The Killing Man

[Anthoni Cole]

The time was unknown to Anthoni but the moonlight bled through the Sunberth alleyways. Hidden by the rough cobblestone buildings which seemed twisted by years of neglect and poor craftsmanship. He kept his hood low for reasons he didn't quite understand, the men with him did the same and they were professionals. Years have passed for the young street rat but never before had he stooped this low, no longer was he in the business of taking coin purses. The hunger grew to ravid.

He wanted more and in the spur of a moment his tattoo, the scythe which was magically imprinted upon his palm convinced the men he walked with. Dira touched him long ago, thus they concluded Anthoni could be trusted. The promise of pay was enough for him, thick, weighty gold coins and fist sized jewels were said to be in the home. Instinctively he reached for his belt, which had a sack full of tools necessary for a job like this.

"It's not much further," the big man said quietly "the lock should be simple for a thief." His face was hidden but Anthoni knew he was refering to himself. He was the only thief in the party, the others obvious killers. He shivered remembering the hollow look of the dark haired mans eyes. Anthoni's feet grew heavy but he forced his steps, made them quiet, the maze of the alleyway was unforgiving. In the night there was no turning back. A glance behind him and the dark haired man was gnawing on his own lip, a long blade in his hand.

Suddenly, accidently, Anthoni bumped into the large man leading the trio. "Watch yourself," he whispered "we're here kid." Twenty something and still they insisted on calling Anthoni 'Kid' but for how much longer he wondered, eagerly. The door was ahead of them, simple wood, he knew the big man could just as easily kick it in but that'd be to easy, to loud. Anthoni had a job to do as well, and so his guilty hands dug through his sack and found the right tools. A crank, a prop, and a few minutes of silence and heavy breathing and the lock came undone. Candle light flickered through the studs, but when the door swang open the breeze killed all light.

A push from behind and the dark haired man went first. Anthoni looked back but was shuffled inside the building by the frame of the big man. No words said, but he knew there was no escape. His heart beat loud in his chest but his breathing was finally calm. The three men walked inside the home, it was a home too, painted pictures told Anthoni so. A big fat merchant and his sons, with a bigger, fatter woman smiling proudly beside them.

He walked into the kitchen which had a candle still lit, the same fat merchant lay still in the chair. A bottle of drink held loose in his hands. The big man held a single finger to his lips but the only sound in the building was the merchants snoring. "Drunk," Anthoni couldn't help but say. How small the world was, it seemed, because just a few days prior Anthoni had tried to steal a few apples from this very merchants stand, down in the market, yet he was caught, hit hard on his lip, and returned home hungry to a starving sister. Anthoni bit his swollen lip but his face remained like stone. Slowly the big man weaved his way through the kitchen behind the sleeping merchant. The club in his hand, no blade, but a large club aimed high for the mans head.

Anthoni did not expect it, nor should he have being a thief, but the club went crashing down on the merchants skull. Instnatly his heavy body drooped in his chair but the bottle of drink crashed to the ground and shattered. Looking at the big man he saw a smile, pleasure, came and went across his face. Almost like a child whom had just ate a sweet to fast, now gone and over with the child looked empty.

"Why'd you do that?" Anthoni asked aloud, wonder struck.

"He shouldn't have been sitting at the table." The big man said. Looking down at the floor Anthoni couldn't tell which of the red liquid was wine and what was blood, but he knew for certain brain oozed from the back of the mans head. Dead. Creaking from the stairs, to light to be the merchants wife, no, a kids voice.

"Daddy?" The boy said softly as he came down the stairs, using the rail to guide him in the dark. Anthoni's eyes grew wide, maybe to late, but he said nothing.