Northgate
Spring 217
There is an old saying: Every assassin is a thief, but not every thief is an assassin.
The adage has many meanings. Most commonly, only the last part of the phrase is used – “…not every thief is an assassin.” It is often used to suggest that someone is overreacting or being overly pessimistic.
Ethan was pondering this phrase now for very different reasons, as he left the home of a yet another whose life he had taken. Unlike many other deaths, this one would weigh on his conscience for the rest of his life.
Three days prior, Ethan was wearing the face of Luke Bastion. He had been a guest of the Silverun family for a Titan Fight at the Grand Theater. The family’s “champion” had not fared well in the bout and after the match the Silveruns directed their carriages to meet the family on the opposite side of the Theater to avoid the subtle (or occasionally not so subtle) gloating offered by the other, more victorious, Great Houses.
There were dozens of carriages on the elevated road that formerly served as the exclusive highway of Northgate nobility. These roads were now shared by common Painted Swan soldiers who used the roads to quickly move men from across the city.
Just outside of the Theater, forty or so men and women now waited on the elevated road to be picked up after the event. Half of the numbers belong to the Silverun family and their guests. The other half were guests of Sebastian Chance – people of substantial means, skill or influence from around the city who were not directly linked to one of the Great Houses. Ethan noted there were even a few higher-ranking Swan officers in Sebastian’s mix of guests. The colorful character himself stood among the soldiers, engaged in some animated discussion. The Silverun family, as well as the rest of Sebastian Chance’s own guests, noticeably avoided that circle.
“Ethan, note the man by the carriage…” Bishop’s voice instructed, telepathically speaking into Ethan’s mind.
“There are literally dozens of carriages, Bishop. And most of them have a man—” Ethan’s mental retort was cut short.
“Don’t be an ass! You know who I’m talking about…”
Ethan did know who he was talking about.
The man was tall and slender and very old. A finely dressed half-elf in a tuxedo, complete with a top hat and flared coat tails. He looked strangely regal despite the absurdity of his formal attire. He somehow managed to make it appear as though everyone around was underdressed, rather than himself overdressed. It was the world that was wrong, not him.
Ethan sighed and detailed his observations to Bishop in his mind: Mr. Fancy Pants… Frail bod/sharp eyes… expensive leather gloves gripping a gold-handled cane that conceals a blade… slight limp on the left side; genuine but played up and exaggerated for some reason… his snuff box is likely worth more than a miner earns in a year…
“What of him…?” But even as he asked the question, Ethan could sense something different about the man.
“I want you to follow him.” Bishop instructed.
“Now?!” Ethan asked incredulously. He was on an elevated road surrounded by nobles who knew him as Luke Bastion. Abandoning the Silverun family would be difficult; following the man challenging, though still possible.
“NO, not now! Obviously not now! Take note and find him tomorrow.”
Ethan did as he was instructed.
In the days that followed, Ethan discovered the man was named Seorn Stallwright. He was a wealthy bachelor who enjoyed spending lavishly on wine, women, and art. He was also, evidently, a consummate pickpocket. Ethan trailed the man through the busy streets of Northgate’s central marketplace and witnessed as the man stole from nearly everyone he crossed paths with. Within minutes of tailing him, Ethan watched as the thief engage a wealthy young couple for a brief exchange of pleasantries. By their parting, the thief walked away with both the man’s pocket watch and one of the woman’s bracelets.
The man was an artist.
“Gods he’s good!” Ethan admitted making no attempt to hide his admiration.
“Oh yes! And he would be the first to let you know it.” Bishop offered.
“You know him?”
“Knew him. And yes, a little. Mostly by reputation, but we worked together some.” He admitted. “He was always a self-important ass.”
“Being a ‘self-important ass’ still seems like a petty reason to kill him from beyond the grave, Bishop…” Ethan said.
A carriage briefly obscured his view of the target. When the carriage moved away, Seorn was limping along slightly further down the road, a new handkerchief now added to his collection of stolen things.
“I don’t want you to kill him,” Bishop said. “I want you to steal from him.”
Ethan watched as the man finished a conversation with a town guard, walking away with the apple the guard was previously eating. The guard looked around at his feet, bewildered as to where his snack had disappeared to.
“Bishop, I’m always up for a challenge. But if I get within five feet of that guy, he’s likely to steal my knife, my coin and my virginity before I can steal a good look at his top hat.”
“I’ve recommended several brothels that would happily prevent the theft of one of those…” Bishop jeered. He often argued that adding sex to his life would make Ethan’s personality more tolerable.
Ethan rolled his eyes. “For some reason having the spirit of a perverted man watch me sleep with a prostitute… just doesn’t do it for me.”
“Gods, I wouldn’t watch!”
“…the invisible man promised the young boy.” Ethan narrated.
“Why?! Why couldn’t someone else – anyone else – be the one to kill me…?”
“Now you’re just trying to hurt my feelings,” Ethan said, smiling to himself. “Now quiet your nonsense while I watch this guy work. Ass or not, he’s fucking incredible.”
“That he is…” Bishop admitted. “That he is.”
Ethan continued to follow the man and watched as he stole and planted various items with absolutely no consideration for their value. He stole a purse of gold coins and planted them in the pocket of a beggar woman. He stole a necklace with the names of family members inscribed into it from a tanner who was haggling with a baker over a bread loaf he could barely afford. Seorn Stallwright seemed to steal for the sheer fact that he could and the act itself amused him.
Seorn’s house was located on the corner street of an impressive neighborhood. The house itself rested behind a twelve-foot-high privacy wall with a spiked-top. A guard was standing watch in front of a rod ironed door. Seorn spoke with the man briefly before entering. The well-oiled gate opened with barely a sound.
Even the man’s front gate was meticulously well maintained…
The guard yawned and secured the gate behind Seorn, resuming his post.
Some children were playing across the street. Otherwise, the late afternoon street was empty except for the guard and Seron’s invisible shadow.
“Alright, that’s enough for today. We’ll need to figure out how to get inside.” Bishop began.
“I can get inside right now.” Ethan insisted.
“Don’t be foolhardy. The magic is almost spent,” Bishop insisted, referring to Ethan’s invisible cloak.
”I have nine minutes,” Ethan stated with confidence.
Bishop had been encouraging Ethan to always be counting. Everything. Exits to a room, number of windows, steps to get across the street… No matter what task Ethan was doing, he should always be counting something. The idea was to always be taking in everything that he could. Ethan had obviously been counting the minutes since he activated the magic in his cloak.
“…alright.” Bishop conceded.
Tactically, he disagreed. This was not the smart move. However, unless the stakes were incredibly high, he always allowed Ethan to make his own decisions; it was helpful to both of them for Ethan to discover his limits.
“Let’s see what you can do with nine minutes, boy. Go!”
Ethan moved towards the house. There were piles of snow on either side of the road. Most of the snow from the previous day was melted by the afternoon sun, but some of the snowbanks stayed in the shadow of the tall houses that lined the street.
The sun was setting now, the day cooling, and the snow that remained was thankfully dry.
Ethan began making a snowball.
“That won’t work,” Bishop insisted. “You can’t throw-“
“I know.” Ethan didn’t need to be reminded of the limitations to the cloak’s magic.
Ethan moved to a vacant corner, away from the guard and where the children were playing. He adjusted his pants and began peeing on the snowball.
“I’m very glad I can’t see any of this…” the man in the ring quipped. Ethan ignored him and finished relieving himself. He began walking towards the guard, approaching silently from the man’s side. This wouldn’t work if the guard saw a levitating snowball approaching him, so Ethan approached with caution.
Bishop was right, of course. Ethan couldn’t throw the snowball. As powerful as the magic was that allowed Ethan to disappear, it was also fickle. Even throwing a snowball was enough to cause the magic to fail.
Thankfully, he had no intentions of throwing it.
As he approached, the guard’s face confirmed what Ethan had observed from a distance. The man guarding the door was large and ugly. His left eye was clouded and milky. But most importantly, he looked dreadfully bored.
Ethan waited patiently beside the man. If anyone looked his direction they would certainly notice the snowball which floated suspiciously in the air, but Ethan’s luck held for the brief time he needed it. Standing no more than two or three feet away, he waited for the man to repeat the gesture Ethan had caught sight of just after the gate closed behind his employer. As if sensing a cue, the man once again began to yawn again. Throwing his voice to come from across the street and raising it several octaves to near perfectly mimic that of a child, Ethan called out, “Hey ugly!” just as the man closed his eyes and turned his head, a fist covering his open mouth. Ethan dropped the soiled snowball just in front of the man’s feet, a disappointingly small explosion of snow and urine scattering across the sidewalk and onto the man’s boots. Sad as the explosion was, it achieved its intended effects.
The man looked up at the children playing across the street. Hearing the voice cry out, the children had also stopped to look in the direction of the guard. Their eyes met – the guards filled with anger; the children’s eyes with confusion and fear.
“You little shits!” the guard yelled. He took off after the kids. The children fled.
To the man’s credit, he only ran about ten or fifteen feet away from his post. He was hardly away from the gate for more than seven or eight seconds. But it was enough. The gate opened and closed itself soundlessly. The guard returned to his post, ignorant of the breach, vainly brushing the already melted bits of snow and piss from his boots.
Inside the gate was a tiny courtyard with a small bench and a few manicured shrubs lining a short pathway. The pathway led through the courtyard to a small set of stairs rising into a portico that sheltered the front door of the house. Mounting the stairs, Ethan examined the door; unlike the heavy iron gate behind the guard, this door was locked. Ethan pulled out his toolkit to begin picking the lock when Bishop interrupted.
“Hold on…” he said.
Ethan paused.
“Stallwright’s capacity for theft was only rivaled by his paranoia as a miser. He wouldn’t trust a simple lock to safekeep his home…”
Ethan re-examined the door more thoroughly and discovered that the seemingly simple lock was connected to a pressure plate hidden beneath the rug in front of the door. Ethan was not certain what would happen if the lock was disengaged while the plate was depressed, but he assumed it was something he would rather avoid. Leaning against the door like a drunkard retching ale, Ethan awkwardly picked the lock and stepped inside.
The vestibule that greeted him on the other side was warm, comfortable and immaculately clean. Five coats of differing styles were placed on hangers above five different styles of fashionable shoes. A thick, narrow rug covered the wooden floorboards, running continuously from the entrance, up the stairwell, to the second floor. An empty window to his right looked into a mostly vacant coatroom; it was deep and looked similar to the kind Ethan had seen in fancy restaurants. There, a clerk would stand at the window and accept guest’s outerwear when they entered. It was strange seeing one in someone’s personal residence…
Light from a fireplace and the sounds of a viol spilled into the hallway from the room opening to the left. From where he stood, Ethan was surrounded by the smells of wood, leather and rich tobacco. He started to make his way to the corner, to peer into the room from where the music emanated, when it suddenly stopped. Ethan halted as well. He could feel the man in the other room listening.
“Hello?” a voice called out from the other room.
How the hell…? I didn’t make sound! Ethan thought.
He stepped off the thick carpet and onto the wood flooring, standing opposite the fancy coats and matching shoes. There was a rustling of movement from the other room and seconds later Seorn Stallwright was standing before him, armed with a heavy crossbow. He stared through Ethan into the empty vestibule.
“Hello…?” he called again, raising the crossbow slightly and glancing back over his shoulder towards the stairs. His eyes returned to the seemingly empty front door chamber. Squinting, he slowly began moving towards the door.
Ethan stood perfectly still. His muscles began to tighten, readying to snap into action, but his breathing and heart remained steady. It took a great deal to shake Ethan when he was working.
Well, Bishop, you may not have asked me to kill him, but your old friend is about five steps – four steps – away from the last move he’ll ever make…
Bishop said nothing.
Three steps.
Two…
A black cat leapt onto the open window from the coatroom.
“Bah! Jasper!” Seorn exclaimed. He removed the bolt and leaned the crossbow against the doorframe, taking the cat affectionately into his arms. “You rascal! You nearly gave me a heart attack!” He chided.
Good job, Kitty, Ethan thought, returning his dagger to its scabbard.
Seorn walked with the cat in his arms, returning to the room he came from. Ethan followed silently, still confused by what could possibly have alerted the man.
Poking his still invisible head around the corner, Ethan watched as Seorn settled himself into a tall backed, leather chair. A viol and a bow rested to one side. Although he knew his time was short, that within minutes he would need to either leave or find a place to hide, Ethan continued to observe Seorn. This was his first chance to really see him up close.
The man’s white, thinning hair was brushed to one side. The hats he wore helped to hide his baldness. His completion was fair, but the wrinkles in his face were numerous and deep, even by the light of the fireplace. His body was long and lean but, with his leather gloves now removed, Ethan could see the man’s once elegant fingers appeared painfully knotted.
For a moment, Ethan feared the man could read his thoughts, for he too was now looking at his fingers.
Placing the cat on his lap, Seorn squeezed at the tips of one hand, as though loosening a glove. He continued to pull, his fingers in one hand gripping some invisible fabric while his fingers from the other hand constricted under the same unseen material. Once it was entirely removed, a thin glove materialized. Seorn repeated the process with the opposite hand, and another glove appeared.
Magic gloves… Ethan noted.
Seorn set the gloves aside and began rubbing each hand, attempting to massage out the arthritis from each of them. The gloves obviously eased the pain as well as allowing him better movement.
He then returned to petting Jasper.
“There,” he said. “That’s better,” truly feeling the cat’s fur and warmth for the first time. Jasper seemed to agree, purring contentedly. They continued to enjoy each other’s company in silence.
“Ethan…” Bishop said.
“Yeah,” Ethan agreed. It was time for him to find a place to hide.
Ethan sat behind the door of the unused coat room, listening to Seorn occasionally speak to Jasper and contemplated his next moves. The magic from his cape was expended and he was now visible. The small room was empty aside from Ethan, two coats, and the steady sounds of a crackling fireplace mixed with the early evening breeze outside. He watched as the sun faded from the window above the front door, and noted as a brisk snow began to fall.
“The gloves,” Bishop had said. “That is what you’ll take.”
“We haven’t even explored any other part of the house. Seems a little premature to decide the spoils, don’t you think…?”
“There may be more, but the gloves are the target. If they allow his crippled fingers to work like new, they will be an invaluable addition to your arsenal.”
Ethan couldn’t argue with that.
Seorn eventually made his way upstairs, cooing to Jasper, the cat still held in his arms. Ethan listened as the man went about his nightly ritual. After half an hour, the sounds of movement stopped. A short time later, Ethan heard a soft thud, likely Jasper leaving Seorn’s bed to explore other interests.
He waited nearly another hour for good measure before stepping out of the closet.
Stepping into the grand living room allowed Ethan a chance to marvel at the brilliance of furnishings. A few chairs were huddled comfortably next to the fireplace. Beyond them, the impressively large room opened up. Bookshelves lined the right side of the room, flanking two large paintings. Ethan wasn’t sure if the characters depicted were from history but, even if they were, the grandiosity of the images suggested artistic liberties were taken with the truth.
A modest but expensive looking chandelier hung from the tall ceiling in the center of the room. A piano rested at the far end, standing in front a set of floor-to-ceiling windows. The curtains were drawn shut against them, but Ethan could imagine that the chandelier sparkled beautifully during the day with the sunlight gleaming against it.
Ethan was surprised to find the gloves still laid across the arm of the leather chair. Evidently, the temporary comfort of the cat’s warmth was too appealing to put down. Seorn would regret his choice in the morning. Ethan knew from his time spent with his uncle – joint stiffness was always worse in the mornings.
Collecting the gloves, Ethan mentally announced, “Victory! Truly, I am the greatest thief to have ever lived!” Bishop said nothing in response though Ethan could feel his eyes rolling.
With the gloves secured, Ethan began exploring the other areas of the house. Each room was lavishly decorated with comfortable furniture and impressive paintings. Although the house was of decent size, it had surprisingly few rooms, substituting size for quantity.
The main floor consisted mostly of the grand living room and dining room, the two rooms opening into to each other. Aside from the hallway with the staircase and the coatroom Ethan had been hiding in, there was only one additional room - a small kitchen in the back of the house. Only three rooms on the first floor. Large rooms (well, two of them were large) but still only three rooms. Very surprising for the size of the house.
On the second floor, there were five rooms: an art room (Seorn, evidently, was himself an excellent painter), a billards room, a lavatory, one spare bedroom, and the master bedroom. One half of the floor was occupied by the three rooms; the lavatory and the master suite took up the other half. Aside from expensive furnishings, the unoccupied rooms held nothing of value.
That just left Seon’s room.
Unlike the empty bedrooms, the door to Seorn’s chambers was closed. A small hole about the size of a man’s arm was carved into the bottom of it. As Ethan approached, Jasper slipped silently through the hole. He spotted Ethan and with all the caring for his master that the cat could muster, he dutifully rubbed up against the intruder’s boots, rolling onto his back to invite petting. Ethan furtively scratched the cat’s belly for a moment and then moved in front of the chamber door.
Studying it from the outside, Ethan could not see any obvious trap or alarm. He even laid on the floor and attempted to look through Jasper’s own personal door into the room. The view revealed little. Ethan could see the legs of a bedframe and sheets draped over the side of a bed several feet away and little else. Both intrigued and jealous, Jasper pushed past Ethan’s face and slipped back through the hole and into the bedroom.
“Show off…” Ethan murmured.
Pushing himself off the floor, Ethan stood in front of the closed door. Instinct, intuition and experience all suggested this was a door he didn’t want to open.
He walked back to the adjacent lavatory, Jasper exiting the room once again to chase after him. Opening the bathroom window and leaning his head outside he could see that there was a small balcony attached to the master bedroom. It was more than fifteen feet above the tiny yard that surrounded the house and the sides of the balcony were completely smooth stone. Even if Ethan had a rope and grapple, there was nothing for the grapple to find purchase one.
The balcony was about six feet away from the window where he was currently viewing it from. Jumping that distance and grabbing a smooth surface was a recipe for visiting the courtyard below with less wind in his lungs. He attempted such a feat once before; Bishop had found the results hilarious. Both had learned something regarding Ethan’s limits.
He pulled his head back inside and closed the window to prevent too much snow from drifting inside.
Two entrances. One likely trapped. The other inaccessible.
“Fuck…”
“You could just leave,” Bishop said, testing Ethan.
“Sure,” Ethan replied. “I’ll just walk out past the guarded gate. ‘Oh, don’t mind me, sir, I can show myself out!’”
“You could get past one guard…”
“The man’s an expert thief! I’m sure there’s more here than these gloves.”
Ethan returned to the study downstairs. He sat in the large leather chair and warmed himself by the warm cinders of the now dead fire. Jasper joined him, resting on the back of the chair.
Inspiration came as it usually did – out of nowhere. Ethan snapped his fingers and made his way back to the coatroom. He had spent nearly two hours staring at his solution. At the back of the room, a thick, long wooden pole was held in place between two wooden blocks bolted to the wall; it rested into two divots, custom carved for this exact purpose. Wooden hooks were molded onto the pole with a clear, hardened resin. He removed the two coats held by the hangers and then removed the pole from its home in the divots.
The pole was very heavy, just as he had hoped.
Jasper was already treated to a very eventful evening, and Ethan continued to amuse him as he moved up the stairs with a ten-foot-long wooden pole.
Once back at the window, he placed one end of the poll onto the ledge of the balcony, the other he left threaded through the window. It took some maneuvering, but eventually he was able to climb through the window, hang from the bar, scale across the makeshift ladder and hoist himself onto the balcony. Thick as it was, the wood had begun to splinter while he was in the middle. He would not trust it to support him through another trip.
From the balcony, he looked into the bedroom. The large glass windows made this easy. He could see the bed with the old man sleeping within. He could also see that his instincts had been correct. Another crossbow was setup to fire if anyone attempted to enter the man’s bedroom as he slept. Looking down through the windows, Ethan could see a small wire strung across the floor in front of the door leading to the balcony. This security seemed to be almost an afterthought. Any would-be criminals would need a near twenty-foot ladder to the scale onto the balcony from the ground. Certainly not impossible by itself, but the invaders would first need to get said ladder into the secured courtyard. It’s hard to be stealthy while carrying a twenty-foot ladder through an expensive neighborhood; those things tended to be noticed.
Slipping two tools under the doorway, Ethan bent the thread below the door and held it in place while he slipped inside. There, he disabled the simple alarm and retrieved his tools.
The old man remained sleeping, although the cold breeze from the outside caused him to stir uncomfortably.
Next, Ethan silently moved across the room and disabled the trap leading out of the bedroom. Jasper slipped through his personal entrance to observe Ethan’s efforts. He pick the cat up, placing him back in front of the little doorway. Curious to explore the room he had just left, Jasper once again slipped through the hole. Ethan used a nearby slipper to block the cat’s re-entrance; he didn’t want Jasper deciding to disturb Seorn’s sleep. He heard muffled protests from the other side, but ignored them.
Ethan made a cursory investigation to see if there were any weapons resting beside Seorn’s bed, but found nothing. He felt confident that some were around but didn’t want to risk getting too close. If he continued sleeping, Seorn could have all the weapons in the world as far as Ethan was concerned.
After looking around the room and checking the Seorn’s closet Ethan was disappointed yet again. This room was exceedingly well furnished, even more so than the other bedrooms, but there seemed to be nothing of genuine value. Where did the man keep his money?
“Check again,” Bishop instructed.
Ethan began reviewing the contents of the closet, looking through the pockets of clothes adorning several manikins.
“N-…” Bishop began, but thought better of it. However, this was enough for Ethan. He was missing something.
Reviewing the notes in his head, he remembered counting the steps. The length of the study and the hallway, the vestibule… this room was too small!
“There’s a hidden room somewhere…” Ethan thought.
“And you got there almost entirely on you own,” Bishop mocked.
Ethan ignored him and focused on looking for a hidden door. Eventually he found one at the back of the closet. A switch allowed him to shift an armoire to one side. Like the iron gate out front, this door was well maintained; much to the detriment of the man sleeping soundlessly in his bed. The doorway opened into a room one and half times the size of the bedroom across the hall. Light spilled in through two small porthole windows in the roof; although Ethan could see clearly by the moonlight, there were no colors, only shades of grey. Returning to the bedroom, he closed the closet door and the hidden door most of the way behind him before lighting a small gas lamp to better take in the sights of the room.
The room was filled on all sides with large, ornately framed paintings. Four pairs of pillared display cases lined the room with objects resting on each. At the far end of the room, a small altar held an ornate red box laced with gold plating. Two mirrors frame either side, positioned to reflect the light from the overhead windows.
Bishop gasped.
“What?” Ethan asked. He’d never heard Bishop react this way.
“It’s…” he seemed to hesitate. “Nothing,” he said finally.
“Hold on, you watched as beautiful woman transformed into an unspeakable demon-monster-thing that nearly tore me to shreds and you hardly batted an eye. Now you’re trying to tell me that something is this room is ‘Nothing.’ Come on Bishop…”
“No,” he insisted. “For now, it’s nothing. Some things are best left alone, Ethan.”
Ethan began to enter the room further when Bishop once again stopped him. “No, we have all we need. We’ll take the gloves and leave the rest.”
Curiosity was boiling inside him but still he obeyed.
“Fine…” he said. Looking at an elegant desk resting next to the door, Ethan saw several coin purses filled with gold and platinum pieces. He snatched one of them.
“But I’m taking this.”
Bishop made no objections. Ethan blew out the lamp and left the treasure hoard behind.
Ethan understood he was going to have to spend the night within the home. He couldn’t scale the walls and the guard out front would see him if he left before his cloak had time to recharge. So, after returning the coat poll to its appropriate place Ethan slipped into one of the unused bedrooms and fell asleep on the floor between the wall and the bed.
He awoke to the sounds of Seorn stirring in the other room; Ethan opened his eyes and was fully conscious, as though he had merely rested his eyes for a moment. Early morning sunlight was coming in through the bedroom window. His body was stiff but not overly uncomfortable; sleeping on the floor was typical for him… although admittedly most nights he was at least lying down, not resting with his knees tucked into his chin and his weapon at the ready. Ethan silently stretched out each of his limbs and limbered his neck as he listened to Seorn. He listened for sounds of alarm which were certain to come.
Ethan was not able to reset the trap that guarded the bedroom door. He might have been able to, were he able to escape out from the balcony. But the timing of the heavy snowfall that occurred in the hours he waited for Seorn to fall into a deeper sleep and then exploring the house meant that if he dropped down from the balcony, there would be clear footprints leading back into the house. It was possible more snow would fall in the early hours of the morning, but Ethan couldn’t count on that. Instead, he opted to reset the balcony alarm, remove any trace of his initial breach, and leave the bedroom door unguarded.
Ethan listened as this violation was uncovered. His ears had become stronger since he spent large portions of his week in a self-blinded state. (Want to improve your other senses? Navigate a city and practice baking while blindfolded.)
Closing his eyes, he visualized the actions as they happened. Seorn paused before exiting his door, seeing obvious tampering with his security. He rushes to his bedside where he arms himself. He checks the balcony and finds nothing. He scurries into his closet, limping on his bad leg slightly more than was the night before though less than he exaggerates in public. Minutes pass as he no doubt checks each and every item to ensure nothing is out of place. He doesn’t care about the bags of coin; miser that he is, he may or may not notice one missing.
It appears that he does not.
Ethan continues to picture the man as he exits his secret chamber reassured that whoever the intruder may have been they had not claimed any of his most treasured items. Confused, he stands in his bedroom attempting to navigate the circumstance – someone had entered his bedroom, disarming his trap. Yet they did not harm him, nor did they take anything from his secured room. What could they have wanted…?
Ethan heard the unmistakable sound of a heavy crossbow being loaded; Seorn apparently had at least one such weapon for each level. He then heard as the old man began stalking into each room upstairs. Ethan waited as long as possible before adorning his hood and vanishing from sight. Seorn entered the room moments later, thoroughly checking the closet and looking both under and behind the bed. He looked directly at Ethan both times.
Ethan remained motionless, his blade at the ready. If Seorn was somehow unfortunate enough to realize there was an invisible man sitting five feet in front of him, crouched behind one of his guest beds, he would not be long for this world.
For both their sakes, Ethan hoped that Seorn discerned nothing.
He watched as the man stared at the space where he was sitting. He noted the man’s gnarled, arthritic fingers as the gripped the heavy weapon; it looked painful to hold. Seeing nothing but empty space, Seorn moved on.
After clearing the top floor, he made his way down the stairs where he would finally discover what was taken from him. Ethan listened as the man discovered the note resting on the arm of the leather chair, right where Seorn left his gloves the night before. For the note, Ethan had scribed out the symbols Bishop relayed to him. It was not as challenging as it may have otherwise been; being illiterate, Bishop had plenty of practice describing symbols for Ethan to trace out when the need arose. Typically, this was just simple Common words, but since letters are just symbols to the illiterate, he had plenty of practice to draw from.
In addition to the symbol, Bishop had him inscribe a brief note: “These belong in better hands.” Ethan could read “in,” and “hands,” of what he’d written. Bishop had told him the rest.
From upstairs, Ethan listened as the man read the note.
“No…” he heard Seorn say softly. “No!” he shouted. “NO! Damn you! NO!”
There came a crashing sound.
“No!” the old man repeated, already sounding weaker. “Not the gloves… NOT THE GLOVES!” He shouted. Another crash was heard.
The old man’s rage was made all the more pathetic because of its brevity. Without the aid of the gloves, he could not even tear the room apart in anguish. It was not long before Ethan heard the man sobbing. “Not the gloves…” he repeated more softly now.
After a long time, the man stirred from whatever place he had fallen to let his tears leak out the pain. Ethan heard the man move around in the kitchen along with the sound of plates. Jasper apparently recognized the sound as an indication of feeding time; the cat had remained hidden during the brief tantrum, but was excited to hear the comforting sound of a meal being readied.
“So… what’s your plan?” Bishop asked.
“I’m gonna wait until he leaves and follow him right out the front gate.”
“What if he doesn’t leave in the next hour?” Bishop asked, again referencing the amount of time before the magic in Ethan’s cloak would wear off.
“Then I’ll hide… and work on having better timing tomorrow.” Ethan said. This was a low-stakes affair, as far as he was concerned.
The rustling of plates had stopped and Ethan could hear Seorn speaking to Jasper, though he couldn’t make out the words. His tone sounded soothing; reassurances spoken for his own benefit.
More movement occurred but – trained ears or not – Ethan couldn’t match the sounds with any images. For a short time, Ethan began to suspect that something was wrong. Seorn had stopped moving altogether; Ethan’s best guess was that the was sitting at the dinner table, perhaps watching Jasper enjoy his meal. After twenty-two minutes (always counting!) Seorn moved again. Ethan heard the shifting of furniture and a rustling, like fabric being folded together. Was there another hidden door somewhere on the first floor…?
As the minutes ticked by, his window to saunter out unseen behind Seorn was rapidly closing.
Thirty-one minutes after he first went downstairs, Ethan heard a strange crashing sound. Once again there came a sound like the shattering of glass. Seorn had struck the chandelier with something. Ethan strained, trying to picture the source; perhaps another petulant outburst?
Ethan held very still. He sensed the smallest of movements, but had no idea what was occurring downstairs. He decided to wait.
Five minutes past. Then ten.
Still nothing. Now, even the small movement he sensed early was gone.
Had Seorn left?! Or had he figured out that Ethan was still in the house, just waiting for him?
Ethan decided to hold. A lot of his work required patience. It was not Ethan’s specialty, but he was improving.
After nearly ten more minutes, and still uncertain what was happening, he rose from behind the bed and made his way downstairs, moving as silently as he ever had in his life.
As his transparent form crept down the broad staircase, Ethan half expected to see Seorn standing with the crossbow at the ready, waiting for whoever had been foolish enough to invade his home. Instead, as he came to the bottom of the stairs, he could see partially into the living room. Ethan saw Seorn’s feet levitating above the expensive rug. Ethan froze. The feet continued to hang suspended in the air.
Ethan moved down to the bottom of the stairs, his eyes darting back and forth from the steps below him to the room with the levitating man.
As the room came into view, he could see there was no magic to Seorn’s levitation act. The man’s body hung limply from thin rope tied around the chandelier now partially torn away from the ceiling. Seorn’s face was twisted and purple. The rope made deep cuts into the thin skin around his neck. The short fall was not nearly enough to break his neck. The man had suffocated to death.
As he made his way around the banister, Ethan could see into the kitchen. Jasper lay unmoving on his side not far from his dish. A vial of poison rested on the countertop nearby.
“Gods…” Ethan whispered. “Why?”
Bishop didn’t answer.
Ethan looked around at the dead man’s beautiful surroundings. In the empty home, Ethan spoke aloud even if Bishop couldn’t. “He had… everything!”
“No,” Bishop said. There was a heaviness in his voice, a sadness that Ethan rarely heard. “He achieved more in his life than most men ever will… but in the end that doesn’t mean much. In the end, he was… just a lonely old man.”
“Did you know this was going to happen?” Ethan asked.
“No,” Bishop admitted. Adding, “…but I should have. His hands were his life… and we took that away.”
Ethan touch the gloves on his belt. Looking at the old man’s gnarled fingers, he realized how difficult – how painful – it must have been to tie the noose.
For years, Ethan’s life was surrounded by death. He had killed more men than he could remember. Women too. Yet this death felt worse than even those early mistakes he made; lives he claimed in exchange for coin. Executions made based on allegations written on paper. He would never know if those early deaths were deserved and that still bothered him sometimes. But this death… this death weighed on him.
An old man. No family. Seemingly no friends. An old man who’s only happiness came from the joy he created for himself with his own two hands. And Ethan had robbed him of that.
There was a note on Seorn’s writing desk. This was apparently what he was doing when Ethan imagined the man was watching Jasper eat. The handwriting was sloppy with many words scratched through; Ethan couldn’t read the words but he could see the pain on the page as a man who painted extravagant masterpieces sat struggling to etch out simple letters. Bishop could read it, but he did not share the words with Ethan.
Instead, he had Ethan burn both notes – his own and Seorn’s.
He was turning to leave when Bishop instructed him to go back upstairs. He returned to the secret room and collected the ornate box and the object it contained. Bishop would not say what it was or what is was for, only that it needed to be taken and placed somewhere safe.
Ethan’s escape was not dramatic. The guard was standing far enough from the gate that he was able to open it and sneak behind the man, causing an unnerving chill to wash over the guard, but otherwise he was none the wiser.
When he slipped the gloves on later, they fit perfectly. The gloves disappeared completely, just as they had on Seorn’s hands. Ethan could feel strength, dexterity and flexibility wash into his fingers. He would use these gloves. They would prove to be as invaluable as Bishop believed they would. But he always remembered where they came from and the price that was paid to acquire them.
Not every thief is an assassin. But, for better or worse, Ethan Fairchild seemed destined to be both.
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