Plausible Deniability part II
It had taken her quite a while to walk to the Anbar District. All around her the seedy shades of life happened. She was no longer invisible to men. Their eyes were upon her like thieves. If anyone dared too close she would lift her head, the mark was now her protector. It was not fear that electrified her, but the thrill of being home. Her blood teemed with it. Her limbs pulsed with it. Ahead she could see the alley of her destination. The street lamp on the corner flickered. The great gates before her were flanked by men in black.
She approached with caution and handed them the seal. They bid her entrance and afforded her respectful nods. Once inside the compound a cavalcade of killers followed her in escort.
At the stairs she stopped in her tracks and turned to the Brother behind her, " I was followed by a man in a brown tunic. He is still at the flickering lamp. Dispatch him."
The young killer, in fact the same who had been paid at the office of the magistrate on her first day in Ar, nodded. " Yes Sister Oman so shall it be done. I shall do murder for you, " he put one fist in the other hands palm and bowed slightly. She handed him one copper as was custom.
Before her lay the doors to the office chambers of the First. It had been long since she had seen their carved ebony glory. Beyond it she knew her task awaited her. A voice commanded, "Enter," she did so with reverence. He was First, and she his myrmidon. He stood for her behind his desk. She kept a regal pose though the shock and surprise of this act made her mouth dry. To his left, was a man dressed in the usual fluff afforded the high of caste. The purple brocade tunic he wore sparkled gold, matching the glinting of many trinkets on his fingers and wrists. He was balding, and rotundas. She bent at the waist not deterring her gaze and spoke low, " I was summoned to the First and to the First I have come in service." The ceremony had ended.
The First took his seat, and the man near the fire and gave her a perfunctory smile. " Sir, you cannot tell me that this is your sure shot," he had said incredulously, " a woman, seriously, " he scoffed at her, laughed even. Anger welled up from long forgotten depths. Who was this fat peacock to question her? She is Oman Fucking Khan. Her skill-set aside, she was a killer for hire who could basically do as she pleased, especially in this office.
" I assure you, " the First said with quiet conviction, " She of the Sea is as gifted as she is relentless. "
Oman turned to face the man full on. Held tall by pride of station she stared at him, the ghost in her loosed. The man she now thought of as 'Peacock' ruffled some and stared to her with skepticism. She wanted to walk out but the First caught her by the eyes. The Peacock watched the unspoken and frightening conversation that happened between the two killers. He who was First stood up and leaned on the desk, his eyes held Oman with forcible regard. She turned up her chin, and folded her arms before her. A moment of tension filled the room when he brought a fist down with gritted teeth. Her apparent denial acerbating the situation.
It had taken her quite a while to walk to the Anbar District. All around her the seedy shades of life happened. She was no longer invisible to men. Their eyes were upon her like thieves. If anyone dared too close she would lift her head, the mark was now her protector. It was not fear that electrified her, but the thrill of being home. Her blood teemed with it. Her limbs pulsed with it. Ahead she could see the alley of her destination. The street lamp on the corner flickered. The great gates before her were flanked by men in black.
She approached with caution and handed them the seal. They bid her entrance and afforded her respectful nods. Once inside the compound a cavalcade of killers followed her in escort.
At the stairs she stopped in her tracks and turned to the Brother behind her, " I was followed by a man in a brown tunic. He is still at the flickering lamp. Dispatch him."
The young killer, in fact the same who had been paid at the office of the magistrate on her first day in Ar, nodded. " Yes Sister Oman so shall it be done. I shall do murder for you, " he put one fist in the other hands palm and bowed slightly. She handed him one copper as was custom.
Before her lay the doors to the office chambers of the First. It had been long since she had seen their carved ebony glory. Beyond it she knew her task awaited her. A voice commanded, "Enter," she did so with reverence. He was First, and she his myrmidon. He stood for her behind his desk. She kept a regal pose though the shock and surprise of this act made her mouth dry. To his left, was a man dressed in the usual fluff afforded the high of caste. The purple brocade tunic he wore sparkled gold, matching the glinting of many trinkets on his fingers and wrists. He was balding, and rotundas. She bent at the waist not deterring her gaze and spoke low, " I was summoned to the First and to the First I have come in service." The ceremony had ended.
The First took his seat, and the man near the fire and gave her a perfunctory smile. " Sir, you cannot tell me that this is your sure shot," he had said incredulously, " a woman, seriously, " he scoffed at her, laughed even. Anger welled up from long forgotten depths. Who was this fat peacock to question her? She is Oman Fucking Khan. Her skill-set aside, she was a killer for hire who could basically do as she pleased, especially in this office.
" I assure you, " the First said with quiet conviction, " She of the Sea is as gifted as she is relentless. "
Oman turned to face the man full on. Held tall by pride of station she stared at him, the ghost in her loosed. The man she now thought of as 'Peacock' ruffled some and stared to her with skepticism. She wanted to walk out but the First caught her by the eyes. The Peacock watched the unspoken and frightening conversation that happened between the two killers. He who was First stood up and leaned on the desk, his eyes held Oman with forcible regard. She turned up her chin, and folded her arms before her. A moment of tension filled the room when he brought a fist down with gritted teeth. Her apparent denial acerbating the situation.
The First spoke, " Sister it is my Wish that you, and only you, secure this contract, " he was not going to yield. She relented, her fealty winning this argument. The First had told her without words, take this or else.
The Peacock spoke now with a more agreeable and somewhat fear-filled tone, " I am sorry I questioned you with, ehh, errhmm, it was not my intention. I apologize for my disregard of your station." The First nodded to Oman, an unspoken cognizance between them.
" What is your fee, Woman of Black? " the man had queried with a jovial pat of his own round belly. This attempt at cordiality masked by sciolism on matters on murder for hire.
" What is your task? " she had returned the volley, albeit bitter-sweetly.
" It is my wish, " the peacock spoke with the pretension of his ilk and dramatic gesticulations, " that you kill the Magistrate of the People. " The peacocks forehead glistened with sweat. It was no wonder the First had been so adamant. A Magistrate would bring half an Ubar's price. The coffers would fill for both the Caste and the Killer. This news stole all the spite she was brewing, and like so much dust in the wind, it blew it away. She welled with pride. He Chose her.
She looked to her Leader and nodded. Moving towards the bar leaving the men to the discussion of compensation. She poured a modest glass of wine. The First wrote a number on a piece of fine linen paper, folded it and handed it to the man. The man bit his lip and turned a sure shade of grey. The sum must be very large. Her countenance exchanged itself for exhilaration. She finished her wine in one gulp. Oman returned to the desk of the First when the discussions of compensation had finished. He took a salt-pressed tablet from his top drawer, it was embossed with a dagger and half dipped in red ink. He handed this seal to Oman, who held it out for the affluent Free Man, now forever thought of as the Peacock. He held onto the inked half. She broke the tablet with him. The contract now sealed. "I shall do murder for you, man of Ar."
The Peacock spoke now with a more agreeable and somewhat fear-filled tone, " I am sorry I questioned you with, ehh, errhmm, it was not my intention. I apologize for my disregard of your station." The First nodded to Oman, an unspoken cognizance between them.
" What is your fee, Woman of Black? " the man had queried with a jovial pat of his own round belly. This attempt at cordiality masked by sciolism on matters on murder for hire.
" What is your task? " she had returned the volley, albeit bitter-sweetly.
" It is my wish, " the peacock spoke with the pretension of his ilk and dramatic gesticulations, " that you kill the Magistrate of the People. " The peacocks forehead glistened with sweat. It was no wonder the First had been so adamant. A Magistrate would bring half an Ubar's price. The coffers would fill for both the Caste and the Killer. This news stole all the spite she was brewing, and like so much dust in the wind, it blew it away. She welled with pride. He Chose her.
She looked to her Leader and nodded. Moving towards the bar leaving the men to the discussion of compensation. She poured a modest glass of wine. The First wrote a number on a piece of fine linen paper, folded it and handed it to the man. The man bit his lip and turned a sure shade of grey. The sum must be very large. Her countenance exchanged itself for exhilaration. She finished her wine in one gulp. Oman returned to the desk of the First when the discussions of compensation had finished. He took a salt-pressed tablet from his top drawer, it was embossed with a dagger and half dipped in red ink. He handed this seal to Oman, who held it out for the affluent Free Man, now forever thought of as the Peacock. He held onto the inked half. She broke the tablet with him. The contract now sealed. "I shall do murder for you, man of Ar."
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