A Long Dark Line
By Mr Ashby
Prologue
It was a night in which no decent man would be out. Rain came down in torrents, thunder crashed and lightning flashed, illuminating a lone man. He was all in black, his face hooded, on horseback, galloping through the drenching night. The rider yanked on the reins, bringing the horse to a stumbling halt in the slippery mud next to a large man, similarly clad, in a long black cloak, glistening in the rain. Dismounting, the rider strode up to the nervous man and in a serious voice, cryptically stated, “The Ducks are in the frying pan” “Let there be bacon!” came the coded reply. This verbal exchange complete, the first man drew from an inner pocket a simple brass amulet which he passed to the other man. “Guard this with your life! You will pass it on in two days time at mid day under the clock tower in the square, to a man dressed in a clown suit. He will offer you a fish. Accept it. Et Aussie Audimus!” With that both men mounted their horses and rode off, one back along the road he had come, the other down towards the town. The rain came down in torrents. There was dirty work afoot.
Chapter 1
It was a quiet, dark street, still wet from the rain of the night before. Its only illumination; a single reed lamp at one end, its flickering light casting shadows down the street, camouflaging any and all movement. A boy crouched at the corner of a large mansion, built almost exclusively of stone, to give it a more formidable appearance, warding off potential burglars. All the boy cared, was that anyone with the money to build such a grand house, must have some money left over. Besides, it would be easier to climb than its smooth wooden neighbors.
He spat on his hands and, rubbing them together, began to climb. Hand over hand, he made his way up the wall, finding toe holds along with the mortar between the large stones. About twenty feet off the ground he reached a window, left partially open, in the hopes to attract a cool nights breeze. He hung on to the window ledge with one hand and reached into his pocket for a small can of oil, which he applied liberally to the hinges to quiet their potential squeals. He opened the window to find a single iron bar, running vertically down the length of the window. He slipped past it easily, and dropped to the ground, where, like a magician producing colored ribbons from his sleeve, he quickly began to pull a black rope from his loose shirt. Ensuring a fast escape, he tied the rope to the bar and looked around the room. It appeared to be a larder, with a door at each end.
One was open, the kitchen lay beyond, so the lad, having no desire for greasy frying pans, quietly opened the opposite door, and found himself in a grand bedroom, obviously the master's. A quiet snore from the bed suggested he tread softly. Moving to the bedside, he began to silently search the dresser for anything of value. A noise from the bed caused him to glance at were the fat, balding man turned over in his sleep. Smiling at the thought of the larder connecting to the bedroom, he resumed searching. A few minutes later he had found nothing of value besides a few silver disks and a simple bronze ring.
The boy ran his eyes over the room, looking for a suitable hiding place, for he knew the man must have some secret place for his valuables. His eyes lit up they fell upon a painting, a knight leaning on his sword. Slinking over to the painting, he gently pulled on its side. It swung away from the wall, revealing a safe mounted in the paneling. The boy grinned. It was such a cliché! He glanced at the bed, and detecting no movement, produced a set of lockpicks from his pocket. He tried several tension wrenches, till he found one that held, and began to feel his way into the lock. After thirty seconds the lock gave up and made a faint click. The door swung open to reveal the contents of the safe: a small sack of coins, a gold ring adorned with a ruby that managed to glisten despite the near pitch darkness of the room, and a plain brass amulet were all that it contained. He pulled open the coin purse and dropped the ring in, then picked up the amulet, looping it around his wrist. “You've done it now Paris!” he thought to himself and with a smile on his face, he closed the safe door setting off an audible click. A moment later he heard a click from behind, and the smile instantly slipped off his face, like a particularly juicy slice of pie falling off a plate onto a dirt floor. He knew that sound. A crossbow's safety catch being disabled. “I suggest you turn around slowly, taffer.” Came a voice from behind. Thinking fast, Paris dropped to the floor while at the same time throwing the sack of money at the voice. The sack hit the crossbow bolt in mid air and exploded, most of the contents hitting the man's face. With a roar he threw the crossbow at the retreating figure, and began to chase him, nearly losing his balance as he slipped on the gold coins strewed at his feet.
Darting into the larder, the angry man close on his heels, the boy jumped feet first out of the window, catching the rope as he flew by, and quickly slipped down to the street where he turned to look at the man's beet red face and put his thumb to his nose, making a rude gesture. Infuriated, the man threw an orange, but the lad deftly caught it, and ran off, shouting his thanks.
Chapter 2
Paris walked through the near dawn, slowly peeling his orange. The shops were beginning to come to life, and a few people were on the streets scurrying to their workplaces. He thought about the burglary of just a few hours ago. He nearly died several times during that disaster, and for what? A simple brass pendant, which would probably get ten pieces of silver at a pawn shop. He drew the thing from his pocket, stared at it, and threw it into the gutter. He walked a few more steps and paused. Sighing deeply, he turned around and retrieved it from where it lay in the mud. He didn't know why he had done so, he just felt a strange attraction to the beastly thing. He kept walking aimlessly down the street, mentally beating himself for getting caught. “I need to think this out.” He told himself. Just then a band of children raced by, nearly knocking him over. “Maybe somewhere a little quieter...” He amended, while checking his pockets, confirming that his dummy wallet had just been stolen.
Paris walked casually into a nearby alley and began to swiftly climb the side of the building. The bars on the windows made it all the easier to reach the top of the small building, from where he took off across the thieves highway until he came to his home, the top floor of an abandoned building. Set in one of the worst districts in town, Paris had been careful to make the building appear uninhabitable. Working silently over a period of several weeks, he had collapsed the first and second staircases of the once grand house, ensuring that it could only be reached from the rooftops. After a year of living in the small bedroom on the top floor, he started expanding his living quarters while sill making sure it looked derelict, a rather hard task. Now he lived in four rooms, a bedroom, kitchen, a display room for all his trophies and even a den with a sparse library!
He sat in an old rocking chair in the den and began to think. Why had the man kept this worthless old amulet along with a priceless ring, and several hundred gold coins? “There must be more to this than meets the eye.” he thought, “I'll have to follow him.” He got up out of the chair, walked to the window and slid down the drainpipe expertly.
Paris quickly made his way back towards the house from which he had stolen the amulet. As he went he thought about the amulet. It was obviously very important if it was kept in a false safe, with hundreds of septims worth of gold. The roads soon became too crowded as morning drew on and so Paris took to the roof tops once again. About half an hour later he was standing on the edge of the mansion he had visited earlier. Wondering what the to do next, Paris saw the fat merchant exit his house hurriedly and, glancing both ways, locked the door and made off down the street, towards the square. Paris followed along the rooftops. The man kept looking to the road behind him suspiciously as though looking out for followers, though he never thought to look to the rooftops. Unfortunately the fat merchant kept taking detours in an attempt to shake off any potential followers which resulted in him getting lost. Twice. Eventually they made it to the main square after nearly an hour, a distance Paris would have traveled in under 10 minutes. Paris quickly climbed down to ground level and began to follow him through the crowd, easily avoiding his searching eyes. He saw the merchant stop under the clock tower at the center of the square, as though waiting for someone. Paris looked up at the clock which read 11:47 and reasoned that the merchant was probably meeting someone at 12:00. he walked around the stalls set up selling silks and pottery, cakes and knifes, always with one eye on the man sitting under the clock.
The clock struck twelve and the merchant looked around, mopping his glistening brow with a damp handkercheif. He saw a clown shamble up and make sad faces at him. From the other side of the square Paris saw the clown too and quickly made his way to a point where he could her what they said. “...you LOST it?” the clown half whispered, outraged.
“A boy stole it! Last night!”
“Do you have any idea what will happen if that information gets out? We'll ALL hang!”
Paris clutched the amulet in fear, he still didn't understand, but he knew that he had stumbled on something huge, far bigger than his life was worth. He turned and ran.
The clown saw him and started to run after him, but tripped over his own overly large feet. “Stop that thief!” he yelled, and soon the whole plaza was taken up with cries of “Thief!” and, “Catch him!” and even some joker yelling, “Fire!” Even so, Paris managed to worm his way out of the crowd, a little bruised, but unhurt. He retreated to his home in the old manor.
Chapter 3
“...But Raul, How are we going to find him now? He could be practically anywhere!” asked the merchant, still conversing with the clown, now in the comfort of his mansion. “Easy!” replied the clown, or Raul, “The taffer obviously heard us talking, which must have scared him off. He will be curious, and try to open the locket. There is a powerful enchantment on that thing. When it opens, it will cast a temporary mark on whoever opened it, we will be able to tell who it is. Also, our Spectress Mia will be able to tell us exactly where it was opened, then will send the closest assassin after him. Jonah. All he needs to do is open the locket. Then we've got him.”
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Paris paced back and forth along the floor of his Den thinking about what he had just heard. “Information? How could this simple amulet- unless... could it be that simple? A locket? How had I not thought of that earlier?” He looked for a seam around the edge and, finding one, drew a knife from his belt and pried the locket open. A paper laid inside. He began to read the fine lettering, his eyes opening wider and wider as he read, catching snippets as the text flew by. “...Midsummer festival...” “...midnight...” “….poison in the air...” “….using a crossbow...” “...orange peels...” “...during his speech...” “...with King Ultimor dead...” “new empire!” “...of course biscuits and tea half way...” he looked up in shock. A plot to kill the king. He had to tell someone. Suddenly he heard a loud crash, and the whole house shook. It had come from the direction of the front door, so he ran to the balcony, throwing the locket around his neck, to see four, large, gorilla like men standing on the door that they had just broken down. Paris turned and ran for the window, kicked it open, and saw a man on the far roof, laying a bolt into a crossbow. Knowing he had less than a second, he threw himself at the building opposite, just managing to catch a ledge in the stonework! He dropped a few more feet to a window and kicked it open, crawling inside. He ran to the staircase and rushed down, in huge leaps and bounds until he reached the door to the street. Cautiously he looked around before bolting from the doorway and down the street towards the palace. He looked up and saw the assassin running along the rooftops above him, crossbow abandoned. Paris darted down a side street, and then into an ally in an attempt to lose the him, but the assassin easily kept track of where he was. Desperately Paris thought, and realized that the only way to shake him was via the canal. He jumped from his hiding place and ran down the street, heading straight into the setting sun.
On the rooftops the assassin grinned as he raced along, jumping from roof to roof. This was freedom! Soon the boy would tire, he thought, and then I'll have him! He wondered where the boy was headed, but came to the conclusion that he was probably just running aimlessly. Due west.
Paris was breathing heavily, he wasn't used to this prolonged running, and he also had a sense that the assassin was playing with him, like a cat with a mouse. But he had hope, if he could get to the canal he should be able to get across quickly, while the assassin would have to clamber down from the buildings, buying Paris twenty valuable seconds.
Up on the rooftops the hunter realized the boy's plan and sped up, overtaking Paris, but staying out of his sight. 'sneaky little taffer!' he thought and looked for a soft landing. He saw one; a ten foot drop to a two story stagecoach barn, and below that, a cart of hay. He jumped onto the barn, and slipped, sliding toward the edge of the barn and a nasty fall. Trying to stop himself, he braced his feet on the cedar shingles of the roof. Unfortunatly cedar is a porous wood, and holds water like a sponge. They were still slightly damp from the earlyer rain, and there was no footing to be gained there.
Paris kept running, though he couldn't see the assassin anymore he knew he must be following still. He passed a stagecoach barn and glanced quickly before turning away. He turned and stared, watching the dark cloaked figure slide off of the building, at the last second pushing away from the wall and spiraling into a dive, swung his feet around for a landing in the hay. Paris turned the other way and sprinted. So much for the canal. Now it was a dead sprint for the castle, still over a mile away. He looked back, desperately hoping the assassin hadn't made the jump, and was dismayed to see him still following. He heard a shout from the front and looked forward, for a fraction of a second seeing his face reflected in the breastplate of a watch officer, he dropped to the ground, sliding under the officer, and tripping one of his men. He jumped up and continued to run, staggering a bit. The squad of soldiers looked at the pair of runners, undecided as to what to do, but the man in black made up their minds, yelling, “Stop that horse thief!” with that the guardsmen began to chase too, (horse theft being one of the greater crimes, on par with killing a man!)
Paris groaned as he saw the group of men chasing him and ran down a street, low buildings on either side. The end of the road was suddenly blocked, as three guardsmen ran around the edge of the building and stood at the end of the street, swords drawn. He didn't bother to look behind, instead Paris ran at the building next to him, and jumped onto a crate, from which he lept up and caught the rim of the flat roof. As the city approached the castle, and the ground raised to a steep hill, the roofs became flatter, allowing swift travel across the top of the sprawling metropolis. The castle in sight, Paris redoubled his efforts. From the sound of things, he still had the assassin, and maybe half a dozen of the more athletic watch officers behind him, in hot pursuit. Paris suddenly realized the roofs were coming to a halt as the castle wall and moat drew near. He risked a glance behind, in time to see five coppers, their heavy breastplates discarded, and the assassin, jump to the rooftop he had just left. He looked ahead and had a crazy idea, one of the best kind. Banners were hung from the top of the wall, long and slender, every hundred feet or so. At the closest point, one was about twenty five feet from one of the tallest buildings in the area, a large house, not unlike the one that had housed the amulet that caused all of this. Paris, knowing he had just seconds left, ran toward the mansion, and jumped, catching a gable roof, and pulling himself up. He scrambled to the top of the building, cursing as the watch made similar jumps with apparent ease. Running along the narrow flat top of the roof, he used a last final burst of energy to throw himself across the gap at the wall beyond. His hands grasped the banner, and slipped, sliding down the slick fabric! Desperately he tightned his grip, hoping for a hold, but he kept sliding. Paris closed his eyes, readying himself for the drop, but with a jerk, his hands grabbed the iron bar at the bottom of the banner, used to keep it anchored in the wind. With grim determination, he pulled himself up, and began to climb up the side of the wall, using the banner as a rope. On the rooftop opposite he saw the assassin building up speed to attempt a similar jump. With his longer legs, and stronger grip, he cleared the gap, and managed to grab hold of the banner, sliding a short way before getting a solid grip. The banner groaned. Paris climbed faster. Emboldened, the youngest watchman jumped too, sliding down the banner as Paris had done. The banner creaked. Paris and the assassin looked back, and saw another guard, leaping through the air, level with the assassin, who braced himself, and struck out, punching the officer, halting his flight, and sending him crashing into the moat. The officers on the roof didnt see, and another one jumped. The assassin let go with one hand and drew a long knife from his boot. Paris did the same, drawing a small curved knife from his boot. The assassin swung the knife at the helpless guardsman who threw his arms up in front of his face. The knife slowed as it hit the leather bracers on the mans forearms and bit into his flesh; he fell screaming into the water. The assassin dropped his knife, and lunged up the banner. There was a 'ping', as the sudden movement proved too much, and one of the dozen iron rings holding the flag up gave way, and fell. The last guardsman jumped. Paris's eyes grew as he realized what was about to happen. He let go of one hand and drew a small knife from the front of his belt, slashing the banner in front of him, severing it part way. He slashed once again, before the guard grabbed the banner below, and it snapped where Paris had cut. He dropped the knife and hung on to the frayed banner for dear life as he watched the others plummet toward the water below. He began to climb again. Hand over hand, he made his way up the last fifteen feet, and pulled himself over the battlement, dropping silently on the other side. He looked around, and saw a pair of guards over the gatehouse, apparently unaware of the fight that had just taken place. He scanned the castle keep and saw where the king's throne room was, on the second floor. Paris dropped to the courtyard and made his way to the open door, leading in to the castle. Just as he was nearing the large double doors, a trumpet sounded, and they began to swing shut. Paris sprinted at the closing doors, but was far too late. He cursed, and looked around for a way in. there was a large mass of ivy growing on the castle walls. Ivy. Usually not a good idea to climb, but he would have to make an exception. The ivy however was old, and well attached to the wall, so he was able to scale it quickly.
Paris looked in a top story window to see the king at a desk, his advisers standing beside him, talking. He wondered how to get rid of them; he doubted they would listen to him if he came barging in the window unannounced. Just then the king stood up and, with an impatient gesture of his hand, motioned for the other men in the room to leave, which they did. The king stretched and began to walk toward the door. Realizing he was about to miss a valuable opportunity, Paris quickly but silently slid the window open and dropped to the other side. “Sir! Wait!” he called to the king, who was opening the door. “Who in blazes are you?” the king cried, his hand darting for his sword. “Paris.” he stated and raised his hands. “I've come to warn you.”
“Warn me of what?” the king replied, not dropping his guard
“There are people who want to kill you!”
Unexpectedly, the king roared with laughter, “There are always people who want to kill me!” after a pause he added “How do I know you aren't one of them?”
“Oh! Easily explained sir,” Paris started, but hesitated and added lamely “I- I can't actually...” he fell silent.
After a dozen long seconds the king sighed and said “I believe you were warning me? Carry on.”
“I stol- er- I found something, and it, er- it was a locket, it had a letter inside... er, could I just show you?” he took the locket from around his neck and began to step toward the king. “No! ...throw it to me.” he said, his voice full of mistrust. Paris tossed the locket to the king, who, after a moment opened the locket and began to read. Paris stood very still, waiting. Finally the king finished and looked questioningly at Paris. “Where did you get this?” he demanded “Tell me the whole story.” Paris began to speak, but hesitated when it came to telling of his break-in of the merchants house. The king sensed the pause and kindly said “Speak plainly. We both know you stole it. I wont hold it against you.” Relived, Paris continued, leaving out no details. He finished, and the king gave him an appraising look. “Step into the light, boy.” he commanded. Paris hesitated slightly, then did as he asked, stepping into the circle of light cast by the last rays of the setting sun.
“Boy! Who is your father?” the king demanded, with a start.
“I- I don't know, sir” he said “I never knew my parents. My mother died when I was still a baby, I've been an orphan as long as I can remember...” and sensing the king's disappointment, he added, “But my mother named me Paris Aldrech, if that helps, sir...” The man's face lit up, “Hah! Of course!” he clapped, and spun in a full circle, grinning. His face became serious again.
“Paris, I knew your father. Tom Aldrech. He worked for me.”
Paris staggered, a million questions presented themselves to him. “Worked for you? What did he do?”
“Paris... he was a thief. The best I ever knew... and odd as it may seem, I DO know some good thieves. We met when we were very young, around ten years of age... he was the son of the head gardener. We were the same age, and each had a head for mischief...” his voice trailed off as he gazed off into space, recalling past adventures. He came back with a start, and continued “Well, anyway, we stayed secret friends until our late teens, but eventually were forced apart. My duties as Crown Prince, and some unnamed problems in his family forced us apart, and I didn't see him for many years. One day, the dying king, my father, called me to his chamber. He revealed to me many secrets, including the existence of a royal assassin. It was the gardener, David. Furthermore, his son, Tom had recently completed training, and was following in his father's footsteps. Well, to cut a long story short, I assumed the role of king, and David and Tom fell under my command. Tom died, sixteen years ago, when on a mission for me... David died too, four years ago; his heart gave way.” he stopped, and Paris looked up into the clear blue eyes of the king. “I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this...” Paris just shook his head, speechless under the weight of this new information.
They stood in silence for a few minutes.
“Paris... Would you consider working for me?” the king suddenly asked. “This locket, and the message contained, have given me reason to believe I will need your skills, and soon. You come from a long line of thieves and assassins, I believe this is destiny. What do you say?” their eyes met. “For me?” Paris slowly nodded, then opened his mouth. “Sir, I see you in a whole new light now... down in the city... people don't speak very highly of you, for the most part... but... well sir,” he hesitated, then got down on one knee, and swore fealty to the king and state on the spot. “Arise. You probably can't go back to your house today, present this to the head gardener down in the grounds, he will accommodate you.” the king gave Paris a curious silver token, shaped like a slightly flattened pyramid. “He is one of the only people able to claim friendship with Tom. Though he is not an assassin himself, you may speak plainly to him.”
“Now, begone,” he said, gesturing to the locket in his hand, “I have a war to stop.”
