Paul Kemp - Shadow witness

He was picking his marks! Cale could not believe it. Professionally, he had to admit that the would-be thief had skills. Only Cale's long experience and trained eye allowed him to notice anything amiss.

Spotting Larajin nearby again clearing dishes, he hurried over to her.

"Larajin-"

She jumped as though he had poked her with a pin. The tray of chalices she bore shook alarmingly. %›h! Oh." When she turned and saw him, her voice quavered. "Yes, Mister Cale?"

"Give me one of those." He nodded absently at the tray, his eyes still on the young thief

"Mister Cale?"

"A chalice, girl," he snapped. "Give me a damned chalice."

She recoiled, green eyes wide, and he felt a swift pang of guilt. She was just a girl, after all, and she was trying. He softened his tone. "I'm sorry, Larajin. Something else is on my mind. Here." He removed a chalice from the trembling tray and filled it from the bottle he held. "And you take this." He placed the wine bottle on the tray. "Remove it all to the kitchen and take your dinner."

"But-"

He turned on his heel and walked across the hall toward the thief. Waiting until the boy stood alone, Cale approached with the chalice. "A drink, young sir-oops." Feigning a stumble, he bumped into the boy, quickly felt him for steel-one buckleknife beneath his belt-and dumped the wine over the boy's doublet.

"Oh, forgive me, young sir." He pulled a kerchief from his breast pocket and daubed at the stain. "Forgive me, I'm so sorry."

"It's all right," replied the blushing thief, looking about in embarrassment and trying to push Cale away. A few heads turned their way, curious, but quickly turned back to their own conversations. That the boy had not exploded at Cale for such clumsiness-as any of Selgaunt's nobility would have-only confirmed his suspicions.

Cale continued to apologize and daub awkwardly at the stain while the boy continued trying to push him away. "It's aH right, butler. You can go-"

Cale looked up abruptly as though struck with an idea. "Young sir… that is, if the young sir will be gracious enough to allow me to escort him to the kitchens,

Brilla the cook will see to the stain. I'm sure she will be able to remove it entirely."

"That won't be necessary-"

"Please young master, I insist you allow me to correct my clumsiness. Please?"

The boy looked down at his stained doublet, hesitated, then gave a shrug. "Very well then, butler. But let's be quick."

"Follow me, young master. The kitchens are this way."

Cale led him through the double doors into the fore-hall, but rather than turning right to go through the parlor and into the kitchen he turned left and strode toward an unoccupied receiving room.

The thief looked about absently as they walked, no doubt noting portable valuables. "How far are the kitchens, butleaaggh-"

Without warning, Cale whirled on him, gripped him by the throat, and pinned him against the wood paneled receiving room wall. The boy kicked and gagged but Cale held him fast. He stared into the boy's wide brown eyes and slowly lifted him from his feet. Desperate wheezes squeaked from the thief'sthroat. His red face began rapidly to turn blue.

"I know exactly what you are and what you're doing here," Cale hissed into his face. The boy feebly shook his head in the negative so Cale squeezed harder. The wheezes stopped altogether. The boy thrashed but Gale's iron grip could not be broken. "Don't deny it. I can always spot an amateur."

Indignant at first, the asphyxiating thief at last nodded. Satisfied, Cale eased his grip, but only slightly. The wheezes returned while the thief'sblue face faded back to flush red. Cale stared straight into his frightened eyes. "Boy, if your left hand moves one inch closer to that buckleknife in your belt, I promise you that you've already taken your last breath."

The boy went wide-eyed and let his hand, which had been inching surreptitiously toward his belt, dangle limply.

"Here's how it's going to be," said Gale. "You listening?"

The boy nodded, but looked on the verge of passing out.

"I don't know who you work for and I don't care, but after tonight this house is off limits. Understand?"

Another desperate nod.

Gale gave a final, meaningful glare, and released him. The would-be thief collapsed to the floor, gasping.

"Collect yourself. I'm going to show you out."

"But my coat," the boy protested. "It's cold." He realized immediately that he should not have opened his mouth.

Gale stared at. him The boy's eyes found the floor. "Forget it," he muttered.

He climbed slowly to his feet and Gate led him through the receiving room to a side door that opened onto the patio. He pulled the door open and the blast of cold, Deepwinter air set the boy's teeth to chattering.

"Through the gardens, left to Sam Street. Don't let me see you again."

The boy nodded, crossed his arms against the cold, and hurried out.

After closing the door and securing the deadbolt, Gale congratulated himself for solving a problem without bloodshed. Ten years ago, he'd have taken the boy into the gardens and put him down, just to be thorough. I have changed, he realized with a soft smile. Thazienne would be proud.

•(c)• •(c)• •(c)• •(c)• -(r)

Crouching amidst the tall shrubbery, Araniskeel hungrily eyed the two humans. The tall one said some- thing and shoved the smaller one out of the door of the great house. Light, sound, and life spilled from the open door like blood from a wound. Araniskeel growled, low and dangerous, and a soft chorus of snarls sounded behind him in answer. The power of the two humans' souls glowed in his eyes, tempting him, whetting his appetite to feed. The tall human's soul shone with power, hah0 of it white, half of it shadow, as though it fought a war with itself. The smaller human's soul, though a mere gray spark in comparison, elicited an anticipatory purr from the demon..

The fifteen former humans hidden in the gardens with him sensed his pleasure and shifted eagerly. "Feed us," they whispered. "Feed us."

Araniskeel turned to face them. Silence, he thought to them, and they fell on their faces to the dirty snow, abject. He regarded them with contempt, as he did all humans. Araniskeel's master Yrsillar had possessed the leader of these humans-these Night Knives-and named himself the avatar of their god. Now these ignorant fools literally fell over themselves in their frenzy to serve. Yrsillar had taken their zeal and used it- used it to twist their bodies, warp their minds, and pollute their souls until they had become tools suitable to his purposes. Now, not even Araniskeel would feed upon the twisted, black things that served as the corrupted humans' souls.

The door to the house slammed closed. The sound jerked him back around. The tall human had retreated within, but the short one remained outside. Silence, he projected again to the corrupted humans. As always, they obeyed. They soundlessly rocked back and forth, hungry for flesh, their daws alternately clenching and unclenching fistfuls of frozen earth.

Patience, he thought. Soon you will feed.

The small human, his arms crossed against a cold Araniskeel did not feel in this form, muttered to himself and walked from the house toward them. Araniskeel allowed his hunger to build, savored the growing anticipation that would soon be sated. The small human neared and walked past unsuspecting. Araniskeel stepped from the shrubs and reached for him.

The human's startled gasp ended almost as soon as it began. Araniskeel flashed a claw and opened the human's throat. His wings beat in ecstasy as the paltry soul pulsed screaming from the wound and into his being. Araniskeel's black form swallowed and utterly devoured the small human's life-force.

"For Mask," the corrupted humans chanted into the dirt. "For Mask."