By the time we left the pub it was dark, and it was starting to rain. Already the stars were blocked from our sight by a thin covering of clouds. In the distance, I heard the trembling roar of thunder, and I wondered how long it would take for the storm to hit the village, if it hit the village.

Rico led me though the streets, walking at a quickened pace, holding a shivering ball of flames in one hand to light our way. He had decided to bring me to see Lord Whyte before it got far too late, so that I could find out today what he was offering for assisting Rico. I decided that it had better be a damn good price if he wanted me kill a homunculi, especially when a simple stab to the heart won't kill it. And If I did, it would at least make a good story. Killing people happens to be my speciality, not reanimated corpses. But I'll kill anything given the right price. Anyone would.People would do anything give the right price. Almond taught me this. The price one receives may not be money or riches. It could be the life of a lover, the knowledge of a family member resting in peace after having been avenged, a lady who had never climbed a tree would do so if her favorite scarf got caught in it A man would chop off his arm if there was an infection.

Yes, everyone has a price. My price is simply a little easier to define.

We reached Lord Whyte's home. It stood among smaller homes, not the shacks near where I had hidden my caravan, but the well kept homes of the wealthy. Here there was no rotting. The houses were well kept. Lord Whyte's was the largest, it was two stories tall and had large windows which were shuttered and locked against the rain. Rico walked up to the door and knocked gently under a small panel of stained glass which was shaped like a bright red rose with long, trailing vines reaching down as far as the handle, letting red and green light dance in the falling rain. Even I, as uneducated as I was in the ways of art, could tell that this was very well done the glass seemed to have melted into it's shape by nature or accident, not shaped by human hands. It was likely from Artis, where most of the great artisans live.

The coloured light was blocked off as someone approached the door. Rico pulled his hood down; it was good manners. I kept my hood up, I didn't want to get wet. And I didn't really care what the person on the other side of the door through. I wouldn't be Lord Whyte, he was, judging by how lavish his house was in comparison to the others, far to pretentious to open the door himself.

I was right. A skinny, pale youth with a honey face came to the door.

“I've brought someone for Lord Whyte to see.” Rico said. The boy looked over both of us, scarcely glancing over Rico but letting his eyes longer on my shadowed face, and on the fading blood stains on my cloak. He paled, and I repressed a grin.

“L-Lord Whyte doesn't like to see people after dark.” The boy said.

“But he told me that if I found anyone-”

“He said he wouldn't see anyone.” The boy snapped. I smirked and let out a low staccato laugh.

“Oh, he'll see me.”I murmured, “Tell him It's Stiri.”

The boy let out a small, pathetic squeak, and let us into the hallway. It was brightly light, and very warm, with a worn red run on the floor, and gold-framed pictures of what was likely ancestors hanging on the wall. The moment we were in and the door was closed, the boy ran off to announce our arrival to Lord Whyte. We stood there, dripping water on the carpet for a moment until the boy returned.

“Lord Whyte will see you.” he said, speaking directly to me in a steady, controlled voice that people who are afraid of me use to show me that they are not afraid of me. Needless to say, they fail.

“And me?” Rico asked.

“Lord Whyte only wishes to speak to Stiri.” The boy said. “He said that if you want, you can stay in his sitting room for the night. I'll be back in a moment to start a fire in the fireplace.”

Rico nodded and let a small, almost unnoticed smile reach his lips. I remembered the trick in the pub and couldn't help but grin myself. He didn't need anyone to start a fire for him!

The boy bowed to me and walked down the hallway. I followed, dripping water on the deep red carpet that ran down the hall. I passed the pictures, taking no notice save for one that showed a smile blonde child that was right next to a door at the end of the hall. The boy opened the door and stepped aside. I entered, carelessly pulling the door closed behind me.

Lord Whyte sat in a large chair, his fat spilling over the sides. The chair stood before a large window which was covered with thick red curtains. Dark Red-wood walls flickered red in the light from the fireplace, the fire cast it's light onto the red carpet. Whyte looked as though he had dressed quickly, a button of his fine doublet was undone, his hair was disheveled, and I could smell the liquor off him. He wore a small collection of golden rings on his hand and, contrasting to all the warm, fiery colours, a single silver pendent hung around his neck.

“Pretentious bastard...” I thought.

“I was asleep.” he snarled. He was speaking carefully, trying to cover up his drinking. “Normally I would have just had you sent away, but-”

He waited for a long moment, apparently hoping for me to tell him why I thought he made an exception in my case. I could think of several reasons, but I kept my mouth shut.

Eventually, Lord Whyte sighed and dropped it all together, “Rico brought you?”

I nodded. “Yes, Rico mentioned that you might need someone of my particular skills, and brought me here.”

“And, just let me understand, the boy said that your name is Stiri.”

“That's correct. I'm an assassin.”

A sudden silence overcame the room, broken after a moment by a loud roll of thunder. The storm was getting closer.

Lord Whyte paled, the red blotches on his nose and cheek seeming like blood on white silk. A tremor ran through his flabby body, and he began twisting one of his rings around his finger.

I love the way my name makes people react.

“I've heard of you.” he finally said. He wasn't looking at me now, he was looking at his ring, “You were given the blame of killing Lady Necanda. She was an old...Friend.”

“Indeed.” I said softly, “She cheated on her husband, and he asked me to kill her. He really wanted me to kill the man she cheated with-”

Lord Whyte coughed and changed the topic. “So, Rico thinks that you might be able to get that Magus-” He spat out the word Magus, as though speaking it was an unpleasant necessity and could only be done as quickly as possible, “-out of my village?”

I wondered for a moment if his obvious dislike for this Magus was just because the Magus had essentially usurped Lord Whyte's position in the city, or if it was the old prejudices. People feared mages and Magi, but rather than admit that they simply feared them, they tried to hate them, to ostracize them.

“That wasn't the job I was informed of.” I said

“Oh?” He waited for more information, but of course I didn't give him any. He sighed. “Fine.” he muttered. “Rico told you the Homunculi, yes?”

“yes.”

“And can you do it?”

“It's outside my normal range of services, but given the right price...” I honestly didn't know if I could or not. It didn't matter until I heard the price.

Lord Whyte played with one of his many rings for a few moments. “In return for taking my place alongside Rico-” I liked that phrase, it made it sound like was doing something. “- I'm willing to offer you one thousand silver coins-” A decent price, not a damn good price, “- High status in this village, and residency for however long you like-” That was useful. At least, It was in a larger city.”And my daughter's hand in marriage.”

“What?”

That last one threw me off. I've been offered many strange and wonderful things for my services, but a daughter's hand in marriage was not one of them,not something that I needed, wanted, or that was particularly good for me to have. Also, a sane man wouldn't just give his daughter away to an assassin.

Maybe the years had begun to tax Lord Whyte's mind?

“I'm not sure that-”

“I think it would be a wonderful idea!” Lord Whyte said “To prove your alliance to my village.” Great. Now I had an alliance to his village.

“I don't-”

“I had told that boy to bring her to me at once. I don't know why she's-” at that moment the door was opened, and someone entered quietly. “Ah, perfect timing. Stiri, please turn and meet my lovely daughter, Christen.”

His lovely daughter was the maid from the pub.

She stepped into the room, acting like a proper young noble lady. Her hands were clasped behind her, her head bowed slightly. She had somehow managed to change from the rag dress to something of light-blue silk. Her mask was abandoned, and I could just see a bruise forming on her cheek. Her hair was down, and she had parted it in such a way that the bruise was mostly hidden. The rest of her face was scrubbed clean. She looked up, glanced at me, then to her father, the back at me. She recognized me. I could see a flicker of panic in her. Most likely she thought I had recognized her in the pub, and had come to tell her father. I held her gaze for a moment, and smirked. She blushed a deep red and turned her gaze to the floor.

Really, the daughter of a lord working as a serving maid. It was almost funny. Almost.

“Christen.” He father said, not noticing the bruise. Of course, why would he, she had hidden it, and he was likely drunk. “This is Stiri. He claims that he will be able to get rid of that monster.” He smiled and sat up straight in his chair, as though he had just beaten her at something. “If he succeeds, you will wed him.”

Christen snapped her head up, gaped at her father for a moment, then looked back down, glowering at the carpet, squeezing her hands together. “That's wonderful, father.”

This had gone on long enough. No one asked me if I wanted to marry her. Besides, I was an assassin, what would I do with a wife? Sure, the obvious, but there were whores for that. I didn't even have a house to be cleaned, just my caravan.

“I shouldn't marry her.” I said. I had to be careful, rejecting the offer of a a lord's daughter was, for the most part, insulting. “You should get her to marry someone without such a dangerous job.” A part of me wanted to yell at him, 'what are you thinking? I'm an assassin! What kind of father tries to marry his daughter off to an assassin!' Maybe a crazy father.

“No, no, I insist!” Whyte said, leaning forward. “You will find no better woman to marry than my daughter. She's beautiful, she's demure, gentle in word and action-” I tried not to snicker at this as I remember her oh so gentle actions in the pub.”- And and assassin would be a wonderful ally to have, don't you think?” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Christen stiffen, and quickly stifle a gasp.

Ah. At least part of the reason. He wanted his own personal assassin to take care of people who might cause him trouble. I wondered if there was anyone in the village who threatened his rule here, or if the king was sending a less incompetent lord to take over. Or maybe he was just paranoid. At any rate, it wouldn't be a good idea to say a flat-out no right now. I wouldn't be a good idea until I had the gold in my hands, and could leave.

“I'll think about it.” I finally muttered. Christen gave a small whimper. She was likely going to start crying soon, and she couldn't, not while she was here. Not while she was her father's bartering chip. “for the time, my requests are simple. I simply need a room for the night, so I can take some time to think about the problem with this monster.”

Whyte sighed and leaned back in his chair. “at least stay here for the night. It is raining out, and I can supply you with anything you might need.

I listened to the rain outside, the growling thunder grew louder as it came closer, and I stood, enjoying the feeling of at least being inside, in a nice warm house, protected from the elements.

“Very well.”

***

The room I was given was a small room with no windows. It was very dark, the red-wood walls absorbed most of the light from the single, weak lantern that sat on an unstable table next to the bed that dominated most of the space in the room. The bed was bare save for a single, thin worn blanket and one limp pillow. Upon my request I had been able to get the young messenger boy to bring me some wine from the kitchens. He came back with something he claimed was very strong, and locally made. It was strong. I sat back on my bed and sipped wine to lull myself to sleep. As I waited for sleep to to overcome me, I focused my thoughts on the problem of the monster, the homunculi. It couldn't be killed with a simple stab, that was fine. But what could kill it? Could it bleed? Would it stop if I managed to cut off it's head?

In the silence of the room, my thoughts began to drift, the wine was starting to make my mind go numb and I lay back and stared at the ceiling. Perhaps some time passed, perhaps not, but I heard a tapping on the door. I sat up, focused in moments, and set my hand on my dagger which I had set on the table. I sheathed it, and listened. Another knock. I got up and stumbled to the door, I held onto the frame for a moment to steady myself, then opened the door. Christen stood on the other side. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying, her face was red.

“I want to speak to you.” she said. I nodded and let her in. She sat down stiffly on the edge of the bed and folded her hands in her lap I stood before her, drinking from my bottle of wine. Christen examined her hands, her interlocking fingers for a long time before she finally spoke.

“Thank you.” She said.

“For what?”

“For not telling my father that I...I-”

“That you were working at a pub?”

“Yes. That I was working at that place.”

“Not generally the best place for the daughter of a lord to work.” I muttered. I turned and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed next to her. “Actually, I didn't think that the daughter of a lord had to work at all.”

“That would be true.” She said. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I need to leave here though, and money is needed for travel, for security.”

“Why would you need to leave here? You seem secure enough. A father that supports you and tries to marry you off.” She glanced at me, and I saw tears growing in her eyes. I muttered a silent oath. She was going to cry, and then I would have to deal with a crying woman in my room while all I really wanted was some sleep.

“Not me!” I said, “Ah, for your best interest, I refuse.” that was the only way I could reject her without risking her crying. It was also true, assassins don't make good family men.”

She she a deep breath and sniffled, “My father is trying to marry me off.” She said. She looked down at her hands again and started to scratch at the edge of her finger, “But not because he wants security for me. I have a suitor that I would marry, but my father refuses to allow it. My suitor is a painter, and my father doesn't want me to marry an artist. He wants me to marry someone who can help his position. She hissed the last word out. I imagine she was perhaps lectured about the importance of position all her life. “My father is a horribly stubborn man too. He knows that I will eventually find a way to marry him, even if I go against his wishes. However, if I am married off before that time, I cannot ever be with.. With-” She suddenly broke off, and hid her face in her hands as she wept.

I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose. I don't deal well with crying women, I'm not the comforting type. I was a little worried that she would cry on me, so I did the only thing that I could think of at the time. I offered her my bottle of wine.

“Here.” I said. I held it out to her. She choked back tears, and looked up, her shoulders shaking. “It's likely not as sweet as anything you would drink, but after this, you'll feel better.” I considered this for a moment, “Or you'll care less.”

She wiped away her tears and took the bottle. She choked at first, but then took a few good sips before shuddering and putting it down.

“Father doesn't care who I marry.” She said after a while, “So long as it's not Michael-” I assumed that Michael was the painter. “But I love him, and I couldn't see anyone else being my husband. My father though, he would rather I marry thieves or, well, assassins, than go against his orders. He want me to marry for him, not for love.” She turned the bottle around in her hands. I watched the light from the lantern flickering on the turning bottle. “Without father's blessings, the priest will not marry us.”

I nodded. “It's a common problem. I said, “I know, I've been hired to kill for such things.” I considered telling her one of my little stories, but seeing her pale after I simply mentioned the act of killing, and the fact that she had moment ago been sobbing into her hands changed my mind. “I am an assassin.” I muttered, “The only reason I'm here is because your father is paying me.”

A small snarl escaped her throat. “I know. He's trying to pay you with me!”

“Like I said, it happens. You're not the first girl to be sold off in marriage. Though, you might be the first offered as payment to an assassin.”

“I won't do it. You won't do it! You said you didn't want to!” She looked at me hopeful for a moment, but then sighed and turned away. “It does't matter. He'll still try to give my hand to you, and if you don't accept, he'll give it to the next person who comes along.”

Strangely, I had the oddest image of him cutting off her hand and giving that to me. Very literal, and very strange, but it was what the phrase always made me thing of, as long as I could remember. I thought of the hand, and something clicked in me.

“He wants to give me your hand in marriage.”

“Yes, and his blessings.”

I took a deep drink from the bottle. “How would you like to mess with his plans a little.”

She turned and looked at me, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I said, Mess with his plans. I think I know a way you can marry your painter.” I stood up and started to pace the room. I might just be able to make Lord Whyte regret his words. “Yes, I can do it. I just need a little cooperation.

A glimmer of hope sparked in her eyes. “You would do that?”

“It's not really business, but I have a few issues that I need to work through with your father after I'm done this job, so I might as well get you out of the way first.”

Christen jumped from the bed and wrapped her arms around me. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She cried out between relieved laughter and tears.

“Yes, yes, fine, you're happy. Get off me!” Honestly. Why did women have to be so emotional? Why did all their emotions have to do with tears? There are people who would have paid to see that, I kid you not! I pried the hysterical Christen off me. “If you can keep your wits about you a moment. I snapped, “I need you to prepare a priest and your painter while I deal with the homunculi. Thing have to happen fast, or your father will think of a way to foil my plans. Or pay someone to do it for him.

Christen smiled, “I'll do anything you need me to.”

“Good.”