The Nameless Assassins

Mourning

Crumpling the notes in my hand, I frantically flung on street clothes, cursing at all the layers I needed to survive Doskvolian winters. By the time I stormed into the hall (leaving my room as much of a mess as if Faith had rummaged through it), my crewmates were already breakfasting in the common room.

"Hmm," Ash was musing over his mug of coffee, "isn't it strange how everyone who's irritated Irimina also turns out to be a member of the Hive?"

Faith popped up from behind the bar, her special pink-rose-patterned china teacup in hand, her pink-lipsticked lips a perfect O of delight. "Are you saying that Irimina has good taste in enemies? I'll note that Irimina has good taste in many things." She helped herself to coffee, strutted back across the room, hopped onto the table, and simpered down at him.

Excavating his notebook from under a thick layer of ruffles, he replied pragmatically, "Yes, well, I'd really prefer for us or our orphans not to be picked off in the middle of the night – because if we keep accidentally murdering the Hive, that's what will happen."

Given what had happened last night in Crow's Foot, his comment was a little too apt.

I snarled, "How about instead of accidentally murdering them, we do it intentionally and wipe out as much of the inner circle as we can?" Stalking over to them, I slammed down the two notes with a bang that rocked the table. Ash grabbed his mug before the coffee could slosh onto his notebook, while Faith faked a little squeak and jump, then pouted ferociously, silently reproaching me for setting a bad example for the children she'd banned from the room anyway. "Look what they did!"

"Ooooh!" squealed Faith. Like a schoolgirl teasing a friend about a potential beau, she inquired slyly, "The Hive sent you letters?"

"No!" I shook them at her. "This one is from Bazso; this one is from Mylera."

Setting his mug far away from me, Ash reached for the notes, but Faith snatched them first and scanned the lines before tossing them to him. As he read, a troubled frown grew on his face.

"I want to take out Djera Maha," I informed them, voice taut. "I want to take out the entire Hive."

To my surprise, it was the part-demon forgotten god cultist bent on destroying the Church of the Ecstasy of the Flesh who objected. "Isha, taking out the head of the Crows was one thing. If we try to take out the head of the Hive, we will likely die."

His attitude made absolutely no sense. "I'm not suggesting we do it without preparation!"

Ash only shook his head. "This would be an epic score. I guess I'm not opposed, but...." He groped for the right words to calm and convince me – as if any existed! "I would also prefer to remain alive," he said at last. "If the Hive even gets wind that we're planning anything, we'll be dead before moonrise."

Entirely unappeased, I snapped, "Then we don't let them get wind that we're planning anything. We have two Slides and a Whisper. I think we can do it."

He just cast a helpless look at Faith, of all people.

Relishing her new role as the voice of reason, she leaped to his rescue. "Wait, wait, wait – back up for a sec?" Knitting her brows in a caricature of confusion, she inquired, "Why are we doing this? Who's paying us?"

Automatically, the answer tumbled from Ash's mouth: "I'm sure the Lampblacks and Red Sashes could be convinced to pay us dearly." Abruptly recalling that he was supposed to be talking me out of this suicidal scheme, he quickly tacked on an unconvincing, "Except we can't even ask them without some chance that word will get back to the Hive."