned on Freyr’s doorstep although he failed to recall the memory himself. Forget Sasha because Sasha would never think of the mute lad from the church ever again. Freyr was all there was.

Freyr closed the double doors then went over to his shrine and pushed his coins into their respectable pouches. Never had he seen Freyr be so careless with his coins, they were usually all counted into their pouches.

“I was just about to have a cup of tea, how about you pull up a stool and join me? I think I have another cup somewhere.” Freyr ducked down on his stool and searched round in a bundle for another cup.

While Freyr was looking for cups he dusted off a stool which was sat in a lonely corner and brought it over to the shrine.

“Ah here we are.”

Tea was poured into two cups. Freyr instantly sat taking constant sips with his little finger poked out to the side as though he was refined. For a sleazy merchant Freyr possessed many refined mannerisms come to think of it.

“Remember when you were little and used to imitate me drinking tea?”

He gave a broad smile. There was a fond memory. Freyr always took tea in the evenings and one of his first interactions with Freyr had been of him, taking an empty cup and taking sips from it, with a stern expression on his face in an attempt to mirror the scary strict man who let him sleep on his floor by the fire. A smirk appeared on Freyr’s face when noticing he was being mocked and ever since Freyr had started to interact with him despite the vocal barrier. Maybe if he’d never experienced Freyr’s strict teachings, intelligent thoughts would never have come to him, and he would have lived his life as a dumb mute kid.

“Spectacular what a cup of tea can do for your nerves in the night wouldn’t you say?”

He swirled round the dregs then pointed towards Freyr. It wasn’t only the tea making him feel better.

“Well yes I am brilliant company too. Tea and a natter with me is enough to cheer anyone up. And you know something Eagle, a conscience only weighs you down. I used to feel bad about swindling peasants on market day but one day I caught one of those peasants cutting my purse and I’ve not listened to my conscience for the customer ever since.”

What Freyr was trying to say was: don’t worry about killing people because your victim would only kill you given the chance. Maybe he was right, maybe he was wrong. One thing he was certain of was there was no option but to be tough when working for a sleazy merchant which was kind of okay seen as he only had to be tough at night seen as he was never expected to assassinate in daylight.

“I don’t know about you but I’m tired,” Freyr said on rising from his stool. “Best we were tucked up in bed at this hour. I keep thinking of labyrinths. Ever since hearing about them they have gotten me spooked about this church.”

Freyr left him swirling dregs round. Everything would be ten times better when the sun made an appearance. In the morning his conscience would fly away and life would carry on as it always did.