Elizabeth laughed as she pulled the trigger on her new toy. The striker snapped down, a tremor of magic surged through the internal mechanisms, and a small steel bullet launched from the barrel through the forehead of the thug sitting before her. She blinked in surprise as blood, brain, and bone spattered across the tavern wall behind him.

“Woah!” she laughed as his compatriots rushed her, one from either side, the shifting air pressure at her back betraying the presence of a third. She planted a boot on the table’s edge and kicked off, spinning gracefully over Thug Three. He was too slow to correct his course and missed her entirely, slamming into the table as Elizabeth landed behind him.

“Oooooh, so close,” she said, drawing a second pistol. “If at first you don’t succeed…”

He recovered quickly, whirling to attack. He got halfway through the turn before she put a bullet through his temple, adding another coat of ‘paint’ to the wall.

“Maybe don’t try, try again.”

Undaunted, Thug One and Two resumed their onslaught, hacking at her with chunky knives, more akin to meat cleavers than weapons. Smirking at their slow, clumsy movements, she weaved between them and flipped the pipes in her hands. She cracked Thug One at the base of his skull and he collapsed, his oh so important spinal cord severed by his shattered vertebra. The lone survivor screamed and thrust his chopper at Elizabeth’s belly, but she twisted, the blade passing within centimetres of her skin as she smashed her other pistol into his thumb knuckle. He cried out in pain and dropped the knife, his cry turning to a shrill screech as Elizabeth followed up with a blow to his jaw, the bone splintering under the metal capstone on the pistol’s base. The thug fell back, nursing it with his good hand and kicking away with his feet until he collided with the leg of a table. His expression was frantic as he stared into Elizabeth's eyes. She ran a hand through her snow-white hair, pushing her fringe back out of her eyes as she advanced.

“That ought to teach you some manners, Mister,” she said as she crouched in front of him, so close their noses almost touched.

Poor thing, she thought as she drank in his expression. He’s terrified!

She straightened up, clasped her hands behind her back, and gave him a sweet smile. “But I didn’t actually come here to gamble with you,” she said, gesturing to the table with dead thugs splayed across it. The blood was seeping out of the holes in their heads, creeping across the playing cards scattered about and oozing between the silver coins littering the table. “I came to remind you that your fees are overdue. Quite overdue, in fact. The Guild Master is not happy, so he sent me to have a friendly chat to make sure you pay up sooner rather than later.”

She stopped and waited for him to say something, her smile giving way to a frown when he didn’t reply.

“Oh!” she said, slapping her forehead. “You can’t talk because of your jaw! That’s alright, here, I’ll do the talking for you.”

She raised a fist beside her head and started waggling her thumb in imitation of a mouth. “Hello, beautiful miss,” she said out of the corner of her mouth. “I’m so sorry for attacking you over a card game. Thank you for showing me the error of my ways and letting me know the Guild Master wants his money. Did he say when he needs it by?”

Elizabeth switched back to speaking normally. “I believe he said, to quote directly ‘I want my money by the end of the week, or I’ll strangle them with their own shit-filled intestines’. Is that a reasonable time frame?”

“Oh, but of course! We…” she turned her fist puppet around to look at the dead thugs, then back to the man on the ground. “I will have the coin by then… on one condition.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Gimme a kiss, lovely!”

She started making kissy noises and mashing her fist against her face.

“Good sir! I am shocked! Shocked, I tell you!” she said, slapping her fist away, then slapping the figure cowering on the ground, the thug screaming through his clenched jaw. “I will not let you impugn my honour so! Cease and desist, or I will bring the deadline forward.”

He was bawling now, tears streaming down his face, and Elizabeth shook her head.

“Oh, come now, there’s plenty more fish in the sea. Don’t get disheartened. I’m sure you’ll find the one someday.”

She patted his cheek, eliciting a fresh wail of pain, before turning to the table and scraping the blood stained coins into a pouch.

“Good luck coming up with the money!” she called as she strode past the weeping figure on the floor, past the patrons staring in open mouthed shock, and up to the bar.

“I’ll have a shot of top shelf whiskey, good sir.”

The barkeep fussed with a dirty rag in his hand, avoiding eye contact. “Apologies, ma’am, we only have one shelf.”

Elizabeth threw her head back and groaned, drumming her fingers along the wooden counter. “Bollocks. Better make it two then.”

She knocked the whiskeys back, one after the other, and grimaced. “Gods, that tastes like shit,” she said as she turned to face the bar. Everyone was still too stunned to move. One bloke even had his pint halfway to his lips, the same spot it had been when she started shooting. She fixed the crowd with a winning smile, tugged open the mouth of the pouch, and swung it out wide, raining bloodstained coins across the room.

“Drinks on me, gentlefriends!” she said as she walked to the door. She stopped and turned, gave a deep bow and, with a flourish of her hand, left. As the door closed behind her, she heard frantic scrambling as people rushed to collect as much money as they could, followed by some shouting, curses, and the sound of a stool being broken over someone’s head. She giggled.

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It was good to be generous.

*

A short while later, Elizabeth hummed a tune to herself as she descended the dark spiral staircase into the depths of the Assassins’ Guild Headquarters. She stepped lightly from memory, avoiding the traps and pitfalls strewn beneath false steps. Every so often, one of the new guys would get careless or forget, and she’d stumble upon a bloated purple corpse, dead from poisoned darts, or a missing set of steps with a mangled form impaled on the stakes beneath.

She hated it when that happened. With the infrequent traffic in and out, it could be days before anyone found them and they always stunk up the place.

There were no such mishaps this time though, and, once she jumped off the last step, she closed her eyes, spread her arms out at her sides, and inhaled, sighing softly at the aroma of wet dirt, candle smoke, and blood.

Home.

“Master,” she called as she wandered through the twisting corridors of the hideout. “I’m back.”

The Master’s voice echoed from a passageway to her left, and she turned down it, skipping towards his office. She knocked, then pushed the door open without waiting, stepping through and waving at the hooded figure seated at the desk.

“What’cha doin’?” she asked as she strolled over and rifled through the papers in front of him. He looked up at her, his face hidden in the shadow of his cowl. If he was annoyed by her messing up his workspace, he didn’t show it. Not that he ever did with her. He really was such a patient, sweet man.

“Just reviewing the most recent contract requests, my dear,” the Master replied, scribbling notes on a parchment scrap as he kept reading the papers Elizabeth hadn’t messed up.

“Any particularly good ones?”

“Nothing overly exciting, Eliza. Usual fair. Jilted lover wants revenge, political rivals in Aderath taking contracts out on each other, although the fallout from that one will be delicious when we kill them both.”

“That. Is. Hilarious!”

“Indeed,” he replied, pushing the papers away from him and leaning back in his chair. “I assume you asking means you’ve completed your task?”

“Done, and done! You’ll have your money by the end of the week!”

“Eliza,” the Master said, leaning onto the table and steepling his fingers, “I told you to kill them. I couldn’t care less about the money, it’s about enforcing standards of conduct. I can’t have guild affiliates in my own city breaching the terms and conditions of our arrangements.”

“Don’t worry, boss,” she said, walking around and patting him on the shoulder. “Your message was received, loud and clear.”

“Let me guess, you put the fear of the gods into them with a flashy display? Maybe killed some underlings? Left with assurances on good faith?”

Elizabeth pouted and retracted her hand. “Honestly, sometimes it’s like you don’t know me at all.”

She hopped onto the table, scattering quills and ink. She was sure the Master would frown at that, but again, she couldn’t see his face, so she just had to hope. He sighed.

“Alright, Eliza. Point made. Enlighten me.”

“The brothers all hung out at this one tavern, right? So their cronies could always find them during business hours,” she explained. “I guess they figured it was safe; packed all the time, most of the patrons on the payroll. I walked in, kicked their arses at cards, killed three of them and broke the survivor’s jaw.”

“That was risky, Eliza. What if the patrons had turned on you?”

Elizabeth spotted a goblet of wine by a stack of papers and snatched it, draining it in one gulp. She smacked her lips and set it back down. “I would have started killing them too, and kept at it until they got the message. They were all too shit scared to do anything, anyway. Plus, I made some diplomatic overtures to show them we aren’t unreasonable. You would have been so proud of me.”

The Master chuckled and cupped her cheek. “I am always proud of you, Eliza. More so than any other of my children,” he crooned. “If I may ask, though, what ‘diplomatic overtures’ did you make?”

“I took the brothers’ money and gave it to everyone in the bar.”

“Oh dear me, Eliza. If you took all their money, how is the surviving brother supposed to pay me?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “I looked into their finances before I went to see them. Old mate has enough on hand even after the card game to pay what he owes. And if he doesn’t, I’ll go back and finish the job.”

The Master chuckled and shook his head. “You never fail to amuse, my dear. Did you have the opportunity to try out any of my presents?”

“Did I ever!” Elizabeth said, drawing a pistol and turning it over in her hands, admiring it in the candlelight. “Thank you so much for having them made for me! You know, it’s almost hard to believe. The college guardsmen have been running around with enchanted swords and spears and hammers for centuries, thinking they’ve found the peak of magical weapons technology. With this, I can put a bullet through their chest plate at a hundred metres.”

“Indeed, Eliza. The design was inspired, but I would expect no less from you. What about the other toys?”

Elizabeth sighed and put the pistol away. “That would have been excessive, even for me. Maybe on the next job?”

“Ah,” the Master said, lightly clapping his hands together, “this is a fantastic opportunity for a segue. As it happens, I do have a job for you.”

“Oh really? Is it the Aderathian nobles? I bet I can get them both at the same time- oh! With the same bullet! If I can pull it off, do I get a prize?” she said, bouncing excitedly on the desk.

“Not them, no. I have something far more important for you, Eliza.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”

“Our brothers and sisters in Verduno are in need of assistance.”

Elizabeth’s face split into a massive grin. Tok Risim was amazing! The cultural melting pot at the ports, the festivals, the wine… And the parties! Masquerade balls with the Patricians, debaucherous drunken revels with the Populani. She could hardly wait! She caught herself getting overly worked up, though, and forced herself to calm. This was still a work trip, after all.

“The Tok Risim cell? What sort of assistance?” she asked, cautiously.

“It seems the local crime families have finally united, at least in so far as they all want us out of their town. They declared war, and in spectacular fashion. The Chapter Master is missing, the rest of the cell’s leaders are dead, and most of our agents have either been murdered or are fleeing.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at her lips. “They did a number on old Giorgio, then?”

“Perhaps, though, I have hope he escaped. He’s a wily one.”

“Alright. So what do you want then? Famiglia heads dead?”

“I want the war over and the Guild in control.”

Elizabeth gave a long, low whistle and laid back across the table, the goblet and quill bottle flying off the desk.

“That’s a tall order, boss. Who do I get to take with me?”

“No one. They’ll be on the lookout for us and they have all the access routes under observation. If we send anyone else, they’ll be spotted immediately.”

Elizabeth almost snorted. “And you think they won’t spot me?”

“My dear. That’s why I’m sending you. Assassins…” he said, waving his hand in swirls, “they have a particular look about them. You, however, most definitely do not fit the mould. I’ll leave the details up to you.”

“Fair enough,” she said, sitting up and hopping off the table. “Do I have a contact in town at least?”

“Francesca Riverre. Not a member of the Guild, barely an affiliate, really. But she’s done some work for us in the past. She won’t kill you on sight, which is more than most of the other underworld figures will do currently.”

“Interesting. May I ask why we’re putting so much faith in her?”

“She’s ambitious, and she likes to play the long odds. Everyone else in the city is backing the families, so she’ll back us, subtly. If we win the war, she’ll immediately be punched up from mid-tier player to the independent queen in the city.”

Elizabeth grunted. “I like her already.”