"Finishing School" by James K Bowers

        The early morning sun cast a promising golden hue on the buildings of Silva as the three walked side by side.  "I say!  I quite believe you've bitten off more than you can chew this time, Scorpion," said the foppish half-elven courtesan, ignoring the fact that the hilt of a dagger was protruding rather visibly from his back, just beneath his ribcage.  "Well, you're good, there's no doubt of that, sir."  Paying no mind to the comments of the dandy, Scorpion continued his unhurried pace, his right leg softly dragging with each step.  "It's just that she isn't just any young woman.  She is, after all, daughter of A'athiis, the silk merchant."
        "Shut up, L'Wellar.  If the Scorpion wasn't well versed in his trade neither of us would be in the condition we're in.  Its damn miserable being dead without your prattle - and I'm beginning to think its a damn sight worse with it," said the man whose throat was slit from one ear to the other.  "I finally rid myself of Mynorra's please-don't-do-it-Scorpion whining for a while, and what do I get for it?"  Brannus leaned closer to Scorpion.  "Look here, Scorpion.  Don't you pay no mind to him.  What would a fop like him know of a bit of real work anyway?  Work implies calluses, and I'd wager the only calluses on L'Wellar's palms involved ... no ... forget that ... I don't even want to think about that."
        "Well!  Brannus, you worthless warmonger!  I have never been so insulted!" countered L'Wellar, appearing greatly affronted.  "I'm not whining and you, sir, have absolutely no idea how much work it can be to carry on intelligent and entertaining conversation.  Charming ladies of station while amusing their mates is most certainly work, and might I add that I was a master of the art until this, this... creature... decided that a few pouches of gold were worth more than my life."
        The somber grey academician's robe felt much too restrictive to Scorpion.  It fit rather well, but didn't afford him the freedom of movement he was accustomed to -- not that it would really matter over the next few hours.  The sack of books, though heavy, was not much of a burden to bear.  It was, of course, a much greater hindrance to the old tutor whose identity the Scorpion had borrowed.
        "One pouch of silver," mumbled Brannus.
        "What?  What was that you said?"  Had L'Wellar any blood left it surely would be coloring his features.  He glared in pompous ire, but remained as pale as ever.
        "It was one pouch of silver, you twit.  But, I'll tell you what would have been worth a wagonload of gold: seeing the shocked expression on your face when you realized you couldn't scream with a dagger in your ribcage.  Speaking of which, good thing you're already dead.  Wouldn't surprise me if name-callin' carries the death penalty when Scorpion's passin' judgment.  Now, like I said before, shut up."
 

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        Weeks of clandestine observation and painstaking study formed the foundation of Scorpion's plan.  All that transpired today would depend on the quality of his research.  He had no doubt that his masterful disguise would pass all but the most stringent of tests.  What remained in the hands of luck and destiny was whether some small detail of Kleth Rull's quaint personality would prove to be Scorpion's undoing.
        Kleth, a wise old scholar, led an austere existence devoid of chaos.  Much to Scorpion's benefit, Kleth was a slave to schedules and routines of his own device.  His habits were what defined him, gave the sage a sense of self-worth and purpose.  At first glance, it would appear that his habits and quirks would be cause for Kleth to have few, if any, friends.  Upon closer inspection, however, it became obvious that the quiet scholar had virtually no enemies, being well-liked by men and elves both.  The many short conversations Kleth engaged in while making his way from dawn to dusk now formed the greatest challenge to Scorpion's skill.
        Already Scorpion had exchanged morning pleasantries with more than two dozen as he made his way to the classroom and the events that would send ripples throughout Silva's elite.  Smiles, cheerful greetings, waves, remarks about the beautiful weather that had been blessing Silva for more than a week -- all answered in Kleth's reserved and amicable manner.  "I do well, Master Limnann, and you?" to the leatherworker passing on his way to the tannery.  "Yes, milady, it does appear to be fine day, doesn't it?" in response to an elven matriarch, whose bodyguards nodded silent good mornings.  Then, "Good morning to you, lad," and a penny dropped in the palm of the orphaned street urchin named Quaal.  From here, where Beggar’s Alley met the Golden Way, to the silk-trader's mansion Quaal carried Kleth's booksack.  Each morning Quaal earned a penny as compensation for his time and effort.  Every evening Quaal would wait just outside the mansion gates to earn a second penny for carrying the books the entire distance of the return trip.  Quaal would earn his two pennies today.  Tomorrow would be different.
Quaal, as always, was curious about the day's lessons for Kleth's prominent pupil.  Scorpion did his best to explain.  "Today will be perhaps the most important lesson of her life.  We will discuss the evils of this society, the corruption of the elite, the errors of oppression and slavery."  Quaal eyed the sage with a mixture of awe and fear.  He knew there were subjects that human sages were forbidden to discuss -- he was even more certain that Kleth had just broken that little rule three times.  "There are some things that Iyrillia, as heiress to her father's textiles empire must know.  She must learn and understand burlap as well as silk.  And today may well be the last chance she has to learn this."  Quaal was silent as he absorbed Kleth's remarks, and remained so for the balance of their walk to the gates.  The thinly veiled implications of "last chance" resounded in Quaal's mind, giving him cause to worry for his daily companion.
"Meet me here this evening, lad.  At the usual time, of course."  It was by no means necessary to give Quaal such instructions but, just as Kleth was bound to his rituals, so must be the Scorpion.  "It will be a wearisome walk home, I fear."
A smile and a pleasant “Good Morning, Garreth” was enough to gain entrance to the merchant’s well-kept lawns and gardens.  The mansion rose in glaring white opulence, reflecting the morning sun with painful efficiency.  Scorpion made his way southward along the wall toward the secondary path that was set-aside for “those of lower station”.

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        "Dammit, Scorpion!  You shouldn't have told the boy!  What were you thinking?"  Brannus was clearly agitated as the three of them made their way from the gate to the servants' entrance.
        "Quite obvious, isn't it, Brannus?  The child asked a simple question and Scorpion merely answered his question," L'Wellar chimed in, paying no mind to whom the question had been directed.
        "Shut up, L'Wellar.  The only simple thing around here is your intellect."  A look of sudden understanding swept over Brannus' features.  "You just don't get it, do you?  You really haven't figured it out.  The only strands binding us yet to this world will be broken when Scorpion joins us.  When he dies... well, when he dies, so will we."
        "Hmmph!  Well I don't see that it would be much of a loss!  This existence of ours could hardly be considered occasion to throw a grand ball.  And see if I stoop to answer one of your inane questions again, Brannus."
 

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        Some had doubts that Iyrillia was of purely human stock.  She was in the glorious blossoming of her early adulthood, with milk-pale skin and the silvery-blonde hair natural to so many of the elven elite.  Iyrillia's tresses cascaded in soft curls and waves reaching nearly to her waist.  Her features were very feminine, yet carried the distinctively sharp, sculpted look of all elven maidens.  Her eyes were a striking shade of azure and they sparkled with the vibrant promise of warm summer days.  The sky blue and ivory-hued silks that adorned her lithe frame were of the highest quality, as well they should be.  She was no stranger to wealth.  She was, after all, daughter of A'athiis, the silk merchant.
        Though idle talk and rumors concerning her true heritage were widespread, a single incontrovertible fact remained:  she was as outwardly beautiful as she and her entire family was evil and corrupt.  Some claimed her environment and upbringing had conspired to create a social oddity that would not be out of place in the sideshow of any circus caravan.  "Step up here, lads and lasses!  A mere tuppence, my friends, will buy you into the tent!  Behold the true ugliness of beauty!"  Perhaps, given time and much effort she could be swayed to a life of mercy and goodness.  But it was not to be.  An old enemy, his hatred and gold, fate, and the Scorpion had all converged in this time and place to serve Myyr, goddess of retribution.  An old debt was to be collected in full today and the payment was to be the life of young Iyrillia.
        Scorpion waited calmly in the classroom for his pupil just as Kleth would have.  And when she at last arrived, he greeted her in Kleth's manner, hoping his weeks of practice would prove adequate for the task.  "Good morning to you, Mistress Iyrillia.  I trust your night was restful."
        "Oh, yes, of course.  It was every bit what one might wish for, Master Rull.  My bed has more peaks than the Jarvann Highlands, the night breeze carries in the sweet scents of sewage and dead fish, and there are more mosquitoes in my chamber than the whole of Skurill's Marsh.  I should think even an empress might expect no better accommodations."  With a wit to match her sharp tongue, the concept of sarcasm was not lost to Iyrillia.  On the contrary, she was quickly developing it into a fine art.
        "Ah, that is such a great relief to me, Mistress.  I can be assured, then, that you are well-rested and eager to begin your studies for the day.”  
        “Let us first go over what you learned yesterday.  As an interesting variation, Mistress, you will tell me what you learned, rather than answering my questions.”   And so the day’s lessons began.
        For hours, Scorpion taught the young girl from Kleth’s books.  When it was time for lunch, he claimed he was rather tired and would prefer to rest in the classroom rather than eat with the servants.  “Do what you will,” was all Iyrillia said as she strode from the room to be served in the great dining hall.
        The lessons continued in the afternoon in much the same way.  As the afternoon sun began to sink lower in the western sky, Scorpion closed Kleth’s book of maps, calling an end to a lesson in geography that was proving boring and difficult for teacher and pupil.  “I have been considering taking a short break in our regular curriculum in order to focus on the social sciences and the structure of politics in our fair city.  Geography, history, and the manipulation of numbers all have their place, but it is the understanding of social and civil structure that enables one to cope with the day to day dynamics of the world."  The Kleth who was not Kleth poured two glasses of water, keeping one for himself and placing the other within reach of his pupil.
        "Not according to my father," sprang quickly from Iyrillia's lips.  "He says there are three types of people in the world -- fools with no money, fools who are being separated from their money, and clever merchants.  All he cares about is that I eventually become one of the latter."
        "Precisely my point.  Take for instance the peasants and slaves.  They would belong almost exclusively to the first class -- the fools without money.  Some very few of them might be perceived as members of your second class -- fools losing their money.  But, tell me... is it possible for a peasant to find himself in your clever merchant category?"
        "Of course not.  What a silly question!"  Iyrillia picked up her water glass and sipped.  “If they were at all clever, they would not find themselves members of the lowest social class.”  Her voice rang with a haughty conviction and she seemed sure of the unshakable logic of her answer.
        “So, as merchants, that would place your father in a class most obviously superior to slaves and peasants, would it not?”
        “No doubt.  So, what am I supposed to be learning here?  You’re just wasting my time rehashing everything I already know.”
        Scorpion paused, watching Iyrillia take several swallows of the water.
        "An assassin is, if nothing else, a most clever merchant.  To ensure his future survival and prosperity, he must first strike a profitable deal with a 'customer'.  A customer will pay for a service that he is either unable or unwilling to perform himself and, as a result, the assassin will benefit financially.  I propose that this makes an assassin a merchant and, as we both know, anything a merchant does to increase the girth of his purse is nothing more than business.”
        “Yes.  I suppose that is true enough,” said Iyrillia, following the logic of the sage’s argument.          When it was clear she nothing more to say, he continued.  “What is a few moments of an assassin’s time to mix a lethal poison when compared to the pouches of gold he is offered?”  A look of confusion crossed Iyrillia’s face as her body convulsed.  “What is a life worth?  Should one life be deemed more important than another?”
        Iyrillia slumped back in her chair, the glass sliding from her hand and spilling its contents on the polished stone floor.  She breathed in shallow gulps of air as spasms of her failing nervous system wracked her petite body.  Panic flooded her eyes, but she was unable to form words.
        “I’m sorry, young lady,” whispered the false Kleth.  “Some of life’s lessons have no answers.”
        He watched her panic become fear.  Scorpion placed his hand on her forehead and tears formed in her eyes and streamed down her cheeks.  The poison was swift and soon Iyrillia stopped breathing.  The fear in her eyes was gone as she stared at eternity.
        Scorpion sat quietly for a short while waiting for her last involuntary twitchings to subside.  He arranged her in her chair at the table, making sure her back was to the door.  Using one of Kleth’s sturdier books, Scorpion propped her head up and moved her elbows to the tabletop.  A fine and beautiful quill he placed in her hand, then stepped back with a weary sigh.  His throat was dry, but he dare not drink.
        Scorpion quietly opened the door to the study.  He motioned to the guard to come near, then quietly explained that Iyrillia was not to be disturbed while she was writing her essay.  The guard looked over Scorpion’s shoulder.  Seeing the silk merchant’s daughter so diligently at work, he gave an answering nod.  Kleth closed the door of the study and slowly limped his way out of the mansion.

---

        Quaal, squatting in the shade of the wall surrounding the mansion, rose when Kleth arrived at the gate.  The old scholar looked tired, but smiled at the young urchin as he handed him the booksack.  Kleth seemed unusually quiet as they walked back to the sage’s humble dwelling, but when they arrived, he did not place the expected penny in Quaal’s outstretched palm.  “Come inside, lad.”
        The interior of Kleth’s apartment was devoid of decoration.  Quaal sat on a short bench near the worn oak table.  The scholar pulled back the curtain that gave his single room the illusion of being two.  Bound and gagged on the straw-covered pallet was another Kleth.  Quaal’s eyes went wide, but he was far too afraid to move or speak.
        Scorpion placed a pouch next to Kleth, saying, “There is a small merchant ship at the docks that sails for Parendugar before sunset.  It is named Silver Dawn.  I have paid for your passage and the boy’s.  Be on that ship and do not return to Silva.”   The Scorpion turned back to Quaal.  He opened a second pouch, reaching inside for… then he removed his hand and dropped the pouch on the table in front of Quaal.  A few gold coins spilled out, but the purse was still plump with coins.  Scorpion took one last look at Kleth, Quaal, and the sparse apartment, then left without another word.

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        The shadows of a narrow and twisting alley provided shelter from prying eyes as Scorpion shed his disguise.  There was now only one Kleth Rull in Silva and he would soon be wanted for murder.
        “Not much of a clever merchant are you, Scorpion?” goaded the half-elven dandy.
        “Shut up, L’Wellar,” growled Brannus.  “This isn’t the time.”

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