David Dalglish - A Dance of Cloaks

“What the bloody abyss are you doing here?” Dustin whispered fiercely once the boy was with him in the kitchen. The boy looked back, only his eyes visible through the mask over his face. Dustin figured he was one of their younger thieves, but he didn’t have a clue who.

“What’s with the mask,” he whispered.

“I’m correcting a mistake,” the boy whispered back.

Dustin gestured to the door, then made a circular motion with his finger beside his head, showing what he thought of that plan.

“You’re a kid, now go home,” Dustin said. “I have work to do.”

When he tried to push him aside, the boy grabbed his wrist and held firm.

“She was my kill first,” he whispered far too loudly. The hairs on the back of Dustin’s neck stood on end. Something was wrong here. Those eyes seemed so familiar.

“Aaron?” he asked, tugging his arm free.

“No,” said the boy. “My name is Haern.”

Pain spiked into Dustin’s side. He spun on reflex, only dimly aware that the boy had stabbed him. His spin forced the dagger out, flinging blood across the lower drawers of the kitchen. He swung his mace, grunting as it broke the doorframe. Haern rolled underneath the blow, kicked off the table, and then lunged with his dagger.

Dustin parried with the length of his mace, stepped his left foot closer, and then swung back, hoping Haern would trip when dodging. Instead, the boy ducked underneath, looped his own leg around Dustin’s foot, and stabbed his dagger into his calf.

Choking down a scream, Dustin swung his mace back down. One good hit and he’d splatter Haern’s brains across the floor. Problem was, the boy was too fast. He darted side to side, barely avoiding every swing. How the noise had not attracted attention, Dustin didn’t have a clue. On his fourth swing, Haern parried the mace to the side, then cut back quick enough to slice a thin gash along Dustin’s hand.

The older thief abandoned all pretense at silence. Any underestimations of Haern’s skill were gone. He stepped back, hoping to go on the defensive to see if Haern made a mistake. Instead, Haern lunged, his sudden aggressiveness startling him. More dagger cuts lined his legs, which already throbbed with pain.

“Have her,” Dustin said, backing toward the window he’d entered. “You can have her, just fucking kill her afterward, alright?”

This only seemed to enrage Haern further. Dustin turned to run, knowing the boy would never let him leave. He took only two steps, and then spun. His knee slammed into Haern’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Before the boy could dart away, he followed it up with a vicious elbow to the side of his face. He felt grim satisfaction at the sight of blood spurting across the carpet, blood that wasn’t his.

“What is your problem,” Dustin said as he knelt down. Haern was on his stomach, his dagger laying several inches out of reach in the kitchen. He grabbed Haern’s leg and pulled him closer, determined to remove the mask. He had his suspicions about the boy being Aaron, but he had to know for sure. If it was Aaron, he’d leave and let Thren dole out whatever punishment he felt right. If it wasn’t, well…

He readied the mace in his other hand.

“Let’s take a look, eh?” Dustin said as he spun Haern onto his back. When Haern rolled, his leg shot upward, kicking Dustin in the chin with his heel. Haern used the momentary confusion to continue his roll, breaking free of Dustin’s grip. The mace missed and struck the carpet, breaking the wood floor underneath. The boy lunged for the dagger, scooped it up in his hands, and then whirled.

Dustin’s jaw dropped as the dagger whirled through the air and buried into his chest. Before he could react, Haern was already chasing it, his foot slamming into Dustin’s throat. Dustin retched for air as he fell. His mace smacked the floor twice, never once hitting flesh. Haern straddled him, his knees pressing in against his elbows. He felt the dagger yank free of his chest, then press against his throat.

“You can’t kill her,” Haern said.

“Your father will figure out, Aaron,” said Dustin, hoping his guess was right and the boy’s real name would startle him.

Instead, Haern’s whole face darkened, a frightening gleam in his eye.

“I’m not Aaron,” he said. “Not when I have a choice.”

The dagger stabbed downward, and then Dustin saw the gleam no more.

H aern sheathed his dagger and tightened his mask. His nose was bleeding from where Dustin had elbowed him and, with nowhere else to go, it was seeping into the mask and running down his lips. His stomach felt like it had a terrible cramp from being kneed there. Sniffling, he stood up and held in a shiver.

Now he’d actually killed Dustin, he had no clue what to do with the body. He thought about leaving it there for the old lady to clean up. Surely she knew some younger men to help deliver it to proper gravemen.

Haern frowned. That wouldn’t do. If Thren found out one of his men had died on the job, he’d send another to finish it. He never left things undone. He needed Dustin gone, that way he could claim the kill for himself and act as if Dustin had never shown. Thieves went missing all the time for a million reasons. Surely he could think of one that sounded convincing.

Something blunt struck the back of his head. His vision swam with dots, and his whole body lurched to one side. He spun as he fell, just in time to see something large and black come swinging in at his face. Right before he was knocked out cold, he wondered how many days until his father forgot he ever existed.

S tay back, Delysia,” said the older woman, holding a heavy iron pan. “These vermin are dangerous even at a young age.”

“Don’t be silly, Gran,” said Delysia. “You hurt him bad.”

Gran stood over both bodies, wielding the pan with both hands as if it were an ancient weapon of legend. She gently prodded the boy’s body with her bare foot before stepping back into the kitchen.

“He dead?” Delysia asked.

“Don’t look like it,” said Gran. “Maybe if I were twenty years younger I’d have sent his brains flying out his ear, but looks like I just rung his bell a little.”

“What do we do?” asked Delysia. “Tie him up?”

“Don’t have the rope for that. Here, help me drag him into the pantry. We’ll just lock him up in there for now.”

She stepped around and grabbed the boy’s feet.

“Ugh,” she said. “Blood all over the carpet.”

“ Gran! ”

The old lady looked up at her granddaughter.

“What?” she asked.

Delysia’s face was pale, and with a limp hand, she pointed to Dustin’s lifeless body. Gran, whose real name she hadn’t gone by for at least fifteen years, turned around and looked.

“Keep forgetting how sheltered you’ve been,” Gran said. “Delius did a good job of that, at least. If he had let you go to market on your own once in awhile you’d have seen plenty sights worse than this lying in the gutters.”

Delysia’s eyes teared up at her father’s name. Gran saw this quietly muttered a curse to herself.

“I’m sorry, girl. It’s been a rough day, and this ugly business is so much more than you deserve. Your father was a good man, and I’m sure he was doing what he thought was best for you.”

Delysia nodded and wiped away some of her tears. Trying to be brave, she grabbed the boy’s hands and helped lift him off the floor. They dragged him to the pantry door, then dropped him so Gran could remove the dagger from the boy’s belt.

“Most likely we’ll let the guard’s have him,” Gran said as she put the dagger on one of the tables.

The pantry was large enough for three people standing side by side, so one unconscious boy easily fit. Gran dropped her end unceremoniously on the floor. Delysia lowered hers a bit more gently, not wanting to hurt his head. They shut the door, leaving him sprawled across the floor.