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Stories / Stories / 
James K. Bowers / Text 23 of 27 / For A Few Silver Coins
"For A Few Silver Coins" by James K. Bowers
SF&F Picture 23 out of 27 by James K. Bowers
| This tale was written with two worlds in mind. “For A Few Silver Coins” is a fourth story focusing on Scorpion, master assassin of the port city of Silva. This particular tale was written as my contribution to Debra Lynn Turpin's 'Destiny's Eternal Lovers' Project which blossomed from her brief introductory piece originally titled 'Soul Mates'. Thanks, Debra! It is both an honor and a pleasure to be included. This story was published in KCC's 'Prairie Fire 2005' anthology. |
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“The story of a love
is not important --- what is important is that one is
capable of love. It is perhaps the only glimpse we are permitted of eternity.”
--- Helen Hayes
capable of love. It is perhaps the only glimpse we are permitted of eternity.”
--- Helen Hayes
---
For A Few Silver Coins ---
Across the narrow street, a weathered sign swayed drunkenly in the gusting wind, squeaking and screeching on its iron hooks. There was, of course, no means for the man in the coal-black cloak to read the sign, but it really wasn’t necessary. He knew the establishment well. In his mind’s eye he saw the name carved on the shingle, remembered the fading blue and scarlet paint. He recalled the image of the rampaging amber dragon and the way in which it seemed to threaten the very name of the inn. From his vantage point at the alley entrance, Scorpion watched the flickering light beckoning from the dingy windows of The Brass Dragon. Somewhere nearby a loose shutter clattered its lonely complaint into the night.
“Go ahead,” said the voice. “I’ll wait out here for you.”
A sudden skittering motion from a heap of moldering trash near the corner of the tavern caught the assassin’s eye. The rat bounded from the pile of refuse and scampered across the street’s muddied cobblestone, seeking the safety of the alley’s darkness. As a crackling white streak of lightning lit the entrance to the alley, the rat paused to warily eye the silent figure therein. Seconds passed, a finite eternity during which neither man nor scavenger moved. Then, apparently satisfied that the man posed no immediate threat, the rat scurried past, triumphantly clutching his scrap of purloined garbage between yellowing teeth. Scorpion smiled at the thought of the tiny thief who would soon dine like the King of Rats on the small bit of unfit meat and bone.
The voice again. “You know she’s here, Scorpion. Make up your mind.”
Scorpion stepped from the alleyway and made his way to the door of the inn. The Brass Dragon was many things to many persons, but “inn” was not an entirely apt description. It was called an inn for expediency if not truth. For those who chose to see the truth, it amounted to little more than a mead hall of the damned. And, perhaps because of this, it was one of the few places in Silva where guardsmen were still rarely seen. Within, Scorpion knew, were those who preferred to remain nameless – fugitives, prostitutes, vagabonds, gamblers, thieves, and worse. Here, at times, others of Scorpion’s dark trade tried to buy back a few moments of life with coins tainted by death. His own small pouch of silver was cold upon his skin and felt much too light to balance with the burden of his soul. Scorpion pushed the door open and stepped into the heavy air of the inn. The wind gusted, pushing itself and a spray of salt-tinged rainfall past Scorpion, much to the annoyance of those closest to the door. Someone in a shadowy corner of the greatroom growled, “Shut the door, fishbait!” Nothing further was spoken in any known language, but the chorus of assenting grunts and grumblings that accompanied the demand carried far more meaning than mere words. It was trouble enough just to be here, the assassin knew. There was no point in asking for more. Scorpion closed the door behind him and pushed back the hood of his cloak.
The ponderous oak table dominating the center of the room was crowded with those who could afford a meal with their drink. The serving maid, buxom but well past her prime, still found herself hard-pressed to avoid the gropes of the rowdies at the table as she carried platters and pitchers to and fro. The assassin searched his memory as he removed his dripping cloak and hung it on a peg near the door. Annanza, yes, that is her name. As if to validate that flash of recognition, Scorpion’s mind supplied the serving maid the lithe and supple body she once had as a young woman, and replaced her worn and tired features with the smiling, blush beauty of her youth. “All must age,” he mused silently as he wove past patrons to the far end of the hall, there to warm himself for a few moments by the hearthfire. As he passed by The Dragon’s proprietor, Scorpion nodded to his long-standing acquaintance – an acquaintance as trusted as acquaintances could be in this quarter of the city.
Scorpion turned his back to the hearth to absorb its heat while at the same time presenting a less likely target for would-be troublemakers. He turned his attention once more to the proprietor. Jank Threefinger stood at his usual place – the base of the narrow stairway that led to the balcony walkway above, and the rooms to which the rickety walkway provided access. It was ill-mannered to ask what the rooms were for, but only a fool would think that food and drink was all that caused coin to pass into Jank’s possession here at The Brass Dragon. Jank was haggling with two young street hoods that hadn’t yet learned that haggling with Jank was as effective as spitting in the hearth to put out the fire. Scorpion watched them for a few moments, and smiled with amusement as each handed over a pouch of coins to the burly businessman. Jank spilled silver coins into his palm, examining them with the brief and unerring precision of a banker. He poured them back into the pouches. Then, as if it were the most accurate scale in the city, Jank hoisted the pouches up in his three-fingered right hand. He smiled his crooked smile, spoke a word or two to the young thugs, and stepped to the right allowing them passage. The two ascended the stairs, shaking their heads in disbelief that the old goat could drive such a hard bargain.
Scorpion had warmed enough and watched enough. He again navigated through the brash customers as if he had been born in The Brass Dragon. He drew closer to Jank, and as he did, the Crown Prince of Haggling smiled wide, showing his remaining teeth. “Old friend! If you brought this foul weather upon us, my thanks! The Dragon hasn’t been this busy in nearly a month…”
“Old friend,” Scorpion acknowledged with a shadow of a nod. “She’s here?”
The grin shrank, but Jank answered simply, “Room five.”
“With a client?”
“Not a question you should be asking…”
“I know. Silver?”
“Aye, now we get to it.” The grin returned.
“Eight?”
“Come now, old friend, you insult this fine establishment! Twenty.”
“Twelve, then,” countered Scorpion.
“Eighteen.”
“Fourteen. Final offer.”
“You’re a shrewd one, old friend. I got twice that from each of those two young pups.”
“Shrewd? That’s a lie, you stubborn old mule. If you really wanted twenty we’d be here ‘til sunrise – besides, fourteen’s all I have tonight and I wanted to save enough for small taste of ale.”
“Liar,” challenged Jank.
“Perhaps. But thirteen was the agreement.” He reached inside his jerkin for the tiny pouch of silver, plucked a single silver coin from within, and handed the pouch to Jank.
“But…”
“You’ve got your silver, Jank. Now I’d appreciate a few minutes in room five.”
“But…”
“The stairs, old friend. Move aside.” The two men locked gazes.
“It was fourteen!” scowled the Master of the Stairs, but he moved aside nonetheless and Scorpion began the short climb to the balcony walkway overlooking the greatroom.
Jank, waggling the pouch in his weighing hand, laughed and called up the stairs, “Ha! There’s nineteen in here, old friend.”
Scorpion turned with a smile. “Sorry about that.” The assassin flipped a single glittering bit of silver to the unprepared proprietor before continuing up the stairs.
With only ten rooms lining the balcony, each neatly numbered for those who could read and bearing the image of an animal for those who could not, it was no hard task to locate room five. A blood red falcon silhouette soared above the carved number on the door. Scorpion pushed the door open without knocking. It was dark in the room -- darker even than the poorly lit greatroom below. A single candle was all that provided light within the room, casting a gentle glow upon her as she sat on the edge of the bed. Casting a gentle glow upon her startled client and upon Scorpion as he stood, dark and sinister, in the doorway.
“Time to go,” said Scorpion simply, his eyes fixed on those of the man.
“Y... yessir…” stuttered the wide-eyed man, showing no signs of wishing to remain any longer than he must. Quickly and clumsily, he made good his escape. Never once did the man take his eyes off Scorpion as he warily squeezed past in his rush for safety.
“That was rude,” she said. “He was a paying customer.” Her eyes flashed with the harsh flame of agitation.
“With money of his own? He didn’t seem the type. Anyway, you shouldn’t sell yourself so cheap. You’re nothing like any of the other ladies,” observed Scorpion as he stepped into the room and nudged the door closed.
She laughed, her eyes brightened, and a playful smile tugged the corners of her lips upward. “Damn it all, Scorpion. Since when did the source of the coin make much of a difference to the likes of you or I?” she asked, choosing to answer Scorpion’s question with one of her own.
“Hmmm… I concede,” said he with a thoughtful smile. “I refuse to enter into a battle of wits with you. You know how much I abhor humiliation.”
Once again, her laughter filled the dark room, brightening it with something that eyes could not detect. “So, it couldn’t possibly be just the weather that brings you to The Brass Dragon tonight, Scorpion. Would it be business or pleasure?”
His reaction surprised her. When otherwise Scorpion would have replied with a snippet of sarcasm or wit, tonight the question seemed only to deepen his mood and he answered with an uncharacteristically flat, “Neither, I guess.”
He was clearly not himself tonight. Under most circumstances, applying that particular assessment to a master of disguise and misdirection would be a compliment. However, she knew him perhaps better than any other and was familiar with the man within. To her, the peculiarities were obvious and worrisome. His eyes wandered the room – not the measured analytical eye of an assassin, but something else. In all the years she had known him, this was a manner and behavior she hadn’t before encountered.
He glanced to the small table near the bed, noting the folded parchment resting there. He nodded in that direction, asking, “When did you take up writing letters?”
Just small talk for while? It would seem so, she thought to herself as she answered him. “Oh, no. Not me. Mister Y-yessir must have forgotten it in his headlong rush to avoid you. Probably isn’t important anyway -- it couldn’t hold much in the way of silver or gold, could it?” She tilted her head and her hair spilled like an auburn waterfall over her shoulder. She smiled, hoping that it might help coax Scorpion out of the gloom that had a grip on him. “Come over here. Sit with me on the bed.”
There was an uncharacteristic hesitation before Scorpion spoke again. “No. No, I can’t. I’m only here because I’ve heard some news of sorts -- just – just a rumor, I guess.”
“Yes?” Her eyebrows accented her prompt for him to continue.
“Well, it probably isn’t much. I’ve heard the Silva Trade Cartel and the Merchants' League are again pressuring the Triad to do something to ‘clean up’ Silva. Nothing new about that – the Cartel’s been hounding ‘em about it for years.”
“Yeah. No doubt about that. Jank nearly dropped dead from shock when they tried that prostitution taxation thing a couple years ago. If you ever want to see him get heated up, just mention that little fiasco. He turns this funny shade of bright red and you could fry an egg on that bald head of his. He’ll stay like that for hours, heaping every kind of curse possible on the Triad, and several that aren’t possible just for good measure -- and he’ll rant for days about how much the tax cost him.”
“Uh-huh. But this isn’t the same. If the rumor is true, the Triad’s serious this time, and they think they’ve figured out a way to get the Cartel off their collective back. The rumor goes that they’re going to pitch their so-called justice system out the window and just throw money at this new method. Hire mercenaries to help patrol the streets. Use arson as a means of ridding themselves of some of the city’s less desirable businesses – The Brass Dragon, for instance. Contract an assassin or two to eliminate those few who have caused them the most complaint. I’d be surprised if Cirkas and I aren’t the top two on the Triad’s deathlist, but who can guess the length of the list?”
There was silence in the room then. The candlelight wavered casting dancing shadows throughout the room. Neither spoke until the silence became unbearable.
“I just wanted to pass that on, you understand,” said Scorpion.
“Sure,” she said.
Scorpion nodded, then pulled open the door and stepped out of the room. It seemed to her that he hesitated, as if he was going to turn and say something else. She knew what it was, and she knew she would never hear him say it. It wasn’t like him.
The door closed and she sat quietly in the candlelight. She felt small and lonely for the first time in… No, she pushed the thought aside.
She reached for the folded parchment on the tiny table. She picked it up, slowly running her fingers over the surface, and then turned it over to reveal the triple-triangle seal of the Triad gracing the blob of blue sealing wax. Breaking the seal and unfolding it, she examined the stylized image of a scorpion stamped in black ink on the inner surface. Warm tears ran down her cheeks.
She slid her small dagger from its scabbard and impaled the parchment on the blade. She held it over the candle and watched it burst into flame. By all that was holy and unholy, she hated her life. She hated the loneliness, hated the isolation. She hated being an assassin. It wasn’t who she was supposed to be.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Scorpion again wove through the crowded greatroom to the hearth. The sounds and sights and smells of the inn seemed distant and unimportant. He stared for a while at the flames as they leapt playfully in the hearth. He reached into his pocket, pulling from it the wrinkled parchment. The blue seal was already broken. He began to open it, as he had several times before, to see if he had mistaken the stylized image stamped on the inner surface. No. His hands froze in place. He knew what was there. He tossed it into the hearth instead, watching it as it burst into flame. By all that was holy and unholy, he hated his life. He hated the loneliness, hated the isolation. He hated being an assassin. It wasn’t who he was supposed to be.
The need for solitude welled up in Scorpion. He forced his way past the rowdy revelers once again, retrieved his cloak from the peg and pulled it around his shoulders. He swung open the inn door and stepped out into the darkness.
The storm had passed. The streets gleamed fresh and new in the scattered places where the glow of lamplight struck. Moonlight, when it slipped briefly through the patchy clouds, bathed Silva in a pale and deceiving light that masked the city’s heart and soul.
The storm had passed. Dawn would bring a new day, a new gamble, a new dance with death, a new sliver of eternity to cherish or squander. “Silva, you smell of dead fish,” whispered Scorpion.
The voice said, “Amazing what one can buy with a few silver coins…”
There would be no peace.
There would be no solitude.
He drew his cloak around himself and vanished quietly into the night.
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He's a man of flesh and blood and hormones! He just might be a bit better at hiding his feelings than others, but he's still very REAL...so don't you worry! 
Kristie
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About 'For A Few Silver Coins':
• Status: OK
• Created by:
James K. Bowers• Copyright: ©James K. Bowers. All rights reserved!
• Keywords: B620, Scorpion, Assassin
• Categories: Romance, Emotion, Love
• 
Mod Pick at: 2004-04-08 09:24:43• Views: 1015
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