Imperial Assassin (14 page)

It was well that he had made this decision before he reached his tent, for trouble awaited him that may have weakened his resolve. His kit was strewn around his bed space and the File Second was
standing nearby with a look of stern disapproval. The File Second, a stocky, hard-faced veteran called Dikaris, was a stickler for discipline. His particular bugbear was personal hygiene and pride
in one’s presentation. As soon as Reynik saw the situation, he braced himself for the inevitable onslaught.

Dikaris locked eyes with Reynik, clearly watching for clues in his body language as to how the young soldier was going to react. After a moment of staring each other out, the File Second
spoke.

‘Outside. Now!’ he ordered, his voice projecting with the staccato punch of a spear striking a shield.

Reynik obeyed without question, his heart sinking as he realised there was to be no let up in his troubles. With Sidis already set against him, having Dikaris also after his blood would make his
life in the Legion unbearable. They moved away from the tent until they were out of earshot of the other men.

‘Are you going to tell me who did it?’ Dikaris asked, his voice flat and emotionless. ‘I’m no fool, Reynik. You would not have been selected to join this Legion if you
showed so much as a hint of such low personal standards with regard to property and presentation during your training. The selectors are not blind. They choose only the best. Therefore, someone in
the file must be out to make trouble for you. Do you know who it is?’

‘No, File Second,’ he answered. A warm flood of relief swept through his body as he realised someone was finally displaying signs of an unbiased attitude. ‘It could have been
any one of several people. I’m not flavour of the moment amongst the other men right now. Some of them have taken exception to my being selected for two special assignments in quick
succession. If they could only know the nature of this assignment, then they might be more understanding. However, I’m under orders from the Emperor to tell no one: not even Commander
Sateris.’

The File Second nodded and looked thoughtful for a moment.

‘How long are you likely to be on this assignment, Reynik?’

‘I don’t know, File Second. It might be a few weeks; it might be months. I really can’t say.’

‘Is there any reason you should remain living in tent city during your assignment?’

‘I . . . I’m not really sure. I had thought it would be better to remain living here to maintain my identity as part of the unit, but I’m not sure it’s going to
work.’

Dikaris nodded again and looked at Reynik with a calculating expression.

‘You’re adding more pressure to your assignment by trying to remain living here, Reynik. I’m not blind, and I’m not stupid. Sidis has it in for you. I’ve been aware
of his prejudice ever since you returned from Thrandor. In my book, that means you can’t be all bad. The man is an ass. How he ever got promoted to File Leader is beyond my comprehension.
However, if I ever hear you have quoted me as saying that, I’ll split you up the middle and feed your carcass to the birds. Understand?’

‘Of course, File Second,’ Reynik said quickly, smiling in spite of himself.

‘Good. Now, if I were you, I’d try to get lodging in the city for the duration of your assignment. The Palace will pay. They always do. Get it over with and then start with us again.
I think you’ll do fine in this Legion, Reynik, but you need a clear run at establishing yourself as a part of the team. You can’t do that while you’re running back and forth to
wherever the Emperor is sending you. Clear up your bed space tonight. I don’t tolerate mess, as you know. Then clear out tomorrow. There’ll be a place for you in the Legion when you
return. Don’t worry about Sidis. Commander Sateris is sharp enough to figure him out before long. I doubt he’ll last. Good luck with your mission, whatever it is.’

‘Thank you, File Second.’

‘Oh, and Reynik . . .’

‘Yes, File Second?’

‘Do me a favour and act as if I chewed you out to the others, would you? I’ll keep an eye on them over the next few days to see if any of them show signs of looking smug. It’s
always nice to know who the snakes are.’

Reynik saluted and marched back to the tent feeling much better about life. Getting lodgings in the city would not be difficult. He would ask Femke to arrange something in the morning. When he
got there, he tidied up his things in silence. He was so tired that it was not hard to keep his face long and his body language depressed. He did not even acknowledge the presence of the others as
he worked, though he sensed eyes watching him. Finally, with his legs quivering with exhaustion, he climbed into his canvas bed and fell asleep.

The plaudits of Reynik’s instructors still rang in his ears: ‘Surprising progress . . .’ ‘A natural throwing arm . . .’ ‘Would make a worthy
opponent in the arena . . .’. It had been great to have people pat him on the back for doing well – something he had seldom seen in military training – but the question was, could
he remember enough in a dynamic situation to be effective? Femke had been very positive too, and the thought brought a flush to his cheeks. Of all his teachers, he had wanted to impress her more
than any other. Today was his chance.

‘Come on, Reynik. Don’t get distracted. Focus. Remember what Devarusso taught you. You
are
aristocracy. You have a right to be here. You have enough money to buy the ground
you tread on.’

Reynik’s mind was full to bursting with all the information and advice he had tried to assimilate over the previous three weeks. He was determined not to fail. Dressed in the finery of a
Nobleman, with a wig that hid his tightly-cropped, light brown hair under a mass of styled black curls, he was sure that even his fellow soldiers would not recognise him. All that remained was to
prove his newfound knowledge.

He was approaching the gates to the Imperial Palace. Back straight as a pillar, and strutting forward with an air of importance, Reynik walked up to the gates and through them with a confidence
he did not feel. He sauntered past the guards as if he walked into the Palace every day. When none of the guards moved to stop him his confidence was instantly boosted. ‘Now that’s
irritating!’ he thought as he walked across the Palace forecourt to the main entrance. ‘Two gold pieces for decently forged papers and they didn’t even ask to see them. I’ll
make sure the Emperor hears about this when I see him.’

Getting floor plans of the Imperial Palace had not been so easy, but he had managed to get two of the Palace servants to draw a diagram for him over a few drinks in one of the city taverns.
Reynik had made it a drinking challenge memory game. He had named a room in the Palace and one servant had drawn a route to it from the main entrance. If the fellow servant verified the route as
correct, then the artist won a drink. If the corroborating servant knew a quicker way, then he got one too. There were naturally some arguments over whose route was better, but Reynik didn’t
mind. He bought the drinks anyway and tactfully diverted them on to a new challenge. Over the space of an hour, he had gained a good idea of the layout of most of the Palace. He could not be sure
of the accuracy of the information, but it was better than wandering around opening doors at random.

Careful to maintain his posture, Reynik entered the doorway and turned left along the first branch corridor. He nodded politely to anyone who was obviously not a servant, but pointedly ignored
those bearing the Imperial livery. It wouldn’t do to be seen acknowledging the staff. Second turning on the right, up the staircase on the left, another left at the top of the stairs, follow
the corridor to the end.

‘There it is,’ he thought, his heart leaping with excitement. ‘Just as the servants described: two steps up to a set of double doors with pictures on either side of the
doorframe. This has to be the Emperor’s private library.’

The corridor behind him was empty. He approached the doors. There was no noise from within. Reynik carefully tried the handle, but as expected, the door was locked. A glance at the keyhole told
him all he needed to know. Restraining his urge to look around again, he drew two tools from his inside pocket. One was like a tiny chisel, whilst the other was a thinner piece of metal bent at
ninety degrees at the end. Taking care not to make a sound, he slid the thin metal blade into the lock and twisted, putting tension on the lock. Then he probed it with his pick, searching for the
pins he knew were there somewhere.

The click was not loud as the lock opened, but it was loud enough to make Reynik wince at the sudden sound. He was in.

With the window shutters closed, as they were now, the library was a great place for stealthy movement. The entire room was in semi-darkness. There was just enough light seeping through the gaps
in the shutters for Reynik to see the general layout. Bookcases lined every wall from floor to ceiling with the exception of the window areas. There were also three tall bookcases that protruded
out from both sidewalls at regular intervals for the first ten paces, creating three deep alcoves on either side. The central area of the vast room was open with a huge table in the middle, and a
single chair. Beyond the table, Reynik could just make out through the gloom that there was a mirror set of protruding bookcases at the far end, forming more alcoves.

Where would his target be? He could not afford to delay. It was a race against time now.

The floor was carpeted, which made silent movement easy. He slipped his lock picks back into his inside pocket and drew a knife from the holster under his left arm. The alcoves on either side of
him as he had entered were clear. Creeping forward, he peered into the gloom of the second alcoves. They too were clear. However, when he peeped around the end of the bookcases into the third pair
of alcoves, he discovered a guard in the one on the right. The dim figure had his back to Reynik, apparently searching in the gloom for a book.

Reynik took his opportunity and hurled his knife. It thudded squarely into the centre of the guard’s back. Reynik did not wait to see if the guard fell. He was already in motion. Springing
forwards, he discovered a second guard facing him on the left hand side of the central area of the library. Without pausing to think, Reynik drew a second blade from his sleeve and launched it at
the figure. It was a good throw and struck with deadly force. There was no longer any need for stealth, so Reynik sprinted around the table and into the furthest section of library. His target was
in the first of the alcoves beyond the central area. Reynik had already got a third knife in his hand, having drawn it from the holster hidden under his tunic on his lower back, before he saw his
target.

There was no hesitation. The third blade found its mark with unerring accuracy, but Reynik did not stop. He drew another concealed blade and ran all the way to the far end of the library,
checking every alcove as he went. It would be all too easy to expose his back to an unnoticed guard, and die before he made his escape.

The room was clear. The hit was complete. All that remained was for him to get out of the palace.

He re-holstered the blade from his hand into the underarm sheath and then ran back to the door. After a slight pause to listen for movement in the corridor outside, Reynik realised he could hear
nothing other than the pounding of his heart and the quiet rasping of his breath. Delaying to allow his elevated heart rate to subside could be counter productive, so he opened the door boldly,
stepped outside and closed it behind him. For a moment he considered locking the door behind him, but decided again that it would achieve little. Instead, he tweaked his tunic straight and
re-entered his role as a member of the aristocracy. Walking with a casual nonchalance, he made his way back through the corridors to the exit.

Back in the library, there was a sudden click of a latch springing free and one of the bookcases on the main wall of the central area swung out into the room. Femke and Emperor Surabar stepped
out from the recess.

‘So, what do you think, your Majesty?’

‘Impressive, Femke. You’ve worked wonders on the young fellow. He was very slick. Let’s take a look and see how well those knives of his found their targets, shall
we?’

They moved through the library quickly, opening the shutters and flooding the room with light. With the benefit of daylight, the figures dressed in Imperial guard uniforms looked far less
lifelike. One by one, starting with the first guard figure, they inspected the wooden mannequins.

Femke pulled the knife from the centre of the back of the first dummy. This was not easy, as the point was buried deep within the wood. Once she had wrenched it free, she sniffed cautiously at
the blade.

‘Hmm, coated with quiltiss. Good choice. Fast acting and deadly – particularly when delivered anywhere near the heart,’ she commented.

‘A good throw as well, given the light,’ observed Surabar, nodding.

‘It was a strong throw, your Majesty, but hardly difficult. The second was more impressive. He was on the move then. He had to draw and throw whilst moving forward, which is far more
difficult, even though he threw from slightly closer range. Look how accurately he struck.’