The French Assassin-
It was springtime; the mid afternoon sun brought a hazy glow to the air, beams of light peeking from
the opposing archways skimmed the top of the crowd into his eyes as he entered the courtyard, but
his gaze was not diverted. As he approached the crowd a man on the stage began to speak, the
man's commanding voice silenced the murmuring and mumbling of the crowd. From this far he
could not see the man's face but he did not need to, those features had been engraved on his mind
for the past year, the face haunted his dreams but he dared not forget it, forgetting the face would
mean forgetting the injustice that was done and forgiving the unforgivable.
The man was giving a speech, an attempt to rally support for a young Italian officer gaining military
strength in the east. This was an event for the wealthy and the influential, as such tickets were
required for entry, too expensive, too risky to buy. However the tickets were produced by a printing
process, a process he understood well, creating an almost perfect copy wasn't too hard. It seemed
that security had been taken into great consideration, men with muskets patrolled the cloister and
guarded it's archways, on his way in he had been searched but they found neither knife nor pistol,
he had thought this through, with great detail.
-
He eased his way through the congregation, ever unable to escape the feeling that his whole life had
been leading up to this moment, the convergence of all his experiences.
Before all this he had lived in a small community on the borders of the city, there he worked as a
Tinkerer, making and repairing various bits of small machinery, he held two patents for clever little
devices that incorporated an intricate system of gears and pulleys and such. This was a fascination
that began as a child, when he came across a miniature clockwork horse, he would turn a key and
the horses legs moved, its steps were jolted and un lifelike but it amazed him nonetheless, dissecting
the toy revealed a magical world of complexity and delicacy that would forever shape the way he
saw the world. This was not a life he lived alone, he had a wife , fair and beautiful , he had known
her since they were children and no matter how dark things may have seemed, she had always been
able to make him smile. Together they had a daughter , in his eyes she was his greatest invention, as
charming as her mother and a raw intelligence that reminded him of himself, all the wonderful
things he had built for her.. but that was the past.
-
Crowds had never been comfortable for him, the ease at which a person could get lost in them was
uncomfortable, but now it seemed a blessing, for that is precisely what he needed. He worked his
way forward, gently pushing people and slipping between is a zig zagged fashion, he felt as though
he could see pathways opening up before him, like his mind was calculating the best route without
any input from him, he felt as this this crowd was some kind of problem and his senses were solving
it.
-
He glanced again at the guards that surrounded the area, some of them would be thugs in it for
some money and violence in the name of the law, others former soldiers un able to see any other
option that suited their skills. This had not been a problem for him. Like many young men he too had
served in the army, there he learned how to fight, how to fire a gun, tactics and discipline. He was
never sent off to fight any major conflicts, however whilst on tour his regiment had been involved in
several small skirmishes, mostly local disputes, bandits, mercenaries, nothing of national
importance. These had always been uncomfortable for him, on top of the fear for his own safety
and that of his comrades, he felt uncomfortable about taking the life of a man he didn't know,
someone he'd never met and whose name he would never learn. For this reason he never aimed his
shots, he pointed his musket and fired towards the enemy, sometimes doing so with his eyes shut.
He never knew if he'd killed anyone, nor did he want to know. Though even in such a dark place, he
still managed to find enlightenment. He remembered nights spent talking to a gunsmith, where he
learned all sorts of things, the materials and techniques used in making weapons, the diversity in the
way powder can be made and used, how the rifling process is used to make guns more accurate,
even how different shapes of bullets can be used to increase the effectiveness of a weapon.
For his military services he was awarded an honourary medal, he never put this amongst his top
achievements, to him it represented very little.
-
On the stage the man's voice was becoming more passionate, and with it the attitude of the mob
became livelier, the man was well known for his manipulation of a crowd, he could invoke all kinds
of responses and emotions from those who listened.
It was clear that the man was building the crowd up to a large finale. He would need to hurry
forward before it was too late, he looked towards the small stage, through the crowd and through
the hollow words of justice and security. This man had political power and had taken up the duty of
keeping the city safe and enforcing the law of the land. But as he progressed through the gathering
of eager listeners his mind returned to the true meaning of this man's justice.
-
part 2-
The community he lived amongst with his wife and child, was situated far from the city centre in the
countryside that surrounded the more metropolitan area. Most people there made their living from
the land, most of his work involved machinery designed to ease farming and improve yield. They
lived their lives with very little assistance from the city council, and as such they felt it unfair that
they should be taxed the same amount as those who lived within the urban regions. The community
leaders would often rally for independence from the city, but each time they were denied.
He didn't really feel inclined to either position, the extra taxing didn't affect him too much, and he
would often travel into the city for business. He understood where both parties were coming from
and tried to stay neutral on the matter. However in these times where ideas of liberty and loyalty
held great power, the acts of the community seemed to have caught someone's attention.
-
One late winters night, in his workshop at the edge of the hamlet, where he had been working into
the night on a new project and fallen asleep at his desk, he awoke to a familiar and terrifying
sensation, the smell and burning wood, strong in the air, but what truly shook him were the
screams, men, women, children, he could hear the pure terror in their collective voice, the sound of
gunshots occasionally piercing the noise. Then in the adjacent room he heard the door crash open
quickly he hid in a nook by the doorway connecting the two rooms, as he moved he grabbed the
closest thing to hand, a clock, designed to be placed on a table or mantelpiece, such an item would
have fetched him enough money to live for several months, but he cared little for that now.
He heard someone moving around in the next room, by the lack of noise he guessed there was only
one man, the intruder approached, he redied himself. The intruder passed the doorway, a man,
possibly in his late twenties, dressed in a brown coat and holding a musket. An opportunity
appeared and he pounced at the intruder who began to turn, with his left hand he parried the gun
away from himself, as he did this the musket fired into a box of scrap metal, then with his right hand
he brought the metal body of the clock crashing into the side of the gunman's head, who's body
collapsed to the floor. He took a second, dropped the clock and caught his breath, then turned to
leave the building, he didn't check if the man was dead, he had no time.
-
As he left his workshop and stepped out onto the dirt road, the site he saw made him feel as though
a knife had just been run through his heart. Flames danced around the homes and businesses that
had made this once peaceful neighbourhood, people were running for their lives, fleeing the
inferno's that had once been where they lived, only to face a more dangerous threat, the men who
had done this, outfitted in the same apparel as the man he had just dealt with, they wandered
amongst the building, firing their muskets, helping the flames spread and rounding up anyone they
could for more efficient murder. An even more disastrous revelation hit him, His wife! His young
daughter!
-
Their home was in the middle of the community, he now ran, as fast as he could whilst trying to
remain undetected, kept his low ran behind building used the bright light of the fire to mask him.
Until he saw something that would haunt him for the rest of his life, his home, the place he'd lived
for the best years of his life, whose threshold he had carried his newlywed wife over, whose walls
had provided safety for his young child, whose structure had brought him serenity, now draped in
hellfire, its timbers crackled and glowed, its thatched roof now ashes as the blackest smoke billowed
from where it once lay. At the site of the boarded up door creating a fiery prison for the ones he
loved, he dropped to his knees, all he held dear was now gone everything he loved would soon be no
more than ash.
-
Then he heard it, that voice, it's commanding tone throwing out the foulest orders. He turned to see
him, the man standing before what used to be a tavern, gesturing to his men. Despair now became
hatred, pure rage fuelled him as he stood, his eyes fixed on the devil before him, he charged with
the ferocity of a lion and the power of a bull, his path was clear, his target getting closer, his rage
only increasing. He leaped at the man, slamming him against a post, for an instant he stood face to
face with this man, the man he did not know, but hated more than anyone he ever did. One arm
grabbed the top of the man's shirt as it was forced into his chest, whilst the other was brought back
ready to strike him, but before he could release the remainder of his rage he was seized, two men
grabbed him, one to each arm, with all their strength they pulled him away from the man, but he did
not release his grip, instead he tore the man's shirt. He saw something, on the man's chest, a
jewelled medallion, the sight was somewhat captivating, the flames of destruction flickered and
danced around in the ruby that made the cruciform centre of the pendant. Then a sharp and piercing
pain in his gut as the man's outstretched arm came towards him. But in that moment when it
seemed all was lost, as he stared into the eyes of the man who it seemed had taken everything, and
his life began to drain from his body, he made a vow to himself, he vowed not to die, he vowed to
rise from the ashes of his life, he vowed that he would not stop breathing until this man and all
those responsible for this lay dead, he vowed for vengeance, he vowed for Justice!
And as his body fell, the world went dark.
-
part 3-
He kept his vows, he lived and when is wounds had healed and his mourning was done he planned.
In the city he lived and spent his days learning what he could of the man he now hunted. His name,
his profession, his friends, the activities he was involved with, all these were uncovered; but being
able to find him was not enough, as time went on the man's power and political standing only
increased, he could not simply approach him weapon in hand, no, this would require trickery,
illusion, something unexpected, something unseen. At times the home he found in the city became
a study where he refined his plane analysing every detail and possible event that may occur, and
other times it became his new workshop, nothing compared to his old one, but enough for what he
now crafted.
-
And now here he was, he had reached the front of the crowd. He was the closest he had ever been
to the man since the day his world was burned by him. At times he had reconsidered, questioned
whether the lust for vengeance was eating away at his soul, but he knew this was about far more
than him, and what he had lost, this was about everyone who had suffered at the hands of this man
and everyone who would go on to suffer should he be allowed to continue, this was more than
revenge, this was justice.
-
And now the time had come, the crowd became more erratic, the man's voice became more
passionate, he felt the pressure build up around him, he did not listen to the mans words, but even
he felt their force, then raising his fist the man made his point, the time was now, the crowd
exploded, they cheered, applauded and shouting in agreement. The man must have felt like a god,
but this was the day that he learned that even gods can fall.
-
He raised his left arm to join those of the people who now reached out to try and be closer to the
man, On the way in the guards had not noticed it, how could they all they would have seen was a
fancy cuff, but this decoration hid a sting. Now his arm was raised, pointed at the man as he relished
in the praise being thrown at him. The next moment all of time seemed to slow down, the roar of
the crowd became silent to his ears and the two men's eyes met. The eyes said far more than words
ever could, he could see every thought that now went through the man's head, surprise, anger, fear,
curiosity, panic, even regret. And for the first time in his life, he shot to kill, he pulled his hand back
activating the device on his arm, powder was ignited.
-
The man jolted back, the same feeling that had been in his eyes now ran across his face, the crowd
became still as the man put a hand to his throat, blood began to seep through his fingers and down
his body, from top to bottom his once white shirt became red. The crowd remain motionless as the
man fell to his knees, the flow of blood was relentless and a puddle began to form beneath him
before he eventually crumpled to the ground. The crowd that only seconds ago had been in a state
of immense cheer now panicked, screams began as scores of bodies fumbled around trying to
escape the courtyard, the guards had no idea what to do, they dared not try to stop the tirade of
aristocrats who thought they were trapped in there with a killer, the guards had no option but to
allow them to flee. In the chaos he left, posing as just another frightened attendee.
part 3
_
During his time studying the man, he had noticed several things, recurring symbols, some were
unfamiliar, and some he had seen before, such as that of the medallion the man had worn. Since the
death of his family, the man's power and social status had increased significantly, yet he had noticed
the man continued to meet in secret with the same people, people he couldn't find any information.
He knew the man had not worked alone; it was clear he had been acting upon orders with a
malicious zeal. His path was clear; he would find all those responsible and let them meet the same
fate as the man who had followed the orders.
-
Crows began to circle in the skies above the courtyard where the dead man lay. As his killer walked
out into the street to freedom, from the roof of the cloister a hooded figure draped in shadow
watched and smiled.