Jon Sprunk - Shadows son

Kit flipped her hair as she followed after him. "All right, I don't want you to go out tonight. There's a strange vibe in the city."

Caim paused at the door. He had felt something when he first woke up-a raw, indeterminate feeling of dread. He hadn't dwelt on it, chalking it up to anxiety about tonight's work, but now it returned, stoked by Kit's words.

"What kind of vibe?"

"I don't know. It's just a bad feeling, okay? It doesn't matter. Let's just go. I'm tired of watching you fidget."

"I wasn't-" He took a deep breath. "Fine, I'm ready."

"Good. See you outside." She sank through the floor.

Sometimes I wish she was real. Caim undid the locks securing his door. So I could wring her pretty little neck.

He peered out. The hallway was empty. He pulled the hood of the cloak over his head as he slipped down the corridor.

Kit joined him on the city's mist-shrouded streets. She whistled an eerie tune while she skipped beside him. It sounded like a funeral march. He considered asking her to shut up, but knew it would only encourage her to whistle louder. At least it was a good night for working. A blanket of clouds occluded the stars. The moon peeked out every few minutes, only to be hidden again behind the shroud of dark.

He took a roundabout way to the target as a matter of habit. There were few pedestrians about. As winter approached and the days grew shorter, people tended to make their way home earlier, but Caim enjoyed the brisk weather. People closed their minds to the outdoors when the temperature dropped; sentries spent more time seeking warmth than manning their posts.

He paused at the Processional. The broad avenue continued downtown to the Forum. The minarets of prayer towers jutted above the stately roofs of government buildings, all silent at this hour. Beyond them and taller still rose the unfinished towers of the new cathedral. Fires burned at the zenith of every overlook, proclaiming the supremacy of the True Church for all to see.

Caim crouched behind the weathered statue of a dead civic hero festooned with pigeon droppings as a patrol of night watchmen marched along the thoroughfare. Their spear butts struck the ancient cobbles like the hooves of a forty-legged beast. When they passed from sight, he darted across, just another gray shadow in the twilight. A six-foot wall ran along the other side of the street, intended to keep out the riffraff, but it was broken by so many gates and posterns, most of them unguarded, as to make for no barrier at all. Once on the other side, he was inside High Town.

Caim kept to the smaller avenues and avoided the wider boulevards that crisscrossed the burg like the warp and weft of a weaver's loom. Glass lamps lit the tree-lined streets. Mansions of stone and timber stood silent behind tall gates. Caim passed a party of nobles attended by linkmen and bodyguards at an intersection, but they paid him no mind. With his stooped shoulders and quick steps, he was just another servant attending to his master's business.

"Where are we going, anyways?" Kit stopped to tickle the whiskers of a stray tomcat. The animal followed her, which meant it trailed behind Caim like a lost child. He resisted the urge to boot it over a fence.

"Esquiline Hill." He indulged her, hoping some conversation might make her forget about the stupid cat.

Instead, she blew in its tufted ears, which made the animal yowl like a wounded groundhog.

"You're coming up in the world, Caim. I hope you were smart enough to demand a bushel of money. Hey! Maybe we could stay in the house for a couple days after the job. It would be nice to hang out someplace livable instead of that shack you call a home."

"I'm not sticking around afterward," he replied.

"Spoken like a true man, gone as soon as the deed is done. Why not stay? I doubt the owner will protest after you cut his throat. If you're squeamish, we could just avoid the room with the body. We'd have plenty of space-"

"You're a nut. You know that?"

"It was just a suggestion."

As they started up the long incline of Esquiline Hill, the homes became larger, each more opulent than the one before. Their walls glistened in ivory and salmon marble, unstained by the city's ordure. Smooth pavestones replaced the street's cruddy brick.

Caim went over the job in his head. Two days wasn't much time, but he had put it to good use. He had located the target's home, a three-story Graccian-style manse at the apex of Founders Circle, and spent most of the first night casing the site. The house had a gloomy look. Tall windows gaped in the dark stone facade like empty eye sockets. A high wall encircled the property. The gate was a gaudy monstrosity of wrought iron.

"This is nice." Kit floated up to peek over the wall. "A lot nicer than that old barn you live in."

"Just get inside and take a look around, will you?"

With a smirk in his direction, she walked through the stone. Caim ducked into a spacious alley between the wall and the next property, a similarly impressive mansion. Around back he found a servants' entrance, a simple wooden gate secured from the inside. In less than a heartbeat, Caim was over it and crouched on the other side. He listened for signs of alarm, but the yard was silent. True to the report, there were no sentries and no dogs, for which he was grateful. Even though his information explicitly stated the target owned no animals, Caim had brought a pouch of pepperlaced meat just in case. No lights showed in any of the windows.

Caim darted across the yard. The outer face of the house was stone brick. His information suggested forcing the rear door and stealing up the inside of the house. Detailed plans of the building were included in the packet, with the stairs and entry points clearly marked. The target's chambers were situated in the northeast corner of the top floor. The only servant, a middle-aged butler, bunked on the second floor. While it was a sound plan, Caim had discarded it at once. Forcing doors was a noisy affair, which meant an added chance of attracting attention. Plus, he didn't like anyone telling him his business.

As he crouched in the lee of the house, he reached into his satchel for a bundle of thin rope. He portioned out a loop and tied a slider knot. A grappling hook wouldn't bite on the slate shingles and would make an awful clatter, but like most large homes the roof of this manse sported several chimneys. Caim hurled the lariat up and over the lip of the roof. On the third throw it caught on something. Caim tugged several times and the line held. He had a solid anchor. After one last glance about the yard, he went up the line hand over hand.

He found Kit at the top, lounging on the canted tiles.

"Are you going to take all night?" she asked.

Caim gathered up the rope behind him. He left it coiled around the chimney stack it had snagged on. "I thought you wanted to stay a bit."

She sat up. "Can we? It's really beautiful inside! You have to see this crys-"

"Any guards?"

Kit huffed and laid back on the rooftop. Her hair spread out beneath her head like a silver pool. "No."

"Is the servant asleep?"

"I suppose."

"You didn't check?"

"Of course I did. All the lights are out and no one is moving."

"Good."

Caim ignored Kit's glare and crossed the tiles. At the northeast corner, he lowered himself onto his belly and leaned over the edge. The window he wanted was directly below his perch. He swung his legs over the side, lined it up as best he could, and let go.

He landed on the pitched gable protecting the window with barely a sound. From there it was an easy shimmy down to the casement. Caim stepped out onto the narrow stone shelf projecting from the windowsill with care. With some old houses, the masonry was weak and prone to collapse. But it held.