Noble Assassin Screenplays Site Map

IV.

Assassin Royale

That is, I tried to fall asleep. I'm sure you all have

had the feeling you have forgotten something important. Something that kept you just at the edge of sleep. Did I lock up? Was the stove left on? Just some little nagging thought which kept you up and wondering. Something was niggling me to the point of distraction.

I have no illusions about my capabilities. I'm the best there is at what I do. No boast; just an honest appraisal of myself. But even the best, no matter how fortuitous the circumstances, should not be able to escape a bog-bound castle on a backwater planet, hop into an awaiting craft, and just zip away unmolested. It was too easy. It was down right insulting. No one gets away with letting me get away. I had half a mind to go back and do it again. I snapped on the cabin lights.

There was still no sign of pursuit. Was there a tracer on this lander? A search turned up nothing. Perhaps my detectors had been tampered with. There could be the entire fleet of Castle keep on my tail and I'd have no way of knowing it. But that would involve giving Donovon more credit than I was willing to give, even if he had had the time to have it done. Of course, there was no way of telling how long I was unconscious on the planet.

Logic told me I was (pardon the expression) Scot-free, but could I risk leading him to Melisande? I couldn't, but it was all academic anyway. I had nowhere else to go, my course was set and, if they knew my course, they could extrapolate my destination. In that case, it would be better if I just continued on as I was. Melisande would need me with her.

I settled down, facing the inevitable, and did my best to relax. There was nothing else to do, after all.

People in occupations like mine have a lot of free time on their hands. To keep from going insane, they develop hobbies of one sort or another. Some paint, collect items worthless or of great value, or what-have-you. I sing. At least that's what I call it. Some would disagree, I'm sure.

For the next few weeks I ate, slept, and sang an epic expounding my life, my wife, and the virtues of both. It was magnificent in its scope and sentiment, if not in its execution. I was quite proud of myself. I felt it truly expressed my feelings on the subjects most dear to me, especially my Melisande.

But all good things must come to an end. As the last strains of the last verse echoed throughout the ship, my homeworld came into view on the forward screens. I settled into my couch and adjusted the lander's controls to take me around to my mother's home. It would only be a matter of minutes until I saw my little princess.

I set the lander down in the plaza outside my mother's back door. It was midday, everyone should have been inside having lunch. I was sure they'd notice my landing.

I was not disappointed. Geoffrey, my mother's caretakercum-butler-cum-bodyguard poked his head out the doorway to see what all the ruckus was about. I stood still in the lander's hatchway waiting to be recognized. Geoff was no little marksman with a needlegun. I smiled. He threw the door open shouting, "Master Viktor!" Geoff was a little dim, but a good man. I stepped forward to meet him and the inevitable bearhug. It was good to be home.

Melisande stepped out of the house. Our eyes locked. I disengaged myself from Geoff and stood before my only reason for living. There were no words spoken, but the message was clear. The most beautiful woman in the universe was mine.

We embraced. It was not the world-crushing hug of Geoffrey, but it conveyed so much more. Her sobs rocked us both as we stood there. She whispered my name over and over again her face buried in my shoulder. Then Melisande looked up, her eyes filled with tears. She shifted her gaze past me, toward the lander, and became a statue in my arms.

"Daddy?" she whispered, blinking her eyes to clear them. She backed away from me, and I turned to look.

King Donovon stood in the doorway of the lander, hands on hips, watching us. There was a glint in his eyes which unsettled me more than his presence.

He walked slowly down the ramp toward us. Geoff began raising the needlegun, but stopped at a gesture from me. No matter what, I could not permit Melisande to see her father shot down. Donovon stopped before me, looked me up and down, then turned to Melisande.

"Daughter," he said almost tonelessly. He then went on in the Keepian dialect, with Melisande replying in kind. Something was going on. I could tell by the tone it had all the makings of an argument, but there was something not quite right. They both smiled too much. Finally, Donovon turned to me.

"My daughter has told me she loves you," he said. His face was stony, no emotion showing. "You have taken the daughter of a king, a child of eighteen, and made her your wife. Do you know the consequences of your actions, assassin?"

I have a vivid imagination. Two men mounted on Nessies, charging each other with lances in the early morning light. And that was one of the more pleasant things.

I nodded, "Yes, Sir."

"I do not think you do," he said. A slight pause. "Your Majesty." And Tor if he didn't kneel down in front of me.

I looked at Melisande. Laughter was attempting to bubble up from beneath her oh-so-serious expression. She gestured toward her father. I looked down. Donovon's shoulders heaved with suppressed mirth.

"I wish someone would tell me what the Tor is going on," I said.

That, apparently, did it. Both Melisande and her father lost control.

"You...didna...tell...him?" Donovon asked. Melisande shook her head. She was finally able to control herself long enough to squeal out a few words.

"I guess I forgot," she said. The two of them fell to

giggling helplessly. I was left standing alone with Geoff, neither of us understanding in the least what was going on.

My mother had been watching from the doorway. She came over to me, kissed my cheek, and very calmly explained it all to me.

"By marrying Melisande," she said, "on or about her eighteenth birthday, you became the new king of Castle Keep. I always knew my son was destined for great things."

I looked at Melisande and her father standing there catching their breaths. He nodded. She winked. I was too stunned to do anything but stand there. Fine. I should have known. But I had had other things on my mind, all right?

We sat around the table talking about it afterwards. Donovon had realized what had happened when he had seen Melisande's ring on my finger that day in the torture chamber. But knowing I would never have believed him if he suddenly started calling me son and such, he stowed away aboard my lander, waiting for me to take him to Melisande. He spent all those weeks in a supply closet, eating dried food and sleeping standing up. It could not have been very comfortable, but what else could he have done? He was right in thinking I wouldn't have believed him. All assassins are a bit paranoid. We have to be.

Melisande sat next to me putting away more food than I thought wise. My mother's table has always been known for its excellence, and from Melisande's slight tummy bulge I could see she agreed with the consensus. I kindly (rather diplomatically, I thought) mentioned the consequences of consuming too much.

"Oh," she said. From the look on her face I thought I had hurt her feelings. "Oh, Viktor. In all the confusion I forgot. I'm eating for two, now. You're going to be a "

Which was the last I heard.

*

The kings's ship, my ship now, met us at the spaceport. The trip back to Castle Keep would not take as long as my voyage out of there, and there were a lot of things I had to learn about being king. My father-in-law undertook to prepare me. There was much to be done: a formal wedding at the castle, meeting all the Lairds (I couldn't wait to see MacFie), my adopting the name Donovon, and so forth. I was going to send in my resignation to the Guild, but Donovon stopped me.

"Laddie," he said, "there would be something formidable about an assassin king. Perhaps it would be for the best if you stayed as you are."

I saw his point. There was still MacFie to contend with, although I didn't relish the thought of eliminating his Glenda. I would try to find another way. In the meantime, the Donovon line was safe. No assassinations could take place under my nose.

"Son," he continued, "I like you. You're strong, intelligent, Melisande loves you, and you, her. But there is one wee favor I'd ask."

His favors were the least of my worries. I said to go on. After all, the poor man spent an eternity cooped up in a closet for my and Melisande's sake.

"Please don't sing anymore," was what he asked.

And I haven't. Not even in the shower.

---

The End