© 1992 The Mindless Entertainment Group (publishing)

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental..

I.

NOBLE ASSASSIN

The bar was rapidly filling. It was going to be another standing-room-only night. An older man, obviously a native, asked if he could join me at my table. I nodded, and we began talking.

It was apparent to him that I was an off-worlder, so he offered to buy the first round. I suppose it was unusual to see a colonist back on Earth. He asked what it was like 'Out There', and what brought me back home. Terrans think everyone considers Earth their true home.

He said he was in commodities, and dealt often with offworld concerns, though he himself had never been out of the Sol System. Was I on Earth for business or pleasure, Mr...?

*

Call me Hash (I said). My real name is Viktor Braun, but everyone calls me Hash, It's a play on my name, or, at least it used to be back when Grandfather had it. He was the original 'Hash' Braun, and I'm the third. To tell the truth, I don't know what it means, either. Not the old meaning. Now 'making a Hash of things' means doing the job cleanly, quietly, and relatively painlessly.

Like my Father, and his Father before him, I'm the best the Guild has to offer. If you've got the gelt, you can't hire a better assassin.

Wait a minute. Sit down. I'm on a vacation of sorts. Besides, you know as well as I that assassination is illegal on Earth at least until your population is back up into the billions.

Ah. Then 'what the Tor am I doing on Earth?' That'll take some telling. I've got the time, if you do. I'm not heading back out into the depths until things quiet down a little. Order another round or six, and I'll tell you a story.

I remember my Grandfather, though he died when I was two. But, even if I didn't, I could see him whenever I liked just by looking into a mirror. I inherited his eyes, his mouth, his nose... Tor, I inherited his entire body. But more importantly, I inherited his ability to be invisible. Not invisible in the literal sense, like you see in the stories, but I can become unobtrusive. I, like he did, can go unnoticed. Look at me. Describe me.

Do you see? That description fits half the humanoid males in the known universe. Quite a few of the females, too, more's the pity. But you're wrong on one point. I'm a good five centimeters shorter than average short enough to disappear in a crowd, but not so short as to be noticed.

That's how I make...made...my living: going in unnoticed, doing my work quietly, and slipping away.

I'm on Earth now because I did a very unprofessional thing on my last contract.

Have you ever been to Castle Keep? No, that's right, you've never been out. Well, Castle Keep is a world out around Tau Ceti, in that general area...

*

I'd never been to Castle Keep. Not many people had. There was no reason to go there unless you had a penchant for bogs, lochs, and the occasional Nessie rearing up in front of you. The Keepian Nessies, like their Terran namesake, are fairly harmless, if a little too playful. All in all, a nice enough world. Perhaps a bit underdeveloped, a bit uncivilized.

The Laird, Alistair MacFie, sat looking at me, his eyes framed above and below by course red curls going grey. His daughter, Glenda she couldn't have been more than twelve had the fingers of one hand entangled in his full beard. He did not seem to notice or, noticing, mind. He just went on and on about Castle Keep and its two ruling families, the MacFies and the Donovons. That was the reason I was there, why he had contracted me.

The Socio-political system of Castle Keep is just this side of unworkable. It is a patriarchal monarchy currently headed by King Donovan, but the rule is passed on the distaff side through the eldest daughter...the eldest daughter of either House.

MacFie's Glenda was twelve. Donovan's daughter was almost eighteen. Melisande would marry on her eighteenth birthday (there were always suitable suitors in the wings) and her husband would become King, taking the Donovan name.

The Laird wanted a MacFie on the throne. There had not been a King MacFie for nearly thirty-six years, not since he stepped down in favor of the current King's wife.

He cursed his luck most eloquently. He had had eleven sons and an exhausted wife, but no daughter until Glenda was born a dozen years before. And six years too late.

I was to assassinate Melisande before her eighteenth birthday, two days hence. That gave me a bit over twenty-four hours, the Keepian day being nearly the same length as an Earth day.

"She will make a bonny Queen, don't you think?" It was not a question. It never is when a father is talking about his own daughter. Still, she was a pretty little thing, with her Father's deep red curls and clear blue eyes. I wondered if she knew she was to be the cause of a young woman's death. I hoped not. Strange thoughts for an assassin? Maybe.

MacFie rang for a servant who escorted Glenda to her chambers on the upper floor of the castle. I relaxed. MacFie became confidential.

"She was brought up to be Queen one day," he said. "But there's no reason she should hear the details of her ascension."

I made an agreeing noise, and he continued.

"On the other hand," he went on, the faintest trace of a smile turning up the corners of his mouth, "I've seen death a-plenty. Dealt quite a bit of it myself in my small way."

Why is it anyone who has ever killed someone feels a kinship with the Guild? I've fixed leaky reactionmass tanks. Does that make me a propulsion engineer? Or even a plumber? I voiced a non-committal grunt. It's amazing how little participation is needed to sustain a conversation with some people. Besides, I knew what was coming next. It always came at that point.

"Have you made any plans how you'll do it?" he asked.

There it was, couched (as always) in generalities. They never give 'it' a name.

"If not," he continued, "I have some ideas."

"Hmm," I said. It was my standard answer. He smiled. They always do.

And why is it that every amateur is wonderfully adept at planning an assassination, but so hopelessly inept at getting the assassin out alive after 'it' is over?

MacFie came up with three very imaginative plans for Melisande's death all just short of perfect. I'd have been just as dead as Melisande within ten minutes. A minor detail. To MacFie, if not yours truly.

Needless to say, I didn't tell him that. Discretion is the better part, etc. I Ah-ed and I-see-ed and Hmm-ed at all the appropriate places, thanked him for his ideas, and bid him good night.

I was led to my rooms by one of the servants.

MacFie's eagerness did help me in one respect. He had drawn detailed layouts of the King's castle and grounds. They were drawn from thirty-six year old memories, a lot can change in three dozen years, but they did give me something on which to base my operation. I studied the maps far into the night, planning routes of ingress and egress. Especially the latter. I don't take unnecessary chances.

The King's castle was old, which was good. Its security was not too elaborate, which was not so good. I have found that the tighter the security, the more safeguards, the easier it is to find the loophole. When someone feels over-confident, when guards are practically tripping over one another, I can go in and out with little or no trouble. But the simpler the system, the more foolproof it is.

The next morning found me in a kilt cut in Donovan's tartan, sporran, knee socks, and sporting a full beard. MacFie had arranged for me to take the place of one of the artisans working on the preparations for Melisande's birthday/marriage celebration. I would have the opportunity to do a little reconnaissance on my own. It was a nice touch on MacFie's part, but not absolutely necessary. I was a little hesitant at first, never having been in Highland dress before. But what the Tor, I thought. I have the legs for it.

The approach to the castle was circuitous. A fairly narrow causeway wound through the fens and marshes, still fog-bound at that early hour. The castle itself sat surrounded by a mote which was fed by Loch Donovan (or Loch MacFie, whichever was on the throne. I'd hate to be a map maker on Castle Keep).

Across the mote was a drawbridge which looked as if it had never been raised. I found out later they raise it once every year to be sure it still worked; an operation not popular with the Royal Gardeners who had planted hedges in troughs along each side of the bridge.

I entered the castle with my adze slung across my shoulder, and was led to the Great Hall; a large, tapestry covered room.

Donovan had gone all out for his daughter. A stage had been built at the head of the Hall large enough for a fifty piece orchestra. They still do things the old-fashioned way on Castle Keep. Me, I prefer my music synthesized, but there's no accounting for taste.

My fellow workmen and I began laying the last of the dance floor. I could see the necessity of that. That stone floor would ruin your arches inside of an hour without sort of topping.

My job was to smooth the seams between the planking. I imagined it was difficult to maintain your poise while stubbing a toe. So, I went merrily to work shaving the seams even. A laser would have done the job in under three minutes, but that wouldn't have been the old-fashioned way. Besides, with a laser I would not have had the opportunity to work my way down the Hall to where (MacFie said) a passage was concealed behind a tapestry.

I waited until I was sure no one was looking in my direction, then ducked behind the tapestry. MacFie's memory was so far perfect. Behind the tapestry was an alcove. I pushed against the back wall and felt it give a little. Another good shove and it was open. I entered.

And nearly lost a hand as the wall began swinging shut again. The secret door was counter weighted to close automatically. It would have locked me in; there was no handle on the inside. I used my adze to prop it partially open.

I had no light (kilts don't run to pockets), so I had to make my way slowly through the dark, trusting my memory of MacFie's memories. The stairway was two paces closer than expected. I bloodied my shins and forearms. So goes the life of an assassin. It wasn't my first job-related injury, but it was certainly one of the more painful ones. After stifling an oath which probably would have echoed throughout the castle, I began ascending the stairs. Carefully.

The stairway was steep, narrow, hard on the legs, and interminable long, but I finally reached the top. The passage branched right and left at the landing. If I had had a coin, if I had been able to see it, I would have tossed for the direction. Since I didn't, and couldn't, I turned down the right hand passage.

Ahead of me I could see thin shafts of light crossing the passage. I immediately thought of trip-beams. Stupid. I suppose the darkness was making me jumpy. Trip-beams wouldn't use visible light, nor would they be at eye level. Still, I approached the first of them with caution.

One side of the passage had a hole from which came the light, the other was just plain stone no light-sensitive pickup visible. I carefully put my hand into the beam, ready to pull it back instantly. No alarms sounded. There was no pain. I examined the hole.

Whoever built that secret passage must have been either a voyeur or paranoid. There was a lens in the hole which gave me a fish-eye view of the room beyond the wall. It was definitely a masculine bedroom, as were the next two.

I hit the jackpot with room number four. It was a young woman's chamber, probably Melisande's, but I had to be sure.

Just then, I became sure. Melisande entered her room from a side door, which I assume led to her bath. MacFie's holos of her didn't do her justice, though, admittedly, he had none of her just stepping out of her bath.

The members of my Guild are proud professionals. We are highly principled. We don't molest our targets, nor torture them, nor abuse them. An assassination should be almost clinical. So what was I doing watching Melisande going about her after-bath routine; drying and powdering her body, toweling her long auburn hair, laying out her day clothes? I should have been ashamed of myself. And I was.

Still, I watched until she left to apply the finishing touches in another room. That was the first of a series of things which would put me on the outs with my Guild.

I returned to Laird MacFie's estate after finishing my shift as King's Carpenter. Though it seemed I was gone for hours, no one in the crew seemed to notice my absence. In fact, I was complimented on the quality of my work by the foreman. I never did find out if he was sincere, or one of MacFie's agents farcing me.

I ate a hearty meal and went to my rooms to prepare for the job. Melisande had to die before ten the next morning when the day's festivities began. I figured she'd sleep until at least seven, so I planned to begin at midnight.

For Melisande I decided on Neonarcosyn injected at the base of the brain. She would die quickly, painlessly, and there would be no marks to spoil her looks when she was laid out.

Having a few hours to spare until midnight, I read up on the Nessies of Castle Keep. I read for relaxation. I did not expect to run into any trouble with the beasts, but you can never tell. The books did, however, decide one thing for me. I would continue to wear the kilt during the operation. Nessies were, it was said, semi-intelligent and slightly xenophobic. They had gotten used to seeing humans who wore plaid, but anyone else tended to make them nervous. I didn't care to be stopped by a three ton reptile that didn't like my taste in clothes.

One thing the books mentioned, to which I didn't pay too much attention, was that Nessies can get downright affectionate with someone they know by recognizing a particular plaid. For instance, the Nessies living around the King's castle knew the Donovan tartan. They formed an informal guard around the castle and grounds, accepting Donovons; their thunderous voices announcing the presence of a stranger. I wish the authors had elaborated on that point. It would have made my life a little easier.

MacFie was nowhere in sight when I left. He had been hovering over me during my dinner; questioning, giving advice, and generally making a nuisance of himself. But, like most who hire me or my confreres, when the time came for the actual assassination, he was conspicuously absent.

That was fine. If I had had any need for his assistance, it wasn't then. I had gotten all I needed from him in a map of the castle, and the knowledge that there would be a scout ship warmed and ready at the Port. My fee was already in escrow with the Guild.

The approach to the castle was uneventful. Luckily, there were no guards, human or Nessie, in sight. Everyone, save two sentries, had turned in early in preparation for the morning's festivities. I had timed it perfectly. The sentries had reached the rear of the castle as I reached the front. I strolled across the bridge.

The interior of the castle was dim, lighted by a few oil lamps stuck here and there, but I had my bearings. Just a quick ascent on the main stairway and I would be there. Although I had never actually seen that part of the castle, I knew where I was. If an assassin intended to live very long, he must have a good sense of spatial relationships.

Snores came from the first room in the upper hall. Earlier that day I had been five meters away on the other side of that room. That put Melisande three doors down the hall.

I crept silently passed the first door, stopped, listening at the second, and went on. The third room, like the second, was silent. Another five minutes and the first half of my job would be done. I checked to make sure the hypo was still tucked in sporran, and approached Melisande's door. Like most of the doors in the castle, Melisande's was of heavy oak imported from Earth during the early days. It staggered the imagination to think what it must have cost to ship the wood across the lightyears using the old plasmajets and lightsails. But after all those years, the door was still solid. And unlocked.

I pushed the door open and found myself in a small sittingroom. Melisande's bed chamber was beyond. I closed the door behind me and silently crossed the room.

I could see her from the doorway of her bed chamber. She lay on her bed in a shaft of moonlight, her back toward the window.

Her hair was fanned out across a satin pillow. Crossing to the bed, I took the hypo from my sporran and broke the seal. The snap of the plastic sounded loud in the silence of the room. I froze, my shadow falling across her. Melisande, her sleep disturbed, turned over toward me. In one hand I held the hypo, the other was poised, ready to silence any outcry.

My breath caught in my throat when I saw her face in the moonlight. Her eyes opened, looking straight into mine. They were the darkest green I had ever encountered. We looked at each other for a long moment. Her gaze shifted to my hands, still poised above her. She smiled.

It wasn't until then that I realized I hadn't been breathing. I began again, my heart racing.

Her eyes met mine, and her smile broadened, showing perfect teeth glistening in the moonlight. She spoke.

"I was wondering if you'd come," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "Will it hurt much?"

I was speechless. It was all I could do to shake my head. She closed her eyes momentarily and sighed.

"I'm ready," she said. I hesitated. This had never happened before. Again she spoke.

"What is your name?"

"Viktor," I replied, finding something resembling a voice. It was more of a croak.

"Viktor," she said. She nodded as if she approved. It

made my heart skip.

"Viktor, make love to me first."

I nearly dropped the Neonarcosyn. "Wha-what?" I stammered.

"I don't want to die a virgin," she answered softly.

This definitely had never happened to me before. What else could I have done? What would you have done?

Kilts were more practical than I had realized.

We lay there in the dark afterwards, the moon having passed over the castle. Her back was pressed against my chest, my arms around her. I had my face buried in her hair, inhaling her scent. Her breathing was deep and regular. I thought of all the Guild codes I had broken, and came to a decision. Tor, I didn't need the gelt. I could've retired any time.

I stroked her hair, my hand running over her shoulder down to the curve of her waist. She sighed and pressed closer to me.

"Thank you, Viktor," she whispered. "I'm ready now."

"Melisande."

"Yes, Viktor?"

"Melisande, do you want to die?"

"No, Viktor," she replied. I was almost shaking with

nervousness. I was about to further ruin my standing with the Guild. I didn't care.

"Will you come away with me?" I asked.

She turned to face me. I could see her examining my face in the dim light. She nodded.

"Yes, Viktor."

I kissed her forehead gently and held her closer.

While Melisande got some things together, I stood at

the door listening for any activity in the hallway. I had time to think of what I was doing. There I was, a professional killer reneging on a contract. Or was I? MacFie wanted Melisande out of the way so his Glenda would become Queen. Wasn't Melisande going to be out of the way? I was just rationalizing, I know, but I felt a little better. I could hear her in the other room, packing, and I smiled. Melisande would be happy on my homeworld. She wouldn't be a queen, but there was no shame in being married to an assassin. Even a retired one. I would make her happy. I could afford the best of everything, and I wasn't so much older than she. For an assassin, I was considered old (we generally don't live very long), but in everyday terms I was still in my prime.

Melisande came out of the bed chamber. I was glad to see she was a sensible girl. She had put on dark clothing, and carried only one small bag. Her hair fell in a thick braid. She curtsied, and I responded with a flourished bow from the waist.

I turned to open the door, and stopped dead in my tracks. Someone was in the hall.

"Tor," I swore quietly. I pressed my ear against the door. There were the muffled sounds of footsteps and voices. I could hear the metallic clank of weapons. I backed away from the door, taking Melisande with me.

"What is it?" she asked once we had reached her bed chamber.

"Guards," I replied in a whisper. "Outside the door."

I went to the window. We were too high, and there were no good holds. I might have been able to make it alone, but I would not leave Melisande.

"We're trapped," I said.

Melisande smiled slowly. She shook her head and walked to the far side of the room. She searched amongst the stones of the wall, and pressed one. A section of the wall swung out.

I was dumbfounded. Beyond the hidden door was the passage I had been in earlier. It had never occurred to me that there would be an entrance from that room. To tell the truth, I had entirely forgotten about the passage.

"This leads--"she started.

"I know," I said. And I thought I was the professional. "Let's go."

We entered the dark passage, pulling the door closed behind us. It may have been dark, but I knew my way. So did Melisande.

"I used to play here with my brothers," she said, "when I was a child."

The darkness hid my smile. We made our way down the stairs without mishap. It wasn't until we reached the door at the bottom that I remembered there was no catch on the inside. Or, at least, not one I knew of. I said as much to Melisande. She reached up to a torch-sconce, and pulled. The door opened without a sound.

"There might be someone in the Great Hall," she said. "Come. We'll go this way."

She led me behind the tapestry to another alcove. There was a window set high in an outside wall.

"I'll go first," she said. "Give me a leg up."

I did, taking her bag from her. She spoke softly from the other side.

"Hurry," she said. "It's safe."

I passed her satchel through the window and scrambled up the wall. We crouched against the outside wall of the castle, listening for the sentries. All was silent. She motioned for me to follow and set off around the side. I followed, carrying the bag.

At the front of the castle, she motioned for me to stop as she peered around the corner. After a moment she told me to follow, and disappeared around the edge. The guards were just turning the far corner as I came around the front. Melisande was already at the bridge.

I caught up with her and we silently crossed the bridge, staying close to the potted hedges along the edge.

When we reached the other side of the moat, she stopped. "Do you have a ship waiting?" she asked.

"At Port Donovan," I answered. She nodded.

"I know a short cut," she said. "Be careful. It's a narrow ridge running through the fens."

We left the causeway about ten meters beyond the bridge, and set out across the fens. I imagine it looked as if we were walking on water. The ridge was just below the surface. I was impressed by my little Melisande.

We walked quietly through the night. The moon had set, and dawn was still some hours away. I had time to think of what had transpired that night. I became more and more incredulous. It finally got to be too much. I broke the silence.

"Why did you do it?" I asked. She gave me a questioning look. "You could have cried out at any time. You would've been safely with your father by now instead of trekking through the muck with me."

"I think you have answered your own question, Viktor," she said.

"You would've been Queen this morning," I pointed out.

Melisande has a sweet laugh, but it sounded eerie in that setting. "Queen? Do you know what it means to be a queen? No, I suppose you don't, at that." She paused. "A Queen of Castle Keep has two things that prey on her mind. The first is 'What if I don't have a daughter?'. The second is 'Will my daughter live to become Queen after me?'" That stopped me in my tracks.

"I've been waiting for you," she said, "since my sixth birthday, Viktor. Since Glenda was born. I wondered 'Would it be a knife in the dark?' Or poison?' Twelve years of that. I would have welcomed it any time since my tenth birthday. It was getting to be more than I could stand.

"I want to live, Viktor. But not like that. And I wouldn't want a daughter of mine to live like that."

I drew her close. I hadn't realized what it must have been like to grow up like that. What kind of childhood is it when you look forward to death?

Just then I felt something cold and wet at the back of my thighs, under the kilt. I nearly jumped into the marsh. I whirled around, reaching for a weapon I didn't have, and stumbled backwards.

A Nessie stood there, mud dripping off its flanks, its eyes looking dolefully into mine. A long tongue snaked out across my face.

Melisande began giggling. Hysteria, I thought. I saw nothing funny. Without a weapon I felt helpless. I was a trained unarmed fighter, but still... Against a three ton monster? I took my stance; loose, and ready for anything.

Tor, if the beast didn't smile at me. It cocked its head to one side, bringing one of its wide-set eyes to bear, and looked me over. It then reared up on its hind legs, its forelegs poised in front.

Melisande apparently couldn't control herself. She let out a loud guffaw, then collapsed in a heap on the ridge, her arms wrapped around her stomach. Tears were running down her cheeks.

For a moment I thought she was hurt. It was then I realized what had tickled her. I turned back to the beast. The Nessie still stood there in a pose mimicking my fighting stance down to the smallest detail.

I started laughing. The Nessie smiled again. It was too much. I sat down in the muddy water next to Melisande.

The Nessie grunted and lowered its front. Melisande shushed it and began speaking in a low guttural voice. It sounded as if she had a bone stuck in her throat, but I guess the beast understood her. It stopped its grunting. I was too stunned to comment. She turned to me.

"Viktor," she said, wiping her eyes, "this is Malcolm." The beast's ears pricked up.

I looked from her to the Nessie. The beast licked my face again. Its tongue was rough like a cat's, only more so.

"I think he likes you," giggled Melisande.

"Maybe he's hungry," I offered.

"Oh, no," she said. "He'd never eat a Donovan. You don't have to worry about that."

"But I'm not a " I started. That's when I remembered the books on the subject. My kilt said I was a Donovan.

"Malcolm and I are old friends." She got up and began stroking the Nessie behind the small ears. She spoke to it in those gutturals again, then turned toward me.

"Now we don't have to walk," she said. I was afraid I knew what she meant.

We must have been an odd sight that morning, streaming through the marshes on the back of Malcolm. But we made

good time, arriving at the space port well before any alarm could sound at Melisande's disappearance.

We were in space a good hour before the time, Melisande said, she was to have been awakened and prepared for the ceremonies.

As we settled into the flight couches of the scoutship, I leaned over and kissed her.

"Happy Birthday," I said. She threw her arms around me and we entered hyperspace.

I married Melisande the day we landed on my homeworld. My mother cried. Melisande cried. I got some dust in my eyes. It took a lot of rubbing to get it out.

We honeymooned on Neverland. It was a glorious two weeks, nothing but relaxation and strolls through Wendy Park. And the usual honeymoon activities, of course.

Then one day at Port Never I spotted a colleague of mine. I hadn't heard anything from the Guild concerning the Castle Keep affair. I started over toward him. He saw me and, as I started to wave, he drew a laser and just missed burning my arm off.

I grabbed Melisande and got out of there. I guess MacFie and/or Donovan was not pleased. He, or they, must have put out a contract on me. With my own Guild, no less. That ended the honeymoon.

We abandoned our luggage, never even going back to the hotel. We just ran for my ship and lifted. I went straight up and out to throw off any pursuit, then turned to take Melisande to my mother's home. She'd be safe there, I thought. No one knows the home of an assassin.

I headed for Earth after that, not even changing my clothes. I'd wait there until things cooled off.

*

So that's why I'm here on Earth. What do you say? Was the story worth the price of the drinks?

Thank you. Yes, it was nice meeting you, too. What's that? Oh, she's still on my homeworld at my mother's.

Oh, I couldn't tell you that. No assassin worth the name would reveal his base of operations. Even the Guild doesn't know. Well, I must be off. Goodbye.

*

I left the table and started on my way through the crowd. I was very talkative that evening. Strange. I guess I was just lonely for Melisande. Talking about her helped.

The night air was cool. I stood in the doorway for a moment, letting the fresh air clear my head before I began my walk back to the hotel. I heard someone leave the bar as I started walking.

There was a sharp noise. I felt the pellet enter just below my left shoulder-blade. As the sidewalk rose to meet me, I whispered my love's name.

The world went away.

Part Two
Part Three
Part Four