Day 52, 10:15 PM

"Remember, remember, the fifth of November, Gunpowder Treason and Plot."

― Unknown

Scaling the wall went much smoother than expected. The night is sufficiently dark, and I’m sufficiently used to climbing while blind. I keep to the shadows. Twenty torches burn atop the battlements, but they are spaced too far from each other that finding a dark corner is easy, and seeing the patrolling guards even easier.

I’m down in the yard before they reach me. I can smell manure, and there are a bunch of buildings, as well as a short wall with a garden and a tower beyond. Manny grew up in the stone keep. It looks massive and cold to me. Guards, servants, squires, and everyone else needed for the ducal family to function live in the complex, but the keep itself is reserved for the family.

I expected my heart would pound, but I’m calm. I’ve done this several times when assassinating other nobles, and I’m kind of getting used to it.

The shadows are thick enough to swallow me completely. I skulk through them without a sound, and I’m laying atop the ten-foot-tall, ivy-covered wall in no time. The garden is a clear lawn with several flowerbeds here and there, and a pair of guards stand before the keep door. The best cover I can find are three rose bushes, but I can only use them to block the drowsy guards’ line of sight.

Bad plan. I bite my lip and instead focus on the shadowy part of the garden where the southern wall merges with the keep. I calm down, breathe, and rest, giving myself enough time to find a better plan.

I fail. So, I climb back down, and follow the wall. I pass the unguarded garden gate and reach the far wall. The climb is easy again, and this time I have shadows all around me. I creep my way to the keep and follow the wall until I’m seventeen feet away from the citadel wall.

I press my shoulder against the wall, but nothing happens. I move back and forth a bit, pushing the stone slabs until one gives and a section of the wall slides in.

This wasn’t an exit for the children, I conclude, based on how much strength I had to put behind my push. It’s pitch black inside and I feel for the lever, which closes the door behind me after I pull it.

Mental note, if I’m ever constructing secret hallways, escape paths, and such, install traps. An enemy finding one means I’m dead without knowing what happened.

The straight staircase is full of cobwebs, and I can only hope that no ancient evil in spider-form took residence to guard the passage. I can’t help but chuckle.

If he has Shemob guarding an unused secret passage, we’re completely screwed, and we should just go to a different kingdom.

In all honesty, the webs aren’t that bad. Most of them are dry and empty, and the thick layer of dust puffs into sneeze-inducing clouds with every step I make, muffling my footsteps, so it’s pretty obvious Gohen is unaware of this passage. Soon enough I reach the top of the staircase, and feel the wall for another lever. I pull, and it doesn’t budge. I pull again and again.

The damn thing is rusted!

Then I recall a newspaper article from my childhood. Some dumb kids were stuck in the attic or cellar for a day because they were turning the doorknob the wrong way. I give it a shot and push instead.

There’s a light scraping noise, and the passage opens.

Huh. Let’s never tell anyone about this. Ever.

I step into the walk-in wardrobe, and the only thing I can see are thin yellow lines of light through cracks on the ancient wooden door. I do, however, hear something. Grunting and moaning, just beyond the checkered patch of darkness. I’m neither bored nor curious enough to check out a fifty-year-old knight’s performance.

Instead, I sit down and wait for him to finish. I didn’t expect another person in the room. I guess I can knock her out and then handle Gohen. There’s around ten yards of rope coiled around my waist. Luckily, I didn’t need it, but it didn’t hurt to have it on me, just in case.

Ten minutes later the durable bastard is done.

“Suck it clean and get out.” I recognize the voice and confirm it’s Gohen. He’s not the gentlest of lovers, but at least he did me a favor and reduced the number of variables I have to mind.

I keep waiting, and after the door closes, I hear a trickle of water against wood before it clatters against metal.

My lip twists when I realize he must have missed the chamberpot at first. He blows the light out, hops onto the bed, and after a minute starts snoring. I wait for half an hour until he enters deep sleep, then I step out of the wardrobe.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

The night is dark, just slightly lighter than it was inside the wardrobe. I can’t see him, I can only follow the sound of snoring, and Gohen snores like a chainsaw cutting through stone. I could probably gun him down, and the guards wouldn’t hear a thing, save for the snores stopping.

I loom above him. The dark night has ruined my plan to torture him. I wanted to gag him and take my time killing him, but Manny’s right. I can’t ruin the big picture because of hatred. Not now. Hopefully, never again.

But how are you supposed to handle all the hateful bastards then?

I don’t know. I shouldn’t think about advanced moral and political questions when I’m about to grab this old fart by the throat.

I take a deep breath and calm down. Once more I curse the cloudy night which helped me enter the keep. Hard as I try, I can’t see well enough to break his neck. I don’t even see his neck.

And I can’t bludgeon him to death either. He has to be recognizable.

With no better ideas, I follow his breathing pattern. In, out, pause, in, out, pause.

I wait for him to exhale and I’m about to grab where I think his neck is, when I stop. If he’s sleeping deeply enough, I can just lightly trace his body and find the neck.

I like the solution better than blindly wrestling him. There’s a certain risk, but I recall picking my children up, carrying them, banging them against the too-narrow door frame, and putting them to bed without waking them. The bang against the wall happened only twice, but they didn’t wake up.

Maybe, just maybe…

I try it. I place my hand on his chest and he stays asleep.

He’s sleeping on his back. Makes sense, given how loud his snore is. I feel my way up, and my hand closes around his throat. I don’t try to strangle him, Initial Grappling taught me that’s for amateurs. I crush his larynx, and he gasps.

He’s clawing at the air and thrashing in the bed, and I step away.

“Manuella Eagleeye sends her regards,” I say. “Had the night been brighter, I would have gagged and tortured you, but I guess whoever’s in charge of the weather likes you. When you go to hell, tell them I said hi.”

I don’t know if he can hear me. He certainly didn’t stop fighting for air to listen to my monologue, nor did he suddenly start trashing extra hard just because of what I said.

“You know, I got to thank you for sending that girl away. She could have ruined my plan.”

Well, not really. The plan was to wait for him in the wardrobe, in case he wasn’t in tonight. At some point, he would need clothes, and he’d never expect the world’s strongest man to jump out of his closet and start a wrestling deathmatch.

You sure are a tough bastard! He’s been trashing for ages, and he’s still at it. I should be grateful you woke up from sleep and lack air to think straight.

I think he takes five whole minutes before he suffocates and goes still. It should be around midnight.

I leave him alone and fumble around for a lantern, then I go back into the wardrobe. With light in hand, I examine the floor and the suits, and find bits of dust and spider web everywhere. I take a while to clean it up and remove all traces of my passage. Then I return to the room, leaving the wardrobe door open just enough to see inside.

I wrap Gohen in his bedsheets, take his sword, and I’m ready to leave. I close the wardrobe door, but the secret passage is too narrow to princess-carry Gohen down the stairs. I consider carrying him across my shoulder, but then I get a better idea. I tie him to my back with the rope, and with some effort, I’m out in the street less than an hour later.

It’s around one in the morning. The night is still dark, and everyone is sleeping. I have four hours before the pre-dawn light hits, so I get to work.

I climb the hanging stage in the main square, treading lightly, fearing squeaky boards will grab the guards’ attention. My fear is irrational, and on some level I know that, but being extra careful when carrying the city lord’s corpse seems like a prudent thing to do.

I come to the gallows, accompanied by an orchestra of muffled squeaks. I check the noose, still occupied. I remove what I hope is a convicted criminal and not a dissident, and place Gohen in his place. I lay on the wooden boards, place my hands behind my head to watch the stars. Right. It’s cloudy.

It’s funny how the same thing keeps switching between a blessing and a curse several times. I’m still bitter with how this turned out, I really wanted to torture Gohen. To inflict a smidgeon of pain he inflicted on Manny.

I guess it wasn’t meant to be.

I wait in the gloom for hours, but I have no trouble staying awake. There are so many things to consider, so many things to plan for. How to handle the city guards? How to rally the people? A good slogan.

The last one came easy, courtesy of Guy Fawkes.

The first steps echo against the flagstones while the night is still dark, but more and more join them with each passing minute. The sky grows brighter, and I can hear the city slowly waking up. Another half hour, and it will be light enough to see who’s the person hanging from the gallows, assuming anyone looks this way.

The day is bright when I bang Gohen’s sword against the bell hanging next to the gallows.

“Remember, remember the ninth of Rainweather! The backstab, the treason, the plot,” I shout as loud as my throat can handle while keeping the words clear and easy to hear. I think at least half the city heard me in the quiet morning. “The traitorous Gohen sold out his lord, yet now he hangs by a cord. Rise people of Eaglegord, take up arms and greet your rightful lord!”

I suck at rhyming. Altering Guy Fawkes rhyme with a convenient date when the Eagleeye family fell was easy and premeditated. The rest is me spewing bullshit as I go.

Mental note: If I ever do this day again, make decent lyrics first or steer away from rhyming.

Regardless of my rhyme’s quality, the crowd gathers while I speak, and the two guards, who stood before the citadel, are heading towards me. They falter when they realize their lord really is hanging from the thick rope. I can see the terror and confusion in their eyes.

Good. Let’s drive it home.

“Manuella Eagleeye is coming! She has started an uprising, conquering two towns already and she has conscripted an army! Over three hundred armed soldiers are marching with her, with more towns and villages pledging their loyalty to her. She will enter the city tomorrow before noon. Come spring we will raise our blades against the traitorous king. By Rainweather, he will share Gohen’s dog fate! The time of reckoning has come!”