The wind tickled his nose as the soft scent of dirt wafted around the farm. Walking under the rows of apple and pear trees, he made his way through to the deck, up the stairs with a creak in each step. Looking back out into the land, the puffy pearl clouds played along with each grass blade as if they were children. The wind overlooked them to make sure they stayed under the light, never leaving its sight. The luxurious, supple fruit trees seemed to tease the turned soil around them, letting their branches dance gracefully with the wind.
Taking a deep breath, Jameson let that same breeze fill his lungs as he watched a carriage pulled over the green tilled hills. The fancy contraption was based on royal blue but crested with golden edges twirling around the carriage in eccentric patterns. The horses came to a stop a halt queuing an old man the size of a schoolboy to climb out and show his stubborn elderly repulsion towards Jameson. The man held open the door with a flat expression as a younger, more refined gentleman climbed out after him.
Stepping out, the 30 years younger than the elderly gentleman, wore a gigantically goofy hat that just barely revealed his nose pointed high in the air. His poor nose lifted his curly, bushy mustache from dropping down his face with his smile when he caught sight of Jamesonstaring back at him calmly in his Sunday overalls. The big-nosed man gave Jameson a look of belittlement before nonchalantly marching over with the annoyed older man tailing him.
Jameson, being the level-headed 22-year-old boy he was, sat down on one of the porch steps and awaited the man’s grand entrance. He watched the clouds float past the sun and cover its rays as the man flicked out a scroll from an inside pocket and unrolled it in front of his face.
With the paper perched in front of his line of sight, the unpleasant man cleared his throat standing tall in all his youth. He announced, “By order of his majesty, King Oliver Harrison Michael Lupus, King of Opal, you are hereby invited to the royal homecoming ball for her highness, Princess Althea Valencia Catherina Lupus of Opal. All eligible bachelors,” the stingy man paused to look back at Jameson only to scrunch up his nose and continue, “are commanded to attend, with any absence it will be taken as a sign of disobedience. If you have a trader or merchant caravans to take care of during this joyous event, you are permitted to send a letter of forgiveness to his and her royal majesty. The issue will be disputed with the royal court in three days’ time from your letter being delivered.” The messenger man gave a swift bow then awaited one from the poor farmer he’d been looking down upon since arriving.
Jameson simply nodded his head in response then slipped a small knife out of his pocket.
The stingy man turned to stone at the sight of the glinting metal in the sunset but relaxed when Jameson began peeing a small pear. He turned around towards the carriage and began to march back thinking nothing of the days he spent flipping through arrest records of ruffians in the streets of Opal murdering the higher class for money.
“Your king,” Jameson spoke between his chews with no malice nor delight. The messenger boy turned to face him once more but with anticipation gleaming in his eyes as Jameson swallowed, “he’s already received my letter.” The man cocked his head in befuddlement but before he could inquire anything, Jameson stood up and walked up his porch steps. He slammed his humble wooden door behind him.
Placing the rest of the pear slices on the floor for his milk-white cat to snack on, Jameson kept walking through to the back of his small farmhouse. He called out for his Lovely to come out from wherever she was hiding this time, “the fruits are getting ripe again.” Opening his bedroom door, Lovely jumped down from his cot and entangled herself around his ankles. Her soft, wedding-white fur shined from the sky changing its colors for the moon to come out. He picked her up but let her jump from his palms when a sense of forgetfulness hit him.
He looked around the kitchen to attempt at jogging his memory, but nothing came to mind. Shaking his head, Jameson went back outside to watch the sky change from day to night. He flopped down on the ground under an apple tree, sticking his hand up to see the assignment he was given etched into his skin as if the words came from beneath the skin itself. Looking back at the orange turning to pink to purple, he began to see the mystical stars shining through.
Standing up groggily, he walked back towards the porch only to hear heavy footsteps walking on the floorboards beyond the closed door. Pulling his knife from his pocket, Jameson slowly creaked open the door and peered around its hinges.
No one’s here, he thought.
Thinking his mind was playing tricks again, he walked in and looked around only to be smashed over the head with his grandfather’s handmade dish. He stumbled and chuckled, “I knew I was forgetting something!” Standing up straight from the blow, Jameson came face to face with the same name etched into his hand next to the command, ‘kill.’
“You!” The man bleeding from his torso and temple pointed an accusing finger at the poor farmer boy.
Jameson just smiled at the injured man standing in the middle of his house dripping blood everywhere. He suddenly lifted his hand to his chest and whispered, “miraculum.” In an instant, his appearance changed drastically. Daggers and tiny glass bottles filled with conspicuous liquids lined his leather sash. A sword dangled from his belt which he unsheathed in a moment of awe his guest was having.
He drew his sword up to neck length as an infinity symbol glowed a deep and mysterious red that clashed with his black mask.
The dish crashed to the floor from the man’s hand as he fumbled, “you...you’re Vulture!” He coward back against the wooden table behind him and blindly searched for anything to fight back knowing it’d be in vain.
Jameson chuckled evilly and whispered before slashing the man’s throat, “ of course I am, Mr. Hamilton.” The man’s limp body dropped to the floor in a pool of blood, splattering everywhere.
Looking over to the other side of the room by the back door standing wide open, Vulture watched as a younger woman sauntered over to him with a wicked grin on her powdered face. She traced her finger from one of his shoulders to the next and giggled, “thank you, Vulture. Or should I address you formally as Jameson Caparelli?” Winking, she pushed him against the wall and laughed, “I couldn’t wait to be free of him!”
“I never betray an order, Ms. Hamilton. So, there’s no need to thank me.” Vulture pulled Ms. Hamilton close to him while tracing his fingers through her hair. Smiling, he grabbed her neck and slammed her head into the wall letting her lie down with her gambling husband forever.
Jameson opened his front door and sat on his porch petting Lovely as his home was swarmed by masked figures cleaning every inch of the horrific scene. Before they all left, one of them handed Jameson a note that read:
Never leave evidence to point to who you really are.
Touching his infinity mark on his chest and whispering again, “miraculum,” Jameson returned from his mission holding Lovely in his now smoothed out hands that no longer read, ‘Kill the Hamiltons,’ upon them. His assassin alter-ego has dissipated back into the stone in his chest that is only awakened by the Latin word only his lips are supposed to have known.
Two years ago, Jameson was gifted by the Puppetmaster a miracle stone known as The Stone of Death. It was placed in his chest in a way he was not aware of. He was only taught through the years that he is one of the four Miracle Assassins that are forced to follow the Puppetmaster. Jameson is quite the troublemaker though, being so young while having to do a mystery man’s dirty work.
With his grey stone right next to his heart, when he speaks the word, ‘miraculum,’ he transforms himself into an unstoppable and unkillable assassin dressed head to toe in a mysterious black-draped outfit.
He’s never met the other assassins before and hasn’t really planned on looking for them either. Mostly because the first rule laid out by their master is: Never look, ask or demand for answers.