I pondered long over the method of death, and I chided myself for not seeing the possibility sooner. Like so many others seeking luck or blessing, Han would rub the wooden moons in his hands, then blow on them and kiss them before casting them to see which way they would land.
Dressed as a traveling cleric in the faith, my master had easy access to the crescents. A part of Renek's smoothness, his talent, resulted from his ability to blend unnoticed into even small groups of people. He is of ordinary human height and weight. His hair is a medium brown of medium length. His eyes are dark but not unusually so. Even his nose, a telling feature for many, is unobtrusive and indistinctive. Truly, he hasn't a single physical characteristic that would draw attention or set him apart from anyone in a crowd.
I wish I could say the same for myself. I'm tall, awkwardly so, and gaunt. My skin is pale enough that in my youth it was the subject of jokes and cruel comparisons to fish bellies and other pallid things. No amount of exposure to the sun has ever improved my pallor. In fact, when I was young and more concerned about such things, I would stay out on bright days, scalding myself to the color and crepe-like texture of red poppies. But within days my parched skin would peel off in gummy layers to reveal more of the same milky hue I started with.
I also used to gorge myself repeatedly over many days in hopes of filling out my tall frame. Always, I would grow a rounded, ball-shaped paunch but experience no satisfying increase in overall bulk or brawn, and so I would return to my former eating habits.
Renek would not understand such measures. He's not handsome or even striking, but he'd never be the subject of stares or surreptitious snickers. That's why he could move unnoticed through the temple, as he did through every other assassination site.
But anonymity alone would not have put Renek in a position to kill Han. He had another important advantage going into this job: I had given him the perfect poison. Han felt, I'm sure, a faint tingling in his hands within seconds of rubbing the two crescent moons between his palms. And no doubt his lips had begun to tingle a moment after he'd kissed their smooth wooden surface. As Renek told it to me later, Han had, as a matter of curiosity, sniffed his hands and the crescents themselves, inhaling the odorless poison. He shrugged and cast the crescents. My master told me they landed with their points at odds. "A bad omen," Renek had noted, chuckling. As Han walked to draw a lot from the bin indicated by the opposing crescents, he no doubt felt the tingling intensify to a mild burning, extending from his hands to his wrists, from his lips to his tongue and throat, and from his throat into his lungs.
By then, of course, Renek had exchanged the tainted moons for two harmless objects of worship. He told me how he feigned concern as Han staggered to the priest to have his lot read. And when Han began ranting in poison-induced lunacy, Renek asked a brother of the order if he could help. But two other clerics waved him off as they carried Han to a trough and began splashing him with water-a kind but pointless act. Not long after, as Renek disappeared into the shadows, they would have noticed grotesque and darkening blisters forming on Han's lips and hands. He probably started to heave then-blackened spittle and blood. Renek told me he heard the screams of "Plague!" as he left the site.
I accompanied Renek when he collected his fee. I remember that I was staring at my hands on the saddle horn as he spoke giddily of how smoothly the task had gone. I was thinking about what the Red Wizard had said when I became conscious of Renek's words.
"You should have seen him, Tine," he said to me. "He came in meek as a bug, the way he always does-" I'd told him that. Yet Renek acted as though it was firsthand knowledge "-and walked to the offering table. I've never seen him look so humble-pious almost. Can you imagine?"
He went on like that, providing each detail as if he had observed it first, and describing the action of the poison as if he understood it. At one point I asked him, "Do you suppose you should have used an even slower-acting solution?"
"No. No," he answered. "I had just the right combination. And plenty of time to make the exchange, get out of there, and know I'd accomplished what I set out to."
His words and his pompous, thankless attitude jarred me more than the rough gait of the horse I rode. He had just the right combination-not "you provided" or "because of you." He actually credited himself with the success.
When he took his pay for the task, I felt sure he would offer me a share. In my two years of service for Renek, he'd never been overwhelmingly generous, but he had occasionally rewarded me when, as in this case, the craftsmanship was of exceptional caliber. When my master mounted his horse and reined it around to where I sat, waiting astride the old bay, he handed me my wage and a paltry amount extra- hardly more than a barmaid might expect to earn in tips for half a night's work.
I tried to take some consolation simply in the fact that Han was dead. Unlike most thieves, who take great pride in doing their work with stealth and cunning, Han based his pride on and earned his status from the sheer volume of his plunder. I'm sure he had far more murders to his credit than my master, but he had none of Renek's reputation for finesse. He'd left a trail of gore and mutilation that buzzards and monsters of the twilight appreciated. Strangely, though, proof of his crimes was elusive. Gnomes in the Arch Wood had tried him for killing one of their princesses in conjunction with the amazing robbery of an entire royal treasury. Even in places where lynching is the common form of justice, Han had escaped punishment.
Most recently, Han had publicly threatened the entire town council of Gendelarm. Rumor had it that he had dragged a councilwoman's son behind a wagon till he was maimed beyond recovery. The woman said that, with his last breath, her son repeated a death threat from Han.
Ironically, Han's assassination was not commissioned by the councilwoman, her family, or anyone on the council. Instead, a fellow thief seeking to elevate his own position in the guild had contracted for Renek's services. I suppose I shouldn't concern myself with the reasoning behind my master's work-Renek doesn't-but it always feels better when justification can be found in higher principles.
Such was not the case with Renek's next kill. His prey was not a criminal like Han or an undesirable like others he had killed. Always before, I had understood my own role and seen some good in assisting Renek.
Until recently, I also thought I understood how others viewed my role. But I learned otherwise from Ashana. After the assassination of Han, I continued to pass near her home in hopes of seeing her As her father's illness progressed, she spent more and more time at his bedside, but occasionally when she did come out, she would visit with me.
I could see how the burden of caring for her father weighed on her. Weariness had taken its toll on her posture. Likewise her hair. The first few times I had seen her, it was carefully brushed and restrained with combs, but as she spent more time caring for her father, she spent less time attending to her looks. Wild cascades of loose curls covered her shoulders and back and occasionally fell into her eyes. When we visited-always standing in the street-I would find myself wanting desperately to reach out and touch her hair, gently brush it out of her eyes. But always I hesitated. What if she were to shrink from the touch of my hands?