Page 35 of The Shadow of Breninsol
Drunken fool.
He had no idea he was being followed. Although, Eleanor considered that this job was too easy. She was aware that his drunkenness could be an act and he might be trying to lead her somewhere.
Gary prised himself from the oil-lit lamppost and staggered along the cracked pavement until he suddenly turned, making Eleanor go still, waiting to see if he’d heard her. With a fair number of streets to drunkenly traverse, it would be sunrise when they reached their destination. She couldn’t keep following him for what was left of the night.
Eleanor scrunched up her nose in disgust as a massive burp echoed along the street and then he patted himself as if rewarding himself for being so foul. He started forward but nearly slammed into a wall. He managed to clip the corner of the alley with his shoulder and muttered something Eleanor couldn’t hear as he took a right turn down an alley.
She quietly cursed the night but followed him. Once in the alley she drew her blade in case it was a trap.
Valen’s desire for the man’s death held a reason, though it was unknown to her. She’d been his assassin since coming into Breninsol, and it’d been a mutually beneficial exchange. Especially as his payment was almost exclusively funding her stash of booze, along with repaying Madam Grace. It was a futile attempt to pay off the madam completely, but she used her meagre earnings to chip away at her debt.
Eleanor got closer in case Gary ducked down a smaller alley but continued listening to the sounds behind her. She was acutely aware of how this could easily become a trap.
Gary was still muttering to himself, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying, just that the words “bitch” and “whore” were his favourites to repeat.
Eleanor stopped at the alley’s end, where it opened onto a small courtyard with a stone fountain in the middle. It was a simple design with a stone ball resting on the single smooth pillar, the spout flowing with a steady stream of gurgling water being collected in the deep basin below.
Gary had stopped in front of the fountain and was cackling to himself as he pulled at his trouser strings.
In the Barrow the fountains weren’t for decoration, they were simple, sturdy, and practical. They provided additional water for those in the area. Despite indoor pipes, harsh weather or age often broke them. The fountains served an essential function for families in the Barrow as many couldn’t afford the repairs.
Eleanor now had a personal justification for ending the man’s life. She slipped into the courtyard as Gary finally loosened his trouser strings, still swaying, and muttering to himself. At one point, she thought he might tip and fall into the fountain and drown himself. Eleanor crept up behind him with her blade drawn, as he leaned back and pulled his trousers down.
He sighed, gazing upwards at the dark night, muttering, “come on.”
Eleanor almost chuckled at his encouragement to urinate. Before he could contaminate the fountain, Eleanor dragged her sharp blade across his exposed throat with one hand, while dragging him back to not poison the water.
He let out a gasp, surprised that he’d see his death this night.
Eleanor let out a hiss of breath as his elbow connected with her side in a futile attempt to save himself. She dismissed thethrobbing pain as she dragged his heavy body into the shadows, where she dropped him to slump against the wall. A bright crimson trail of fresh blood followed her path, the metallic scent thick in the air.
His gasps were giant breaths as he struggled for air that wasn’t full of his own blood. He clumsily slapped a heavy hand against his spurting neck and coughed a wet noise that joined the fountain and looked at her with wide eyes. Now he was asking for help, instead of trying to fight her off, but it was futile. Death had been following him, a silent, unseen predator, and he’d been dimly unaware. Eleanor ignored the fresh ache of pain on her side as she bent down, knowing it’d bruise within the day. She kept her weight on the balls of her feet and grabbed his arm in a firm grip to lower it.
She slowly shook her head at the dying man. He wouldn’t be saved tonight. Her face would be the last thing he saw as he died, a common fate to many others before him.
The spurting blood had slowed to a weak trickle, and his gasping breaths were quicker and fewer. She felt his arm relax under her grip, a sign of his body giving into his inevitable death.
Eleanor sighed as she waited for him to die, and considered stabbing him in the neck, just a little further along underneath his jaw. It would be a quicker death. His eyes fluttered as he tried in vain to fight his own death.
To kill some time, Eleanor sheathed her blade and dug around in his pockets. He had a short knife, the kind blacksmiths sold to someone who didn’t know how to properly handle a blade. She dipped the small knife in the pool of blood that his body was now soaked in and placed it in his lifeless hand.
Eleanor knew it wouldn’t fool anyone astute. However, it could function as a convenient excuse if the city guard investigated the murder.
He had a set of keys that she left with him but pocketed a heavy coin purse. By the time she’d finished rooting around, he’d finally stopped breathing. His eyes had rolled shut, and his blood had stopped running out.
Eleanor took out her long knife and held his other hand out. His lifeless body dragged along the wall as she placed his hand flat on the cobblestones and cut down with a heavy hand onto his fingers. The ringing sound of her wicked sharp blade against the stone echoed in the courtyard over the sound of the water fountain.
A slow trickle of blood, dark and viscous, seeped from his severed fingers, staining the already blood-soaked ground beneath him. Eleanor took a stained white handkerchief from the dead man’s top pocket and picked up his severed finger with the large silver ring still attached and wrapped it. She sheathed her knife and secured her prize in her deep cloak pocket and left the dead man in the courtyard.
Chapter Fifteen
A Bet
Despite the courtesans’ dwindled numbers from the first night, they rushed into the room where they’d spend their evening at the party palace. Evidence that the warning wasn’t purely a threat, it was likely those who weren’t invited back were the ones who hadn’tperformedwell enough to merit a repeat invite. An unsettling reminder that Eleanor didn’t want to learn what Madam Grace would do to her if she didn’t secure another invite.
Eleanor had been thankful when the king’s man had hastily abandoned them at the doors before they’d even been opened. The oily man and his aggravating cough grated against hernerves, and the thought of strangling him just to end his misery briefly crossed her mind. It was a chilling yet strangely comforting idea.
She grabbed a glass of the fruity, but nutty sparkling wine from the nearest servant, in a bid to suppress anymore murderous thoughts. None of the courtesans had stood in the golden doorway for long, each darting off to whichever lord that’d caught their eye. Veronica had shyly waved at a lord and, from by the blush across her cheeks, he might be the Lord Littlcharred who had taken such a fancy to her. Lucy had trailed after her friend, and the Petals had exchanged a quick “tits up” with Eleanor as they bustled past.
