The Apprentice (Working)

This is the story I just finished for my fiction class.

My name is Jeram. There’s a story to how I got where I am. I’m not certain exactly where that is, to be honest, but it smells. There’s sacking on my head and I’m jolting with all my weight on my stomach. A horse, probably. By the smell of things, I’ve been draped over its arse. At least I’m not being dragged behind it by my ankles. I saw a man go that way. Wasn’t pretty. But that’s not my story. My wife might tell. It’s part of hers.

            It was dark when I woke up. Just the way I wanted it for a job like this. An early morning scouting with a late-night completion. I rolled out of bed quietly, attempting to leave my bed partner undisturbed. I shivered when a warm hand gripped my shoulder, the one with the Tricksters’ God’s mark.

            “Stay,” she murmured, tracing the inked patterns she knew by heart. Her low voice promised rewards if I obeyed, and I was more than sorely tempted, but work was work. I took the hand from my shoulder and squeezed it gently, declining—for now.

            I went to my chest and pulled out one of my many pairs of black breeches and a plain gray Dedicate’s blouse. These and my soft-soled black boots are standard uniform for those in my profession, though not all of us are Dedicated to the Tricksters’ God. My gray blouse was made with only the left sleeve, leaving my right arm bare to the shoulder blade. While I dressed, my wife put on a—very sheer—robe and glided to the kitchen in that mystical way only a priestess could.

            Over a steaming bowl of oats drizzled with honey, Rivi asked, “Who contracted you?”

            The milk in the oats was a little warm. We need to buy more ice soon, I thought as I cleared my mouth to speak.  Or just leave it outside in the overnight snows. “He was anonymous. All he gave me was a messenger with a hundred golds and a promise of that again when I was done.”

            She swallowed and pursed her lips thoughtfully while I spooned more oats into my mouth. She looked out the window, her fine dark brows low over her pale eyes as she stared at the dark sky through the glass we had bought with money from my last job.

            “With that much money, you wouldn’t have to work again for a long time, my heart.”

            The spoon stopped halfway to my lips. This was the second time this week she had talked about me quitting, or at least taking temporary leave.

            “No...I wouldn’t.”

            “It’s dangerous,” she said, as if picking up a past conversation. In fact, we probably had started this conversation. It sounded familiar.

            I smiled at her and raised an eyebrow. “I think you’re just envious. You’ll be here, bored out of your mind while I’m out making our money.”

            She swatted me playfully on the arm, but it was sharp enough to remind me that not only were the acolytes of Purity’s Goddess advocates of purity, but they also championed justice. Ex-priestess though she was, Rivi had once been a head of her order.

            “If I could, I would have saddled you with a brace of children to keep you entertained while I was away.” I winked, though she didn’t return the jest. She smiled sadly and ran her fingers over my right knuckles as I finished off my bowl. Children would always be a sad impossibility for us, especially because of my work.

            “Who is it?”

            I sighed and got up to rinse out our bowls. “I forget the name. It was on a piece of parchment. I swallowed it. Some higher-up in the castle. Duke. Of Nar-somewhat.”

            “Nareth or Nareen?” Rivi asked, her interest piqued. I shrugged. I just memorised his face from the image sketched. “That could be fun. I might just come with you. I know my way around, after all.”

            “Ah. I forget that someone so decent as you could have such unsavoury beginnings.”

            She narrowed her eyes and swatted at me again, but I moved my arm and tapped her instead.

            “It’s dangerous,” I said.

            Rivi smiled a crooked smile, scrunching up the left side of her face and a tingle ran down my spine. This wouldn’t be the first job we did together. One benefit, I supposed, of the lack of children.

            Outside, the pre-dawn light made the sky a rainbow. At the bottom of the horizon, where the sun would touch first, the sky was red; then it faded through orange to yellow, which changed magically to green, then darkened to deep night blue and purple. Goosebumps rose on my right arm in the morning chill and my breath came out in white smoke.

            We crunched through the thin layer of frost on the cobbled streets as inconspicuously as two people could when they weren’t planning on selling anything at the morning market. Our small house was in the Middle District. We lived modestly, but decently. The Outer District, beyond ours, lived with less. The Inner District housed the castle. Nobles and esteemed royalty from other nations made their lodging behind the great stone walls.

            A street away from the castle, a group of Purity’s priestesses crossed our path. I stopped and bowed my head. My stomach turned unpleasantly as I watched my wife do the same. She had once bowed to none. I knew for certain that the head of that group had once been Rivi’s best friend. Now, Rivi didn’t even exist. From the corner of my eye, I saw Rivi’s head bowed, her mouth a tight line. She was pale, almost gray.

            When they had passed, I grabbed her hand, twining her fingers in mine. “I’m sorry, love,” I whispered glancing at the covered shoulder, to the scar I knew was hidden beneath. Purity’s wayward priestess.

            “Don’t apologise, Jeram, my heart,” she sighed. “I chose the path I walk with you willingly.”

            I nodded, my heart still heavy. Rivi maintained her head for justice. It was the chief tenet of purity that had been violated. For me.

            “Lead on,” I whispered.

            The castle loomed up several man-heights into the sky, its walls made of huge gray slabs. The arrow slits were black, empty-looking, an illusion I knew better than to believe. Unpleasant visions of my crumpled, pin-cushioned body made me wary, but I trusted my wife. To my knowledge, she had no reason to want me dead.

            I watched Rivi make some hand gesture across her forehead that I didn’t recognise and we were able to step close to the wall unmolested. She beckoned with her head to follow along the wall to a stretch of stone with no arrow slits.

            She pointed up to the crenels. “Before you climb over, wait for my signal. The morning watch is usually sluggish. I used to do this before I was Dedicated.”

            “I’ll race you.” The stones were tall, but rough. Any of the Tricksters’ God’s higher dedicates could have scaled it. Scrabbling up the face was almost like climbing barefoot up a tree full of branches. Rivi was actually keeping up with me, though her slippers seemed far less suited to the task. I was surprised that her billowy trousers, held tight at the ankles, weren’t bunching up and getting in her way. By the time we reached the top, hanging off the side of the wall like strangely life-like statues, my arms were burning with the thrill of the exercise.

            “Now,” she said in a lover’s whisper, words hidden in a slight exhalation.

            I swung myself over. Now my shoulders ached. “I’m getting too old for this,” I breathed as I crouched and followed Rivi. She ignored me. Ten years had deafened her to my complaints. The guard was a few paces ahead of us, but she didn’t turn. Such lax security should be punished, I thought. Peace time or not, no one should be able to get into the castle this easily.

            Rivi nodded to the other side of the wall and disappeared over it without a sound. Mentally taking note of where she vanished, I snuck closer to the guard, sliding my boot knife quietly out of its sheath. The guard had several yards to go until the end of her wall. Matching my steps and breathing to hers, I followed in her shadow and sliced her purse cleanly from her side. A moment later and I had jumped down to a flight of stairs only to find my wife glaring at me as she tapped one slippered foot.

            “Have we stooped to thieving, now?”

            I circled my Marking with a finger. “Trickster marked, love. Besides, I’m just taking it for a good opportunity.”

            She sighed and shook her head. “Purity’s Goddess knows you,” she warned. I grinned.

            “Come along, miscreant.”

            We crept across the shadowy grounds to the shadow of the building’s wall, then around the wall away from the building’s main gate.

            My nose perked up at the sweet smell ahead.

            “Yes, my heart,” Rivi said, reading my mind. “I’m taking you through the kitchens. But be warned—the cooks are not fond of Tricksters.” She pinched my arse before sliding into the open door.

            The cry of surprise when Rivi entered made me hesitate only a moment before following with my hand on the handle of my long belt knife. When I saw Rivi gripped in a fierce wrestler’s hold by a large woman with white streaks in her tightly coiled blond bun, I started to draw.

            “And who is this?” the woman asked, releasing Rivi. I let the blade slide back down and bowed my head to the venerable flour-covered woman. Her right arm was bare and I knew her Marking would be that of Hearth’s God. She had earned my highest respect.

            “Keep an eye on her, Rivi,” she said, eying my bare arm suspiciously even as she smiled sternly.

            “I will, Madra. Don’t worry; we’re wedded,” she said, as if that made all the difference between keeping me out of mischief or turning a blind eye.

            As we meandered around the tables and shelves of buns, I used a slight of hand trick an old Trickster once taught me to swap the soldier’s purse with a sweet bun. I popped it into my mouth before Rivi could notice, but she turned around when my mouth was full. I smiled guilelessly as only a guilty Trickster can, my eyes wide and my cheeks puffed out in testimony.

            “What did you do?” she said, grabbing my wrist and checking my hands. One scarred, brown hand was lightly dusted with powder.

            “It waf a goo’ opporhu’hy,” I said, spraying her with puffs of powdered confection. She grimaced in dismay as I swallowed the bun down. “Want some?” I waggled my dust-covered fingers, and then traced one around her lips. She smirked.

            I tossed a glance over my shoulder to the Hearth’s Dedicate and found her smiling, too. She winked at me and I winked back, making a mental note to leave an offering at the Hearth’s God’s temple.

            Out of the kitchen, the halls were dark, lit only by dimmed lanterns.

            “Alright, my heart,” Rivi said after we tucked ourselves into a shadowy niche in the wall. A statue of a lean man with leaves around his middle section kept us company.

“If I were a noble man, where would I sleep?” I asked through the gap the statue left so courteously between his legs.

            “If you were a nobleman, we probably would not be here.” I shrugged. I couldn’t change who I was. The Trickster’s God’s acolytes seldom came from the heights. Nobles don’t ever have to think about how they’re going to get their next meal.

            “A duke, you said he was?”

            “Duke Nar-something, yes.”

            “And you ate the parchment.”

            “Yes. And it was good quality, too. Light but strong. It didn’t taste too used either—”

            She hissed for quiet. “You know what he looks like? Exactly?”

            I nodded. The sketch was a very good one. The man was older, probably old enough to be my father. The sketch was made in charcoal, so his hair looked dark, smudged to gray in some places. His eyes weren’t filled in, so I assumed they were light. And he had a long scar through his left eyebrow.

            “Fine.” She checked the corridor before slipping.

            Dodging servants and guards was comparatively easy. The echo of their heeled shoes and boots on the tiles rang to the high ceiling and warned us when to hide, and the statue holes were invitations to small flexible people. They stood regularly every ten paces: some were women, most were men, posed in acts of righteousness; a man crushing a snake biting his heel; a woman with her finger crooked, beckoning.

            We were on the upper floors by the time Rivi held her hand out to stop me. I nodded and took the lead. I tried the door nearest. To my surprise, it gave easily, opening into an anteroom with green furniture accented with yellows. So elaborately ugly that I had to marvel at a particularly hideous green pouf with ochre tassels.

            I was about to test the handle when my wife slapped me on the wrist. I gaped at her.

            She nodded her head for me to follow her to a small painting of the last king. I hadn’t known him personally, but it certainly seemed as if the painter had taken liberties with the fat old man with whom I was familiar.

            Behind the picture was a small hole. As Rivi put her eye down to look, I again mentally applauded myself for marrying someone so extraordinarily well connected.

            Rivi gasped. I took her place at the eyehole to see what the scandal was, but I only saw an older man sitting up in his bed. An early riser for a noble. His salt and pepper hair was cut short like a soldier’s and when he yawned, his loose jowls stretched tight and his gray-blue eyes crinkled shut. Not unlike Rivi’s own gray-blue mix. Then I saw the long scar across his eyebrow and my stomach leapt in excitement. Rarely was an old hand so lucky. Tricksters’ God usually saved all the luck for the beginners; the old hands had experience and were expected to use it.

            We slid out of the room warily; if he was already awake, he had probably already rang for servants to attend him.

            In the corridor, more servants were bustling about, some with trays of food for more early risers, others carrying chamber pots, their faces admirably stoic; none paid us any heed.

            Her lips pursed tight, Rivi refused to say a word until she opened another door that led to a depressing gray stone corridor. No one at all passed here.

            I nodded, dismissing the information as I grabbed her hand. “Are you alright, love?”

            “That man was your mark?”

            I nodded again, proudly this time. “I’ll wait until tonight—”

            “Jeram, the Duke of Nareen is my father.”

            “Ah. Well then, would you like to do the honours?”

            “Jeram!” she growled.

            “What? He’s just another job.”

            “No, he’s my father. You don’t even know why.”

            “The ‘why’ is not my concern. The ‘how-much-gold-will-I-get’ is. You’re sure this is your father?”

            She glowered. “Jeram.”

            “My love.”

            We stared each other down, her light gray eyes shiny with tears. Those unshed drops more than anything else weakened my resolve.

            “Alright.” I caressed her cheek with the backs of my fingers. “I’ll find out the why,” I whispered.

            She kissed my fingers lightly and then turned to continue down the cold hallway. Before long, the familiar sweet smell of bread was back. The clanging of pots and pans was joined by the morning bells. The combination of the deep bells and the tinny pots sent a thrill of alertness through me. How anyone could sleep through that was beyond me. The reveille bells could be heard all through the city, from the Inner to the Outer District. Rivi and I based our less exciting days around their tolls just like everyone else. For an absurd moment, I felt like I could happily die to the sound of those bells.

            Madra bustled over. “Sit here,” she said, pushing me onto a stool. “Don’t move. If you stay out of their way, and keep your hands to yourself, you’re welcome here.” She pulled up a chair for Rivi and was gone before I had the sense to thank her.

            “She likes you,” Rivi observed with wonder.

            I winked. “I have that effect on women.”

            “You certainly do,” I heard her mutter under her breath.

            We sat there as the day began and as the day peaked, sampling bread and pastries and a spicy soup with a small, exotic white grain. The midday bells came and went and I thought about the why. To question the why of a job was always dangerous. If you started wondering why, you weren’t focused enough on the task at hand. You could make mistakes. You could get caught. But for Rivi’s sake, for my wife’s father, I thought.

            “I don’t know who hired me,” I breathed. “He’s probably noble. Only another noble would have the jewels on him to have one killed. Which means he’s probably nearby. He would want to see the results of his money spent.”

            “So he’s here.”

            “Likely. Is there anyone you know might hold a particular grudge against him?”

            “Jeram, I haven’t been in this world for ten years. I’m surprised that my childhood tricks still work.”

            I closed my eyes and ran my hands through my hair in frustration, shocked when my fingers slid through only an inch or so instead of snarling in a thick mane. A sharp pinch on my thigh brought me out of my thoughts.

            “This young lad would like to speak to you, my heart.”

            A trembling youth stood in front of me, his eyes wide in amazement as they lingered on my bare shoulder. I flashed him a lopsided grin and he blushed crimson to his ears.

            “E-excuse me, Madam Trickster, mum, b-beggin’ your pardon a thousand t-times. I j-just wanted to express the d-deepest honour at the presence of two of your order.”

            My heart seized in my chest. Two...of us? We weren’t in the habit of making house calls, especially not to the wealthy. Unless in my line of work.

            “Where d’you work, lad? Stables, unless I miss my guess?”  I plucked a piece of hay from his head.

            “Aye, mum,” he said, tugging his dusty brown forelock. “Another, a man came in. He’s guest of Duke Samhar, he said. An’ you, as well? I could take you to him if it’s your pleasure.”

            My lip curled, transforming my smile to something that made the poor lad step back. I took a deep breath through my nose.

            “Come, Rivi,” I said, standing. “Thank you, lad. I would be grateful.”

            He let us pass in front of him and I indulged him, letting him see the ink on my back.

            It was different, walking the halls with an escort. I could appreciate the statues for more than their sheltering features. I could also hear music and the laughter of people enjoying the warmth indoors.

            “Dinner will come soon, just after dark,” the boy said when we had stopped several doors down from Rivi’s father’s.

            “You’ve done well, lad,” I said. “My thanks.” He blushed again. To reward him, I put my hand behind his ear and with a flick of my wrist, slid a silver coin from my sleeve. With a flourish, I handed it to him. “You should clean behind your ears more often, though.”

            His eyes were wide as saucers as he nodded and stammered his thanks. Behind him, Rivi’s eyes were crinkled in a smile, the smile on her lips only an accessory to the brightness in her blue eyes.

            I dismissed the boy with a nod, still smiling at my wife. But the prospect of the upcoming meeting was not one I relished.

            “I don’t want you here, not with another Trickster assassin.”  I pressed my fingertips to her lips when she made to protest. “Please.” I would have begged her if I had to.

            Grasping my sincerity, she took a deep breath and nodded. She pointed. The third door, across and down from my father’s room is a towel room. How will I know?”

            “I’ll come get you.”

            “And you’re sure?”

            “A smart man wouldn’t have two rivals killed the same night. There’s too much suspicion. If he’s that stupid, who knows what he would do when I decline?”

            “All the more reason for me to be there.

            “I don’t want him to know you exist.”

            “Are you ashamed of me?”

            “Yes.” I grinned and squeezed her hand. “Now hide that face of yours.” She smiled back and rolled her eyes, but I watched her go and made note of the precise door.

            I ran over my weapons. I had planned on killing the duke with poison, so I had packed lightly. I only had one belt knife. And two boot knives. And the one in the sheath under my sleeve. They would have to do.

            I decided to knock. It was always better to pretend you had some respect for someone than to show them that you have none.

            After some shuffling and murmuring, the door was opened by a short, pudgy man with dark, receding hair and a beard oiled to a point. The orange and purple striped noble’s stole he wore over his purple dinner gown didn’t compliment his figure in the least, showing how ridiculous the clothing of the Inner District really was.

            His eyes widened when he saw me. I was not expected. I smiled my crooked smile, baring my teeth. As a smile, I’m afraid it was very poor, more a grimace than any expression of delight. The small man caught himself hastily and smiled in return, slippery and unconvincing.

            “What a charming surprise!” he said. “Please. Come in. Take wine with us.”

            “No, thank you. Your grace.” I added the title punctiliously and imitated his Inner District manner. “I refrain from drink.”

            “Ah. Then please, come and join us. We can speak of business before the evening meal is upon us.” He widened the door and bowed his head almost courteously.

            I refrained from checking my wrist dagger again while I walked into the room. My lip curled when I saw the man lounging on a cushioned chair like a dangerous fat cat lapping cream.

            He smiled at me leisurely, his lip slowly tugging up on one side.

            “Jeram. Your presence stirs me.” To delight, I’m sure.

            “I, too, Avi, am moved by the presence of an old associate.” The use of his old nickname made him smile all the wider, and the truth behind our courtly politesse was lost on the imperious looking man in the purple robe.

            Samhar gestured grandly for me to sit. I would have declined, but the Tricksters’ God would have my fingers before I let that traitorous scum of a Trickster know I had my guard up against him. Avsilom’s bare, muscled arm still bore the mark, as if he yet deserved the right. Rivi deserved her mark more than him; at least she still had her honour.

            “Thank you, Duke Samhar. I was wondering, however, if I might speak with your grace in private?”

            I saw the duke’s eyes flick to Avsilom’s, but Avsilom just sat, blinking slowly with that lazy smile. Samhar was afraid of Avi. Perhaps not as stupid as he looked.

            “I’m sure you can say whatever needs to be said in front of your trusted brother.” So did I, I thought bitterly. But because he broke that sacred trust between brothers, my wife is a scarred outcast. If he hadn’t been jealous of our affair, he would not have told Purity’s highest priestess.

I smiled calmly. “Very well. There is a conflict of interests.”

            I saw Avsilom’s eyes widen marginally—he was stunned. Samhar showed his surprise more readily, his mouth open and gaping like a fish’s.

            “Are you saying you won’t—”

            “I want more gold.”

            His mouth stopped flapping and just hung open.

            “Even with the sum you are to receive upon completion?”

            “Yes. I want that sum tripled,” I said coldly.

            Avsilom’s eyes narrowed. Let him be suspicious, I thought. I am a Trickster.

            “That is...an exceedingly large amount,” Samhar said hesitantly. He looked hesitantly between me and Avsilom as if unsure which it would be worse to cross. I glared stonily, my jaw clenched.

            “Very well. If you will allow me to think about this proposal over the dining hour, I could meet you here again after the evening bells.”

            “As you like. Avsilom.” I nodded to him curtly before spinning on my heel and leaving the room.

            I made sure the door was shut tightly and that neither Avsilom nor “Duke” Samhar were peeking out before I knocked on the door Rivi had hidden behind. She opened it, pulled me in, and shut it quick as a Trickster’s sleight of hand.

            “You’re getting too good at that,” I teased.

            She didn’t laugh. “What news?” It was too dark to see if she had even smiled.

            “Bad. I asked him to pay me more. Outrageoulsy more. He won’t pay up, we can be sure, but he has another assassin. Our old friend, Avi.”

            Rivi inhaled with a hiss. “Avsilom? You didn’t tell him why? He would kill him just to spite us.”

            “No, I don’t trust him. I don’t think anything will happen until after the evening bells, but I’m going to stay here and keep an eye on the duke.”

            She grasped my hand tenderly. “Thank you, my heart,” she whispered.

            I nodded, but I didn’t know if she could see. I squeezed her hand back.

            I opened the door a crack and listened for the sure and careful steps of a Trickster. I waited there for a few hours, comforted by the silent presence of my wife. The evening bells came, sonorous and heavy.

            And underneath them, I heard the soft, cautious padding of good, soft-soled boots.

            A door nearby opened and closed. Too close to have been Samhar’s. I burst out of the closet, flinging open the door. Avsilom was going to kill him instead.

            Rivi tried to follow, and I shoved her roughly back inside. “No matter what happens!” I growled and closed the door on her fearful, protesting face.

            I sneaked to the duke’s door. Closed tight, but not locked. Daggers in their sheaths. I went in crouched.

            A dagger thudded into the door, narrowly missing my ear by a hair’s breadth. I kept myself from breathing my alarm; if Avsilom had wanted to kill me, he would not have missed, even with the lamps dimmed as they were now. The effect on the green and yellow room was haunting.

            “Are you trying to steal my mark?” I asked him as I rose.

            “Steal your mark?” he asked innocently. He didn’t have my skill with guile. His innocent smile was a grimace, terrible to behold, especially with the hollows of his eyes and cheeks darkened in shadow.

            “Yes, my mark. You’ve got your own to take care of.”

            He smiled his cat’s smile again. “I am.”

            A man would have been a fool to have two rivals killed in one night. But he was no fool after all. I recalled Samhar’s glance to Avsilom and amended—perhaps he was just the fool Avsilom was using. I should have seen this coming.

            I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from swearing, but Avsilom had seen my face fall. He grinned.

            I took out my long belt knife just in time to hit away another flying dagger. He was brawny, thick as a tree trunk with oaken legs. I had never had size on my side, not even against other women. I had only speed to my advantage.

            He jumped at me, another, longer knife flashing in his hand. I spun out. I thought about playing a game of chase; if I could out-dodge him, he would tire. But after I escaped him again he just walked toward me, trying to back me into a corner. We circled.

            Boots thundered outside in the hall.

            “Guards!” Avsilom yelled.

            Tricksters’ God, no, I thought. I could see this ending very badly for me.

            Light flooded in from the hallway as five soldiers did. The duke came from his room, too, perplexed in his night gown.

            “I caught this Trickster trying to murder the Duke of Nareen.”

            “I did no such thing!” But my earlier words to Samhar were against me.

            Given time, I could have gotten myself out of this. I only got so far as, “Your daughter, Rivke—” before the sharp thud at the back of my skull.

            I don’t remember much that happened between then and now. I’m off of the horse, but I still can’t see. There’s light on the other side of the sacking. It’s probably day. But I haven’t heard the morning bells. Someone is leading me forward by a rope wrapped around my hands behind my back. We’re walking on wood; I can hear it in the heavy clunk of his heeled boots, feel it in the hollowness under my own feet. And it smells musty, damp. Maybe it’s a ship.

            The sacking is ripped roughly from my head, and for a moment, I’m glad for my shorn hair. Then my breath catches painfully in my chest before I let it out again. It’s the fabled Trickster’s final resting place. I’d always known that the gallows were a possible end for me. Rivi had had wanted me to retire before then, teach younglings instead.

            I can see my wife in the crowd. She’s crying, at least. No others in the crowd are. I spot a few bare-armed people that I recognise, some Tricksters—every Trickster’s hanging required a few of us to witness. As the Purity’s Priestess speaks to my final audience, I whistle the first half of a tune known by all Tricksters. Their response floats in the cold air.

            I close my eyes and look back to my wife. “I love you,” I mouth to my foresworn priestess, with a wink and a smile.

            They place the rope around my neck and she moves forward as if to come to me. In alarm, I jerk my head sharply, no. The rope is rough and the ticking scratches my neck. She shouldn’t jeopardise herself so. In jerking my head, though, I catch another familiar figure. Beloved Avsilom. Only a few paces in front of my wife. Happy, his brown skin stretched tight over his sharp cheeks from his smile. Rivi is right behind him now. He folds his arms smugly as he sees me looking at him. I stare at him, smiling my Trickster’s smile.

            The reveille bells sound. Something wet slides down my cheeks to the corner of my mouth. Salty. I can’t look at her. I only look at him. In and out and she’s gone, flitting in the crowd. She stands at the other side now as he gasps, his mouth open and bloody spittle forming on his lips.

            I smile at my love again and start to giggle, but the sound is lost under the bells’ knell. My love will make the finest