Ticca moved cautiously over the roof, making sure she stayed in the chimney’s long shadow as she inched towards it. A spring squall moved in dropping the temperature from sweaty warm to steamy. The hot roof tiles steamed until water ran over them fully washing away the earlier heat. The smells of warm rain, tar, and hot wet brick filled her nose. She ignored the weather keeping a watchful eye on the traffic in the street below. Her cloak had a little magic that helped her blend into the shadows, but it didn’t make her invisible and she appreciated the dimmer daylight under the darkening rain clouds.
Stay focused, she reminded herself; someone will try to kill me if they see me, and worse, I’ll miss Sula’s target.
It was a dangerous task to spy on those powerful people, but she wanted to garner respect as a Dagger, and Sula was her first significant client. Being only 18 years old with soft curly brown hair and only a 5’8” athletically slim build most people assumed she was younger. Between her looks, age, and lack of a solid name it had been a hard six cycles earning jobs in such a major port city as Llino. Ticca managed to earn a small reputation as a hunter Dagger in minor jobs before Sula, who could easily hire senior warriors, unexpectedly sat at her table. Ticca earned plenty of respect and coin from her successes in the last five jobs for Sula. Each success brought her closer to becoming a respected Dagger who could choose from the best assignments.
She arrived at her position in the darkest crook of the chimney exactly as the hazy sun touched the western horizon. The rain was steady but not thick enough to reduce visibility. Moving into her vantage point, she scanned for any signs that she’d been spotted. Everything continued normally; it was business as usual for the merchants down in the Day Market. From underneath her cloak, she pulled the solid cylinder out and held it in her left hand.
She waited for the courier she'd been told to find.
As the darkness deepened, the ocean breeze began dropping the temperature. Ticca’s concentration narrowed, as she became the hunter, waiting, watching the traffic moving through the only known entrance to the market square. The bulk of the more upstanding merchants had already locked up their wooden stalls and carted off as much as they could past the beautiful entry statue. Fingers on their sword hilts, in their banded leather armor, the last three city guards left for more respectable parts of the city. A few late shoppers moved about the remaining merchants, who were trying to evacuate the square before the sun finished setting. The Day Market was closed; it was about to become the Night Market.
A stout, confident man walked into the market wearing a dark, charcoal gray cloak. Ticca’s heart rate picked up with excitement as she recognized him as the hired assassin — or Knife, as they were called — that Sula had her identify a few days earlier.
What are you doing here personally? What have you been up to the last few days?
The Knife scanned the market, then looked up at the roofs. She held her breath as his gaze passed over her. Not finding who he was looking for, he pulled his hood over his head and moved, blending into a dark shadow by the wall.
Ticca stared intently, trying to find his outline.
Urdu, she silently cursed shaking her fist under the cloak, don’t lose him now. If he is here, then the courier isn’t coming.
She considered leaving, but her instincts were telling her to stay. She steeled herself to hold still as he would likely spot any movement she made.
If I learn what he is up to it might be worth a bonus from Sula.
She couldn’t make out if he was still where she last saw him. She considered moving to a new position to locate him. But quickly dismissed the idea in favor of holding very still.
She tallied the square’s occupants in her mind keeping her attention focused on watching for the Knife to move. In her peripheral vision, the statue shifted signaling that the Night Market was in business.
When Sula’s first mission brought her to the Night Market, she was surprised to see it. The greedy nobles in Llino did not leave anything of value alone for long. This statue was a treasure, during the day, it was a perfect portrayal of a young elven maiden, shopping basket hung loosely on her left arm, her right arm lifting ever-so-slightly in friendly greeting, with a warm, expressive smile, welcoming market visitors. At the end of each sunset, it subtly changed and the maiden grasped her basket tight, eyes wide with a look of terror her right hand held out to warn visitors away from the dangers within.
It was a statue only the wealthiest could dream of commissioning for their estates. Yet there, it sat in the middle of the only entrance to a medium-sized, dead-end square, just inside the lower area of town, which had been a market for as long as anyone could remember.
The night patrons began to arrive, and the evening’s dealers materialized from the darkened alleys, moving past the statue to enter the square. People in long, expensive rain capes mixed with dock workers in their dingy clothes and thick coats. In the night market cloaks, coats, and collars were worn tight concealing identities. With the added light spring rain heavier garments were even more popular making her job of keeping track of individuals harder.
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Watching the deals on these missions had given Ticca a good idea of the basic rules of engagement there. At sunset, the market became too dangerous for honest city guards. She’d heard tales of the legendary Night Market long before she came to the city. She’d thought its reputation for having drug dealers, pawn brokers, and facilitators of any act was exaggerated. But the merchants, or ‘Hands’ as they like to be called, lived up to that reputation. She shuddered as she remembered some of the breathtaking and brutal things she had witnessed passing through there, the worst of which was a bag of what she was sure were fresh body parts.
I’m sure many would like it if this place was shut down, but as my uncle says, ‘People will always be capable of evil, and some will always choose to be evil.’ All this activity would just shift somewhere else, keeping it here might even keep it in check.
A dignified Hand who dealt in secrets, and a regular visitor to the Night Market, strolled past the statue ignoring the stone figure’s warning. She still didn’t understand why they bothered to put that statue there, but it did make a good signal for whether or not it was safe to enter.
The shadow she had been watching split in two, with the real shadow reluctantly releasing its twin.
That’s a neat trick you didn’t have last time.
The Knife kept the hood up and drifted to intercept the newest arrival. They met, like all the others, a safe distance from everyone else and started negotiating. It did not take long before the Knife passed a small package to the Hand, who put it in his coat.
Even in the rain-cloaked night, she could see the small package was tied with a glinting golden thread. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized the implications. Sula had specifically told her to be on the lookout for anything tied with gold threads. She felt the justifiable wide smile, knowing she had succeeded again. My instincts are dead on again. One week, and I have found the Hand.
When the Hand’s fingers came out of the coat, they passed over the Knife’s palm, dropping a small bag that vanished instantly.
Probably going to waste that coin on something stronger than hyly at a Red-Door. No matter, I have my quarry.
With the deal done, the Knife drifted off to the left. She didn’t bother to watch; her attention was fixed on her new target, the Hand. It was time for the part of the job she didn’t like.
Under her cloak, her left hand squeezed the small, solid metal tube she’d been holding ready since getting into position. Although physically impossible, the solid tube shrank slightly, activating the spell. She felt the tingle of released magic flow up her arm. It wasn’t unpleasant, but she was glad she had been warned the first time; otherwise, she might have looked down at her hands, which would have been disastrous. Now she was used to it and tried to ignore the sensations, she kept her eyes locked on the Hand, as if her life depended on it, which it likely did. The spell moved through her veins and up through her neck, to her head, and she felt it rush from her eyes.
I wonder what this does. Sula has made me do it on every job.
After the spell was released, Ticca didn’t wait to see the result. She reached back, grabbed the top of the roofline, and levered herself over the top, staying low and not allowing her cloaks to flutter. Out of sight from the market, Ticca hurried across the rooftops. She had a rendezvous with Sula at the Blue Dolphin to get to.
After the spell was released, Ticca didn’t wait to see the result. She reached back, grabbed the top of the roofline, and levered herself over the top, staying low and not allowing her cloaks to flutter. Out of sight from the market, Ticca hurried across the rooftops. She had a rendezvous with Sula at the Blue Dolphin to get to.
Out of sight from the Night Market and everyone involved in it, Ticca made careful progress northeastward across the Llino rooftops. The grounds of the wizards’ Guildhouse and the surrounding mansions took up too much space between the Night Market and the city docks to sneak around on the rooftops.
Feeling well away from any pursuit, Ticca inspected one of the five alleys she'd picked to descend to the streets. She hid in the shadows of a roof crenel waiting for any followers. Ten minutes passed without any hint of a follower. Something made her wait longer. Twenty minutes passed without signs of being pursued.
You're being paranoid. She chided herself. 'Paranoia is a useful tool,' her trainer's voice responded from her memories.
She moved. Hand over hand she lowered herself silently, and unseen, into the narrow alley.
She stripped off the thin magical outer cloak and folded it into a tight bundle. The evening chill began to bite through her light cape, which had been hidden underneath. She placed the folded cloak into her secure satchel, in the chain-lined pocket. She never stopped marveling that a full cloak could become such a small package of cloth that fit in one palm.
Now all I need to do is report to Sula, as instructed, that I can identify the Hand. Maybe tomorrow, I can start tracking him. She thought.
Flipping her cape collar into a more respectable position, she pulled the hood out over her head, to keep off some of the rain, and stepped boldly out into the lamp-lit road. Turning east, she started walking towards the docks. Her destination was a block from the city’s expansive docks. It was only a thirty-minute walk past the huge walled off wizards’ campus they called a Guildhouse.
As she passed the white arches of the wizards’ Guildhouse, she unconsciously shied to the far side of the street, as nearly everyone did. It never paid to be too close to a wizard. Ticca had never met a wizard she would call ‘nice,’ and stories of sudden executions by offended wizards made the unspoken rule of the common folk to give all wizards a comfortable space just sound thinking. Still, the building was beautiful to look at. Somehow, it was always visible, no matter the weather or light. Yet, it didn’t actually glow. If it had, she would have spotted the motion from the alley’s shadow a moment sooner.
A strong hand closed hard on her throat, choking off any chance of calling for help. The attacker’s other hand didn’t waste time either; it grabbed her arm through the cloak and threw her deep into the alley.