Smoke still brings back the memories I prefer to leave long forgotten.

It is as
unavoidable as the smell of freshly turned soil or the sweat of a horse. Smoke is the
worst of them though and at times it is almost as though the smell of it never left
after that long night. The night that was burned into undying memory is easily and
often recalled. It matters not whether I wish to recall those events.

The sight of turned soil dominates my vision with an inordinate clarity. Buried
shallowly beneath it is my father. My mother is in the shallow grave next to his. The
wind shifts again and the smoke drifts my way, bringing even more tears to my
eyes. It is a dark, heady smoke that wafts up from the blackened mass of debris
that we had once called a home.

To this day I am unaware as to why they did what they did, the men who came in
the middle of the night upon their lathered horses. For the life of me, I cannot
remember the words they exchanged with my father as my mother watched from
the doorway and I further behind her. They spoke, my father yelled, they yelled, and
my father screamed. The argument ended in that definitive way that all arguments
can easily be settled, with a crimson spray and a bloodied blade.

Even though the words my father spoke, yelled, and screamed cannot find their way
back to my memory, I can remember the grunt as he fell to the ground. I can
remember the ragged gasps for breath as he clutched at his throat and tried
desperately to staunch the flow of blood. I watched with wide-eyed shock as he
slowly bled out on the ground, the men on the horses laughing and joking as they
too watched him slowly bleed out on the ground. There was a scream that I barely
heard and I knew that it was my mother. I glanced at her and could see the terror
and uncertainty in her face, though I would not know of either until years after.
Should she go to her beloved husband, to be with him in the last moments, or
should she go to me, her only son.

Perhaps it was good luck disguised as ill that guided the arrow to her heart and
removed the need for her to answer. She looked at me with her pale blue eyes, both
welled with tears, and tried to speak. But as the blood bubbled up from her mouth
and her eyes seemed to dim, I knew that she would not say what she wanted to say.

I wanted to go to her and I wanted to go past her to my father. I wanted to be with

them in their last moments of life, even though I knew that my mother was already
gone. Instead of either I just stood there, out of sight. Fear had crept into my young
heart and turned me into a coward. I could feel the anger growing within me as I
watched the men jest more at the sight of my mother's sprawled corpse, but just as
the fear had overcome me, so had sadness. All the anger I could ever feel was no
match for those two.

The men did not enter the house and for that I was glad, am glad, for they would
have easily found me and I would have easily died. Perhaps it was their sole
intention all along to dispatch my mother and father or perhaps not. Perhaps their
intentions were not nearly as deadly, though they seemed to revel in their deeds.
After all, they came well equipped to burn our fields and, to my horror, my own
home. The house was the last thing they burned and as the smoke and heat built
around me, I still could not find the strength to move.

The sword that took my father's life began the etching of my memory, the arrow
that pierced my mother's heart continued it, and the smoke that poured in from the
roof and walls, colored it in. Try as I might, the events between then and when I
stood staring down at the fresh graves of my parents will not come to me. It is the
one black spot in my memory, the part of the etching singed to nothing.

Smoke brings back the memories and the old man knows this, but he claims that
the mild winter of the city aches in his bones. Only a good fire, he says often, can
whisk the pain away.

***

"What's your name boy?"

To say that the question startled me would be an understatement. My thoughts and

attention were lost to the graves before me and I had no more to spare for anyone
or anything else. Hindsight tells me that I should have spared some of my attention,
but I was young and nothing else mattered but the then and there. What if the men
came back, what if something came around looking for the dead flesh it could so
clearly smell? But as I said, nothing else mattered to me, not at that age, not with
what I had just experienced.

"What's your name boy?" The man asked again, but by then I was already startled
and sparing that attention. He did not have to ask a third time.

I looked up at the man, dressed neck down in swarthy clothes with a concerned look
on his face. He had deduced what was before me, how could he not? "Does it
matter?" I asked, unsure of what else to say, unsure of what my name even was.

"No, I guess not," he replied, "but, little graveling, I think a name would serve to
honor the two in the ground before you."

"Graveling," I said, testing the word. "That works." The man did not look pleased
when I answered him, but it was not my intention to please him. "What is your
name?" I asked before he could say anything else.

He smiled. "Does it matter?"

"No," I replied, "I guess not."

The silence that followed was not as welcome as it should have been. I wanted to be
left alone with my parents, to spend all the time at the graves that I should have
spent as they were dying on the ground. Somehow though, I already knew that it
wouldn't be possible.
"Your parents then?"

I sighed and nodded, but did not answer further than that.

The man didn't say anything for a few moments and when he finally did it was
another question. "Any other family?"

"No." The answer was almost immediate. I had an aunt and uncle somewhere, but I
did not know where and for all I knew, they were already dead. "No," I said again,
"no family."

"Well, Graveling, I can't leave you out here with the wolves and the monsters. Want
to come with me?"

My thoughts were not clear, not with the night before looming in my memories, and
I was tired, but I still felt a tinge of wariness at the offer. My family lived far from the
cities where terrible things were more prevalent, but they had warned me of such
things. Suddenly I found that I didn't care though. "I've nowhere else to go."

"Is that a yes?" the man asked.

"Yes," I answered as my vision grew dim and sleep overtook me. The last thing I
remember was the soft thump as I fell to the ground.

***

The man was a thief and he decided that I would take up the trade as well. My mind
was young and impressionable and having lived out in the middle of nowhere, what
did I know of stealing? I took to the knowledge he shared with me eagerly, but it
was some time before he trusted me enough to allow me to put it to use.

Meanwhile we lived and we moved, we moved a lot. It seemed that Gray, which I
had taken to calling him for the gray that peppered his black hair much to his
chagrin, was not the best at his profession. Eventually he would be caught at
something and we would be forced to run, but at the time I found it exciting. It was
a temporary interruption of my learning, but the sights as they rolled by and the
new cities we entered was more than enough to make up for all that I didn't learn.

Years passed in such a way. We moved from one city to the next, Gray stealing until
he got into trouble and, eventually, the both of us stealing until one or the both of
us got into trouble. I count them as the happiest years of my, thus far, short life, but
perhaps that is because I can barely remember what happened before my parents
were killed.

***

The thievery was fun and it was profitable, but there was no denying that it was not
the easiest work. The difficulty did not come from our marks or from the stealing
itself, out problems came from the competition.
I started out low, as all thieves must, placed on the streets with all the other little
urchins that the guild filtered onto the streets. The competition knew which marks
to hit better than I did. After all, no matter the city, the streets had long belonged to
them. I was an intruder, a know-nothing amateur not worth the rank air I breathed.
That was all I was to them, I was hardly even competition. The guild-rat urchins
worked in teams and occasionally worked with each other despite the rivalry
between the guilds. Neither would work with me though and I can't say that I blame
them.

As a thief, even such a low one, I was a failure. I couldn’t' pick a pocket no matter
how much or how often I tried, It was an impossible task for me and one that often
left me in the hands of the person whom I had attempted to steal from. An
undesired predicament and one that led me to discover that I was particularly good
at escaping. Be it by lock, key, or grasped hand, I found a way and made a break for
it and then it would be time to run again, to find a new city, a new home with new
marks and another useless attempt at trying my hand on the streets.

"I am sorely tired of moving," he would say, his eyes narrowed at me the entire
time. There would be books and papers framing that face, days, weeks, or months
of planning all put to waste because of the latest trouble.

"As am I," I would counter again and again. The blame could not be placed on me. A
lot of it, perhaps more than that, fell direction on Gray's shoulders. He was as good
a burglar as I was a pick pocket and yet he assigned me to the streets while he
broke into houses. Thieving was supposed to be fun, it was supposed to be
profitable, I always knew that it would not be easy. Thievery did not fall in with fun
or profit, not in my experience, not while I was on the streets and Gray in the
houses at least. Instead it was a frustrating vocation dominated by the dim-minded
homeless thugs that the guilds pulled off the streets.

At some point Gray gave in to my incessant demands to start working the houses.
Perhaps it was because he finally determined that pick-pocketing just wasn't for me
or perhaps it was because he was getting old, older than when I had given him his
name. The black hair had lost its war with the gray and was subjugated to tiny
patches here and there. He couldn't move as well as he once had either.

'Feels like my fingers are growing stiffer every day,' he said when he sat me down to
tell me the news. 'My knees ache, my bones creak, and by the time midnight rolls
around my eyelids are heavy with sleep,' he went on. I thought, hoped, I knew what
he was getting at and I held on to every word with excitement. 'You've worked the
streets long enough,' he paused as if deep in though and smiled, 'perhaps too long.
I am getting a bit too old to keep at the houses, all that climbing and sneaking
about is just not for me anymore.' Gray's words broke off suddenly and the smile left
his face briefly. The man who I had come to think of as a second father looked at me
then, his eyes narrowed though not in anger. 'Perhaps it was never for me,' he said
at last, 'just as the streets were never for you.'
'I can't be leaving it off just yet, got some things to teach you yet, but it is about
time for you to move up,' Gray didn't quite look at me as he said it, his eyes settled
above my shoulder and at the wall behind me. 'Before we begin you have to listen
to me, you understand?' I was never even given the chance to answer, though it
was obvious what I would answer. 'The houses ain't the streets, you ain't going to be
competing with rats. Your competition will be trained and backed by the city guilds,
you ain't either. You understand?'

This time he did give me the chance to answer and my answer was just the same as
the first, 'Yes.' He nodded when I said it, he had expected the answer.

'Good, because this is important. You ain't backed by the guilds and you won't be,
the guilds want the clever sort of mindless they can control and guide. We ain't that,
you and me,' Gray grinned, though I wasn't sure why. I still don't know why. Maybe
he realized, just as I realize now, that we weren't exactly clever. The guild wanted
people mindless but clever, but most importantly they wanted people good at what
they did. That was not us. 'Luckily we don't have to be part of a guild to work in the
city, but it means we ain't gonna have anyone to back us if we get into a spot. You
already know that though, we haven't been running from city to city so much for
nothing.'

Gray grunted as he finished, likely thinking about all the ruined plans over the
years, and sat back in his chair heavily. 'We'll start tomorrow,' he said quietly. 'Until
then,' he continued louder than before, 'to the streets with you, see if you can get
something.'

I didn't respond with anything save a nod as I walked out the door to spend my last
night bumping into people and competing with the guild rats.

***

The skinny house stood apart from the rest of the buildings on the street and in the
quarter. The quarter was the merchant quarter and lacked the dizzying maze of
alleys that the poor quarter sported, houses shared walls with other and often
shared space with shops. A small gully, no wider than a hand spans, was the closest
thing to an alley that could be found in the quarter. Yet despite all that, the skinny
house stood apart from the rest of the buildings like an unwanted outcast. To either
side of the building was an alley, a real alley, several feet wide and free of debris.
There was no gulley behind the house, instead several feet of cobblestones
extended between the back wall of the skinny house and the back wall of building
that stood behind it.

It was because of the unique separation of the skinny house and the rest of the
quarter that allowed windows all around the house, back, front, and sides. The
moon was just a sliver in the sky as the rearmost window's latch flipped up and out
of its catch with a click. A cloud crossed over it as the windows pushed in with a
quiet creak and I climbed into the skinny house with the help of a small hand
lantern. A flicker was all that anyone would see from the outside of the house, a
play on the windows from their own lanterns or the brief reflection of the moon as
another cloud passed.

The room I entered into was small, its shelves lined with shelves filled with books
and scrolls. The floor was covered in stacks of them as well, all haphazardly strewn
about. Gray told me that the owner of the skinny house was a collector of the
things, but I did not think the collection would be so large. Books were expensive,
not to mention rare, and to see such a collection anywhere except the homes of the
wealthy held only a small chance. The owner of the skinny house claimed
possession of a treasure trove in the small room at the rear of his house with the
window so easy to open and the owner of the skinny house had not a thing to worry
about. Books were rare and expensive, but they are heavy and easy to trace. No
thief, not even the truly stupid, would attempt such a thing.

A creak, quiet yet sounding like the world being torn asunder, rang out as I opened
the door. I opened the shudder on my lamp briefly and scanned across the room to
get a general layout before closing it once more and allowing the tiny beam of light
to act as my only light source. There was nothing on the bottom floor for me to take,
a lot of heavy junk. Gray assured me that everything valuable was on the second
floor. He didn't tell me where he had gotten the information, just called the person
who relayed it a 'friend'. Somewhere deep inside of me there was a small voice that
demanded the truth of it, to be sure that I was not walking into a waste of time, but
that tiny voice of reason was drowned out by the constant droning of several louder
voices. Greed the chiefmost amongst them.

I was told before, by Gray, and after, by several others, that the skinny house was
one of the oldest in the city. This fact was one that I could easily believe. It seemed
as though the entire house creaked with every step I took and I could not be more
thankful that the owner of the house was not home because he would have surely
heard me long before he ever saw me. By the time I made it upstairs I was sure that
the whole of the city would be bearing down on me at any minute having heard all
of the racket I was making. A silly notion, the creaks and groans of the house as I
moved within it was, of course, louder to my nervous ears.

First right, I thought to myself as I made the top of the stairs. I took the right and
walked down the whitewashed hall. Gaudy paintings were spaced evenly on both
walls, each and every one in some different style. Then the first door on the left, I
reminded myself as I turned to the right and faced the plane door before me. Gray
didn't tell me what I would find behind the door, just that it would be a very good
and that I would know it when I saw it. This set that small voice within me to
screaming again. The voice wanted the truth, but I already knew what it was. Gray
could not tell me what was behind the door, in the room, because the person who
had given him his information did not tell him. I swallowed my doubts that day and
allowed my greed to drown out the voice of reason once again.
The door did not open with a creak, so far it had been the only part of the house
that didn't. I was surprised to say the least. That surprise pales in comparison to the
surprise that awaited me as I swung the lamps narrow beam into the room and saw
the glint of the riches that I had been asked to collect. Gold and silver, both jewelry
and coinage, all bagged and in the open. My mind screamed trap, but I didn't listen,
the voice of greed silenced it. If I had thought the books a waste of time in stealing,
what lay in front of me should have stricken me as moreso, but I ignored that
niggling feeling. The bags of silver were shunned for the bags of gold, something
that I should have known better of at the time and something that even now I curse
myself over. But I left them be and took the heavy gold. Somehow I managed to get
out of the house without being caught, somehow I managed to struggle my way
through the streets without hearing the horrible call of a whistle, and in the end I
barged into our small apartment, breathless and covered in sweat, to show our
riches to Gray.

And he cursed at me and raged, though his barrage did not last. It was gold, yes,
which he could not help but be happy about, but we would be forced to leave the
city before first light. That amount of gold did not just turn up, especially not in the
hands of a pair who shared an apartment in the middle of the poor quarter, and
definitely not in the hands a pair that had no apparent work. All of his plans were
ruined, but it was not as bad as it could have been. He mocked anger, but I knew
that he was happy.

A few weeks later, and several cities away, I would learn that the skinny house was
owned by a noble. A Duke in particular, though I would not learn his name until
later, who did not trust lending houses and kept everything of value secreted away
in a rundown little house in the middle of the merchant quarter. He never found out
who did it that I know of, which means that I got lucky. The Duke was angry, but
stories about him, told after the incident, would paint him as being constantly angry
no matter the situation. They would also describe in detail his hatred and method
and dealing with thieves. I would learn this for myself several years later and my life
would change in ways I never expected.

***

The years had been kind to me, though not so kind to Gray. My skills grew over the
years, each house more practice. My time in the streets, those lousy years, had not
shown any improvement to my lack of skills, if anything I had gotten worse. I was
pleased at the positive outcome. Gray was not so fortunate.

Age had taken what little skill he had, his hands always pained him, as did many of
his joints. With every passing day I saw him grow more sullen and there was little I
could do to raise his spirits. They dropped with my every success, they dropped
even further with every move we were forced to make, they dropped and dropped
and that was all. He became quiet and bitter, but he pretended to be happy if only
to spare me. He was never much of an actor. Despite it all, he plotted and he
planned, making use of all the informants and contacts that he had gathered over
the years.

The cities were a circuit for us, we'd be forced to leave one and head for one that
had long forgotten our transgressions, whatever they were. We were successful, but
for all that we were unhappy. It is obvious why Gray was unhappy, but why was I?
Quite simply, I was bored of it all. There are only so many houses you can break
into, each one almost the same and so simple, before things lose their fun and
become tedium. That is what happened to me and that is why I was so unhappy.

Some change of scenery would have done me no good, I needed a challenge. I was
only allowed to steal from merchant houses, I could not rise above their class. And I
wanted to, I wanted to so badly. It didn't matter who, a wealthy merchant, a noble, a
city official, anyone! Every time I brought it up Gray would excuse the idea. 'Too
dangerous,' he would say before ignoring any argument I could produce.

Perhaps it was because of this that I decided to go against him and his wishes. We
had returned to the city of the skinny house, which had been torn down and
replaced by a simple shop, and I had made up my mind. I would have my challenge.
The house, if it could be called that, was one that I had selected at random. It was
large enough to fit the hotel that Gray and I were staying at twice over and could
probably hold a bit more than that as well, but I feel my point is well made.

***

The owner was not home, at least that was what my contacts had told me. I trusted
their information and was a fool for doing so. The house was easy enough to break
into, not much different than a few of the more paranoid merchants. Things went
downhill from there.

I entered through the window and found myself in a small room. The walls were
lined with shelves, which were filled with books. There were even stacks on the
floor, scattered haphazardly about. It was then that the uneasy feeling began, a
small discomfort at the center of my gut. I had seen something similar before, but
my memory refused to be jogged, not when I had to work to focus on.

The door made not a sound as I opened it to reveal a darkened hall beyond. The
house was silent, not even the barest hint of sound and there appeared to be no
lights lit within eyesight either. With another quick glance around I crept into the
hall and began to look around. I didn't try for the closed doors, there was no telling
what could be behind them. Could be riches, could be a sleeping servant or even
the owner of the house, though I was repeatedly told that he would not be home
and I there was nothing to worry about.

For such a large house there was so little about. Sure there was expensive items,
but I could hardly carry off a vase the size of a man and I refused to believe
someone would pay for the hideous paintings that hung on the walls. Perhaps it
would have served to pay more attention, but my mind had wandered at the size of
the place. I had forgotten myself and I had forgotten about being quiet. I made a
mistake.

My mistake was punctuated by a growl, not from an animal, but from a man. It
came from behind me and I was more than a little surprised by it. I wasn't given the
chance to turn around before the man started to speak.

'Another thief,' the man said, I could tell it was through gritted teeth. 'I wonder,' he
began, 'I wonder if it could be the same one that stole from me before those years
ago.' The sound of a hard sole clicked on the stone floor and briefly I wondered how
I had not heard them before. 'Oh, but it takes some balls to break into a noble's
house, don't you think? I can't begin to think of the size of the pair the man who
breaks into two of my houses has.'

As the boots clicked towards me I found myself struck silent and unable to move. I
had never been caught before and I was unsure of exactly that I was supposed to
do. I knew that I had to get away, that much was certain. The how was another
matter.

'You see, I think you are the one that stole from me back then. I do not know why I
think that, I just do. Maybe you are not, maybe you are, what are the chances?
Either way, I never got the last one, so you can stand in for that bastard as well.'
The man, who I realized to be the Duke, laughed softly. Meanwhile, as he walked
towards me ever so slowly, no doubt armed, a plan came to me. As I pondered that
plan afterwards I finally came to the decision that it was a stupid, stupid plan.

'I am,' I said.

The Duke stopped. 'You are what?' the question came out as a snarl.

"I'm the one who broke into your skinny house,' I answered. I'll never know why, but
I turned then to look at the Duke, a smirk on my lips. The Duke was an older man,
not so old as Gray I would guess, but in his middle years. I try and try, but I can't
remember what the man really looked like. I can recall a short beard and trimmed
mustache and a pair of narrowed eyes that promised death and exuded hatred, but
that is all. My smirk faded as I continued, 'And here I am now, back for more.
Obviously the skinny house is gone, so I had to come to the source.'

'You little bastard,' he screamed and continued towards me. His hand moved
towards his waist and the hilt of a knife I saw jutting from his belt. 'I'll kill you, but
first I think I'll remove that pair you have, thief!'

The Duke was not the only one armed, though I had hoped to never have to use the
knife I kept tucked up my sleeve. I wasn't skilled with it and I hadn’t even bothered
practicing with it for years, but I kept it with me anyway.
'Get your hands in the air, thief,' the Duke demanded, his knife extended in my
direction. 'Get them up in the air or I will make it hurt worse than I intend to.'

I complied with his demands, but not before I slipped the knife out of its sheath and
into my palm. I wasn't sure if I could kill anyone, even someone trying to kill me, but
it gave me some small amount of comfort.

'You know, usually most would call the constabulary for this sort of thing. You'd lose
your hand for sure, but it gets worse. I'm not some minor merchant, I could make
sure you get slipped into the cell with some large guy who hasn't seen a woman in
years, let alone touched one.' He grinned. 'Now wouldn't that be pleasant? Oh, but
more likely you'd just be strung up by your neck and strangled until your death.'
The grin disappeared and he spat on the floor. 'Too good for you!'

He moved closer and closer, each hard-soled step clicking on the floor. His eyes
glared at me still, but his mouth remained closed. Click. Another step. Click.
Another. He waved his knife at me, perhaps in an attempt to look menacing and I
have to admit that it worked. I was terrified and shaking. The handle of the knife I
had palmed was hot and slick with sweat, but I held on to it. Click. Click. Click. Three
steps, only a few more to go. My mind raced and I knew that my initial plan was
foolish and stupid. I was going to die and I knew it. I looked this way and that - click
- and saw nothing. There was no way to go, nothing to do. I panicked and chose the
one way I had open to me: forward.

I screamed as I brought my arm down, knife forward, and I think he screamed as

well, but I can't be sure. I can't be sure of anything. I remember a moment of
resistance before the flesh gave and the warmth of his blood spilled onto my hands
and arms. I can remember removing the knife and stabbing it back in. Over and
over I did it. There was a clatter as his knife fell to the ground and a clatter as mine
did the same. I backed up away from him, my eyes darting dizzily back and forth.
The look on his face was one of confusion as he fell backwards and onto the floor.
His stomach was a ruined mess, his throat was much the same. Blood bubbled out
of his mouth as he looked up from the floor towards me, but the Duke said nothing.
The Duke was dead.

***

The Duke eschewed servants, his paranoia was too great for him to trust anyone
free range of his home. Once a day he would allow a small group in and they would
proceed to do their duties under his direct supervision. I was not aware of this, yet
another failing on my part to gather the proper information, and fled the house with
all haste, only stopping to pick up my dropped knife. Any thoughts of stealing were
cleared from my mind as I ran from the manse, my hands empty and sticky from the
blood.

My mind reeled and by the time I dropped from the window I was dizzy and
stumbling. I felt as though I would vomit or pass out, perhaps both. There was an
odd feeling beyond that though, a feeling that I was hard pressed to define or
realize at the time. I recognize it now and I would recognize it not so long after that
night as well. It was a source of confusion then though, I felt sick and guilty, but
beneath all of that was happiness and a sense of excitement. It is a feeling I still
get, which I suspect keeps me going.

The grass of the lawn that surrounded the manse was dew-slicked and I fought
valiantly to keep my footing as I crossed it. The moon was bright, I was dizzy, and it
felt as though I was crawling across that open lawn. I would be caught, I knew it for
sure, but I trudged on anyway. All I had to do was get to the merchant quarter, it
was not far, then I could slip into one of the gullies.

It was likely the dizziness, but I was in the merchant quarter and tucked into one of
the wider gullies before I knew it. Even then I could not remember what happened
between the time I began stumbling across the lawn and when I came to. My head
was still reeling, but a few of the facts from the evening had begun to sink in. The
cough startled me.

The realization that I was not alone should have struck me earlier, but it hadn't. Fear
latched my heart in its icy grip even as I jumped away from the sound in surprise. I
knew I would be caught, I had moved too slow across the lawn and I couldn't even
remember how I had gotten to the gully in the first place. Anything could have
happened.

My legs began working before my mind did. There was no room to turn around, so I
started to back away down the gully as fast as I could. The cough had come from
further down the gully, a darkened area sheltered from the moon. I couldn't see the
man, somehow that made everything worse. Despite my efforts, subpar though
they were, I did not get far. The man, dressed in black, rushed forward out of the
darkness and into the moonlight, coming towards me faster than I could back away.
I slipped, but he caught me by the wrist and pulled me forward before I could fall
into the murky water that settled in the center of the gully. I went for the knife,
returned to my sleeve, but it was gone. He let go.

A silvery flash, the light of the moon reflecting off the blade of my knife, greeted me
as the water seeped into the seat of my pants. 'Looking for this?' he asked as he
gave the knife a little twirl. The man presented an imposing figure. He was dressed
in all black from his neck down to his toes and wore a black tricorn hat atop his
head that hid his face in shadow. No other skin was visible except for his
indistinguishable face.

I tried to give him a hard look, the sort that promised pain for the frustration and
annoyance he had caused me, but the haze was in my head and I knew that it was
utterly ineffective. A crooked attempt at a sneer paired with a pair of squinted,
unfocused eyes was all that I managed. It did not have the desired effect. It did not
have one at all.
The man just stood there above me twirling my knife. He didn't move beyond that
and didn't make any attempt to speak. I could feel his eyes on me though, staring
like I was attempting to do. It had the desired effect. I was afraid.

My mouth moved, but no sounds escaped. Better for that, I think, since there were
no words I could think to say. I wanted to escape, dearly so, even though I already
knew that there would be none.

'So,' the man began, his tone quiet, 'you somehow managed to kill the Duke, eh?' If
I could see into the shadow that covered the man's face, I would have probably
seen him smile at the absurdity. 'The Duke,' he continued, 'is quite the opponent.
He's killed many in and out of the dueling circle. You must be very good at what you
do.'

He stopped talking and my knife came to a halt in his hand. I had nothing to say, my
mind still struggled to think of a single word to attempt to push soundlessly through
my lips.

'Or lucky,' said the man as he resumed twirling the knife. 'Though since you are
sitting in that disgusting water, I have come to doubt that. Who are you?'

'I-,' I began, though I was unable to get far. No other words would come to me. I
stuttered the word, the letter, a few more times before the man sighed.

'It doesn't matter who you are,' he growled, his quiet tone gone. 'What matters is
that you cut in on my job. I had planned his death down to the very minute detail
and you came along and undid all of it!' The knife had stopped its twirl and the man
held it, blade towards me. 'You are a fool,' he spat, 'a lucky fool.'

'I am a thief, not a killer,' I said at last.

'What's that then? Not a killer?' He laughed and I cringed at the harshness of it.
'Boy,' he said, 'you weren't a killer, but you are a killer now. A messy killer and a
pathetic thief. You killed him, there was no one else there, and yet you stole
nothing. You left!'

'I didn't know that there was no one else there,' I replied.

'Oh, but you should have. You are a thief aren't you? That is part of your job. You
should have known that no one else was there, moreover you should have known
that the Duke was there. Oh ho, but you did not even know that much did you?'
Another laugh, though a little quieter than the last. 'Pathetic.'

The knife started twirling again. 'You know, I don't give a damn that you killed the
Duke or that my plan was ruined. The man is dead and you aren't a part of the
guild. Job is done, the money is mine either way.'

The hand that wasn't holding my knife moved and I felt something hit my chest
hard. For a brief second I thought that the man had put a knife of his own into my
chest, but whatever hit me fell into my lap. I felt around for it, discovered that it was
a large pouch, and lifted it up before me. It was heavy and I was confused. 'What?'

'Your cut,' the man explained, 'you are the one who killed the Duke, you deserve a
small part of the reward. Even if it was unintentional.' The man paused and I
thought I heard him sigh. His had moved again and something else hit my chest.
Again I feared it was a knife plunging into my chest, though that notion did not last
long. 'You are a pathetic thief,' the man stated, 'had you bothered to actually steal
something, you would have come up with three times as much as what is in that
pouch. You'll have to settle though.'

'Thanks,' I said, unsure of what else I could possibly say.

'Don't thank me, boy,' replied the man. It was almost as if that laughter was riding
at the edge of his words. 'You have doubled my reward even with you cuts taken
out.' He looked down at me. 'Now get up and go, the dizziness should be over by
now.'

I pushed myself up out of the water and onto unsteady legs. A nod was the only
answer I gave to him, what else could I do or say? My mistake was not one that I
would have known then, but it was a lesson I would never forget. I had turned from
the assassin and started making my way towards the end of the gully when pain
blossomed in my shoulder.

"Oh, and one more thing," said the man, once again in his quiet tone, 'you are a
killer, no matter what you think, and a killer must know the taste of a blade.'

I tried my best to reach the knife, but at my best I could only graze the hilt of it.

'No, don't try to pull it out, leave it in,' the assassin commanded. 'It'll hurt worse,
you'll lose a lot of blood, and in the end you'll just do more damage. Get someone to
take it out for you.'

***

Gray was the only person I could trust, but he would want to know what happened. I
spent the majority of the miserable walk home trying to come up with something,
anything that sounded half believable. By the time I made it to the door of our tiny
apartment, burdened by my cut of the job and the knife stuck in my shoulder, I had
come up with nothing. There were no good excuses that I could tell the man, none
that he would believe. Of course I could lie, be he would know I was doing so. I knew
one thing though, I could not tell the truth.

***

'What happened to you?' asked Gray, his eyes wide and his mouth agape as I
opened the door and allowed my body to collapse into the room.
I didn't answer, I didn't want to answer, but I did allow a groan to escape my lips. It
was not an act of course, I was in enough pain that a few screams would not be out
of place. Gray cursed in response to it and I heard him rummage about the room for
a few seconds. Before long he was kneeling next to me and telling me over and over
to slow down my breathing and try to calm myself.

'Hold still,' he finally told me and I felt pressure on the knife. I tried to tell him not
to, to wait, but only gibberish came out of my mouth. 'Just hold still,' Gray
reiterated. He grunted, the pressure disappeared, pain blossomed once again, and
everything went black.

***

'So what happened?'

As it happens, there are a few things I want to hear when I wake up. That question is
one of them. Gray didn't even give me a minute to realize where I was or how I had
gotten there, though I already knew those answers. 'What happened?' I asked. I
wanted to buy a little time, but I also wanted to try and clear some of the fog from
my head.

'Yes,' Gray replied, though slowly this time, 'what happened? You came bursting into
the room with a knife, your knife, in your back and a few sacks of gold.'

The sound I made was somewhere between a sigh and a groan. I knew it was
coming, there was no stopping it. 'Robbery gone bad,' I answered without
hesitation. It was not exactly a lie, it could work.

'Very bad, I suppose,' said Gray, there was no smile on his face, no caring look. It
was a hard look, one that I had never before seen him use. 'What did I tell you?' He
never gave me a chance to answer. 'You have to plan, if you don't then bad things
like this happen. If you aren't going to plan, and plan properly, then you take the
targets I give you.'

'But, I—"

"No! I don't want to hear it. This is why I didn't want to take you off the streets. You
never did any good because you couldn't choose the right targets and if you did find
one then the others would already have him. You don't have the eye for it.' He
sighed. 'Or the skill,' he muttered.

I heard him say it even if he had not meant for me to. 'Now hold on there, Gray,' I
replied, trying to muster at least a little anger in my voice, 'you can't tell me I have
no skill. You especially, cannot tell me that I have no skill. Last I checked you were
slightly better than a corpse at robbing houses.' My breath was not coming to me
easily. 'Look around you, what do you see? A room, an apartment. It is small, but it
is larger than anything you managed to get us. We eat well, you and I, better than
we ever did. Our tools are maintained and our clothes are not threadbare rags
stolen off a poor quarter clothes line!' It was becoming harder to breath. 'You have
no room, no right, to say that I don't have any skill.'

'While you may have skill as a thief,' said Gray, once again speaking slowly, 'you
lack the skill and forethought that allows you to plan properly.'

'That may be so, but I actually did plan for the robbery,' I responded. 'In the end it
all boiled down to wrong information.'

'Something that you should have accounted for, but you would know this if you
knew how to plan these things.' He sighed again, a sound that I would grow more
and more accustomed to. 'Don't think it is a failing on your part and don't think it is
a failing on my part, I surely don't. People can't be the best at everything, that is
why most thieves work with guilds. There are many roles to be played and most
only ever master one.'

Neither of us spoke for a little while after that, which bought me my time although
at the cost of my pride. My only consolation is that I figured I had hurt his pride a
little as well. I had my silence though, a few minutes to think of just went wrong in
my imaginary theft gone wrong. In the end it was I who broke the silence to tell my
made up tale. I think, just that once, he was sufficiently out of sorts that he actually
believed me.

***

I was forced to stay in bed for a few days until I regained my strength, which was
fine enough for me. It was for the best anyway, better if I stayed off the streets for a
few days. Gray was never far away and remained insistent on leaving town, though
I assured him that there would be no trouble.

It took a little over a week for the news of the Duke's death to filter down into the
poor quarter, mostly because it took nearly as long for someone to notice that
something was out of the ordinary. I could see it in the way that Gray looked at me,
in his eyes and in his expressions. My lie was exposed.

He never brought it up though. Instead he packed up one night, all of our

belongings, and told me plainly that we would be leaving town. According to him
there was trouble brewing and it would be better if we were far away from the city
when things finally broke. I didn't argue with him, I knew what he was doing. Even if
he never brought up the murder, I knew that he had a good idea about what
happened that night. I doubt he could have guessed how I had gotten my knife
buried into my shoulder, but that didn't matter. He was trying to protect me and
because of that, I could not possibly fight him about leaving town once again.

The road seemed like an old friend, but things were awkward as we made our way
to the next city. Our travels had always been filled with talk and teaching, I can
think of very few times when such was not the case. That trip though, that trip was
quiet and awkward. The tension between Gray and I was thick and I could tell that
there were things he wanted to say to me and there were things that I wanted to
say to him. Instead we remained silent or we held short conversations. The days on
the road trudged miserably on.

***

'Are you going to bother to steal something today, boy, or are you just going to kill
again and leave everything in the house for the taking?'

My hands froze as I worked at the latch on the window. I knew that voice and its
quiet tone, I knew it better than I would ever possibly want to. I could almost feel
the pain in my shoulder flair up at the sound of it. My hands dropped from the latch
and returned my tools to their proper locations. I trembled as I turned.

'You are very easy to sneak up on, you know that?' asked the man. He was dressed
in the same outfit as before, though his voice seemed to have a merry edge to it
this time around. 'A thief, or killer, should not be so easy to sneak up on. Granted, I
am better than your average citizen or constable, but even so.'

For some reason, I did not find myself as afraid as I was the first time. It may have
been because of the situation I was in the first time or because I knew very well that
this man could kill me if he wanted to and there was nothing at all I could do about
it. 'Well, I am not a killer and I happen to be a pathetic thief,' I replied.

'True on the last part, not on the first,' said the man. 'You killed, brutally so, and that
makes you a killer whether you think so or not.'

'What are you doing here?' I asked, there was no point in arguing the point with the
man.

'Well,' began the man, 'as it happens, I have a job to do here.'

'What about the guild though?'

'The guild? The guild gave me the job, boy. What do you think this is, some two-bit
thieves’ guild?'

Actually, I did think it was like some two-bit thieves’ guild, but I wasn't going to tell
him that. I elected to keep silent instead, hoping that he would go on without an
answer. I was lucky enough that he did.

'Our guild does not stop at walls or borders. We aren't some simple operation based
in once city like the thieves’ guilds you are used to. Also, unlike those thieves’
guilds, we do not allow freelance work. Just to let you know that ahead of time.'

'That's well and good,' I replied, referring to the latter part, 'but I have no intention
of killing again.'

'Oh, really?' the man actually managed to sound surprised. 'I think you are fooling
yourself. Would you like to know why I think this?'
Something told me that I wouldn't be getting on with my business as soon as I
would like and I felt uncomfortable standing there in front of the window. Not that
anyone could see me tucked away in the gully, of course, but still. I leaned against
the wall and slid down to the stone under the window, well away from the dirty
water that pooled in the center of the gully. I did not need a repeat performance of
that night. 'Go ahead,' I said as I settled down.

'You see, I was there that night. Not just in the vicinity, but in the house and I saw
everything. You should have seen your face, it was truly a sight to see. There was
such anger there, but your smile grew with every stab. Then it was over. The smile
disappeared, the anger disappeared, and a look of horror crossed your face. Oh, but
it wasn't just horror, there was some confusion in that look.'

'What's your point?'

'You realized that you liked it. Oh, perhaps not there, but you surely had an inkling
then.' He leaned forward, but I still could not see his face. 'You are a killer and you
will kill again, there is no doubt about that, there can be no doubt about that. You
have done it once and you liked it, no matter how much you deny the fact.'

He was right, I did like it. I thought to deny it, but I would never be able to fool
myself into thinking otherwise. 'You still lack a point,' I replied, wondering just what
he was trying to get at by telling me what I already figured out for myself.

He straightened. 'As it happens, by some measure of coincidence, I have business

sleeping soundly inside.' A knife appeared in the assassin's hand as if from out of
nowhere, 'I am sure you understand my point.' The knife disappeared back to where
it came from and he shrugged. 'Odd that you would chose this house, isn't it?'

Was that a rhetorical question? Did he expect an answer? I kept silent just in case.

'Hmm,' began the man, 'I have an idea. How about you join me?'

'Uh,' was the most that I could come up with.

'What?' he asked. 'It is an easy go. We go in, kill them, and then you have all the
worry free time in the world to discover their valuables.'

My mind rebelled at the thought of it, part of it at least. There was some small part
that wanted to say yes, wanted it badly. They were going to die anyway, why not
make use of their deaths? At short while passed while I thought it over. 'All right,' I
finally answered, unsure of just how that small part had managed to win me over.

The man laughed quietly and briefly. 'Well then, killer, get back to your work so we
can get on with it.'

I nodded even as I was turning away, my hands going for the tools I had tucked
away.

***
'You go upstairs,' the assassin said when we were in the house, 'I'll deal with things
down here.'

'What is upstairs?' I asked.

'Your targets,' he answered.

'And what is down here?'

"My targets,' he said, 'the children.'

It bothered me, the fact that he was killing kids, the fact that I was helping him to
murder an entire family, but the excitement of what I was about to do had already
sunk in. I wanted to stop him, or some small part of me did, and tell him that I could
not do it. I didn't stop him though, I didn't do anything except make my way
upstairs, drawing my knife as I went.

***

The couple was in bed, asleep and on their separate sides. There for a brief moment
I thought to pray to the gods, to thank them, but it seemed oddly wrong to thank
them for making it easier for me to murder the pair. The man, I decided, would be
first and I crept towards him quietly or as quietly as I could manage in my
frightened and excited state. It would be safer, I explained to myself, to kill the man
first. The woman wouldn't put up much of a fight if something went wrong and she
woke.

It did not take long for me to cross the room and I stand next to the bed. The man
lay on his back, he was a thin one, not the sort that looked like he could put up a
fight, but there was no way to know. I hesitated as I stood over him watching him
sleep, but it was not so much out of fear or doubts, but because I could not decided
in which way to do the job. I could attempt to smother him, but I was not large and
not the sort of person that looked like he could put up a fight. Besides, the pillows
were all under their heads. My sigh was low and quiet, but to me it sounded horribly
loud.

Finally I decided and I slipped my blade down until it hovered above his throat.
Living in the poor quarter means that you see all sorts of bodies and how they were
killed. I saw people laying on the ground with their throats slit plenty of times, but I
never saw the acts. I left the blade of my knife where it was and moved my hand
directly over the man's mouth just in case.

'Do it.'

I jumped at the quiet tones of the assassin and my knife scratched along the man's
throat, not enough to cause much damage, but enough to wake the man. He moved
to say something or to scream, but I clamped my hand over his mouth and pushed
down. At the same time I returned my knife to where it was and this time cut deep
as I pulled my knife along.
There was no time to appreciate the murder or to keep the man quiet or still. The
woman rolled over towards the man and groaned. Her eyes opened, then went wide
as she saw us and the dead man. Her lips moved, but no sound came out, none that
I can remember. The assassin said something to me, but I did not hear it, I was
already moving. I passed over the dying man and pulled her back before she could
roll out of bed. There was no hesitation as I stabbed my knife into her chest. Once,
twice, and a third time. She went slack then and just twitched a bit as she slid from
the bed and onto the floor.

I could feel the warmth of their blood on my hands, my heart was beating fast, my
head was pounding with the flow of blood. I smiled, I did so without even wanting to
do so. I knew I should have been horrified by what I had done, but I wasn't. I could
feel the rush, that excitement of it all. I did not feel guilt though, not then and not
after, and still to this day, I do not.

'Oh, good job,' said the assassin with a small clap, 'I am glad to see my confidence
in you has paid off.'

'You weren't paid to kill them, were you?' I asked. I didn't wait for an answer though,
the rush had set my thoughts into motion. 'You just followed me here and claimed
that you were sent to kill them. You wanted to prove your suspicions, not only to
yourself, but to me. Is that right?'

The man's arms went wide, palms upward. 'You got me,' he said, 'you're exactly
right.'

I should have been angry at his admission, but I could not bring myself to be. I
made the choice for some reason and no one else could be blamed for that. 'Why?'

A few seconds passed before he answered. 'You are a pitiful thief,' he said, his voice
bereft of its normal quiet tone and certain.

I was annoyed, 'You did all this because I am a pitiful thief? I chose to be a thief,
pitiful or not. Who are you to turn me into something different?'

'You did not chose to be a thief, your vocation was foisted upon you by that old man
you travel with and you are just are only slightly better than he was. I didn't turn
you into anything different, I just showed you something you should have known,
but would have undoubtedly denied until the day you met your end.'

'How can you know about Gray and I?' I asked, my voice a near growl.

'What, do you think there are so many guildless thieves out there?' He laughed. 'I
have news for you: there aren't. Guilds are there because they are needed, a
guildless thief doesn't survive unless there is a significant amount of luck involved,
as with your friend. You don't have that luck, killer, you have yet to pull off any job
you've planned yourself.' His voice was slow and clear. 'You are not a thief, no
matter how much you pretend to be. You are a killer, pure and simple, and I have
watched you, I see the pleasure on your face and in how you act afterwards.'

'Three kills!'

'One is enough,' he replied, 'three just proves it.'

'Why?' I asked again, my softer. My anger had begun to fade along with the
annoyance and frustration of it all. I was weary of it, I just wanted to know why.

'There are so few of us in the guild,' he answered, 'the sort of person who enjoys
killing. The ones who don't really enjoy it, who treat it as a job and only a job, they
tend to look at us negatively. They don't trust us for some reason. They dislike the
fact that passion and emotion fuels us instead of their cold practicality.' The man
sighed. "We take the jobs others don't and we do so because it makes no difference
to us just as long as we get to kill. Obviously these aren't easy jobs, which is why no
one else will take them, and we die. So, year after year they bring in people like
themselves and those like us dwindle down further.'

'So what is this, are you trying to recruit me?' It didn't sound too bad, to be honest.

'Yes,' he answered, 'if you are willing.'

The answer was already known to me, even if it disturbed me. I enjoyed killing, he
was right about that and I had grown tired of theft long before. Houses were a novel
thing, a breath of fresh air that got me away from the streets that I abhorred, but it
was not something that I wanted to do. Still, I didn't want to immediately say yes,
nor did I want to spend too much time debating it.

I looked down at my hands, at the blood on them and my knife, and smiled. I wiped
the blade of the knife off on the couple's sheet and slipped it away. 'I am willing.'

If I could have seen the man's face I believe he would have smiled. 'Good,' he said,
'but you will need some more practice before we get started. We can go over that
later, for now, you have some stealing to do.' He laughed quietly and to himself. 'We
don't want the old man to think anything is amiss.'

'No,' I replied, briefly thinking of Gray and the time we had spent together, 'that is
the last thing I want.'

***

A year has passed since that night, when I accepted the man's offer and started my
new life. I've learned many things, much of which I would have never guessed I
would learn. All of which Gray would never have wanted for me. Each night I go out,
no matter the city, and I train with the assassin. Forgive me, he has never offered
his name and I have never asked.

I pretend to steal in order to appease and deceive my old friend, the man who
raised me, but I think he knows. Gray certainly has the ability to gain the
information he seeks, I will give him that. The smoke is a tell, I believe. He knows
how it affects me, how it brings back those old memories I would rather leave in the
recesses of my mind. I suspect he hopes that those memories will persuade me
down a different path, to perhaps bring back the sense of guilt I slowly freed myself
of. Maybe he just hopes that the smoke will smother us in our sleep.

My time with him is coming to an end, though I am not sure what I am going to do
with him. He's my friend, my mentor, my teacher, and my surrogate father. I could
leave with nothing saying that I will not be returning or I could say my goodbye and
leave without explaining. There is a large part of me who wants to smother him in
the night, leave him dead and ignorant of everything. However, there is that small,
silent part of me that wants to tell him everything, apologize, beg his forgiveness
for the things I have done, and leave with him to some other city and go back to as
things were.

I know though, that it will never happen. I have started down a road that I can't turn
away from and that road takes me away from Gray and my life as a thief. The
innocence that I once knew is gone and will never return, nor do I wish it to. I am a
killer, perhaps from the very moment that my parents were taken from me all those
years ago. The assassin was wrong though, I am not a pathetic thief. After all, what
is a killer if not someone who steals lives and futures?