Child at play
Poika kulkee veitsenterää/ tyhjä ilme kasvoillaan/ hän kantaa miehen taakkaa/ väsynyttä, typerää... The boy walks on the edge of a knife/ with an empty look on his face/ he carries the burden of man/ tired and stupid... A. W. Yrjänä/CMX
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Artemis Entreri moved silently in the shadows as easily as a normal person would walk the streets in daylight. For him shadows were friendlier; they kept him safe from prying eyes and gave him the privacy that was required in his dark profession.
Shadows brought privacy, Entreri thought, and a little smile crept on his face. The young man, only seventeen of age, had learned to respect darkness and the solitude it offered. Although solitude sometimes weighed heavily on him, he knew that it was the only way things could be. When he was alone, he had to rely only on himself, and that was the way he liked it. Trusting others with his life would most likely get him killed in these cruel streets. Calimport was not known for its friendliness, at least the part of the city where he lived and worked.
It was late afternoon and Entreri knew that he was early, but he liked to make sure that everything was in order. He wanted to see his target, or targets in this case, and check for any possible dangers, although he wasn't too worried. There weren't many dangers in Calimport for Artemis Entreri. In those few years he had belonged to the Basadoni's guild he had earned a reputation that not many of his age had. He didn't care much of what others thought of him; it was enough that he himself knew that he was among the best. One of these days he would be the best.
Entreri found a good place to wait, his dark eyes staring at the house of his next victims. He didn't understand why this task had been given to him; it was so ridiculous and easy. A scared little thief and his family were to be killed in order to set an example to everyone who even thought about betraying the Basadoni guild. Pasha Basadoni hadn't told him what te crime of this man had been, and Entreri hadn't asked. He had the feeling that he was being tested again, although he didn't know what this test was supposed to prove. The woman cooking inside the house, Entreri could see her through a dirty window, didn't seem at all worried.
They don't even know, the young man thought, wondering what Basadoni was up to. If these people knew that they had offended Basadoni, they would already be hiding or running for their lives. They weren't. Although this made the task even easier for Entreri, he couldn't stop himself from wondering what these people would do if they knew.
Some of his victims, who had known that someone was coming to kill them had been calm and accepted their fate. Those Entreri killed quickly. Then there were those who ran or hid like cowards. With them he played a little longer, making sure that they paid for their cowardice. And the third group were people who challenged him. People who actually thought they could beat him. Entreri knew that all of them died the same way; humiliated, badly injured and in terrible ain. Although he enjoyed a nice practice, he didn't appreciate people who thought they could beat him. After all, he would be the best really soon.
A small boy, not older than ten, came running down the street. He was carrying a wooden sword that had clearly been made with more enthusiasm than skill. He entered the house Entreri was watching and the man nodded. Basadoni had said that there would be three victims. Now Entreri would simply have to wait for the father to arrive and for darkness to cover the city. Then he could do his job and return to the guild to hear what this was all about. He was certain that it was a test, but he had to know just what kind of a test.
The boy ran to his mother, who smiled at him and said something. The boy put his wooden sword down and disappeared from Entreri's view, then he returned carrying vegetables. The mother gave him a knife with, Entreri thought, a warning of not to cut himself. The boy began chopping the vegetables while talking to his mother, who smiled and laughed.
Entreri turned his eyes away, staring at the ground, trying to control himself. He wasn't a child anymore, he was almost eighteen (or maybe he already was, his age had always been a bit uncertain ever since he had guessed it to be fourteen some years ago). He didn't need anyone but himself and his skills to survive. And still he couldn't deny, although he wished he could, that seeing the mother and the boy made him long for something he had lost so long ago.
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The sun had started to disappear beyond the rooftops of the tallest buildings before Leron Dwe'an, Entreri's actual victim, walked home. The man seemed to be in a good mood, and Entreri knew for sure that he had no idea what was going on. How could this man not know that he had angered Basadoni, that he was a dead man? The man entered the house and Entreri left his hiding place, heading for a small alley. He could get into the house from the alley unnoticed.
The young assassin looked through another, even smaller and dirtier window to a small bedroom. He knew that the window would be open; he hadn't watched the house carefully for those many hours for no reason. He opened the window, climbed inside and closed the window behind him. There was no sound, at least one that could be thought of nothing else than a mouse running across a floor.
The family was eating. Entreri listened to their idle conversation, how the boy explained how he had made a sword, how the father told him how good the sword was, how the whole family laughed and enjoyed their time together. A happy family in Calimport? Entreri couldn't believe it. There was misery everywhere, in the lives of everyone in this city. And yet these people were enjoying each others company and the time they had together. Entreri moved slowly to the shadows and waited.
The woman entered the bedroom after a while, walking to a small wooden chest and opening it. Entreri, standing in the corner of the room, hidden by shadows, watched her take out an old looking book.
"Alexei," she called and the little boy ran into the room. She sat on the bed and the boy climbed next to her. "Would you like to hear a story before you go to bed?" the mother asked and the boy nodded, curling next to her. The mother opened the book, leafed through some pages and then started to read:
"There was once a knight who served his king with all his strength and heart. But little did the knight know that in a short time he would need all his strength and all the power in his heart to overcome the great danger that would plague the beautiful kingdom..." Entreri stood in the shadows, listening. He knew this story. He had heard it many times. His mother... He clenched his fist angrily. He shouldn't think about that. Not now. Not anymore. Not ever again.
"...the knight looked up and saw the dragon fall down, defeated and destroyed. He got up, his armour covered with the blood of the creature, his sword now plunged deep into its heart. He had won, and the kingdom was saved. As a reward for his courage, the knight got a beautiful castle where he moved."
"And then?" Alexei asked quietly. The boy's eyes were glowing with excitement and his mother smiled and kissed him on the forehead. "You'll hear that tomorrow, dear. Now it's time to sleep."
"But..." Alexei started. "Not a word out of you," his mother said. "Go to bed now. Good night."
"Good night, mum," the boy said, kissing her on the cheek and walking out of the room. Entreri heard him say good night to his father and then the boy went to a little alcove that had been separated from the kitchen with a curtain.
The mother closed the book and got up. She walked to the chest and put the book there carefully, for it was quite old and starting to fall apart.
When she turned around Entreri slit her throat.
Leron was sitting by the table with a mug of beer in front of him. He didn't hear anything out of ordinary, but suddenly a dagger was pressed against his throat. He froze, trying to keep calm.
"What do you want?" he asked quietly. "I have some money, so if you..."
"You have angered pasha Basadoni," Entreri replied, moving the dagger on his throat. "That's all that the people who find your body will need to know."
"Please, let my wife and child go. They haven't done anything, they're innocent..."
"A bit too late for that," Entreri said, realizing that his hands were almost shaking. "But I think..."
"Let him go!" a small voice behind him said. Entreri turned his head and saw the boy, Alexei, holding up his wooden sword with tears in his eyes.
"And what if I don't?" Entreri asked, pressing the dagger against Leron's throat so that it made a small cut.
"Let my son go," the man moaned. "You can't kill him, he's just a..." his words were cut by Entreri's dagger, sharp and deadly.
The boy stared at his father's dead body and then his eyes turned to Entreri. The man wasn't very tall, but to a ten-year-old he was huge. The boy sniffed, he didn't even realize he had begun to cry. "You killed them," he sobbed. The assassin looked at him, then at his bloody dagger. His hands were shaking badly now.
"I hate you!" the boy shouted, rushing towards Entreri, waving his wooden sword that had saved him from imaginary dragons and other beasts.
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Artemis Entreri walked out of the house, not even bothering to close the door behind him. He was carrying something and didn't even notice that a thief slipped into the house he had just left. The thief didn't stay in long, he just had to make sure that everything was taken care of.
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The news reached the ears of pasha Basadoni even before Entreri had reached the end of the street. The man smiled and nodded, looking pleased.
"He is ready."
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And Artemis Entreri returned to Basadoni guild and went to his room. He put all his weapons away and sat on the floor. In his hands he held a small wooden sword clearly made with more enthusiasm than skill. A sword that could defeat dragons and all monsters if you believed hard enough.
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To Shamiran and all other CMX fans: Why on earth are Yrjänä's texts so difficult to translate? And why does my spellcheck say that I should write 'airgun' instead of Yrjänä? *sigh*