Cameo the Assassin (6 page)

He held out his hand for her to take, “Come on, we’ll go get Bel.”

Cameo stared at it.

“I used to have a fine steed, but I lost him in a card game.”

His gloved hand was still waiting for her to take it. He flashed her a smile.

She reluctantly gave him her hand and he quickly covered it with his other hand, capturing it. He practically dragged her back down the hill toward the inn, prattling on about how nice the area was, and which outfits he would be taking on their little outing.

The assassin could not help but notice the press of his palm against her own, even if it was through gloves.

* * * * *

“Ales for everyone!” Opal called as he swung through the tavern door with Cameo in tow. “Look who I’ve found,” he beamed at Bel.

Bellamy turned to the tavern landlord, “No ales! This fop is not spending
my
hard earned cash.”

“Ha, ha. But I’ve brought this lady back. Isn’t that a reason to celebrate?”

Bel met Cameo’s eyes critically, noticing the interlocked hands and then turned his attention to Opal, “That’s all very nice, Black Opal.”

“I need a quick word with you, Bel,” he said, slightly more seriously as he released Cameo’s hand.

“I’m listening.”

Opal took a quick look at Cameo over his shoulder. “No, I need to tidy up my room a bit. Why don’t we talk there?”

Bel rolled his eyes, “Fine Opal.”

* * * * *

“Well, what is it?”

“We’re all leaving: you, me, and Cameo.” Opal’s eye widened to emphasize how wonderful this information was.

“We’re going now?” Bel said.

“Yes.”

“I don’t suppose we’re going to Shandow?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Opal threw some of his clothes into a shoulder-pack and cursed when there was not enough room to take more without completely crushing the jackets.

“Well, where are we going?” Bel asked.

“South.”

“South?”

“As far as I know, yes,” Opal smiled and threw the pack over his shoulder.

“While you might be very taken with the assassin, I am not. Nor am I in such a big rush to go somewhere, where...I have no idea where we are going.”

“Taken with her?” He laughed.

“Quite. I don’t really know why. She looks half dead—those ghastly eyes!”

“I came all the way back here to get you, Bel.”

“And your clothes. I wonder which was more important.” Bel folded his arms.

Opal rolled his eye. “You don’t need to feel maudlin, my dear. You’re coming along. We can get out of Yetta for a while, just as you wanted.”

“I don’t see why we have to leave with her. I think it would be safer if you and I separated ourselves from that assassin and went to Shandow.”

“Shandow is a dreadful place,” said Opal from the door, hoping to convince Bel before Cameo decided to leave.

“Shandow’s lovely, brisk, with lots of snow. The way I like it.”

“What are you going to do, buy a little cabin, settle down with a wife and children?” Opal’s laughter fell silent nearly as quickly as it came out of his mouth when he saw that Bel was actually nodding. “What? How can you afford it?”

“I, unlike you, have been saving my share of the loot.”

Black Opal fixed the ruffles at his sleeves fastidiously. “Well, it’s amazing how much a fabulous wardrobe can cost isn’t it?”

Bellamy put his hand on Opal’s shoulder, “You can come with me. We don’t need her help. The Association wants her head, not yours.”

“If they wanted to kill me prior to her leaving them, then they want me no less dead now,” Opal asked.

“
She
was the one trying to
kill
you. What makes you think she still won’t?”

Opal absently studied the floor for a moment. It was quite dusty; someone should really get in there with a mop. “I believe what she told me.”

“Her?! She kills people for a living—”

“And we brutalize people and steal their money.” He removed Bel’s hand from his shoulder. “She’s a killer. Does that make her a liar?”

Bel stepped in front of him. “You’re right: We aren’t good men, but she is so far out of our league when it comes to the level of the crimes she’s committed. People tell bedtime stories about her that involve her coming to kill bad little children who don’t go to bed on time. No one tells children horror stories about us, Opal, think of that.”

“Well,” he said soberly and looked up at Bel with his hazel eye, “I’m sorry you aren’t going with us.” He pushed Bellamy gently to one side, “I wish you well, old friend.”

“Opal, are you sure?”

Black Opal set a rather dazzling hat on his head and flashed Bel a smile. “You know me; I have to go where the fun is.”

* * * * *

Cameo was having her flask refilled when Opal sprang down the last three steps. He had apparently decided purple was a much nicer color for traveling inconspicuously.

“All ready?” He grinned.

Lorraine ran toward him, “Opal, are you leaving so soon?”

“Will you be gone long? That looks like you’ve packed,” Charlotte called out, going over to him as well.

“What’s this, then? I don’t remember you wearing this before. Is it new?” Lorraine ran her rather grubby hand over the lavender jacket.

“It’s not new.” Opal peeled her fingers from his shoulder, and attempted to dust it clean with his glove.

Cameo strode past this scene on her way out the door.

“Goodbye, ladies.” He disentangled himself from Lorraine who was kissing him farewell.

Cameo smirked a little as he caught up. “Where’s Bel?”

“He...he had other plans, I’m afraid. Where are we going?”

“Graveyard of Yetta.”

“Graveyard—” Opal’s cheeriness seemed to dissipate. “But, that’s north of here. I thought we were going south?”

“No.” Cameo lifted her gray eyes, which were suddenly fixed. Her voice seemed to drop an octave, “We’re going north.”

* * * * *

The coachman who had been so uneasy at first meeting Cameo watched as a young man who worked for the printing press of Lockenwood tore down Black Opal’s old wanted poster and nailed up one that fingered him in the killing of Prince Leon. The price on Opal’s head had gone up substantially, so much so that the coachmen hoped they would run into that nefarious rogue so they could put a bullet in him and bring him in for the bounty. The lad from the printer’s also nailed up posters of Bellamy, Clovis Gail DePell, and Cameo herself. They were all wanted for the murder of the prince, and their posters were now hanging at the coach stop in Lockenwood.

Chapter Three

I
T WAS EVENING BY THE
time Cameo and Opal reached the graveyard of Yetta. Beyond the swinging wrought iron gate, the world became a cemetery that stretched on for miles and miles. This single graveyard was the resting place for nearly every former inhabitant of Lockenwood, Terrence, Yetta, Knoel, and every other nearby village. Many of the bodies laid to rest here had died during the smallpox epidemic that swept through Lockenwood when Opal was a little boy, many others in battles. Yetta graveyard itself had come to be simply because it was the site of an ancient battle, and the people of the time simply buried the soldiers where they lay, in the blood-soaked ground.

Cameo scanned the massive graveyard before her and sighed to herself; she felt herself being drawn into the burial ground, pulled straight down the main path.

Opal grimaced as he stepped into the cemetery behind her. “Cameo, slow down; I’ll never catch up at this pace!”

She stopped and walked back to him. Her body was a slender outline against the dim light on the horizon.

“Wait here.”

“Here?” Opal looked around at the crooked headstones in disdain.

“Yes, I think it would be wise.”

Black Opal slid to the ground with an exasperated sigh. “Where are you going?”

She smiled back at him with as much joy as she could muster. “My master is calling me, and I cannot delay. Stay hidden. I’ll be back for you.”

Now his interest was piqued. “Your master is here...in the graveyard?”

Cameo turned around sharply, unable to resist his call any longer, and headed back down the path, deep into the center of the necropolis.

The assassin finally saw the man who had called her. He was still just a silhouette in the distance, but she could see him leaning on a cane, the first rays of moonlight hitting his body and revealing a great swirl of fog about his thin and extremely tall body.

Before her was the man who had brought her back to life when she was near death. She lifted her ghastly, corpse-like eyes to look up at him. He was exceptionally pale, with exquisite features. Haffef had long, straight, black hair that brushed the ground; he wore a top hat and a black suit. He looked into her eyes with two glittering black gems.

Since the day that she had been left for dead, she had seen him, but it was a rare occurrence. She could actually count the number of times he had summoned her to him on one hand. Haffef had appeared to free her when Gail had held her hostage. It took him only a few days to decide Cameo wasn’t going to escape on her own. He came at night, while Gail was sleeping, cut her down and dragged her out of there. She surmised that he was probably incensed that she had gotten herself captured so soon after he had given her back her life, before she had really learned to take care of herself. In later years, he had only visited to give her instructions to follow, and this, she assumed, was why she had been called to him again. It was highly doubtful that he would care enough to lecture her about the state her life was presently in; things of that nature would be unimportant to someone as ancient as him.

“Gwen,” his voice was ethereal and seemed to echo out across the empty landscape.

She felt herself in a dream, and this man was like something one might see in a dream, beautiful but otherworldly ... like a watercolor painting. Now that she was beside him, the shadows started to come to life, in the distance, under the willow trees; from behind the tombstones there were shadows moving toward her.

“Master. How can I serve you?”

He lifted his eyes as if he noticed something different and looked beyond her down the path.

She could hear the hum of insects around his body intensifying.

“You aren’t alone?”

She felt increasing pain coming from the bite he had scarred her neck with so many years ago.

“No.”

Haffef looked down at the top of her blonde hair, interested, then back out at the empty path behind her. “I can smell his cologne.”

A hint of concern crossed her brow and he saw it.

He gazed into her ghoulish eyes. Although his face was expressionless, she could tell he was thinking—he was always thinking, weighing.... The dandy in the distance posed little threat to Haffef, and his face appeared to reflect that thought. Cameo knew she had guessed correctly in bringing her partner this close to her master: he was going to leave Opal alone.

Haffef seemed amused, “Opal is it?”

Cameo’s eyes widened.

“Ah, the tedium of a human life.... I’ll get right to the point. I need you to run a little errand for me in the town of Lockenwood.”

She felt the weight of the world suddenly fall down on her shoulders. She would have to go back into Lockenwood now that she had angered Wick—a fact quite evident now that she received information through her shade that she was a wanted woman. This little errand would’ve been so easy if Haffef had only asked it of her a few weeks prior.

“Yes, Master.” She lowered her eyes to the ground.

When she lifted her eyes again he was gone. She spun around on one heel to find him, but she was alone in the dark in the cemetery. At least she wasn’t far from one of her caches: a mausoleum where she had been stashing some of her equipment.

* * * * *

Cameo reappeared; her body was a silhouette in the moonlight on the path, and she was pulling on a glove that Opal hadn’t seen before: it had spikes on the back.

He was lying on the ground near where she had left him, his back propped up against a headstone for comfort.

“You know, I told Bel that I wanted to go where the fun was. This is a bit spookier than I expected.”

The assassin smiled at him in a knowing sort of way.

Opal stared at her gloves and then let his eyes wander freely over her leather-clad body. “You changed your clothes?” His voice held an odd hint of envy.

“I thought it wise considering Wick is most likely looking for me.”

“Where? Out here in the middle of a graveyard?” He stood up and scanned the area.

“Something like that.” She turned around and began to trudge into the cemetery. “Look, I have to get going.”

“What?” Opal grabbed his shoulder-pack and caught up to her. “You mean
we
of course.”

She stopped and turned around. Opal nearly ran into her, then took a half step back.

Her gaze lingered on the rouge he had reapplied to his lips while he was waiting for her, then she met his hazel eye, which seemed to be unable to find her eyes in the dark. She stepped back to allow the moon to give them a sliver of light.

“You can follow me if you want, but I am going back to Lockenwood.”

“Lockenwood?”

“Yes,” she headed back down the path into the heart of the cemetery.

The highwayman fell into step behind her.

Opal looked around wistfully at the mausoleums coming into view. “Isn’t there some children’s song about you living in Yetta Graveyard?”

She smiled to herself. “I don’t know—is there?”

“Yes, I really think there is.”

“Hmm.... I’ve never understood that.” She walked over to one of the very mausoleums that he had been staring at apprehensively and climbed in. “I don’t exactly live here, I just sort of
hang around
.”

Inside was a stack of suitcases. She tossed out several of the bags; one of them broke open revealing blankets within and answering the half-formed question on Opal’s lips.

“You know, like you do at the inn. But you don’t actually live at the inn, do you?” She raised an eyebrow as she lit a candle, and then beckoned him to come inside the mausoleum with her.