In the morning he woke when Vivian, already fully dressed, popped her head in. "Wakey-wakey, Mr Assassin!"
He yawned and heaved himself up on one elbow, and because it was Vivian he made sure that the blanket did not glide off him too far. The events of the last evening stood clearly before him, just as well as the nightly conversation with Knox. What was that name he wanted me to remember? Charles Townsend, yeah. Got that.
"Get more or less dressed and come down for breakfast. We're waiting for you downstairs." With this, she disappeared again.
Throwing back the blanket, he sat up. Besides his still aching side, he felt well. How long had he slept? He fished his watch from the pocket of the trousers and had a look at it. Almost midday. Not surprising how well he was, then.
He hastily put on the clothes he had worn on the day before, ignoring the reddish-brown, now dried-in bloodstains on his sneakers, and then went downstairs, buttoning up his shirt as he went, just out of habit. So where exactly was he supposed to go now? "Downstairs" was a rather vague description.
And can I get a shower somewhere, maybe?
He paid a quick visit to the bathroom, then started looking for Knox and Vivian. Where could they be?
"You there", came a voice from behind him. He turned on his heels, ready to fight, but the dark-haired man dressed in black jeans and T-shirt standing in a door behind him didn't look that aggressive. "You the new boy? In here, then."
He stepped over the threshold, trying to tidy up his messy hair as he did so. Knox and Vivian were already sitting at the table, together with three others, dressed similarly as the man who had shown him in.
Looking up at him, Knox gave him a somewhat awkward little smile. "Ah, here you are. You're sitting to my right today, so be honoured." Knox attempted a grin, and he gave him one in return. It was very obvious: His new employer was feeling a bit embarrassed at their nightly encounter, so he guessed. Needing someone to talk to, especially if one hardly knew this someone, was a token of weakness.
He never needed anyone to talk to.
No, that was not quite correct. He simply didn't have anyone to talk to, and there was a certain problem with talking as well. But sometimes… he would appreciate such an opportunity.
Taking the seat on Knox's right side, he gave the others a polite nod – his usual way of wishing a good morning -, already discreetly scanning the breakfast table. Toast with butter and jam? That about matched his own concept of breakfast, although sitting at a table depended on his mood. Sometimes he would just pick up a pile of toast and slip off to the grounds with it. When he had been smaller, he had been forced to sneak out because the nuns didn't like that behaviour, but now he just sauntered off provocatively past the staff table, and not even the Mother Superior would stop him. Of course taking a walk through the grounds meant no butter and jam, but that didn't matter much. He wasn't very complicated where food was concerned.
"Lads, say hi to your new buddy", Knox instructed his men.
"Hi, buddy", they more or less chorused, then had a laugh at it.
"The one who killed that old stinker Springfield?"
"He did? Dealed with that mighty bloke with such a small knife?"
"That skinny kid?"
"Hey, give him an award for public services!"
"Go on, boy, I like you!"
"I guess I'll be wanting his autograph now."
"What did he do it for, boss?"
"Because I told him too", grinned Knox. "Never liked that foul brute."
"Well, thanks a bunch, boss."
"Yeah, thanks. Want some toast, new buddy?"
He gave the man a shy little smile and nodded. It seemed that they accepted him. They were impressed at what he had done. They even appreciated it.
"There's one thing you should know about him, gentlemen", Knox cut in. "Besides that he's called Anthony, I mean. He never speaks."
"Mute?"
Oh man, why did they always have to ask that?
"No. He downright refuses to."
"He refuses?"
"Whoo-hoo, Mystery Man!" It was the same who had offered him toast.
"That's the point, Jerry." Knox poured himself some more coffee. "He somehow seemed right. Come on, Paulie, take a seat, Mikey, pass me the butter, and you, Jerry, make him some toast."
By now he was getting the idea why he was Tony to Knox.
"Right, boss." Jerry grinned broadly and approached the toaster. "So, new buddy. How would you like your toast, rather white or rather dark or something in between?"
The assembled men laughed as they realized that he would have to find a way to answer that. But before he even had the time to think Oh dear, I'm in trouble, how am I going to communicate that?, Knox handed him notepad and pen, as he had done the day before. Giving his new colleagues a polite grin, he wrote: Give it a nice tan, please, so that you see the grating on it.
Okie dokie." Jerry pressed two buttons on the large, bulky toaster and busied himself with the bread. "I'll have it travel through slowly, then."
"Don't let them dominate you", said Vivian, who sat right opposite him. "Your job has the higher qualification."
"And he already has the Harvard certificate required for it, eh?" asked the man Knox had called Mikey.
"I didn't realize they have courses for that", Knox put in, his mouth full of toast.
"For what?" asked Paulie, the one who had beckoned him in. "I'd recommend A Beginner's Guide to Beheading, but that's entirely up to you, boss."
There was some more laughter, and he grinned broadly. Nobody was shocked at what he had done, and after the doubts of the night this was comforting. They even seemed to think that Springfield's death was a laughing matter.
Well, if they thought so, he'd give them some more to have a snicker at. Beheading someone with a small ornamental dagger? I bet they can't do that even at Harvard.
Knox read the note, chuckled and passed it on to Vivian and his men, who took it in turns to read it and grin some more. "You'll be the one who gets the chair for it, just you wait. Want some coffee, professor?" He was surprised at how much he felt at ease in this company. Neither Knox nor his men treated him as a weirdo, as the boys at the orphanage usually did (although they were careful not to show it too openly ever since they had realized that he could hit quite hard when under attack). They also didn't politely ignore him, as most of the girls did. No, they actually treated him with some respect, although they all were older than him. They treated him as an equal.
Because you have killed. That's a tremendous method of teaching people respect.
After breakfast, Knox took him upstairs again. Like at night, they went out onto the terrace, which now lay in full, warm sunlight. Remembering the pale, eerie sheen of the moon, their conversation lying back only a few hours seemed strangely distant to him now, distant and unreal, like a dream.
Things had chanced since then. He had killed, for a start. That made it a different situation. There was no way back now.
But his heart wasn't pounding as hard as it had when that thought had occurred to him at a previous time. He seemed to be getting used to the idea.
"Remember", said Knox slowly, "how you claimed you weren't afraid of jumping off cliffs?"
He nodded, savouring the glittering waves of the ocean under the warm sun.
"Will you look down for a minute?"
He knew what would come now. Walking towards the balustrade slowly, he tried to look completely impassive. How deep would it be? He had wondered last night, and he still wondered now.
Most of the terrace faced away from the sea, but one corner, right beside the door leading back into the tower, was above the ocean. Both hands on the balustrade, he gazed down – into an abyss. Waves were beating on a rocky shore, foam was flying. A cool, salty breeze caught his hair for a moment, then subsided again to the warm sunrays. He didn't even notice. All he saw was the blue water, far, far below.
"Do you dare?" came Knox's voice from behind him.
Damn.
"That's certainly the highest cliff you've ever seen, buddy."
Indeed. And he was certainly not jumping down there! That would be nothing but suicide.
But on the other hand… If he leapt far enough… Yes, it might just work. It might.
Are you mad?, he scolded himself. That's ten meters at the least. Rather fifteen. You know how hard the water will be when falling from that height, don't you?
Yes, but if he dived in headfirst… While falling, there would be time enough to turn himself over in the air. Technically, it would probably work.
But there was still the risk. What if he crashed down onto the rocks? What if the water wasn't deep enough? What if - ?
Coward, he thought. Goddamn miserable coward.
No, I'm just being sensible.
He laughed at himself. When have I ever been sensible?
I might give it a try now.
And remember, Knox still owes you a lot of money. Do you want to lose five hundred dollars before you have even earned them? That's worth more than your damn life, you freak!
"Bet you you don't dare! Bet you twenty dollars." By now Knox was standing at his side, both hands in his pockets, grinning broadly at his new employee. "Nobody ever did that. I once bet a guy a whole hundred and he refused and coughed up straight away." Knox laughed merrily. "Taking the bet, are you?"
Against better knowledge, he nodded.
And the next moment, he was cursing himself. Damn your pride, you fool! That's twenty dollars less you'll see!
Oh, won't I? Really?
He remembered the ramp they had used to flip people up into the air, back in his circus days. Liviu had been particularly good at that, he recalled. And one day, when one of the older children had spread his ankle during the performance… "Hey, you're approximately his size! Why don't you do it?" And he, though with hammering heart and sweaty hands, had stepped upon the ramp… All the people suddenly looking at him, the shocked expression on his mother's face, the silence all around him… The tension building up in him, the anticipation… and then he was ejected upwards, and fast. While turning in the air, he for a moment glimpsed the spectators, seemingly far below, and his heart stopped… He was much smaller and lighter than the other boy, he realized, so he was catapulted higher… And then something else took over, automatically repeating the moves he had learned when training with his father. After what felt like a triple somersault, he came flying back down, teeth clenched, fearing to hit hard ground any moment… and then landed on the soft mat with a thud, and even on his feet, before he keeled over. There were shiny dots dancing before his eyes, but his stomach was filled with a warm, content feeling. He had never been so proud before.
I was seven then. I'll soon be twenty now.
He took off his shirt and tossed it over at Knox, then started unfastening his shoelaces. One couldn't swim with shoes on.
Knox stared at him in utter disbelieve. "What the bloody hell d'you think you're doing?"
He didn't answer, not even with the smallest of gestures, merely continued busying himself with his shoes and socks – one probably couldn't swim with socks, he guessed, and he was not going to try it right now.
"Anthony! You're mental!"
Like I've never heard that before. He leapt onto the balustrade lightly, giving what lay below a critical scan. Yes. Right. This was going to work.
But, damn it, this is the highest cliff of your entire life, boy.
So… Headfirst? Yep, headfirst. Moreover, the way down was by far long enough for a nice little somersault, wasn't it? Nothing wrong with a bit of showing off when he was at it anyway.
"Anthony, please…" When he looked down at Knox, there was something in the man's brown eyes he hadn't seen before. Fear? Shock? "You can't do this. You're only gonna get yourself killed. Please be reasonable."
Pleading? Are we as far as that yet? Good. He stood on the balustrade and felt the wind whip at his hair, the sea roaring far below, and his future employer was almost on his knees by now. He definitely liked that. And wearing Knox's trousers and undershirt thing added a grotesque touch to it.
Man, I'm a goddamn bloody freak.
Always been one. If I get myself killed, at least I die just as I have lived then. He smiled grimly to himself. He had nothing to lose but his life, and that was of no worth anyway, to nobody. And he had everything to win.
"Anthony, I was joking!" Knox's tone was frantic by now.
The salty breeze caught his hair and let it fly wildly around his head. About the right direction, as far as the wind was concerned. It wasn't very strong, but if it affected his fall, it would carry him away from the rocky wall, towards the open sea.
If you wait any longer, you'll spoil it all.
He prepared to jump.
Damn, it's very high.
I could still pretend I was only joking…
Giving himself a mental slap around the head, he silently counted to three, then forced himself to leap, performed a perfect somersault in the air and then went downwards, gaining speed as he went. The ocean raced towards him, became one huge field of blue…
Before he dived straight into blackness, he thought: Not a good idea, boy, definitely not…
