Chapter 12
Assassination consisted of three parts—or at least, that's what Locke thought: observation, waiting, and striking. But Hal either didn't think that way or simply didn't care, as he gave Locke one day to kill the target.
Not even a full day. By midnight, the target had to be dead. Locke was just given the name, description, and location, and sent off to do his best. He really hated Hal at this moment.
Firstly, what kind of idiot would send a kid to kill a grown man, especially when it would be his first time killing someone? Still, Locke wasn't worried too much about the morality of it, as he had killed a lot of people thousands of times in his head. He didn't think he would feel any different in reality.
If he'd been given even a few days, he could have observed the target. Waited for the most opportune time to strike, finishing it as cleanly as possible. However, he wasn't informed of anything until a couple of hours ago. So, with a knife hidden in his shirt, he followed the target with his eyes.
Lann the Pretty. Locke couldn't see it. His somewhat reddish, long, curly hair was easy to spot. His face was smooth, but average in Locke's eyes. He was neither tall nor particularly fit. Locke guessed he must have had quite a fortune to be called what he was called.
What annoyed Locke the most was that Lann was never alone. He strolled through the streets with his friends. Their destination wasn't hard to guess, since all they talked about was women in a certain brothel.
It would be problematic to gain entry to such an establishment—and who knew how long they'd stay inside? The safest and best way to kill him was in the streets. Lann wasn't tall, so Locke could easily reach his vital points.
One stab was all he needed. But those two idiots are staying by his side, won't let it go easily. That was the problem. He couldn't do anything while they were around. And it was already evening. Soon they'd reach their destination, and Locke would lose his chance.
So Locke was left with no choice but to wing it. He rushed ahead of them, and when he found a busy street, he waited for the three idiots to come his way. Pulling his hood low over his head and lowering his head, Locke stepped into their path.
He had already spotted where Lann's purse was, so when he bumped into him in the busy street, it wasn't hard to snatch it. Lann didn't even notice at first—he shoved Locke aside and cursed him before turning back to his friends.
"Hey! You dropped this," Locke called out, holding up the purse.
It took a second for Lann to turn and recognize it. Another second to check his belt. His friends laughed at him, and Lann flushed with embarrassment as he stormed toward Locke.
"Give it back, brat," Lann snapped.
In the past ten days, Locke did nothing but learn how to cut with his knife. As much as he didn't want to admit, Wren was quite good at it, and she was an excellent teacher. And certainly far faster than this fool.
Locke held out the purse with his left hand. As Lann leaned forward to grab it, Locke's knife flashed—just for a moment—as it slashed across Lann's neck. Before the blood could even hit the ground, Locke was already running.
"Thief!" one of Lann's friends yelled, trying to chase after him.
He didn't get far before realizing something was wrong with Lann. Locke saw the man clutching his neck as blood spilled, then collapsing to the ground. Without waiting to see more, Locke dove into the sea of people and disappeared within them.
Soon enough, he found comfort in the shadows of alleyways. After making sure he wasn't being followed, Locke checked the purse. Silver and gold coins filled it. Quite a lot for a nobody in this part of the city.
He wondered what someone like Lann was doing with that kind of coin. It was probably the reason he had to die. But since Locke had finished the job, it wasn't his concern anymore.
Ditching the hood and hiding both the purse and the knife, he took the long way back to the Drunken Pig. After his last brush with death, Locke was extra cautious. He took his sweet time making sure no one was on his tail.
...
When he finally returned, it was already getting dark. What surprised him was the crowd gathered around the Drunken Pig. There were plenty of unfamiliar and familiar faces that laughed and talked.
Surprising him, he even heard a few talking about Lann and how he met his end in the middle of the street without much of a fanfare. News traveled fast, and Locke was quite happy to see the satisfied expression that Hal wore.
Still, rather than getting near and bragging about the job well done, Locke kept his distance and watched. He observed as dozens of men, armed with various weapons, were preparing to leave.
A fight was about to start. Locke knew better than to get in the middle of it—but he still wanted to watch. He wanted to see the true strength of this gang and how it compared to the others. See what it was like.
As soon as full dark fell and the streets emptied, Locke saw Hal lead the group. Wren moved from the shadows—not following the gang, but moving ahead. Something was hidden in her cloak.
Just as Locke suspected, no gold cloaks were around. Probably bribed to keep away. This was Flea Bottom, after all. What happened here didn't matter to anyone anyway. So, nobody will have a problem as long as blood doesn't spill outside these parts.
They arrived at another large establishment in the district. Locke couldn't tell if it was a winesink or a gambler's den. But that didn't matter. A score of ugly bastards waited outside with clubs, axes, and daggers in hand.
"Are you going to hide, Vik?" Hal's voice rang out. "Come out and face me, you fucker!"
"The pigs are greedy as ever," a man, head and shoulders taller than Hal, appeared with a short, reddish beard, a massive axe resting on his shoulder. "You think I'm scared of the shitheads you dragged up from the gutter? I've chopped more fuckers like them than you can count."
"Is that so?" Hal rested his hand on his sword hilt. "Is that why you're wearing brown pants? Think I wouldn't notice you're full of shit? You and your little friends are only good at picking on crippled men and weak kids. Thought you could hire a few blue-lipped freaks and we wouldn't find you? Retribution's come."
"We'll see about that, fuckhead." Locke didn't know much, but even he could see Vik was nervous.
So why hadn't Hal started the fight yet? Was it Wren's disappearance? Was he stalling, or trying to intimidate the others to make the fight easier? Or just taunting? Did he want something of them?
Maybe every man Hal brought was expensive. He wasn't a lord who could send peasants to die. If he lost too many tonight, he might not have enough muscle left to hold what he took from Vik.
Maybe this was all more complicated than Locke thought. Now that he looked closer, neither side seemed eager to fight. They were all scared of death. If things went badly, most of them would run.
"Three hundred gold dragons," Hal said, breaking the tense silence. "Bring it within an hour, and I'll let you live."
"Motherfucker!" Vik snapped. "How long did you know?"
"Oh? So I was right?" Hal smirked. "You do have that kind of coin lying around."
So it wasn't a random number. While gathering men, Hal must've had someone watching the place, gathering information. Locke hadn't seen the lady boss for some time. He had a feeling she was behind it.
"That old hag, wasn't it?" Vik cursed, confirming Locke's suspicion, but didn't move. He knew he was outnumbered. " You know that her greed started it all. If she kept her hands to herself, none of this would've happened."
"You're wasting time, Vik."
"Two hundred. That's all you'll get."
"Even your life's that cheap, huh?" Hal kept taunting. "Well, maybe I should tell you—your nephew is dead and he wasn't worth even a gold coin."
"What?" Vik's shock was real.
"Don't blame me," Hal said. "You shouldn't have touched Henry. Blood for blood."
"Kill him!"
A crossbow bolt struck Vik in the chest. Locke had no idea where it came from. With just one shot, the fight was over. Hal charged in, sliced Vik's throat, finishing him, and the rest followed.
After a few more deaths, the rest scattered like rats. Those too slow were brutally dealt with. It wasn't even a fight. Hal took the den easily, and that was that.
Locke now had an Idea how fights happened here.
...
Locke came back alone. Since there was no point in watching more, he sat by himself in the bar, waiting. They returned late into the night, crates being carried into the tavern. No one even noticed him at first.
Eventually, Hal came in. The old lady showed up to greet him. He handed her a heavy bag full of clinking coins—but she didn't look as satisfied as Locke expected. Maybe she didn't care much about coin; at her old age, it probably meant little.
"Well, Stray, I heard you did quite a job," Hal said, sitting next to him, taking a mug of ale. "Killing a man in the street and running off. Daring."
"Stupid, more likely," the old woman added. "Still, a job well done is a job well done."
"Was there any point to killing him?" Locke asked. "Didn't seem like he would've interfered."
"You can't leave loose ends," she replied. "He had friends. Could've caused trouble. Now, he won't."
"Here. Take this for good work," Hal tossed him a gold coin with a yawn and stretch.
"You don't look happy. Didn't we win?" Locke asked, frowning at Hal and looking at the boss.
"Don't misunderstand. Tonight, we fought a no-name with a few friends who thought they were something special and could take on anyone. But in the end, they were just a piece in someone else's game. Let me give you some advice—don't believe what you see."
So, it wasn't over. She could've just said that. Still, it looked like he'd earned some respect for killing in the middle of the street as the rest of the gang now acknowledged him and nodded in his direction. His reputation was rising.
"Nice shot," Locke commented as Wren passed by.
She stopped and glared at him. He was right—she'd gone ahead to find a place to make a shot at Vik with a crossbow. And Hal had stalled to give her time. They took no chances. Smart. He liked how they worked. Now the question was, where would Locke get a crossbow?
"Got more work for me?" Locke asked the boss. "I can handle troublesome jobs. And I like gold."
"Go and rest," she replied. "There might be something later. But don't get cocky. You shouldn't forget how we found you, both times."
Petty old hag. Just wouldn't leave it alone. Well, as long as he got work, he didn't mind listening to her shittalking. For now, he'd build his reputation. If he kept killing and doing jobs, she'd keep him close—like Wren.
Through her, he'd learn the ins and outs of the city. It would come in handy. If he could build a foundation in five years, there were plenty of ways to climb even higher.
There were people he could use—though many would also try to use him. So, he needed knowledge first to avoid being used. He needed to understand the kind of people there were in Flea Bottom and who could be useful, and who he would have to eliminate.
He wasn't arrogant enough to think he could lead people yet. First, he'd learn from Hal. Make friends with other groups, such as sellswords and the like. Getting allies and earning a few favors.
But that could wait. First, he had to learn how to handle a knife better. Until he could beat Wren in a fair fight, he wouldn't feel confident against anyone else.
Step by step, he'd get what he wanted.
A.N. Finally able to return to this story. Sorry, for delaying the update on this story for so long. Just had a log of things to think about the story while it wasn't too late before I started to write it once again.
As always. Thanks for reading and supporting me. If you want more 7 more chapters of this story and 42 chapters in total with all my current stories, please consider supporting me on pa treon ironworlf852. Thanks in advance.