Snippet #1722694

The mind can be a dark, demented thing, he thought. Especially his mind, of late: so cold and so mechanical. There was no spark of warmth in any of the thoughts which ran through the head of the man sitting in a dark corner of the murky tavern. Theseparticular thoughts were dominated by strategy and precision. Seven steps to the bar. Three seconds to snap the neck of the man sitting on the stool. Approximately five seconds for the barman to realize what’s happened and attack, so he’d have to cross the tavern in four seconds and be out the door. Clean. Efficient. Cold. That was how he’d do it if he’d been hired to kill the unsuspecting man sitting at the bar. But, of course he hadn’t been; devising the most efficient way to propagate another person’s demise was just a way to pass the time for Ember. It was like a puzzle which kept his abilities sharp. It didn’t hurt that it also always kept those faces at bay; the faces of the dead which haunted his mind when it was not otherwise occupied with methodical tedium. Most had died at his hands, but there was that one face, that one death which he hadn’t caused but was nonetheless responsible for. And there it was: that face, that beautiful, tragic face that made every wall the assassin had so carefully built come close to shattering and disintegrating into nothing. If he allowed her face to play in his head for much longer he was in serious danger of breaking down all together. And Ember would not allow that.

Seven steps to the bar. Seven steps to the bar. Seven steps to the bar. He needed to focus on what he was doing here at this moment in time. He needed his thoughts to be here in the present, not buried in the past where they were liable never to come back. He was here in this tavern for a reason, and it wasn’t for the, only semi-satisfying, ale. No, he was here to receive his latest job. As always, he would be meeting a third-party middleman in this tavern. It was rare that he would ever actually meet the person funding his little… operations. Anonymity was important for both himself and his clients, so he’d devised a situation by which the two didn’t have to meet.

Ember’s sharp, gold eyes surveyed the smoky room. It was filled with people; alive and effervescent, and the perfect place for two men to go unobserved as they spoke of things that were for their ears alone. His eyes brushed over the boisterous group at the booth next to him, to the horizontal line of old men on stools at the bar. His associate did not seem to be present yet, which meant he was late. Tardiness was an unattractive and burdensome vice which Ember had less than the usual amount of patience for. He sighed in his utterly unaffected way and allowed his eyes to settle on the entrance to the tavern in mild anticipation, bordering on annoyance. He touched the tips of the fingers of both of his hands together forming a small triangle in front of him as he waited. He counted the seconds so that he would have an accurate calculation of exactly how late his associate was. It was always good to have some friendly feedback to give, or, in Ember’s case, some not-so-friendly feedback, but that was neither here nor there. The door opened, and his associate finally walked in. His name was Charles, and he was a rather large man with a round face and stocky legs. As the newcomer’s eyes fell on the assassin sitting cloaked in the corner, Ember could tell by the look on his face that he understood his mistake. As he approached, Charles smiled nervously.

“Your twelve minutes late,” was Ember’s greeting as his associate slid into the seat across from him.

“I know, I know. It couldn’t be helped.” Charles looked as if he were about to delve deeper into an explanation, but Ember held up his hand.

“Save it. That’s exactly what you said last time. You know, there are plenty of other men of questionable ethics out there whom I could get to replace you. And, of course, there is the little problem of you having seen my face. I’m not sure I’m comfortable knowing there is someone out there who knows my little secret and yet, is not of any use to me.” Ember let the suggestion behind his words hang in the air between them. Charles’ face seemed to turn a pale shade of green for a moment.

“It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

“Good. Now, down to business. You have something for me, I assume. I’d be very disappointed to know that the last twelve minutes I’ve spent waiting for you were a complete waste of my time.”

“I have a name for you,” Charles said in a rushed tone. He then pulled a piece of parchment from his coat pocket and slid it slowly and pointedly across the table. Ember picked up the paper with an arch of his brow. There was something in Charles’ eyes which told him that the name on this paper was no ordinary name. He opened it, read the name, and his brow arched even higher.

“Is this for real?” Ember asked, the parchment still open in his hand; the name, written in dark ink dancing before his eyes.

“Oh yeah, it’s for real alright,” Charles responded. The look in his eyes was hungry, like the old ladies Ember saw in the market as they gossiped about the inhabitants of the huge Manors they cleaned.

“There must be some mistake. Who would want her dead? I heard she’s practically a modern day hero. The people love her.” Ember was not normally one to ask questions. In his line of work, if you started asking questions, you were likely to find yourself out of a job. Also, he never really cared to know about the people he’d been hired to kill. It only succeeded in making his job more difficult. Unless, of course, the person he was hired to kill was complete scum. That’s when the job ceased being a difficult one. This, however; this name written down on the parchment in his hand failed to make any sense to him. Charles’ smile widened, and he leaned in closer toward Ember as if their conversation was in danger of being heard over the din which filled the tavern.

“From what I hear,” he began conspiratorially, “this one comes from the top.” The emphasis on the last word was not lost on Ember. So that was it, just another story of the Royals getting what they want at the expense of the innocent. Their world was filled with such stories, and he was to be their pawn this time. He tried not to let the thought of that fact bother him. A job was a job, after all.

“This better pay well.”

“Oh trust me, friend, it pays very well,” Charles said with a wink, “Of course, you’ll need to make it look like an accident. Discretion is your topmost priority on this one,” he finished, as if that fact went without saying.

“I’m on it,” Ember replied, pushing himself from the table in one fluid movement. He made to walk away, but stopped to put his heavy hand on the shoulder of his associate. “Oh, and Charlie… I’m not your friend.” He gave the dumpy man’s shoulder a pointed squeeze and left the tavern, leaving no trace that he’d ever been there at all.