Act 18.
The Shadows, a group of assassins known to be working mostly out of the lands of King William, are sometimes pointed to by my detractors as a joke to show these documents to be fake.
They point out that the descriptions are too stereotypical of the ninjas in Hong Kong films, or written by a writer of poor quality.
They are seen as being trained in all aspects of killing.
Archery, sword fighting, poisons etc.
They are seen as being able to do supposedly superhuman feats.
Again I say we cannot take every word as gospel. These were stories told over years and repeated by several men. There is bound to be changes to the stories depending on political circumstances at the time of telling, an artistic interpretation by the latest teller, or a myriad of other reasons.
Just because many imagery that is used today is used in these documents, does not necessarily mean they were written in modern times. Perhaps they are just early uses of them and were the precursors to today's writings.
As for the Shadows themselves there is little known.
They arose out of the founding of William’s Kingdom. It was said that they were instrumental in putting the first King on his throne by riding him of all his rivals.
In exchange the King was supposed to have offered the leader of the Shadows a voice on the counsel thus securing his guild as a powerful one.
The story goes that after his coronation the King never fulfilled his promise, and so the Shadows vowed to work against the Kings and their families anytime they were given the chance, announcing they would be forever an enemy of the King and his family.
Over the centuries they branched out, taking jobs against lower nobility, and were even rumored to work with their hated rivals if the circumstances were just right.
Orphaned boys and girls were taken off the streets and taught to be killers, including wiping as much human emotions from them as possible, thus making them perfect killers with no remorse, and who will not be swayed by feelings of right or wrong.
Queen’s Champion PP. 245.
It had been nearly 24 hours since his capture and he still was not talking. Linda had been informed by Prince William that he had not expected less from the man. Apparently they were trained in techniques to withstand pain.
But Linda knew that even if you could guard against pain, it was harder for anyone to withstand the effects of lack of sleep.
She had not liked the idea of torturing the prisoner, but she was only a guest here and had no real influence over King Patrick.
And Margaret had grown up in an atmosphere were torture was a part of life. So asking her to stop it would have been next to useless.
So she had gone to get some sleep, and now she was here in a room with the would be assassin and Margaret, hoping the two of them could get a little more out of him then the inquisitor had.
"What makes you think we can do any better?" Margaret had asked her when she had asked if they could see him.
"Because he is sleep deprived." she had answered. "He is trained to handle torture but he may let something slip while we talk to him, especially as he probably does not take us as seriously as a torturer."
Margaret had sighed resignedly.
"Very well." she said. "I will arrange it. It can’t do any harm and, who knows, we may get lucky."
So here she was in a room with the prisoner chained to the wall. He looked pretty bad. His eyes were nearly swollen shut. There were cuts on the soles of his feet as well as on his legs and arms. His left foot had been crushed and some of his fingernails had been ripped out. There were even burn marks a various points of his body and whip marks could be seen through his torn shirt.
They had been talking with him for a while and still had nothing to show for it.
Linda found it amusing that she and Margaret had slipped into the good cop, bad cop mode without even trying.
Margaret would threaten and badger the man and then she would calm her down and speak in a softer less menacing voice.
Still, they were getting nowhere.
It looked as though they would just have to execute him and try to make sure the Prince stayed safe until his return home.
During a break Linda rummaged through the stuff on the table that were the assassin’s possessions.
They had found the other horse and confiscated the bags and their contents as well as what was on him and his partner.
A lot of it was work related.
There were small daggers and wire for strangling someone, a vial of poison, as well as the arrows and bows. Some of the knives had very serrated edges and looked like they could do a lot of damage, and were probably very painful.
She shuddered, looking at the one she was holding.
She heard soft laughter coming from the prisoner.
"What are you laughing at?" growled Margaret.
"I find it funny that a warrior with the reputation of the Queen’s Champion would be frightened by such a small thing." he said.
"Just because I have to fight as part of my duties does not mean that I like to hurt others." said Linda. "I have more often than not just incapacitated my enemies, rather than kill them or cause them great pain. Unlike you who seem to have any number of instruments that can cause a great deal of pain."
He snorted.
"Then you are not a true warrior." he said.
Margaret moved towards him with a growl.
"You will show some respect..."
"Margaret." said Linda quietly.
Margaret stopped, and with a look at the prisoner, as if to say he was lucky, she returned to Linda’s side at the table.
"If you are an example of what a true warrior is supposed to be, then I am glad I am not one." said Linda.
"If you mean by that, that I am not swayed by sentiment and can look to my duties without fear of distraction by feelings of guilt or sentimentality, then I take that as a compliment." he said.
"So a good warrior is hard hearted then?" asked Linda.
"You could put it that way." he said. "A good warrior, such as myself, does not have time for wasteful emotions."
Linda sighed.
"You and I both came from the streets, yet we turned out so differently." she said. "I have seen some of those on the street become like you, and wished fervently that I never became like that. I feel sorry for you."
"Don’t." was all he said.
Something in among the weapons and vials on the table caught Linda’s eye.
She reached over to the pouch containing food supplies and opened in fully.
Inside was some bread and cheese and other food stuff. But there was also a handkerchief.
This would not have been odd if it were not for the fact that everything else was in muted colours of black or brown, yet this handkerchief was colourful and had a elaborate design on it. The exact opposite of everything else.
And it was frilly. Not the type used by men around here.
"What is it?" asked Margaret.
She held it open for her to see and to the prisoner she asked.
"If you are so cold and emotionless, how is it you carry a woman’s handkerchief around. Most men only have these if they want something to remind them of someone they care for."
She could see in his face that she had struck onto something. Good. She was afraid it may have been his partner’s but his face betrayed him. He did not like other’s touching his prize possession.
"So who’s is this dainty thing?" she wondered out loud.
She held it to her face in a mockery of how court ladies would sometimes stand during long ceremonies in court. They would have a scent on them to relieve the women of having to smell the stink of many bodies crammed into a hot room.
She sniffed.
She had smelled this scent before, somewhere.
Her face must have shown her surprise because Margaret asked.
"What is it?"
"I know this scent." she answered.
"It could be almost anybody you know." said Margaret. "The Queen, or Mikako..."
"No, she smells of lilac."
Margaret was staring at her.
"What?" asked Linda.
"You know how she smells?" said Margaret.
Linda blushed.
"Yeah, so?" she said. "You smell of strawberries."
It was Margaret’s turn to blush.
"I like strawberry." she mumbled under her breath.
"Be that as it may." said Linda, quickly changing the subject. "It is no one I am in contact with most often. This sent is a blend and therefore more expensive. It smells of cinnamon mixed with apples and a touch of mint. Probably a woman of higher class."
Margaret lowered her voice so that only Linda could hear.
"Could it be that the one who owns this handkerchief could have hired him knowing he cared for her?" asked Margaret.
"It could be." said Linda. "Or if we can find who this is, she may yield more clues as to his employer. Or at worse we could use her to force him to tell us."
"Well at least it tells us we have not hit a complete dead end just yet. My brother will at least be a little more relieved." said Margaret.
As if knowing they were talking about him, a thought which Linda could not dismiss completely, the door opened and in walked Patrick.
He walked over to them without a second glance at the broken man chained to the wall.
"Any news?" he asked.
"We have something, your highness." said Linda. "We may have a lea...."
she stopped mid sentence.
The King smelled of cinnamon mixed with apples and a touch of mint.