[Nell]: 226.Stories.Assassin.The Trap

Chapter One: The Trap

Zimmeria, Princess of the Kingdom of Abagon, drummed her dark fingers impatiently beside one of her beloved knives. Yet another suitor had insisted upon interrupting her precious time by sending a poet with his dry poems of her beauty and his master’s grand deeds.
The exploits were exaggerated, the suitors only wanted her land, and Zimmeria found poetry silly and uninteresting. At the end of the poem there was a customary appeal for marriage, and a customary removal after a customary and emphatic “No! Thank you.”
Why the suitors didn’t come to the palace themselves was a complete mystery to her. It would be a lot easier than sending these go-betweens again and again, even if bards were the thing. It was as though the suitors thought she meant something other than the blatant “No!” they’d received, and that they’d better send another poet just in case.
So with that customary converse done with, the poet’s visit came to an end, and Zimmeria could get back to polishing her daggers. But she had only just worked a proper glint into the knife, when a loud knocking sounded on the armoury door once again.
The armoury had been used to be a storage room before Zimmeria expressed an interest in pointy objects. Even then it was only a small room with no windows, half-empty selves, one small table, one small lamp, an out-of-date chair, and only one door instead of the usual two.
And it was this single door that Zimmeria was glaring at with a powerful hatred.
She slammed her polishing cloth down on the table and went to answer the door herself, instead of calling whoever-it-was to come in. This was one poet too many for today.
She grabbed the door handle and yanked it open. The door nearly swung loose of its hinges from the force of it, and then bounced back to hit the Princess in the arm.
Zimmeria was about to let loose on a poet. She was going to throw him bodily from the castle. No, she was going to beat him to a pulp, and then throw him bodily from the castle. But some lucky bard was saved that day, because standing at the door was Saesh, her handmaiden.
Saesh stood there with a practiced calm, her eyes half-closed in apparent boredom and a look that read ‘I am your humble servant’, and in quieter tones ‘not your personal pincushion’. She acted as though a fuming Princess standing before her with a dagger in one hand was something she came across everyday. Sometimes it felt like it too. Balanced on one hand was a tray with a blank envelope on it.
“Letter for you, Your Highness,” she said. Then she winked at her mistress in a confidential way.
“Thank you Saesh!” Zimmeria said eagerly, taking the letter the maid with all previous annoyance immediately forgotten. “You may leave now.”
Saesh curtsied and left, closing the door behind her.
Zimmeria strode back to her chair, slicing the letter open as she went. By the feeble light of her lamp she read and then reread the letter. Satisfied, she stuffed it into her pocket, to be disposed of later, and went back to her polishing. If there were no more interruptions she would be able to finish by tonight.

Evening came and went, and the night descended upon the city of Abbak like a vast shadow. There was no moon in the cloudless sky and the pinpricks of stars shed little light.
Zimmeria twisted her fingers into the climbing vines that lead conveniently up to her bedroom window. She inhaled in the sharp coolness that the hours of darkness brought.
That same fresh chill breathed delightfully through her clothes and over her skin. If only such a relief would come during the heat of the day, with her in heavy dresses. She was accustomed to the heat of course, as it was there year round, but that didn’t make it any more enjoyable.
She climbed dexterously down to the ground. The next part was easy; the fact she knew the exact time of the guards’ rounds helped immensely in escaping, for they were constantly shifting. She waited in the bushes until the first guard passed, counted to four, and then began a lopping jog across the lawn. The idea was not to go too fast or too slow, and miss each round as they came or went. The crackle of dry grass followed her progress.
She made it to the wall safely and followed it to the gatehouse. The sharp clang of a stone hitting the metal bars grabbed the attention of the guards long enough for Zimmeria to slip through.
She moved along the dark streets with ease. Her black leggings, black tunic, black hair, and dark complexion made her virtually impossible to see except to the trained eye.
Suddenly she was jerked roughly into an alley as a pale hand stifled her scream. Zimmeria was held tightly against her captor’s chest so she couldn’t struggle.
“We really must work on your eyesight and your tendency to scream at sudden movement. It would be a great deal easier for me if I didn’t have to do this every time we meet. Besides,” the young man added as an afterthought. “It could get us caught.”
He released her and Zimmeria turned to face her teacher and friend, Kraft. Only Saesh knew of their relationship, and even then the information she received was minimal.
He grinned, and she marvelled for the millionth time at his ability to disappear into the shadows despite being so pale, as northerners were
“So, who’s our victim tonight?” she asked him.
“A police man,” he replied. “I know you don’t like it, but he’s the only one I could find this week. It seems that the rest are still simmering. Anyway, his wife has found out that he’s been visiting about…five other women’s bedrooms. She’s going to pay well for it. You’ll be able to get that new blade you’ve been drooling over.”
“The woman probably just wants to make room for her other man, or men,” Zimmeria said with disgust, ignoring his jabbing comment.
Her parents didn’t like her love of knives; they thought it ill fitting for a Princess of Abagon. Often she had heard them say; "Why couldn't she be more like Nefia?" her dull little sister, who did nothing but play with face-paints. But the King and Queen did like very small allowances, apparently the girls were supposed to learn the value of money and nonsense, and such a combination made it impossible for Zimmeria get many new knives for her ‘little’ armoury. Daughter of the King and Queen, and forced to such an extent as murder for a few swords.
Kraft was an assassin for more noble reasons; to keep food on the table for his aging mother and child sister. Although it couldn’t be said that he didn’t enjoy the excitement and thrill that came with the job.
“We should get going,” he said quickly. “She’s at the bar, and we don’t want him wandering off before we get there.”
They drifted through the streets towards the officer’s house. Their dark paths were void of life and light. No sound marked their journey.
Kraft had taught her everything. How to move unseen and unheard, how to enter, how to kill. He had been forced to teach and train himself since he was a young boy, now Zimmeria's age. To the people around him he would act calmly, with dark humour and even arrogance. But that was only to get work. She knew of his secret wonder for all life about him. Ending something sometimes brings a deep awareness of it. Not in her own case of course! She was certain such softness did not stain her.
They finally came to the place. The house wasn’t large, but it wasn’t a cottage either. It was two stories high, white, with green shutters and a red tile roof. It differed significantly from the plain one-floor homes on both sides and the tall, grey edifice across from it. It must have belonged to a rich policeman.
“Though,” Zimmeria thought as her teacher deftly picked the lock. “All houses grey or white, rich or poor, are easy enough for Kraft to enter.”
The hallway was dark, but the sounds of someone showering directed them upstairs. They climbed the banister instead of risking a chance on the stairs creaking. At the landing the hallway split to either side. As soon as her feet touched the floor, Zimmeria’s instinct told her something was not right. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. She was about to mention this to Kraft, when she saw a large shadow move abruptly in a doorway.
She screamed and instantly a light flickered on. Armed officers in blue uniforms tumbled out of the rooms on both sides of the hallway.
“This, my young apprentice,” Kraft said coolly. “Is what is called a trap. Do try not to get yourself into one of these, they’re rather difficult to get out of. And didn’t I say that scream of yours could get us caught?”
They were completely surrounded.