Abhorrent Practices - Book 1

Chapter 1 - A Death in the Night

Death. Every time it's the same. Every time it's different. Tonight's would be just another.

The wrappings around her feet made no sound as she moved swiftly across the tiled roofs of the decaying, mud-brick structures that passed for houses here in the Shanty District. Squat, ugly buildings huddled together in fear. Fear of the open plazas of the Market District to the west with its shops and stalls, now deserted and skeletal but waiting to be dressed in extravagant banners and piled high with goods that only the Elite could afford. Fear of the gaudily painted mansions that rose up high into the hills to the south of the city. High enough to allow their inhabitants to feel both safe from and superior to those in the squalid districts below.

Inhabitants like the Grand Marshall. It was his mansion she would be visiting tonight. His death she would be delivering.

She felt a tile crack and loosen under her foot. Without missing a step, she continued to move effortlessly forward, seeming to glide across the tiles, ice grey in the moonlight. She heard the broken tile skitter down, across the roof; was aware of the second or so of silence as it fell; and noted the metallic clatter as it shattered against the cobbled street below.

No one would come. The residents of the Shanty District knew better than to brave the narrow streets at night. They'd cast a nervous eye towards the door, take some comfort from the fact it was bolted and barred, and look away. Probably a cat, they'd mutter. The City Guard never patrolled here either. The Shanty District was a dangerous place after dark, even for armed, trained militiamen. No, they'd focus their patrols in and around the Market District as they always did; partly because the open squares made an ambush unlikely, and not least because the Merchants' Guild made it worth their while to do so.

If there was anyone in the streets of the Shanty District they'd be conducting business of their own. The kind of business that can only be conducted in narrow, unlit streets after dark.

Behind her she could hear the faint cries of the last of the gulls still haunting the docks she'd left barely fifteen minutes earlier. Ahead of her she could see she had just three more terraces to go before the grey slate roofs of the Shanty District began to give way to the first modest mansions at the foot of the Hillside.

Without breaking her pace, she calculated the number of steps she needed to reach the end of the terrace, adjusted the length of her stride to ensure the last would take her to the very edge of the last roof and then, in one fluid, unbroken movement, she launched herself into the void between the houses.

Stillness. The air which, just seconds before, had been rushing coolly past her face as she ran seemed to stop. She gave no thought to the drop below or to the hard stones that would smash her as surely as they'd smashed the tile if she'd mistimed her jump. For the briefest of moments she seemed simply, impossibly, to hang, suspended in the air, unable to move. At peace.

Was this what death was? A stillness? A silence? She'd brought so many to their deaths but, after years in the service of the Order, she was no closer to understanding its true nature.

And then, instinctively, her legs were moving again, cycling through the air, preparing themselves for the best possible landing; flexed, just enough to cushion the shock of her feet hitting the grey tiles of the next terrace; tensed, to allow her to spring forward, immediately continuing her sprint across the Shanty District rooftops. She felt the hard tiles once more under her bandaged feet, adjusted her balance to compensate for the slope of the roof, and was instantly on her toes, propelling herself forwards.

Grand Marshall Harlan would be alone, she knew, for less than an hour. She had to time her arrival precisely. Too soon and she'd never get past the mansion's security. Too late and she wouldn't have enough time to finish the job and escape before someone came to check on him. He was a sick man and never left unattended for very long.