Business in the Dark

A few candles kept the room in a comfortable glow. The bed was simple yet promised comfort, the linens on them fresh and neatly made. There was also a small tub at the foot of the bed for washing, its contents steaming next to a minor stool with a bar of simple soap and a few wash cloths. 

“You were running late.”

It was a calm, masculine voice that addressed me from somewhere in the room. I could see it was the same stranger from before as he stepped away from the shadows of the room and into the light, resting a shoulder against the wall as he watched me. 

“I had delays. Part of the job, is it not?” I retorted stubbornly, my steps stopping me in front of him. A pair of cool grey eyes regarded me in silence. He heaved a sigh and brushed back his hood, showing his tired features, a deep shadow along his skin showing he was in need of a shave. “Delays cost lives, Viper. You know this better than most I employ,” he argued pushing himself away from the wall to stand his full height before me. He was significantly taller, but it hardly made me feel small. 

“Of course I do. This one nearly cost me my own.” I felt my annoyance rising. This was common from him, though, so I simply reached for the letter and offered it to him. Before he could ask what I meant, the sight of the letter had his complete attention. He took it, admiring the seal closely and in the mean time, I took the liberty of removing my cloak at long last, tossing it along the back of a chair gracelessly while he remained pleasantly distracted by the fruits of my labor. I took a seat since I was tired of standing, pouring myself another tin glass of wine as he ripped open the seal and began to read the writing quietly. 

Perhaps others in my line of work cared about the contents of those letters, but I hardly spared them any thought. Far was the work from obtaining them a simple task, however, and the thought of the pay already had me feeling the relief that would follow for the next moon cycle. He finally finished reading his letter and sat on the bed across from me, the exhaustion gone from his face only to be replaced with determination, the serious subject of business clinging to his tone. “There is another task that I have for you, though this one may bring you even further out than before. It’ll take you a fortnight to get there, one evening to collect the correspondence, and one more week to meet me up north this time. I’d settle for meeting here again, but you know the risks.”

I drank my wine as he spoke, the annoyance beginning to be replaced with the warmth the alcohol brought to my bloodstream. “When am I to depart?” I asked curiously, watching his brow furrow thoughtfully. He saw the stain on the left side of my blouse, the bandaging worn from travel. “How long do you need?” It was an irritating question, but one I knew was thoughtful. I set my glass down on the nearby table, pouring myself another tin glass. “Give me four days to sort this,” I said, motioning to my wound and leaning back in my chair slowly.  He remained silent as he watched me before excusing himself temporarily and leaving the room. The wooden boards took him farther and soon, it was relatively quiet around me save for the high-pitched giggle once in a while. Once again, the stillness of my position made me heavily aware of how much I needed a washing. Even the steam from the tub at the foot of the bed beckoned me, yet it was the sound of the anchor door opening to welcome back my visitor that won my unfortunate attention. 

In his hands, he carried a small wooden box that he offered to me with one hand. “You’ll need fresh bandages to dress that wound if you expect it to heal in time,” he stated. I took the box and placed it on the table beside me since he was offering me something else soon after. It was a letter with a scarlet seal on it this time. I made no move to take the letter, however and simply stared at him with a tired smirk. “Have I given the impression that I work for free now?” I ask, extending my hand as if expecting something heavy to fall on it. “You know my rule. I do not touch the next assignment—-” 

“— without pay for the prior. Yes,” he finished, heaving a breath before placing a generous coin purse in my outstretched hand. He glanced down at the blood on my blouse again. Setting the coin aside, I began to reach for the medical box when he took it from my grasp with a calm command of “Let me have a look.” Admittedly, I was exhausted and the wine was dulling my senses already. I saw no point in arguing and simply sat more on my side, beginning the work of lifting the soiled blouse away from my bandaged wound. The dressing had seen better hours, no doubt. It was wet not just with my blood, but with sweat from my long travels. 

“Any poison?”

“Considering I’ve been on my feet for days, I’d safely say no.”

“And the weapon?”

“A shiv.”

He worked off the bandage from around my waist and tossed it aside, revealing the severity of my wound. The cut was deep, but not lethal. He pressed his hands close to the edges of it, feeling if my abdomen was tense, flaring up my pain in the process which made me hiss gently. He stood for a moment to bring the wash basin over, filing it with some of the heated water from the tub as well as one of the wash cloths. 

“No signs of infection,” he pointed out as he began to clean the wound carefully. 

“I took something to prevent it.”

“You’ll need this stitched, Viper.”

Those were not the words I wanted to hear, and my groan certainly showed it. I let my head fall back as I sank further into my chair, resting an arm over my eyes. A part of me knew I should have asked for whiskey downstairs instead of wine, but I couldn’t change the next steps at this point. What needed to be done, needed to be done. 

“So, how exactly did this happen?”

“I already told you, it was a shiv,” I answered dryly from beneath my arm. 

“Yes, you covered that,” he said slowly. “but it is rare to see you return from your assignments carrying a wound. You’re priced for being discreet and unnoticed, after all.”

I saw no point in this conversation. If anything, it was slowly approaching the territory of spoken concern, something he had never voiced with me. I kept my arm over my eyes and fed him my silence in hopes that he would take a hint not to ask about the mission. I could hear him opening the wooden box filled with medical supplies, rummaging through its contents to lay them in order upon the table. The touch over my wound surprised me enough to make me flinch as he began to clean it, blood and sand being wiped off with slow concentration I knew I could barely muster if I wanted to in this moment.

“Hmm… does not seem to be too deep, either. You must have had time to react well,” he stated analytically. 

“I’m alive,” I answered with a heavy sigh, lowering my arm to amuse myself with staring at the ceiling instead. Much of the wood had seen better days, beyond a doubt. I knew sandstorms were a common occurrence out here. Even the wooden floorboards showed that evidence, the corners of the room showing signs of sand here and there, the furniture sporting a dusted and worn look along the corners in the dull candle light. 

“Are they?” He asked the question, but it was hardly due to concern. This was business, after all. I shifted my gaze over to find he was watching me, waiting for my answer. Beyond the silence of the chamber, another stifled giggle could be heard coming from one of the nearby rooms. I reach over for one of the surgical needles he had laid out, admiring it as I relaxed back in my chair again. 

“You should know very well that if I am alive, they are not. Otherwise, that–” I motioned with a nod to the letter he had left on the table, “— would not be in your possession.”

“Were any alarms raised?”

“No.”

“Were you followed upon departing?”

“No.”

He paused in his questioning to take the needle from my hand, beginning to work the surgical thread into it. “Whatever did you do with the body, Viper?” he asks more curiously, as if intrigued, but I knew better. He had no interest in knowing about my methods beyond his own gains or guarantees. As if to taunt me, the coin purse caught the corner of my eye on the table.

“What can I say? A girl’s got to eat.” It was a terrible answer, but one that had me chuckling nonetheless the moment his eyes flickered to mine and his jaw clenched. I delivered my most charming smirk, though it soon disappeared when he began the first stitch on my flesh as I winced and closed my eyes. After breathing out slowly, I decided to give him a serious answer since he failed to acknowledge my terrible attempt at humor.

“When I left the town, there was a sandstorm well on its way. I used it as proper cover and dragged the body with me to some shelter. While I waited it out, the storm claimed it. It would take an act of the Gods to find it now.”

He carefully continued to stitch up my wound as he absorbed my answer, brow furrowed in thought or concentration. With him, it was hard to tell most days. He pressed on my flesh to keep it in place as I breathed, the warmth of his hand seeping into my abdomen. After a while, he seemed satisfied with my answer and changed the subject.

“You may run into similar trouble on this next assignment. The way in is rather limited and the guard posts are on a strict day and evening rotation to keep the minds fresh and alert.” He finished the last stitch and after cutting the thread, he reaches for the bandages, but I held up a hand, stopping his movements. “I wish to bathe first,” I explained, but did not move from my chair. 

“So security is tighter, the doors are under lock and key and the time to be in and out is limited. You’re filled with warnings this evening,” I pointed out. “I’d be careful, or I might believe you are worried for me.” My tone was of light jest, of course, though it did nothing to change his calculating expression as he locked those grey eyes with my my own. “This next correspondence will change everything, Viper,” he stated more seriously. 

“Will it stop the war?” I asked calmly. 

“Of course not.” Rising from my chair, I poured myself one last tint glass of wine and wandered close to the door, my own silent way of informing him this meeting was concluded. “Then it isn’t changing everything. It changes nothing.”

He watched me silently for a moment before rising to his feet, working his cloak back over his head. “Use the ointment I left out for you,” he manages to say before opening the door and disappearing out into the hallway, the rowdy sounds of the tavern below easily heard for a moment or two before I closed the door and locked it, leaning my back against it. 

I could no longer see steam rising from the bathwater. Taking my time, I began to undress and settled that the next hour in that tub would either be torture or delight. The flesh wound I carried was still sore, though no longer throbbing like before. After cleaning up the remnants of the desert off myself, I worked on bandaging the wound, securing it well so it would not shift in my sleep. I settled into my spare blouse and found the comfort of the bed. I brought my hand to rest under my pillow and ran idle fingers along my dagger. It wasn’t long before the feel of it’s steel and the safety of its proximity welcomed the much needed rest my body had been aching for.