Elsa had made arrangements for Michael to stay in the castle for his time in Arendelle, and ordered all the guards to withhold arresting him when in the market. Anything to not run into that living snowman.
The thought of something as simple as snow being able to move and talk . . . It still sends a shiver down his spine.
As if it was tough enough convincing Elsa of his loyalties, it is even more grueling to persuade Elsa to ditch her elegant gown for more common, and frankly suitable clothes.
Michael had to explain that if there's someone out to kill them in her kingdom, walking out in her gowns would be no different than covering herself in bloody meat and jumping into a shark tank.
It's been three days after the party and the assassination attempt on Elsa and Anna. Michael took the time to walk around the kingdom and find the lowest of places for criminals. After asking around and breaking a few fingers, Michael discovered a place called the Pit. It's as good a place of anywhere to start his search of whom is after the queen and princess.
As he waits by the castle gates, he goes over their plan again. With Elsa insisting she and her sister join Michael on his hunt for the assailants, their first maneuver is to seek out any lowlifes or thieves' guilds within the kingdom, to see if the source is on the inside. If not, they will branch out to other neighboring kingdoms and go from there.
Twirling a dagger between his fingers, Michael waits as villagers pass by and give him questionable looks. Still dressed in his leather suit, mask and cowl about his head, he revels in the stares from citizens. Most women give him long glances since his armor turns him into death incarnate, his mask warping his voice in a deep rasp. The voice of a demon, not a man.
After a few minutes, he hears footsteps behind him and turns to find Elsa and Anna in disguise.
Replacing their silk dresses are placid colored clothes. Elsa, with her hair still in a braid, has a burette hat on her head followed with a simple black tunic under a buttoned vest all snuggled into a leather jacket. Then trousers that are tucked into brown leather boots. Anna has her hair still in pigtails, then a long-sleeve tunic, a pair of trousers and shoes. A leather cloak about her shoulders, she pulls the hood up over her head.
"Not bad." Michael says. "At least no one will recognize you, much."
"It feels weird, yet rather, rejuvenating." Elsa's cool voice speaks.
"So, Michael," Anna claps her hands together. "Where do we start with our, Assassin Hunt?"
Michael immediately claps his hand over Anna's mouth and almost growls at her when he speaks. "First of all you can shut your mouth and not blab our business out to the entire village!" he hisses.
Anna mumbles under Michael's palm but he presses harder.
"Anything you disclose, anything at all can and will be dangerous to you and your sister." He whispers angrily through grit teeth. "Everything has ears in the village, and they will listen intently. So knowing you, shut your mouth and let me and Elsa do the talking."
Anna frowns and grumbles.
"Enough."
Michael's word strikes her like a slap. He then lets go of her mouth and takes the lead, practically leaving them behind him. Elsa goes to quickly comfort Anna before taking her hand and following him into the shopping square of the city.
Anna wraps her cloak nervously around herself and follows Elsa into the sparse crowds still drifting stall to stall in the lower market, haggling over produce, rubbing linens between fingers to check for quality and whispering in their wake.
The girls never saw their kingdom as rather, intimidating, but as they drift into the more, ominous parts of town, he can see Anna huddling closer to Elsa, and Elsa makes sure to stay close to Michael's side. He keeps his hands inside his cloak, hiding all motions he could do whether reaching for a weapon or hiding his coin purses.
Flicking his hood of his cloak over his head, Michael makes sure to look back at the girls, and he roughly stops to adjust Anna's hood and Elsa's hat to hide their hair that makes them easily recognizable.
Neither of the girls like the idea of risking their lives by going through the lower market alone; in fact, Elsa suggested to Anna to stay in the castle, but she refused. But they're both desperate for the chance to do what no one else seems willing to do – find and capture the person responsible for the assassination attempt.
As Michael keeps an eye out for anyone who looks suspicious, he constantly looks over his shoulder to find the girls struggling to keep up. Finally he decides to take Elsa's wrist and tug her towards him. In turn she pulls along Anna, who has to hold onto the hood of her cloak to prevent it from dropping.
Michael pulls Elsa closer and keeps a gentle arm around her, his hand between her shoulder blades. Elsa doesn't seem bothered, or perhaps she's just weighing her options. It's better to snuggle close to him rather than be constantly observed by other men leaning against the brick walls with cigarettes in their mouths, gazing at the girls with a predatory gleam in their eyes.
He instantly notices that the market is laid out like a man's back. The main road forms the spine and leads towards the north mountain, while smaller roads and alleys branch off like ribs running east and west. Michael can feel Elsa's heart pound a little faster as he aims for the left side of the main road and starts walking.
The first stall they reach is a trestle table laden with a few remaining crates of juicy pears and thick-skinned melons. A woman and her husband squeeze the fruit between their fingers before loading up their sack, murmuring to each other as they weigh each choice. Ignoring them, Michael pulls the girls along. A glance at the sky tells him they have about thirty minutes until twilight.
Puddles gouge the gritty roads, courtesy of an early-afternoon rain shower. They pass the butcher, already cleaning his knives and packing away the last of mutton, and Elsa wrinkles her nose as the rusty scent of drying sheep's blood lies heavy on the air, mingling with the smell of mud. Anna meanwhile is trying to hold down her lunch.
Two more stalls down, they reach the candle maker's and the first of the west, running roads. Michael whispers to the girls to tuck their heads down, hiding both their hair and their faces beneath the hat and hood. No one stops them as they make the left turn, though he can see the stares burning through the girls' hat and hood. Probably wondering why the Queen and Princess are outside the castle, but with the story he was told about the gates always being closed, perhaps it won't be that odd to see members of the royal family roaming around the kingdom.
A man at their left hawking a collection of hunting knives with leather sheaths. Giving his wares a cursory glance, Michael slides his hand beneath his cloak and runs his fingers along the sheath he wears strapped to his waist. His knives are nice.
Mine is better, Michael thinks.
Leaving his knife alone, Michael makes the journey to the first stop of the many places on the list of lowlife hangouts. Given that there are rarely many guards in the lower market this late in the day, Michael moves briskly with the girls and keeps to the sides hoping to avoid attracting too much attention. To his surprise but satisfaction, Anna doesn't complain; in fact she keeps up well.
They're nearly halfway to their destination when they reach an open wagon filled with bags of dried lentils, onions, and white beans. Three men lean against the side, watching in silence as the merchant's daughter scoops beans into burlap sacks. Michael motions the girls to sidestep them, but pulls up short as one of the men whistles softly, a low three-note tune of affection that sends chills up Elsa's spine. Michael pulls Elsa to his side, his arm having a small spasm but doesn't slow.
"We'll be scraping the bottom of Arendelle's list of possible vendors by coming here," Michael speaks. "So just sit back, and let me do all the talking."
"What are you going to do?" Anna asks.
"Business."
Anna is about to ask him exaggerate more, but Elsa puts a hand on her arm to silence her. Instead, Elsa softly clears her throat before speaking. "Um, should we perhaps bring Kristoff with us? As extra backup?"
"I don't need anyone's help. But I do have a condition." says Michael. She must be referring to the muscled man with blonde hair. Next to himself, that man stood out like a sore thumb, and considering that reindeer sticks close to him, he must own the animal.
"What?" asks Elsa.
"No matter what I do, or what happens, you don't tell me to stop and you don't tell me it's enough. These are shitty people, and we need information, not the gossip they've heard around the block."
"Wait, how do you even know anyone here?" Anna suddenly interrogates. "I thought you live far away from here."
Michael pauses for a moment, then offers Anna an intimidating smile. "I have connections. I know people."
This is all he says before he turns a corner and heads down a set of stairs leading into a lower district. The girls hesitate, but quickly follow as a man wearing a grey cloak passes by them and his eyes scan up and down their bodies.
"Also I have a friend here who owes me some favors. We've had dealings in the past."
"You know, all of your tough guy talk isn't winning you any favors." Anna comments.
Michael only looks over his shoulder and oddly, smiles. He sees Anna's face redden and she lowers her gaze.
Sewage and puddles of excrement lay beneath every window of the slums, and the cobblestone streets are cracked and misshapen after many hard winters. The buildings lean against each other, some so ramshackle that even the poorest citizens have abandoned them. on most streets, the taverns overflow with drunks and whores and everyone else who sought temporary relief from their miserable lives.
No matter what kingdom he's in, no matter how happy, there is always an underbelly housing low lives and vagrants. For Arendelle, it's the Pits.
He stops before the nondescript iron door in a quiet alley. Hired thugs stand watch outside; he flashes them the silver entrance fee, and they open the door for him.
"You girls wait in the hallway." Michael orders as he enters, not even bothering to look back to see the girls' and their faces.
The heat and reek hits him almost immediately, but he doesn't let it crack his mask of cold calm as he descends into a warren of subterranean chambers. He swaggers down the stone steps, his hands in easy reach of his swords and daggers sheathed at the belt slung low over his hips. Most people opt to wear even more weapons, but Michael can immediately anticipate the threats the usual clientele poses, and he can look after himself just fine. Still, he keeps his hood over his head, concealing most of his face in shadows.
As he reaches the bottom of the steps, holding a hand out for the women to stay behind, the stench of unwashed bodies, stale ale, and worse things hits him full on. It's enough to turn his stomach, and he is grateful he didn't eat anything prior to coming.
The main chamber is strategically lit: a chandelier hangs in the center of the room, but little of it to be found along the walls for those who don't want to be seen. He listens carefully to the sounds of the pleasure hall, sorting through the cheers and moans and bawdy singing. He peers back towards the stairs and finds the women still there, though looking more nervous without him being at their sides.
Observing the room, he finds his acquaintance sitting in the last banquette against the wall. A glass of wine before him, Noah looks exactly has he had the last time Michael had seen him: short brown hair that sticks to his forehead from the perspiration of the tight space. He wears a dirtied long-sleeve pesent blouse that puffs out at the wrist before softening into lace ruffled cuffs. About his waist is an old scarf, then brown trousers and brown hunting boots. His arm is draped across the back of the bench.
"Hello, Mike." He says.
Michael slides onto the bench across from him, his daggers pressing against his with every movement.
"You've looked better," Michael says, leaning against the hard bench and tugging back his hood. "Looks like the kingdoms aren't treating you well."
It's true. Both he and Noah are in their early twenties, but Noah could pass of a man of thirty with the grey lining his hair, as well as the tints of purple under his eyes, indicating he hasn't slept good in a while.
The tavern owner nears and starts to speak, but a single glare from Michael shuts him up.
"This is personal business." Michael says. That is all the tavern keeper needs to hear. He goes back behind the counter and picks up a grimy rag to smear across the greasy countertop as if cleaning is suddenly a priority.
Noah looks at him up and down – a slow, deliberate examination. "Haven't seen you in a while, my friend. You seem well, though you must be melting under all those clothes."
"Precautions." Michael says crossing his legs and surveying Noah just as slowly. "I wouldn't want to wind up back in the salt mines."
Noah's eyes sparkle. It's an effort to keep from reaching for a dagger and throwing it hard.
The man knew exactly what Michael was talking about.
During his time with the rebels, when Michael was sixteen and stupid, he had gotten caught by one of the king's men and had been sentenced to a death camp without so much as a trial. The king just wanted to get rid of him as soon as possible. He had high hopes that his commander would send parties to rescue him; and he did – nearly six months later. Within those months, Michael has seen so much death and evil and corruption that it would have left most men unstable. He nearly went ballistic during his time there, going on a rampage that made the camp look like a slaughter. When his men arrived and he returned to his commander, the men had to restrain him when the commander's reason for taking so long was 'for Michael to learn to control his arrogance and tempter.'
And he did. And every ounce of self-consciousness and decency have been flayed from him under the iron-tipped whips of the camp. There are large, jagged scars on his back that remain from his time at the camp, since the commander had put him in time-out.
Lieutenant Johan, leader of the rebels, and like a father to Michael, demoted the man.
"Indeed." Noah says. "I'd hate to see you go back there, too. Though I will say these past few years have been good to you. You're even more striking than before."
Michael shrugs his shoulders. "Traveling, fighting, and finding jobs whenever I can."
Noah clicks his tongue. "What a shame to see Lieutenant Johan's greatest soldier now reduced to a mere mercenary."
Michael takes the verbal slap.
Noah is an old childhood rival, to put it in nice terms. Michael can't even use the word friend to describe him because it is far from what he is. They're rivalry grew as they got older, as expected, but it soon turned bitter when they both fell for the same girl. They got into an argument and when she chose Michael, Noah struck him down, his weapon slicing at his ribs. Noah fled thinking Michael was dead, and even went on to bragging about it.
Once he found out that Michael was alive and in a new line of "business" he's almost never made contact with him since. Michael usually isn't one to hold grudges, but old pains bring back old memories. Lieutenant Johan never bothered to hunt him down, claiming Noah's own stupidity will land him at the butchering block sooner than later.
"There is much I want to ask you – to know."
"Really, we'll I've got nothing for you." Noah testifies.
"Bullshit you don't. I didn't even ask it yet." Michael grabs Noah's hand and thrusts the dagger through his palm. To his credit, he doesn't scream.
"Let's try this again." Michael purrs.
"You're a fool." Noah says. "I've got nothing that could be of use to you. It's useless. So angry . . ."
"Look at me!" Michael shouts. He jams a finger towards his eyes. "Right here, right here come on."
His eyes which usually hold a deep sapphire blue, one shade that would entice compassion and kindness, are now hard and cold that it can cut as much as convince. Above one eyebrow, Noah can see a slice of hair missing, then the outline of the scar soon traces in his mind. It begins near the top middle of Michael's forehead – covered by his bangs – and traces down through his eyebrow and stops an inch from his eye.
"Remember this?" Michael interrogates. "Tell what you know about the recent assassination attempt on the Queen and Princess – which I know you do – and I might find it in my heart to forgive you."
"I can't. If I tell, then they'll kill me." Noah's tone is different, and suddenly he's pleading with Michael, not even trying to toughly negotiate. Michael can't let Noah sway him with this, as he's done it before when they were younger.
"They're not your concern right now, I am."
Michael yanks the dagger out and then rams it back downward, this time penetrating his wrist. Noah screams.
Some heads of the patrons turn, but no one comes to their table. In fact, the music seems to have gotten louder, the laughter becomes heavider. Elsa and Anna huddle close to one another, Anna covering her ears, and Elsa struggling to debate whether to go abck up the stairs to the safer world above.
"Who hired the assassin?" Michael asks.
"It's a thieves group, they go by the name of Inferno." Noah screams into grit teeth.
"Who hired them?" He interrogate, his voice like gravel.
"I don't know. I swear, I don't! The man I spoke to, he didn't say."
"Man? What man?"
Noah grunts and clenches his teeth in pain. Michael snarls and twists the dagger, causing Noah to scream again.
"What man?"
"I don't know his name!" Noah shouts. "He only said that he can only tell me what the Inferno ordered them to!"
"Why would they tell anyone their plans?"
"They're a new assassination group, and they want to get their reputation started soon." Noah says.
"Do you know how many members there are?"
Noah breathes through his nose, attempting to suppress the pain. "Five, including their boss. He's the one who sends them out to complete the contracts."
"Name?"
"Don't know it. I think one of them said the organization is named after him. Inferno. Blaze, something along those synonyms." Noah says.
"Where are they hiding?" Michael questions.
"I've been told the assassin's live in the city, but their leader lives somewhere else. And their leader was hired by someone very wealthy to afford the entire organization's services. And they say that they don't stop until they're target is dead, or they are. If you kill one man, they will send another, and another, until the jog is finished. He doesn't leave things undone."
"Shit." Michael swears.
"Now, that's all I know Michael I swear. I've got nothing left." Noah assures.
"I believe you." Michael says, but he doesn't look at Noah, only locked in a trance as he tries to form a new plan on finding the Inferno's leader and who hired them.
"Now, you'll let me go right? I've told you everything you need." Noah says.
Michael slowly rises, keeping the dagger in Noah's hand. Has he rounds to stand at Noah's side, he looks him square in the eye.
"No."
In one smooth motion, Michael yanks his dagger out and thrusts for Noah's chest. The dagger punches through his clothes, and pierces into Noah's chest burying up to the hilt. Blood runs down Michael's wrists and he watches as the Noah's body slacks. The blood slides off his suit like water.
When done, he turns and sees the tavern keeper looking at him with wide eyes.
Michael walks up to the bar and tosses him Noah's bag coins. "Consider that ample payment for keeping your mouth shut." He mumbles.
He heads for the stairs, only glances at the girls over his shoulder as they're still cowering. "I'm hoping you heard everything."
"We did." Elsa nearly whimpers.
"I, I don't understand." Anna stutters, her voice quaking, mixed with fear and anger, debating on which to feel. For once she has the sense to keep her voice quiet. "Why did you kill him? He told you everything."
"Rule number one on the streets, princess. Never trust anyone."
"But, that's a little harsh." Elsa protests.
Michael looks to her and squints his eyes. "Let me show you girls something."
He motions them back towards the table and walks over to Noah's body. The tavern owner wiping the table near theirs. Michael leans against the table and crosses his arms.
"Noah said that their name is called Inferno."
"Right . . ." Elsa says and Anna nods.
"What symbolizes inferno?" Michael quizzes.
"Flames." Elsa answers.
For a moment, Michael has to resist the urge to chuckle. The way Elsa is poised, she mimics a school girl being lectured by a teacher.
Michael takes the tip of another dagger and turns down the collar of Noah's shirt and the girl's mouths hang slack.
Tattooed on the side of the man's neck, are delicately drawn flames with neat cursive writing below it. It is the most beautiful handwriting the girls have ever seen. Each loop and every curl connects cleanly to make the writing itself appear as perfect and uniform as a stamp font.
Forever we burn.