Monk was not a particularly stealthy man. All of this sneaking around made his skin itch, he preferred to smash down the front door and deal with the consequences. So it was with more luck than skill that he found himself on the third floor of the house still undetected. The corridors were wide with small alcoves for a variety of artwork. Paintings of battlefields were everywhere but they were all wrong. They were painfully unrealistic, Monk sneered at them knowing whomever painted them had likely never even held a weapon, let alone killed a man. He had ducked into one of these alcoves on no less than four occasions when he had heard footsteps nearby.
The soft red carpets lining the hall were both a blessing and a curse, his heavy steps were muffled allowing him to pass almost silently. Unfortunately they also meant that by the time he could hear people coming they were almost on top of him. So it was that during a rather ungainly scurry down a particularly bare section of corridor, a scant meter from a sharp corner that the sound of footsteps reached his ears. Monk froze in a panic, his battle instincts about as useful as a wooden fireplace. The quiet clink of metal links rubbing over one another gave away what must be guardsmen approaching the corner. Frantic glances showed him a nondescript door he had passed a few moments before, turning and dashing clumsily back the way he had came he barrelled inside and closed it as carefully as he was able.
The store cupboard, for that is what the room was, already had occupants. Monk had his back pressed against the door he just barged through looking the two frozen servants in the eyes with his finger pressed to his lips, a threatening look in his eyes. If they had not been in the midst of a sordid act they might have already screamed. As it was they stood in stunned silence panting, eyes wide, covered in sweat and little else while the mountain of a man loomed over them. From the other side of the door he could hear the guards investigating the noise he had made, it would not take long for them to begin to check the nearby rooms. The couple must have heard the guards through the door too because the silence shattered with a scream from the taller of the two as he put his pale pasty body in front of his partner in an impotent semblance of protection.
Idiot, thought Monk as he grabbed an iron bedpan off the shelf nearest the door. One large step and an overhead swing was all it took for Monk to send the servant crumpling into a heap. Wielding his improvised club with brutal efficiency he soon sent the other servant chasing him into unconsciousness. Standing over the two sprawled naked bodies he tried in vain to offer the pair some modesty, quickly covering them with some of the junk off the shelf. Struck with inspiration he began pulling everything off of the higher shelves and piling them on top of the bodies. If the guards had not heard him before they would have to be dead to miss the sound of crashing metal but they might think the servants had had an accident. Happy with his slapdash work Monk moved deeper into the store room shrouding himself in shadows.
Tense seconds passed in the dark room, like the calm before a storm. At the sound of hurried footsteps Monk sank deeper into the darkness breathing low and even. The door burst open. The first guard, a younger man, stepped through the doorway with his sword breaker held in front of his body and a cudgel raised up, the second covered his flank with a compact crossbow checking the corners with practiced efficiency. Seeing the heap of limbs and pans where the two servants lay the guards lowered their weapons slightly, confusion evident on their faces.
“What do you think they were doing?” the first guard asked innocently.
Come on Al, really? Just check if are they still breathing you plank,” Came the gruff voice of the crossbow wielding guard. He was clearly the more experienced fighter, he was the taller of the two and his wine red tabard fit well across broad shoulders. Tucking away his cudgel and sword breaker the smaller guard, Al, crouched down and sifted through the haphazard pile of pans to check the pulses of the unconscious pair. Finding both alive he turned his head to the man still in the doorway. The veteran momentarily dropped his guard and looked at the bodies. The instant the crossbow point dipped down Monk moved.
“Just out cold, you think the…” was all that the young man managed to say before Monk’s shadowy form erupted from behind one of the shelves. He flew across the room in a second throwing yet another pan to distract the crossbow wielder. He covered the space before Al could react and smashed his knee into the side of the unfortunate mans jaw. Al went down like a puppet with its strings cut. Slumping onto his face as blood sprayed from his mouth alongside a chunk of tongue that was unfortunate enough to meet his clashing teeth. The taller guard stumbled back and yelled in surprise as blood spattered his face, the metallic tang of his friends blood shocking him. Monk barrelled forward like a runaway carriage closing the distance before the guard could fire his crossbow or raise the alarm. Realising this, the guard made a snap decision and hurled the heavy wooden contraption at the charging man unfired. The crossbows metal trigger hit Monk square in the face splitting the skin above his eye and causing him to stumble momentarily, using the extra half a second the guard grabbed his heavy cudgel and swung it blindly at the giants head. The cudgel missed. Monk had turned his stumble into a tackle lowering his shoulders and colliding with the half plate armour of the guard. The cloth tabard did nothing to cushion the impact and Monk’s shoulder exploded with pain. Momentum would not be denied though. The damage was done as the guard was sent hurtling into the corridor falling onto his back. Monk was only a step behind ignoring his injured shoulder. The half plate was designed to protect the torso and shoulders of the guardsmen trading mobility for defence. This was his undoing. Monk grappled the restricted man on the floor swatting away the clumsy attempts at resisting. The armour was designed to stop blades and counted for nothing as a forearm like a tree branch snaked around the guards neck crushing down on his windpipe as the older man flailed his cudgel impotently. Monk squeezed.
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
When the guard finally stopped jerking Monk let out a shuddering breath, tipped the limp body off and climbed to his feet. His shoulder throbbed painfully, blood was running freely into his eye from the cut that ran from his forehead down to his eyebrow and his knee had ballooned having caught the first guards helmet along with his jaw. Looking at the carnage around him he swore under his breath, the smell of blood and urine permeated the air. Blood was splashed haphazardly across the stone floor and on the dark carpet and now he had four bodies to worry about.
Not particularly subtle was it idiot, Tam will not let you live this down if he sees this mess.
Returning to the guard with the bleeding face he checked his breathing and then rolled him onto his side. It wouldn’t do to go to all the effort of not killing the men for this one to choke and drown on his own blood. Considering the mess he may as well have bought along his Axe. Although, given his size the weapon made him far too recognisable, how many men stand at near seven feet and fight with a woodcutters axe.
Somehow I don’t think I will get away with covering them all in pots and pans, he thought with a self depreciating grimace as he looked back at the bodies.
Deciding to just hide them in the store room and run he walked back into the hallway and grabbed the last guard by the boots. He had barely dragged the man three feet before he was interrupted again. A scream and a smash disrupted his body arranging, he snapped his head up but all he saw was broken pottery all over the floor and a pale blue dress whipping around the corner as presumably another servant ran for help.
Monk sighed and gave up his antics. He looked down at the unconscious man with annoyance. The big man gave the guard an annoyed shove with his boot.
"Couldn't just leave it alone could you," he said rolling his eyes before turning and running the opposite direction, "I need to get as close as I can and wait for Tam to get started."
Fuck me, why couldn’t I be the distraction, clearly I am better at that than sneaking.
As that thought crossed his mind the entire building shook, the stone walls and ceiling screamed. Ripples tore through the thick stone as the building twisted like a giant hand was trying to squeeze something out of it. The floor he was running on vibrated like a drum skin and Monk was thrown into a wall. Seeing stars, he climbed back to his feet unsteadily. His head pounded, a lump already forming right next to the cut from the crossbow. Dazed Monk tried to figure out which was he was supposed to be going. Looking down the previously straight corridor made him feel sick, it reminded him of looking through distorted glass. The walls and floor were warped and twisted, some doors were now barely big enough for a child or too thin for a person to fit through and the corridor that he was running along was suddenly less than half as long as before, 40 some yards of hallway compressed closer to ten. The floor was now uneven and he could reach out and touch both walls easily. He did so to keep his balance as he clambered his way towards the stairs at the end of the corridor. Wood and stone shrapnel covered the floor and a haze of dust filled the air forcing him to cover his mouth and nose with a dirty cloth.
Oh yeah that was why he was doing the sneaking, Tam was good at big distractions.
“Quick and quiet my ass,” he said chucking to himself as he set off again to find the room of mourning. His eyes were flinty and he limped along with a determined stride. He may be covered in blood and dust, his head throbbed and they had both made quite the mess but still. They were getting close.