High above the streets of Byzantia, Culter lay sprawled out on a tiled roof watching as the last few rays of sunlight twinkled away. “Ah, there’s nothing more satisfying then watching the sunset don’t you think?”
The corpse beside him didn;t answer, not that he expected it to. It was too busy staring glassy eyed at the evening sky, jaw hanging slack, the puncture wound in its neck still dribbling blood.
“Well, you’ve surely gotten quiet all of a sudden.” Culter gave the corpse a friendly shove and it fell back stiffly before the tiles underneath gave way and it slid off the roof into the streets below. He strained his ears to listen as the body hit the ground with a meaty, metallic crunch.
Culter tutted. “Tsk, tsk. These Calligati fellows are so quick to spill their guts these days, and they're supposed to be the best the Empire has to offer.” He chuckled delightfully at his own joke. “Why, I’d wager that my street boys were made of sterner stuff than these coat tail riding stiffs.”
The tiles shifted behind Culter, and he peered over his shoulder, one hand resting on the hilt of his stiletto. A black cat watched him from the corner of the roof, yellow eyes that seemed to sparkle in the budding starlight. It stared at him for a moment, as if assessing what kind of threat he was, before sauntering over and nuzzling at his hand.
Culter smiled and stroked the cat gently. “Well, well. From one street urchin to another, I greet you stranger.” He ran a finger under the cat's chin, delighted when it began to purr before settling down beside him. He leaned over and kissed it on the head before turning his attention back to the city.
Before him stood Gray Hogs Keep. A mighty bastion of pure pig iron. The grotesgue structure bulged out of the city like an ugly, fat zit. “They say it was a gift to the Empress by the Forgelords,” Culter said to the cat. “Made from the surrendered weapons and armor of those who’d turned against her. An architectural marvel they call it, but I think it’s rather an eyesore. Don’t you?” The cat looked up at Culter before it started grooming itself, one paw swiping fervently over an ear.
“Yes, I’m sure you have much more important things to do than sit here and stare at buildings with me.” Culter rana hand down the cats back before he sat up. “I do apologize, but unfortunately I have matters to attend too. I’ve gots a cousin to kill and no time left to wait. My last wayward companion said he’d be there tonight. An opportunity I shan't waste.”
Culter rose up to his feet and in one smooth motion, uncoiling from the tiles like a serpent eyeing its next meal. He stared down at the streets below, turned to give the cat a wink, then lept off the roof. He fell onto an awning, using the taut fabric to propel him at a gentler speed as he rolled onto the streets, tumbling back to his feet. An expert jump if ever he saw one. His father would have been proud, if he wasn’t rotting sixty feet under the ground at the moment.
Culter looked up. The cat still sat at the edge of the roof, bright eyes watching him curiously. He gave the feline one last wave before plodding off, straight towards the Keep.
It wasn’t long before Culter found a nice, dark shadow to hide behind. The stars were at their fullest, moon beaming in the night sky. Back on the street, he found his perspective of the Keep had shifted greatly. Where once it stared at him with a leveled gaze, now it loomed over him like some angry, iron parent.
A patrol rounded off one of the walls, lamps flickering in the dark. Culter slid deeper into the shadows, watched them till they disappeared, light and all. Up above, he could see more tiny flames moving along the battlements, sweeping this way and that in the opposite direction.
“It seems Custodia has seen fit to keep this place under lock and key,” Culter muttered to himself quietly. “No doubt a valuable treasure lies within, but not all that glitters is gold, especially when its polished pig shit.”
Culter waited as another patrol passed by, then another, and another. By the fourth rotation he’d figured out the Calligati’s patrol patterns. A tight formation, one clockwise on the ground, the other counter clockwise on the battlements. Each rotation an interval of fifteen minutes.
“Not bad, Custodia. You’ve got your boys well trained, but we’ll see how long that lasts. Everyone makes mistakes, you know. No ones perfect. Nothing’s impregnable. Someone has to stop to take a leak sometime. Someone has to get bored soon and start dozing off. These things happen, you know?”
After some time had passed Culter found the opportunity and made his move. He slipped from his hiding place, pressed his back against the wall, careful not to puncture himself on one of the half melted swords jutting out from the sheets of rusty iron. He edged himself over, eyes flicking between the battlements above and the streets around him. So far no lights were aimed at him.
Around one of the corners Culter saw them. Calligati, three all together, standing in front of Gray Hog’s gates. He watched as one of them knocked on a gate, metal grate hissing open. Some words were exchanged and the gate stirred, kicking rust and dirt into the air as it slowly began to rise.
“Well, best to strike while the iron is hot, as they say.” Culter pulled his stiletto free and ran towards the Calligati. The first one he stabbed in the ribs, thin blade sliding between the iron plates with ease. He felt the hard meat of his heart give some resistance before he punctured that too.
The second one whirled at the sight of Culter, mouth gawking like a fish out of water. He tried to yell, only for the tip of the stiletto to silence him as it cut cleanly through his throat. The third didn’t even have time to react as Culter slid beneath the gate, grabbing him by the leg and yanking him under.
The interior of the gatehouse was a dark and damp smelling box. Two guards stood nearby, one by the door, the other by the wheel-lock holding the gate up. The one closest balked at the sight of him, mouth puckering, eyes practically boggling out of his head. He started to run, but Culter was quicker. He sprang up and in one fluid motion stabbed the Calligati in the soft part of his jaw before stealing his dagger and flicking it expertly at the other. The short blade bit into the man’s forehead and he fell, losing his grip on the wheel-lock. The mechanism clicked and spun as the gate came crashing down. Right on top of the Calligati beneath it. Culter heard armor and bones crunch as the great weight fell atop the guard, both legs kicking out reflexively upon impact. Silence fell over the room.
“Five men in forty five seconds. That’s nine seconds a kill,” Culter muttered with a delighted smile. “Not bad, but I could certainly do better.” A commotion up ahead drew him from his thoughts. There were voices behind the second gate leading in, followed by the familiar sound of the a wheel-lock being turned.
“Unfortunately, now is not the time for nitpicking, it seems my little dance has attracted some onlookers.” Culter searched the cramped gatehouse for a way out, but the place was locked up tighter than a nobleman’s chastity cage. No portholes to jump through, nor any watch windows big enough for him to squeeze out of.
He grimaced and licked his lips. “Come on you feckless cowards. Not even an arrow slit for me to climb into?” He looked up and found his salvation amidst the rafters. A gated murderhole loomed above him, small enough that only two heads could peer out at any one time, but big enough for his thin frame. All he needed to do was spring up there and crack it open.
The commotion was getting louder on the other side of the gate. The wheel-lock was turned generously now, lifting the huge sheet metal high enough that Culter could see boots waiting on the other side.
“Well now, no time like the present as they say." Culter ran and ripped the dagger out of the dead man’s forehead. He weighed the piece of metal in his hand, aimed, and snapped it at the murderhole. With a heavy clack of metal against metal, the blade broke the hinge and the hatch flung open.
Culter smiled. “An impressive shot unfortunately wasted.” He took a few steps back and then bounded towards the hole. With an impressive leap onto the wheel lock he sprang up, clasped both hands on the rafters and with the use of his momentum, sailed feet first up into murder hole.
Culter arched his body, spun and landed on the balls of his feet. The stiletto was out in a flash, glinting hungrily for any signs of Calligati, but there was none to be had. The room above the gatehouse was just as small, made of finely hewn stone and illuminated by fingers of moonlight peering through the slotted windows. The only signs of life were a set of glowing yellow eyes staring at him from the darkness.
“My, my. Now how did you get in here? Following me now, eh?” Culter bent down and tried to entice the cat over, but it sat there unmoved, watching him with a silent intensity. He opened his mouth to say more, but the sound of pounding feet below drew his attention away. “Well if that’s your desire then keep to the shadows as you will. Don’t need you getting me spotted.” With a gentle bow he slipped past the feline and pressed on towards the adjoining hallway leading further into the keep.
Culter crept low to the ground, footsteps muffled by the thick samite carpet sprawled out before him. Here and there sconces flickered, filling the hall with an orange, ruddy light. He moved like water amidst the dancing shadows, pale skin never quite catching off the glint, his stiletto a dull, generous ally.
At the end of the hall was a set of stairs twisting down. Culter rubbed his chin, contemplating his choices. “No doubt they’d take me where I need to go, but no stairs I’ve seen keep their friends for long. In a cramped place like this, any Calligati in my way would skewer me on the spot." He tapped a finger to his cheek, gears turning in his head. “What to do? What to do?” His eyes flicked over to the wall beside him, and in that moment he found his answer.
A dumbwaiter. Culter turned to the cat and nodded over at the contraption. “Fancy a ride? It’ll be a tight fit, but I’ll make sure you’ve room in there.” The cat blinked its answer at him. “Well then, best to limber up.” He sheathed his stiletto and grasped his shoulder. “Best to look away,” he said to the cat. “This might get gruesome.” And with a loud pop, he dislocated his arm.
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