Silver Shadows - Elaine Cunningham [34]
His wife was a good twenty years older than he, as well as stout and exceedingly homely. Yet all things in life had compensations. The woman possessed a thriving business and an ever-increasing passion for playing at cards. Since she won more often than she lost, Garvanell was pleased she'd found something other than him to occupy her time. He took over the perfume shop and did a thriving business. Although less than half of his earnings were paid in coin, he still managed to turn enough of a profit to maintain appearances.
A soft tap at Garvanell's door, then a whispered password, announced that his latest payment had arrived. His aging wife had her indulgences; he had his.
The perfume merchant opened the door and surveyed the young woman his favorite client had sent him. He'd often expressed a preference for novelty. This woman was more exotic than most-her almond-shaped black eyes and bright silk turban suggested a far-eastern heritage- but he doubted the client would have gone to such trouble. Granted, Oil of Minotaur Musk was not an easy commodity to come by, not even the imitations fashioned by unscrupulous Lantanna alchemists.
Then the woman stepped into the room, and the lamplight glistened upon pale skin, the rare color of Shou porcelain. The merchant's pulse quickened. This was the genuine article! For a moment, Garvanell almost wished the same could be said for the Oil of Minotaur Musk that had purchased her!
As Garvanell bolted the door, the bells of flmater's temple began to ring out the midnight hour. The merchant grimaced. The temple was but a block away, and at night the bells seemed deafening. He turned to the woman, intending to pantomime an apology. He froze, and his eyes widened with astonishment and fear.
The woman had removed her turban and gloves. Slowly, deliberately, she raised a slender finger to her cheek and wiped a bit of the ivory-colored ointment from her skin, revealing the ruddy color beneath. Before Garvanell could move, she pulled a dagger from the folds of her gown and leaped at him.
Small and slender though she was, the speed and fury of her attack sent the merchant tumbling backward. The woman straddled his chest, her knees pinning his arms to the floor. She buried one hand in his hair and jerked back his head, then slid the edge of her dagger against his throat. She leaned down to press her lips directly to his ear.
"You should be flattered," she said. "I bought all my ointments and cosmetics at your shop. They rub off on the bed linens, I find, but so far no man has lived to complain of it!"
At last the paralysing fear that gripped Garvanell gave way, and he began to scream for help.
Ferret let him scream, for the bells of Umater's temple more than drowned out his cries. Mockingly she counted off the chimes of midnight into his ear. When the final peal came, she rolled aside, dragging the dagger down and across as she went.
The assassin rose to her feet and stared down at the dead merchant. She felt no elation and no regret. Another tattling tongue had been silenced. It was a needed thing, as necessary as the hunt that provided food. This kill had been easy, but then, so were most. In this soft and decadent city, Ferret was like a hawk among doves.
Passions ran hot among her people, yet few who knew of Ferret's mission and methods approved. Regardless, she did what she could. Yet as time passed and matters grew increasingly troubled, she'd begun to realize the futility of her chosen path. Ferret's skills were considerable, but they were not equal to the layers of intrigue, nor was her mind fashioned to comprehend the complexity of plot and counterplot that was Tethyr. If she was ever to find and destroy the one she sought, she needed help.
"I need help," she murmured angrily, for the admission did not come easily to the proud and fierce female. The very idea was repugnant, but Ferret was committed to doing anything that might serve her people.
Unfortunately,