Men Like Me

His portrait watches over us as I lower him to the ground.

Only when he lies flat on the rich carpet, and his muscles loosen under me, do I pull the blade from his spine. The painting studies me with a look of content. A proud man of avarice, I'm sure he never even pondered his death as he stood for that artist. Men like him no doubt shroud thoughts of human weakness with the comfort of money. No amount of gold can keep the reaper at bay, though. And tonight, for my king, I've done the reaper's duty. My life's work, such as it is, is complete. The portrait's eyes stare at me as if to suggest he still has a chance of winning. Whether he was a usurper, or merely an avoider of his fair share of tax, I'll never know. He's slain and my work is complete. I must still leave without being seen, of course, but that will be child's play. My work will soon be complete and I'll be relieved of my duty, albeit by my own hand.

Out of the bathroom window and onto the streets of our dreadful capital, I stay close to the dank walls and walk at a comfortable pace. To anyone of potential suspiciousness, the home of my target looks as always, there's merely a few candles extinguished early in one home among many. The higher classes live here, and inspectors patrol with more frequency than most cities, but I've never known even these high brows to be neighbourly towards one another. On a grimy night such as this we're all equally keen to get ourselves out of the elements; me with not a pittance to my name, and these lords and barons alike. I glide through them, treacherous and with the blood of my fellow man still showing on my sleeve, but they pay me no attention as I tuck my arm inside my coat. Never doubt the self-absorption of potential witnesses.

In some cultures, men like me fall on their swords. I've even heard takes of them violently disembowelling themselves, or at least until the strength in their arms falters and they collapse into their own gore. I should be thankful, I suppose, that the given way for men like me to complete our work is cleaner. Simpler. Considerably less bloody and painful, too. I reach the summit of a great hill outside of the behemoth capital in just under an hour, and not a single man bothers me. I'd have been sorely tempted to accept a ride from, a generous horseman with an empty carriage, but people aren't so kind here. I clamber above thick roots and fallen trees, and it doesn't take long to find the stone workshop. I use a brass key to open the door, and inside as promised, my grave is prepared for me. On a desk by a candle that I light, as promised, is the herb. One of modern society's greatest, but most secretive, discoveries, the herb silences all evidence and witness to the shadowy murders that men like me commit. I slip the herb into my breast pocket. All that's left is to lower myself into my final resting place. For all I know, I'm bedfellows to previous men like me. I'd reckon it to be unlikely that we each have our own place of rest, with one of these small stone mausoleums to ourselves, so I say a silent prayer of apology to any of my brothers I happen to be stepping over, and briefly inspect the ground below me to plan my footing. As I lower myself into the grave, I chew the herb quickly, swallowing as soon as it can comfortably go down in one. The taste is foul, but I immediately feel weightless. I slide into the ground. My eyes close and I see nothing, not even the blackness behind my eyelids. I feel myself take one last deep inhalation, and then everything ends.

I blink, my eyelids heavy and sluggish. Well this isn't supposed to happen.

I struggle to open my eyes. Wherever I am, it isn't light, but my eyelids seem to weigh more than a knight's stallion, and when I do get them open, the world is too blurred for me to make sense of it. I hear a hum, possibly a murmur, but if it's a man speaking to me I have no chance of understanding or replying. The murmur continues and I feel something on my lips, then water trickles onto my tongue and I swallow as fast as it's poured. I think I fade out again a couple of times, but soon I open my eyes long enough to see that a candle or lantern is lit. I take staggered breaths and try to focus on the light. The murmur is definitely speech, but the vague black shape in front of me makes not a lick of sense yet. I get impatient and try to stand, but everything fades to black again.

'This is taking longer than I'd hoped'

My eyes open wider. They stay open too, but my vision is still a terrible smear. The figure in front of me seems to be a bit more defined, although not by much. I try to speak, and the voice sighs in frustration.

'Four days now. Are you sure he'll recover?'

From further away I hear a murmur. Heavens, this is frustrating.

'Tell me you can hear me'

'I can hear you'

I'm so used to distant groans and sighs that when one of them claps their hands, my eyes snap open.

'It's about time'

I'm lying on a bed, and when I try to move I'm pleased to see I'm not restrained.

'I do hope there's a good reason for why I'm alive'

I can see now that the person who'd watched over me is a woman, tall and not too old. Behind her sits a man who, to be generous, doesn't have long left on the body clock. He watches me from a large chair, a cane resting against one of the arms. The room I find myself in is bare save for my bed, the codger's chair and a bench. The woman watches me study the room.

'You're somewhere safe'

'Safe? dare I ask what danger I could possibly be in?'

She frowns at me. Clearly this woman wants to be taken seriously. Does she not realise she's talking to a man who was content to be dead some time ago? I'd heard a voice say 'four days', so it could possibly be a week since...since I'd finished my work. Why the devil was I here?

'Why the fuck am I here?'

'I'd have expected you to be thankful'

The nerve of this woman. I stand up and keep my balance well, surprising myself just a little. I tower over the petulant cow, and with only the old man behind her, she suddenly looks terrified.

'If you don't have the king's seal, I hope you're good in a fight woman'

'I just need you to listen. I'm not an enemy to you. But if you persist to threaten me...'

I feel pressure around my groin, and looking down I see the tip of a blade poking into the leather of my coat. She holds it firmly, and seems content that I've seen it. But she's an amateur. Without me against a wall, momentum is against her. I ponder whether to take the blade and be done with her then the old man, but I need answers first. I take the blade anyway, gripping her arm and pulling her body around. I squeeze her neck with my forearm until she drops the blade, then throw her into the wall. I try to be gentle, but I need her dazed until I deal with the old man. He tries feebly to stand, but I make it quick for him. Painless. Men like me are trained in mercy, possibly in the hope that we'll be given a passing for our crimes when we're judged in the afterlife. As I lower his body to the ground, I turn and see the woman's face. Her hands are clasped to her mouth. This will do.

'I know you didn't plan things this way. I don't rightly care. I want answers, woman. Where am I, how did you get me here and how long have I been here?'

After a long wait, watching her stare at the body until I stand between it and her, she seems to breathe again. I wait longer for her to regain her composure. I don't say another word, but I watch her, and she never matches my stare for longer than a second.

'I'm with the Free People'

I didn't ask about you. Answer my questions'

 This seems to make her regress. I wait longer for her to speak again. They never teach compassion and bedside manner to men like me.

'We're in the suburbs of Payne, just a small village. We'd wanted you to help us'

'There you go talking about yourself again. How did you get me here?'

'I...god...we had a produce carriage to put you in, I've been nursing you for days. Are you not grateful?'

'No I'm not. Now you've answered my questions, I want to know where you put the herb that was left for me. What did you swap it with?'

'Nothing. We didn't change the herb'

What is she saying? The poison was potent beyond words. They could never have found me in time.

'Were you waiting for me?'

'We were hidden. We couldn't change the herb for fear you'd notice. We gave you an antidote immediately. We also filled your veins with stimulants. The man you just killed was a wonderful doctor'

'Let's see him treat a stab wound' I sneer at her. My options at this point are low. Maybe I'd have to fall on my sword after all.

'What did your people want with me, dare I ask?'

I look at her, but she takes a moment to reply.

'We wanted...you...so we could show the world what the king really does. His shadowy acts, his illegal assassinations'

'You're in way over your head. When my brothers see my grave empty, they'll scour the country for you. Your Free People will be first, and let me tell you, the king has an army so bored they'll hunt you feverishly'

'Do you not care? Don't you want to live a life?'

I had a life, and I served it well. This woman clearly doesn't understand things outside her own world.

'You call yourselves the Free People. Did you consider what your actions have done to me? Did I have a choice to help you or not?'

'Of...of course'

'So what would have happened if I'd said no?'

She looks at me stupidly. I should pity the poor girl I suppose, having just seen a friend murdered. But she got herself into this mess. How am I supposed to get myself out? I try devising an option, or an idea. The woman has nothing more useful for me. I can perhaps find the carriage driver to take me back. As long as I have a blade. Then the woman speaks again.

'There's a free life out there for you too. Don't you know what the church can do for you, what God can bring to your life?'

'The church, you say? Men of God? Who do you think led me to become a man like me?'

It's the truth I tell her. I have no love for the church, and it was my lack of respect for their book that led to me getting sent to the only place worse. An orphan boy raised by the king's lords. I was tested for my endurance, my strength, and put to use. Men like me are always started young.

I'll leave you to live, woman, if only because you know nothing. But I would have your carriage driver take me back to my grave'

'You were our only chance to show the world what the king's crimes are! Why won't you help us?!'

'Well let me ask, why did you choose me? If I was your best candidate, you're in for a life of disappointment'

She scowls. Stronger than she looks, this one. If I didn't have a weapon she may have moved to hit me.

'We did not choose you. A messenger we followed dropped a letter, and it led us to knowing that Lord Almore was to be killed. You were just the one sent to kill him, so we made do. Although it seems that was in vain'

I smile, and she scowls again.  What to do? Return to my grave? Cut my own throat in a bloody mess? Maybe there is something to her cause.

'Let me ask, woman. What were your plans, should I see the light and sympathise with your people?'

'Tell the story. Tell the world. You'd be proof of the king's crimes'

'And I'd be hanged. Just long enough to embrace life, and love the truth, and the king's men would drop me from a rope'

This time, to my surprise, she smiles at me.

'Then you'd be no worse off than you were when we revived you'

What a card. If I'd known a woman like this in my youth, perhaps I'd never have become a man like I am. Despite myself, I smile back.

'So what could you say to make me betray my king?'

'We have gold, and safe places to be, and the support of the people. We can pay you well'

It seems I'll have to fall on my sword after all. A life of hiding with a pittance of coppers. I nod, and I step closer to her. I put an arm on her shoulder, and pull her towards me. Enough for her to not see my smile fade.

'You'll never have honour'

Only when she lies flat on the ground, her arms no longer tense, do I pull the blade out of her spine.