Author's notes: Oblivion and all its characters, places, events, etcetera are property of Bethesda Softworks.

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Chapter Nine: A Watery Grave

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Gaston Tussaud was a pirate, and he wasn't gone to seed. He was fond of the drink, but it was not worth the effort to try and poison it outright. That had too many chances for something to go wrong. One botched attempt and I'd be in hot water – poison would be a back-up, I decided, as I watched Tussaud drinking and being generally loud and obnoxious – or at least, obnoxious to my mind.

Water was the main concern about this mission, because the Marie Elena was in the harbor, and weather was threatening. I wasn't worried about getting away – I can swim like a fish. Comes from growing up in a coastal town, with parents who rarely knew when you were in the house or not. They only cared when they realized you'd been gone and they didn't know how long since you left.

I was dressed like a normal resident of the Imperial City, and was able to get a good look around. The Marie Elena would sail with the tide –which was not a pleasing prospect. It meant that I had arrived just in time – and with less time to plan than I'd have liked.

Fortunately, Teinaava had been quite correct: there was a sort of balcony at the stern of the ship – and it might lead to the Captain's quarters. In fact, I was rather sure that it did – it would make sense, Tussaud was a flamboyant man, if nothing else. He liked good clothes and I could see him having a balcony on his ship.

I made sure I knew which one was Tussaud within minutes of my arrival on the docks – so I knew who I was killing well in advance. I didn't like the look of his first mate, however – a dunmer woman with an attitude and a cutlass that I was sure she could use to devastating effect.

She didn't like me lurking by the cargo – and I decided it would be suicide to try and smuggle myself on board. Particularly if the ship set sail before I could get out of my hiding place, do my job, and get back to Cheydinhal. I'm a strong swimmer, but really, why take the unnecessary risk of having a boulder thrown into the plan? Or worse –what if I got stuck?

I'd never live it down, if I lived at all!

The plan was not exactly a hastily made one, but it wasn't the exactingly-prepared affair I was hoping for. Despite the fact that the contract was straightforward and probably easy for an experienced assassin, I refused to allow myself to get complacent. I felt just a little disappointed that the mission was so straightforward, no special arrangements, no 'if you can pull it off' extras.

I pulled myself back onto task. I remembered nearly getting caught by Manheim and the legionnaires at the Inn of Ill-Omen, I was not going to repeat the mistakes I had made previously. My delicate sense of awareness says that mistakes will get you killed, at best. Best not to make them, if you can help it.

--S--

It was late when lanterns inside the ship finally began going out.

I had been hiding under a chameleon spell in the shadows quite successfully for some time. My black leathers and hood would aid me later, and I felt safer wearing the leather armor than I would have, wearing just dark clothes. I didn't intend to be seen, and while the chameleon spell would keep me from being anything more than a wrinkle in the air, I had also wrapped a scarf about my lower face, just in case I was seen. But standing still and silent as I was, cloaked in shadows and blending in with my surroundings, a person would have had to know I was there to see me. Or incredibly luckless enough to walk right into me, hence why I was not on a thoroughfare.

It was two in the morning before I began to move, having given people time to get to sleep. Even the night watch aboard ship was dozing at his post. Masser was new, and Secunda waxing, so there was very little light, but that was not a drawback – it meant I would have better concealment when my spells finally became close to useless.

I broke cover slowly, a shadow in the shadows and ran, hopping up onto the stone balustrade that ran the length of the boardwalk, ran along it and made a flying leap at an angle towards the balcony. I landed nimbly and tumbled as far as I could onto the balcony itself – a rough landing, I can tell you - bumping softly into the railing on the other side, in a crouched position.

I listened – there were no sounds, except the sounds of the harbor waters slapping against the ship, the creak of ropes, the occasional normal sound associated with a harbor at night. Nothing to indicate that I had been heard. I slid over to the door on my knees, keeping my head down below the level of the railing, and tried the door. It was locked, and I tried to spell it open twice before giving up – I simply didn't have the skill to do it. I could sit here and spell it all night and nothing would change. The door would stay locked, and I'd be stuck outside.

Well, I'd expected as much. I reached into my belt and produced a pair of lockpicks. Putting one in my teeth I inserted the other into the lock. I've never been really good with this sort of thing…but I'd been practicing – it's a skill you really need if you plan to be a career assassin.

I have a key, but I also know where my skills are weak.

I broke three lock picks before I finally managed to get the damn door open. After breaking the second I swore softly at the door, just before I broke the third one. Fourth time is a charm, but once the door was unlocked, I didn't open it right away. I waited, listening.

The ship rocked gently under me and I waited, making sure the sounds of my tinkering had not alerted anyone.

Nothing.

I turned the handle slowly, and reached down, grabbing the hilt of the Blade of Woe and freeing her without even the traditional sinister sound of steel being freed.

See, a real assassin – well, let me say a stealthy assassin, so as not to insult Gogron – will muffle any such sound. So the blade slipped over the felt that lined the sheath and pulled free. I had not put the felt there – it has always been there, keeping the blade's hiss at the draw silent.

Tussaud was sprawling face down on his bunk, snoring softly. There was a lingering smell of strong spirits, which pleased me. Drunk, or even mildly intoxicated, he'd be slower, his senses dulled. I'd spent most of the evening before taking up my position in the shadows watching him drink.

I reached down and freed the small vile of poison from my belt and then a second. Both were felt wrapped so they wouldn't clink together in transit. The first I poured into the half-full mug of wine, just in case I failed.

Yes, a mug of wine.

My thought behind this was that if you nearly get assassinated, you want something to steady your nerves – he'll die when he drinks it. I believe in contingency, in 'just in case'. Even though this plan was not leaving too much to chance – and I didn't expect I'd need the contingency - but you never know.

The second vial went onto the Blade of Woe, creeping viscously across her blade. I looked at the sleeping captain and tucked the two empty vials into my belt, snug against my leathers, silent, and secure. Or as secure as I could get them without compromising stealth.

I walked up and positioned myself in the good captain's blind spot and then stopped.

Just a moment to think, and it was a good thing that I took that moment to think.

I walked over to the door and turned the key in the lock, and then took the key, putting it in my belt, away from the vials, but still snug and secure. Just in case there was trouble, I wanted a few seconds in which to make my getaway.

I walked back to the captain and took a deep silent breath to calm myself. First contract…it gets to you – nerves jangle, and there's a palpable sense of fear of discovery, dread that the mark will somehow wake up and foil you, and the general sense that this is really it. Even people like me, who refuse to panic, who make a conscious effort to master their nerves and butterflies, still have nervous shakes and misgivings.

It will probably get easier as time goes on.

I took the Blade of Woe in both hands and angled her, one hand wrapped around the hilt, the other resting against my grip, to add force that would drive it into the captain's body and silence him forever.

The blade hovered for moment inches from the base of the captains' skull – I was going to do this fast, just as I had done with Rufio. He wouldn't be able to scream. The drawback was that it was messy – and this time I did not have a blanket, or anything to protect me from the blood spray. Oh well – this time I was not pretending to be helpless, and my getaway would deal with that. There was a soft 'pfft' as the blade went in, and blood sprayed, spewed and spattered everywhere. I pulled the knife free and moved down to wipe the blade down on the pirate's trouser leg, reaching up to wipe blood from my face.

My heart stopped as there came a knock at the door, but my feet moved automatically, taking me back to the door on the balcony, after I took the poisoned wine and threw it on the floor, taking the mug with me. I'd ditch it in the harbor.

A messy killing, but not sloppy – I wasn't about to leave the poisoned wine lying around. I had been sent after a single target – I don't want anyone else. That would make this sloppy, if there were other casualties. That was the perfectionist in me, demanding satisfaction: the contract was for Tussaud, no one else, so I must clean up after myself.

I closed the door, relocked it with the captain's key, and threw the key into the water, along with the mug.

I could hear the muffled pounding on the door behind me as I climbed up onto the railing and then stood up and dove headfirst into the harbor arms over my head. Clouds were rolling in – it was going to rain, I could smell it on the air.

I never heard my own splash as I speared into the wet silence like a fishing bird hitting a mark, and began propelling myself forward, breath held until I thought my lungs would burst. I popped up out of the water like a cork, took a deep breath and vanished underwater again, taking only enough time to see which way I would need to swim from here. I might have had more trouble had I been in open sea, but Lake Rumare is really a lake, and therefore fresh water that didn't sting the eyes too badly. Still, I wouldn't recommend trying to swallow too much.

And I reminded myself to look out for slaughterfish – the Rumare variety are particularly vicious. I cast a detect life spell and clenched the Blade of Woe in one hand. It slowed my progress, but if I got attacked by a slaughterfish, I wanted a weapon ready, on hand. Such an attack wouldn't kill me of course, but slaughterfish bites are nasty.

--S--

Finally I hoisted myself sodden and dripping out onto the rocky cove I'd scouted on my way towards the Imperial City. It was quite a swim, but the storm hadn't broken yet –though it was getting close, as the peals of thunder told me. In a storm-battered lake, I might have had more problems, but as it turned out I had timed this beautifully: during the calm before the storm.

I didn't stop to rest, though I would have liked to. I was starving from my long swim, and tired. I immediately took refuge and changed out of my wet leathers and into my dry clothes, and crammed down the rations in the pack I had hidden here. I was grateful for my own foresight as I gnawed on the bread as I walked.

A note on the shrouded armor that I had been given me upon my induction: assassin's leathers are spelled to repel blood and water and all manner of things. Otherwise they'd be damned inconvenient. Too much so to use practically, given the fact that we get filthy in our line of work. My hair smelled like lake water. I yanked my hood off and hammed it into my backpack after my armor and pulled my cloak snug.

The rain started as I swung north. I hunkered in my cloak –thank goodness it wasn't really cold. But the fat droplets of rain pounding on my head were entirely unpleasant. I was looking forward to getting home – I wanted little more than a very hot bath.

I mean Sarielle soup hot.

--S--

I arrived back late – the only ones up were the dark guardians and Schemer, who immediately ambled up and began scratching at my ankles for attention. Some people might think it's gross to have an overgrown rat as a pet – but I rather like Schemer. I picked him up and cradled him as I might do for a cat and slipped into the barracks. The others were sprawling, or curled up on their beds and it occurred to me, as I silently deposited my bag of gear by my bed, that you can tell a lot about a person by the way they sleep. So much so that I sat down to have a good think about it.

Take Antoinetta. We all know she's seen the short end of the stick. She sleeps curled up, in a tight little ball that would probably attract very little notice, and tonight, she was wrapped around a spare pillow. Her sleep was quiet, undisturbed by nightmares.

Telaendril had her eyes half-open, the gleam of whites visible – that's how bosmer sleep, with their eyes half-open. I don't know if it carries over to the other elven races. With her hands folded over her stomach she looked dead, except for the slight rise and fall as she breathed.

I continued to caress Schemer's ears and then set him down on my bed and gathered clean clothes and my bathing bag.

See, we have our own bathing area – and it's segregated, before you ask. It's a bit of work to get the bath up and running, but within a few minutes I was soaking happily, scrubbing travel and the smell of lake water from my hair and skin.

I soaked until I was in danger of falling asleep in the tub, then I drained it, changed into my clean, dry nightclothes and dragged myself slipper-footed to my bed, and flopped down on it.

I lay there for a moment with my eyes open, feeling my limbs get leaden. Then I pried my blanket loose from under me and tossed it over me, ignoring the top sheet. My eyes were getting so heavy…

--S--

"You're back!"

I yelped and kicked violently as Antoinetta squealed. She only does that when she's up to something…

"Yeah, I'm back…I'm also asleep. Go away," I pulled the blanket over my head, ignoring the fact that one of my feet was now sticking out from under it and getting cold. I curled up in a ball.

Sleeeeeeepy…..

"But…you can't!" Antoinetta cried.

"Why?" I grunted, I was slipping back to slee….

"Because!" my blanket was snatched way. I hate it when she's manic. "We're planning a girls' night in! And your back!" Antoinetta caroled.

"Antoinetta. I got back in the very wee hours of the morning," I said as I sat up, glowering, letting the snarl enter my voice, "and I'm really, really tired."

Antoinetta gawped.

I snatched my blanket impatiently from her unresisting hand. "Talk to me in another six hours or so," I disappeared under the blanket and heard Telaendril's voice from the door – though not her words. I was sure she was asking 'what's wrong?'.

I heard Antoinetta's comment through: she's scary!

Yes –she's scary. Good night.

--S--

For the record, by the time I work up at a more decent hour, feeling properly rested, I was also feeling a little apologetic. I checked in with Vicente, who was awake (what he would probably call 'early') and took my purse topside. Turns out M'raaj Dar and Teinaava both were out and that was why we were having a girl's night.

Vicente's original comment, upon seeing me after I'd knocked on his office door was 'Sweet Sithis, that's why…'

Meaning that when the girls seriously outnumber the guys, Antoinetta calls a girls' day and kicks the guys out of the common room. Or tries to. Gogron would rather boil in oil than be around a bunch of tittering, chocolate-devouring women…and I dunno about Vicente. He's got his own room, so I suppose it doesn't matter. Probably a little inconvenient, though.

He was, however, pleased by my efficiency and I was given a standard-issue Black Band, a ring of black metal that was neither warm nor cool to the touch, but seemed to drink in all light. Apparently, everyone gets one on completion of their first mission. Within moments of putting it on I felt the enchantments it bore settle into place. It's a sensation…a feeling of 'becoming sneakier', I suppose. It's hard to describe.

I also got paid – which was nice, needless to say.

As a sign of apology, I bought chocolate – and a lot of it. More than I would ever eat, and mostly because I was feeling really sorry for having been so snarky this morning with Antoinetta. She's really a sweet girl...as far as an assassin can be. Though I notice, that we tend not to think of each other that way: as far as we're concerned, we're just fine. Everyone else is weird or like sheep.

--S--

"Here. These are for you," I said a little awkwardly, once I'd gotten back, to Antoinetta, who was reading on her bed and looking a little upset.

She looked over and her expression cleared a bit.

"I'm sorry I was snarky," I added.

"Ooh…these are my favorite," supposedly all chocolate is Antoinetta's favorite. I wish patching up all misunderstandings was this easy, because she grabbed my arm so I sat down hard beside her and held out the box in front of my nose. "Have one!" she said around the sticky caramel.

Now, I love sweets. The problem is, is I have no sense when I'm eating them – so I'll eat a whole box and wonder where it all went once it's gone. "Nah," I shrugged, lying, "I don't like sweets."

"No?" Antoinetta blinked, a little bug-eyed. "Not even a little?" she asked.

I shrugged.

"Hm. Okay," she shrugged cheerfully, and with that she started gobbling down sweets like I would do.

Hmm.