Imperial Assassin (13 page)

‘So what are we doing until then?’ Reynik asked.

‘You’re going to learn one of the key elements of disguise. We’re going to visit an old friend of mine, who is going to attempt to teach you something of the art of
acting.’

‘Play acting? Like make believe?’

‘If that’s how you wish to think of it,’ Femke replied, clearly amused by his childish reference. ‘Just don’t let Devarusso hear you say so. To him, acting is the
finest of the arts. He is a master at it, so be sure to observe him closely and listen to what he has to tell you. It’s going to be a short lesson this morning due to your fitting at the
tailor’s, but for the immediate future you’ll be taking lessons from Devarusso in the morning from the dawn call until the ninth, then you’ll be with Serrius from the tenth call
until the second afternoon call. You’ll have lessons on knife-throwing with a man named Derryn from the third call until the fourth, a mixture of lessons with me from the fourth until the
seventh and then a shorter session with Serrius again in the evening from the seventh call until the ninth. I’ll collect you from Derryn’s and see you arrive with Serrius on time in the
evenings.’

‘When do I eat?’ he asked, taken aback by the length of the daily programme.

‘I suggest you grab food as and when you can on the way between lessons. You have a vast amount to learn, Reynik, but not long in which to take it all in. The programme will vary over the
coming weeks. I thought it best to start with the concentration on your swordplay, but the balance will shift later in the week, as you are far more likely to use guile than outright weapons skills
when you begin your mission.’

Femke led him out of the Palace and through the streets to the playhouse at which Devarusso’s troupe was currently performing. At the back of the playhouse was the area for the current
players to park their travelling wagons. Devarusso’s was some way detached from the others, as was the tradition of the troupe leader. At the first knock, the door of the brightly decorated
wagon sprung open and the actor stepped outside. He gave Reynik an appraising look and then signalled for them to follow him.

In silence, Devarusso led them to the back of the playhouse and, unlocking the back door with a brass key taken from his breast pocket, he took them inside. The backstage area was surprisingly
light. Lots of windows allowed the early morning sun to flood the large area with its bright illumination. Despite its size, the room felt small, as it was cluttered with a multitude of props and
costume rails laden with gaudy costumes in every hue and style.

Reynik was fascinated, hardly knowing where to look first, as one thing after another caught his eye. He was not given a chance to indulge his curiosity for more than a few seconds, though, for
Devarusso led them around to the stage wings and out onto the open air stage. The semicircle of tiered bench seating in front of the stage gave Reynik a strangely claustrophobic feeling. It was as
if he were trapped with nowhere to run. He shuddered to think of how he would feel if all those rows of seats were full of watching people, all focused on him.

‘I may as well wait for him for today, Devarusso. We can only stay about three quarters of an hour. He has an appointment with a seamstress at the eighth bell.’

The actor nodded. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘That should be long enough for me to see what I have to work with.’

Femke hopped off the stage and took a seat on one of the lower tiers to watch as Devarusso circled Reynik, looking him up and down thoughtfully.

‘Hello, Devarusso, I’m—’

‘No names!’ the actor cut in sharply. ‘What I don’t know, I can’t repeat. This is not an arrangement I’m comfortable with, but Dana is an old friend.
I’ll help you for her sake and I hope you’ll be very happy together.’

Reynik glanced across at Femke, wondering just what she had told this man about him. It was likely another of her little tests, he thought. He would just have to say as little as possible, and
try not to compromise her story. It did not help that he had no clue who Dana was, nor what he was supposed to be doing that would make Devarusso uncomfortable.

‘Walk across the stage for me,’ Devarusso ordered.

Reynik did as he was told.

‘And back again.’

The actor nodded as he watched Reynik walk.

‘Now let’s see how observant you are. Walk across the stage again, but this time I want you to imagine you’re a beggar. You’ve not eaten for days and you’re
desperate for food.’

Reynik closed his eyes for a second and tried to picture a beggar walking. It was harder than he would have thought, for most of the beggars he could picture were sitting by the road with their
hands outstretched. Had he ever seen one walking? How would they walk? He tried to imagine what it would feel like to be as Devarusso had described and he stepped out across the stage.

‘Holy Shand alive, man! Have you got a rod stuck up the back of your shirt? Slouch, man, slouch. A beggar doesn’t stand upright. Round your shoulders. Now slump more . . . more!
That’s it. No, don’t pick your feet up – shuffle. You don’t have the energy to pick your feet up. That’s better.’

By the end of the short session, Reynik ached more than if he had been swinging a sword the entire time. Muscles he did not know he had were aching with a dull, persistent throb. It was hard to
understand, as all he had done was to walk back and forth across the stage for less than an hour. Away from the playhouse, he quizzed Femke about what story she had fed the actor, who Dana was, and
for more background on Devarusso. He did not like the idea of being considered a deserter, but then he didn’t like the idea of being considered an assassin either.

Rikala was her usual businesslike self. She manhandled Reynik around whilst taking a plethora of measurements. Arms in front, arms to the side, standing and sitting – it made Reynik wonder
what on earth she could possibly want with so many statistics. Surely making a few clothes could not be so complex?

The seamstress was so quick with her measurements, that within a quarter of an hour they were being ushered out of her home so she could get on with her work. This left nearly two hours until
Reynik’s next appointment with Serrius.

‘What now?’ he asked Femke.

‘Now you take the opportunity to eat, but not too much. You won’t want to be bloated for your session with Serrius. Whilst we walk to the market stalls, let’s discuss the
skills of your adopted trade. Aside from the ability to kill without compunction, what abilities should a top assassin possess?’

‘Anonymity,’ Reynik answered quickly. ‘The ability to blend in and out of the background and strike when it’s least expected.’

‘Good. An excellent starting point; let’s discuss camouflage and concealment.’

For the next hour and a half Femke led a detailed discussion on the art of camouflage and deception. Reynik had already seen Femke disguise herself as a young man during their recent trip to
Thrandor, so he had some ideas about how to alter one’s appearance. He quickly discovered, however, that this was very superficial knowledge. Femke did not limit the discussion to disguise,
for she pointed out that there were some places a simple visual disguise would not get you into. Instead, they talked about how one could move undetected through the city at all times of day and
night. They discussed colour, contrasting backgrounds, differences in stealthy movement by day and night, and even talked about smells.

Many of the things Femke talked about seemed so obvious when she pointed them out, but were not things he had consciously thought about. The fact that sounds are more noticeable during the hours
of darkness, whereas sudden movements are more noticeable in the daytime; the fact that the human eye is attracted to movement and that quick or jerky movement will be detected faster than slow
movement. They talked about the three basic principles of hiding, blending and deceiving and how they applied to movement within a city. Femke also raised the subject of camouflage in the
countryside: when to use blotched and striped camouflage patterns and why they work better in different terrains.

By the end of the discussion, Reynik’s estimation of Femke had raised several more notches. He had realised during their trip to Thrandor that Femke was good at what she did, but had not
appreciated just how much knowledge one needed to be an effective spy. There were many areas of expertise that overlapped between spies and assassins. It was easy to see that Femke had plenty to
teach him.

Four hours with Serrius and Reynik was only too pleased to have an hour-long break. Femke took him to a street vendor and bought him some food before leading him to one of the poorer quarters of
the city. Here she introduced him to Derryn for his knife-throwing lesson.

To look at Derryn, one would never believe he was an entertainer. His face was serious and lined, with sad eyes that looked as if they had witnessed many tragedies. Where Reynik had expected to
see someone with good poise and posture, he could see only an old man with rounded shoulders and a pronounced stoop. Derryn’s sad face twisted into a lopsided grin as he noted Reynik’s
expression. It was as if the old man could read his mind:
this
was the person he would learn knife-throwing skills from?

Derryn led them through his small terraced house into the courtyard behind. There, Reynik found a purpose-built, home-made throwing range. There were targets of all descriptions around the
courtyard: static targets of various sizes, targets suspended on ropes that could be set to swing, targets that could be knocked down and even targets that would slide along taut ropes. Each target
had a circular strike point marked with yellow dye. On a bench in the centre of the courtyard were three sets of gleaming knives. Each set of knives was of a different size, and each contained
eight blades. Derryn gestured for Reynik to pick up a knife.

‘Go ahead,’ he said, his voice surprisingly clear and strong. ‘Take your pick. Let’s see what you know of knives to begin with.

Derryn watched intently as Reynik made his choice. He opted for the heaviest of the blades, weighing it in his hand and nodding appreciatively as he felt its balance. It was obvious that these
knives had been well made.

‘So you have been taught to fight with a knife,’ Derryn observed. ‘You hold it as a fighter would. Now let’s see you throw it at that target over there,’ he said,
pointing at the largest of the straw bale targets.

Reynik raised the blade to throw but did not even get halfway through the motion.

‘Stop!’ Derryn ordered sharply. ‘Hmm, you may know how to fight with a blade, young man, but you’ve certainly never been shown how to throw one. Come here. Look, unless
you have hands the size of shovels and muscles coming out of your ears, you can’t throw a knife of this size effectively with a pinch grip. You should always throw bigger knives with a hammer
grip, like this.’

The old man picked another knife from the same set of blades, demonstrated the hammer grip and hurled it at the target. It struck the very centre, the blade driving in almost to the hilt. Reynik
was impressed. Derryn had made the throw look effortless.

‘Now you try it.’

Reynik adjusted his grip to match the one that Derryn had shown him and he threw the blade hard, determined to show the old man he was not without some ability. The knife hit the target, hilt
first, about half a metre above and to the right of centre and dropped to the floor. Derryn’s eyebrows raised slightly and he pursed his lips.

‘Not bad,’ he said with another of his little nods. ‘If you wanted to club your target to death, you’d be off to a good start.’

Femke coughed and placed a hand over her mouth to hide her amusement. She failed. Reynik frowned at her, annoyed at the old man’s sarcasm, but more so that he had been made to look a fool
in front of Femke.

‘How would you change your throw next time to hit it with the point?’ Derryn asked.

Reynik thought for a moment. ‘I’d move back about a metre,’ he said. ‘Or forward,’ he added quickly.

‘That would work,’ the old man admitted. ‘But let’s say you don’t have that option. You must throw from the same point. What else could you do?’

‘Change my grip?’ Reynik offered tentatively.

‘Good. How?’

‘Well, the blade turned over one and a half times, so I could either try to slow the rotation, or speed it up. I don’t know for certain, but if I were to guess, then I’d say
gripping nearer the end of the handle will speed up the rotation and gripping it nearer to the centre of the blade will slow it down.’

‘Which would you choose?’

Reynik considered the choice carefully. ‘I’d slow the rotation down, as the point would be towards the target for longer. It would have more chance of sticking.’

‘Excellent! You may leave us, Femke. You might have brought me a total novice, but at least he’s intelligent. I’ll make something out of him. How good he will be remains to be
seen, but I’m happy to work with him.’

Femke smiled openly this time, and bowed to Derryn before turning and leaving. An hour later she returned to find Reynik was already hitting static targets with some considerable accuracy. After
thanking Derryn, and paying him, Femke led Reynik away. She began his next lesson even as they walked to one of her safe houses not far from where Serrius lived.

Poisons were the topic for the afternoon. Types, names, sources, effects and antidotes made for a mind-bending two hours of difficult names. Reynik knew he would not remember half of what she
taught him by the following day, and he said as much.

‘We’ll repeat the lesson each day until you know the information by heart. I can’t give you notes. It is hardly the sort of information you would want to be found about your
person. Come, we have a short time left before your next session with Serrius. Let’s see what you learned yesterday about picking locks.’

By the time Reynik had completed another exhausting session with the gladiator, he was fit to drop. The walk from the city out to the military encampment had never felt so long. He was of half a
mind to ask Femke to arrange for him to be detached from the Legion so that he could avoid the hour of walking each morning and evening. It was a hard choice. He knew if he did it, his chances of
ever being accepted as a full member of his Legion by his peers would be further impaired. Tiring as it was, he elected for the harder option. He would bear the walking as long as he was physically
able. He was not ready to give up his position for the sake of a few miles a day.