Thar Shaddin

Jasmina was surprised to hear there were better rooms than the one she was currently staying in. The room was already far superior to what she was used to-- clean, comfortable, and apparently furnished with some thought given it being a pleasant space, not just crammed with castoffs. Jasmina was not accustomed to such care being taken in inns and taverns.

"I am grateful, sir. I am quite content with the room I have; it is most comfortable. But if there is another place you feel would be better, I will of course do as you recommend."

Jasmina had indeed noticed men slipping into the back for unknown gatherings or errands, but had given it little thought. She had assumed they were staff members, doing whatever one did to run a tavern... she really had no idea what running a tavern, or any sort of business for that matter, would entail.

She wondered, however, if she should be concerned that she seemed to be getting further and further mixed up with Salliniari. He was by all appearances a kind man, and she had no fear that he would do harm to her-- but if his business was not on the up-and-up, if he was shadier than he seemed, Jasmina didn't want to get caught up in anything illegal.

Still, accepting his hospitality hardly seemed likely to get her in any trouble. If he wished to make her stay even more pleasant than it already was, she wasn't exactly going to argue.

"You are very kind, sir. I thank you. Perhaps I should soon return to my dancing? I fear to make your customers disappointed."

Jasmina was in no hurry to leave if he wanted to continue the conversation, but she also didn't want Salliniari to feel he wasn't getting his money's worth.

As Cervantes traversed the streets of Keltaris in search of the place he was instructed to visit, he received more than a few curious stares from the locals. His clothes were foreign and dirty. He looked haggard and lost. His facial features were difficult to place but his accent was from the western shores. The combination of these factors piqued people's curiosity. If he looked more approachable, they might have struck up a conversation or asked questions. He wasn't in the mood to be approachable.

The city was a maze of winding streets that spread outward from various hot-spots like the arteries and capillaries of a fallen giant. Navigating it was an adventure in itself, especially with no map (his had become useless miles ago) and an unwillingness to ask for directions that might tip people off as to his destination or draw attention to himself. He allowed himself four hours of walking the streets to gather a feel for the place.

Tugging his horse along by his side, he passed through the more affluent parts of the city, through the market, and settled himself in what amounted to the poorest area of Keltaris. It was not so much a poor community as a congregation of the labour force of the city. The people were harder and simpler - more like the fishermen from Trelham. The alleys had garbage in them and the taverns were rowdy. Cervantes was almost able to blend in, and found the people much easier to talk to.

It was here that he settled in and rented a room above a tavern called the Hairy Fisherman. The name suited him as much as the occupants did. That night he did nothing but linger around, practising his story on the tender and few others who asked him who he was and where he was from. He was Ezril, an aspiring soldier from the northwest, and was in Keltaris an an errand to bring back some weapons from Tian Xia. It went over well.

The following day, after having cleaned up and shaved, he sat on his bed in his room and withdrew the sealed instructions he had been given. Holding the unmarked envelope in front of himself, he broke the seal, which bore no crest, and withdrew a yellowish sheet of paper. On it, in a hand unpractised with the use of a fountain pen, he read:

Find Salliniari. Get him back for killing Kutter and Surie. Leave him alive.

Leave him alive. That was the final instruction. Get revenge for killing two, no doubt in order to send a message from the Tarsis.

But why not just kill Salliniari? Cervantes knew the man was one of the leading members of the Bendulli family. Did the Tarsis not think he was up to the challenge of killing him, or was there some other reason?

There was nobody to ask. He could only guess. His aspirations were great, but he knew better than to kill a man like Salliniari without the backing of the Tarsis behind him. It was going to be their way. If Salliniari had family, he wasn't going to have them for long.

Cervantes tore up the paper into several pieces, shoved them back in the envelope, and stuck that in his pocket to dispose of later. He rose from his bed, gathered his things, along with a clean shirt and slacks, and set out into the morning bustle of Keltaris to begin his search. He kept his knife tucked away behind his back.

Asking directly about the whereabouts of one of the most important criminals in the region was something to be done with caution. He prepared himself to kill the person he asked if he got the impression they were thrown aback by the question. With that criteria in mind, he chose to ask an old man he found standing outside the tavern to begin with.

"Eh? Salliniari's?" The old man's poor hearing just bought him a few years longer to live. "It's on the other side of town when you come in from the western gate. Good luck finding the way through this nightmare."

Even a man who'd lived in Keltaris for 70 years couldn't explain a path through the maze. Getting through it, even keeping tabs on which way was west, was only possible by looking up at the sun or using one of the golden caps that peaked above the other buildings as a marker. His horse got another day to rest - this had to be done on foot.

On his way he passed by the source of one of those magnificent golden peaks. It was situated atop a spotless, massive church that rose at least six stories off the ground and was surrounded with intricate geometrical designs. A twelve foot statue of an old man in front holding out a scroll and pointing accusingly toward the south declared the church's allegiance to Theogios.

All Cervantes could think about was how much one of those golden domes must be worth. Keltaris wore its wealth like a sultry queen whose haughty status kept her out of reach of a man like him.

* * *

"You're contented too easily, Jasmina. We have much better rooms than the ones we keep for..." he rolled his hand through the air like he was trying to draw forth an appropriate euphemism. He didn't want to call her a commoner. "For regular people. Soak it up while you have the opportunity. Life is for the living and it's on me."

To his delight, she offered to dance again.

"Forget about the customers!" Red wine crested the far edge of its glass when he gestured wildly again. "You'll disappoint me if you make the offer and don't give me a final dance for the day. Guido will show you around after. I have an evening engagement to make in a few minutes."

Near the entrance to the tavern, a tall young man with tanned skin and black hair passed along the side wall, looking over the occupants while drawing very little attention to himself. His green eyes rested on the loudest and most extravagantly dressed man in the place, which was, of course, Salliniari.

Jasmina would not have taken issue in the slightest with being called a commoner. It was the truth, and she saw no shame in it. Nor was being called a regular person at all objectionable. Jasmina merely gave Salliniari a grateful smile.

Another smile, with a different cause, brightened her face at his enthusiasm for her to dance again. It was the pride any artist or craftswoman would take in seeing the fruits of her labours appreciated. Most people enjoyed watching a bellydancer, but for some it seemed to have an added appeal. Not just that of sex-- something Jasmina would not allow audience members to entertain as a possibility; her body was off limits-- but an understanding of the artistry. Salliniari seemed to have that sort of understanding.

"I am most pleased to have had this chance to converse, Mister Salliniari and Mister Guido." To Guido she added, "I will see you again when I have finished."

Jasmina didn't notice the man by the entrance, even though he was looking at Salliniari. When she was in her performing mindset, she was more focused on the audience as a mass to entertain than on any particular patron... and she was particularly unlikely to notice someone she wouldn't recognize anyway.

Before she began, Jasmina tucked a corner of her gauzy red veil into the waist of her skirt, passed the veil around behind her so it draped across the back of her skirt, then over her front to cover her chest. The edge of the veil hung over her left shoulder and down her back, held in place by gravity acting on the weigh of the fabric. Veil in place, she signaled the band that she was ready to begin.

The music was a slow, sensuous and dramatic piece in Çiftetelli rhythm, and Jasmina began her dance with the veil still draped around her. Her arms snaked upward, then dropped abruptly as her hips began to circle. She rose on her toes to do a series of taxims-- tracing a vertical figure-eight with her pelvis as her arms wove in and out, and her wrists made graceful outward circles.

Slowly, without missing a beat, she lowered the piece of her veil that draped across her shoulder, trailing fabric from her undulating hand. As she turned in a circle, she unwrapped the piece of the veil from behind her skirt, then with a second spin untucked it entirely.

The veil, now free, billowed like a cloud around her, always in motion. Her legs, hips, arms, and hands continued to move with the beat, slow and soft, but always strong and supported. Finally, when the dance was coming to an end, she draped the veil over her shoulders and raised her arms, edges of the veil still clutched between her fingers, palms together above her head. Arms like a temple, her mother would say. With her arms and the fabric thus framing her face, Jasmina bent her knees as her hips traced figure-eights, leveling her body nearly down to the floor, then back up again. Then it was finished, and she allowed the veil to drop to the floor.

Jasmina looked to Salliniari without thinking about it, hoping to see approval in his eyes. The customers seemed pleased with what they'd seen, but it was the proprietor whose opinion would set the tone for how the dancer felt about her performance.

The mysterious figure lingering at the side of the tavern watched the rest of the exchange between the woman, who appeared to be some sort of entertainer, wearing garb Cervantes had never seen before, and the man who drew his attention to begin with. Through the bustle of the place, he watched the woman's lips move and faintly heard her say his name. It was Salliniari. That loud, jovial old man was the one who Cervantes was tasked with bringing down an avalanche of grief upon.

Of course, Cervantes knew better than to see the man for his facade. Behind that smiling mask was a crime boss who had no qualms with ordering the deaths of his enemies. With vengeance on him would come advancement for the young assassin.

Cervantes took a seat, appearing to have only been searching the place for a comfortable spot to claim as his table, and ordered a glass of wine from the curvaceous, smiling waitress who showed up to greet him. He smiled back until she was gone, managing to look quite relaxed himself.

While he watched Salliniari's exchange with the young woman and the shorter, bald man who sat beside him, the luck of fate became apparent. Cervantes had stumbled upon two possible targets. Sallinari kept smiling and gesturing to both of them as though they were his friends. That was not a business meeting - he was there to relax. If they were his friends, they were both perfect targets. He seemed especially fond of the fancily dressed woman.

She took her leave of them, heading toward the stage, and Salliniari leaned over to mutter something in confidence to Guido. The two kept proximity with each other and looked like a couple of very close friends... But Cervantes' eyes were drawn more to the woman on the stage. He realized, even before she began, that she was quite beautiful to him. Her dark hair and features reminded him of someone he'd left back home.

Music began to play, a quality and rhythm he'd never heard before, and Jasmina began to dance. She moved her arms and her whole body with practiced grace, using the thin veil as an extension of herself. As she slowly teased the fabric away from her body, revealing her soft curves and sensual motions beneath it, he sat there transfixed.

For the entirety of her dance he lost himself in her. He forgot about Sallinari and Guido, forgot about who he was and why he was there. Perhaps the exhaustion of his journey was finally catching up with him, because he had never in his life been so absorbed in a display like this. His mind drifted away and it was not until the final note was played, and veil hit the floor, that he returned to himself. A glass of wine was sitting in front of him, and he didn't even notice.

Both Sallinari and Guido started clapping when Jasmina looked at him. They were both obviously pleased with her performance, but Sallinari had somewhere to go. He stood up and made his exit flanked by a pair of dark clothed men who materialized from the sidelines to escort him. Guido remained seated until Jasmina started to leave the stage, at which point he stood up and made his way over to her.

He was all humble smiles as he approached and motioned for her to head toward one of the back doors with him. Another two large, surly men stood on either side of that door, but they didn't even look at either Guido or Jasmina. He, obviously, had full authority over them. Pulling open the mahogany door for her, he revealed a red-carpeted hallway that ran back dozens of meters - farther than would be expected in a place that size.

Jasmina was pleased to see that her performance had been appreciated by Salliniari and Guido. Keeping the management satisfied was always a smart move if you wanted future employment. Seeing the two men were happy, she turned her smile toward the rest of the audience, gave a slow and deep curtsy, and left the stage.

She didn't typically hang around after she was finished dancing. When her clan was still together they had remained to socialize with the locals, but on her own it was too fraught with misunderstandings, and sometimes the appearance of false intentions. It was better to keep her work-- even though that work was dance-- separate from her social life as much as she could.

"Hello, Mister Guido." She greeted the mute man with a smile. "I see Mister Salliniari has gone on. I am most grateful that you are willing to accompany me."

Jasmina followed Guido through the door, her eyes a little wide as she took in the sight of the long, carpeted hallway. "This building is larger than it appears, I think! And the way it has been decorated is most pleasing. This establishment is very..." She struggled for the word, which was more slang than her usual vocabulary.

"...Very classy."

Guido nodded to her greeting, though he could not answer her vocally. He still had a look about him that suggested an instinctual urge to speak. He had a voice, after all. It was only that he could not control it any more, could not make it produce the sounds of speech like he used to be able to. It took years for him to break the habit of blurting out some lame sound when people addressed him.

He did look like a genuinely friendly sort of man. Salliniari was no longer watching over his shoulder, no longer pushing him to be nice to Jasmina, but Guido continued to aim to please. Her appreciation of their surroundings was met with another smile from him. It was as though he wanted her to be happy.

But there was something else about the squat, balding man that was unusual. Whenever she spoke, he did not appear to be paying much attention. Rather, he appeared to be disinterested in words in general. His nods and smiles consistently came a step too early. It was a subtle cue, nearly impossible to detect for what it was, but the more it happened, the more apparent it became that he was different. Most people passed it off as Guido having above average intelligence, for he did seem to be very observant, at the very least. Whenever he looked at Jasmina, his eyes suggested that he was keeping a secret, perhaps an in-joke.

Classy it was. Fixtures for electric lights were made of gold worked elegantly in the local styling of grape vines and flowers. It smelled like perfume, candles, and the same smoky aroma that came off of mister Salliniari. A corner to the right led to a large room from which voices could be heard. The lighting there was dim, and there were several people seated and chatting with eachother. A woman's voice giggled.

As Guido led Jasmina past, the people in the room glanced over. There were three pairs of people, each a woman and a man, seated around a table arranged with drinks and an ornate hookah that leaked a steady stream of white smoke. The women were dressed in black lace - a reasonably experienced eye could identify them as prostitutes.

Guido didn't even look at them, he continued walking until they reached the end of the hall, which formed another room, this one circular. In front of them were several windows which overlooked a street from two stories up. It was late out, but torches along the road and what was left of the sun kept things bathed in pleasant hues of blue and orange. To the left and right of the windows were doors. He moved to one on the right and opened it for her. The room's unique position in the building spoke of its importance. It was a special place. One of only two rooms like it - the other one being across the circular windowed room.

And special it was. Inside put the rest of the hallway to shame. It was big - large enough to fit three of the regular rooms Jasmina was staying in - and it was filled with expensive things. Silk drapes framed another window at the opposite end from the door, more electric lights, these ones dimmed, kept things looking warm. The carpet was weaved with vines that matched the light fixtures and mahogany furniture. To the right was a large bed, and to the left was a private bathroom.

Guido stood to the side and withdrew his small notepad and a gnomish pen. He scribbled something down on it, and showed it to her.

Pull the rope if you need anything, it said. He motioned with the paper to a rope that dangled from the ceiling beside the bed. He then added to the notepad; how's that for classy?

* * *

Cervantes studied the hallway Jasmina and Guido disappeared into from his place at the table. Guards standing on either side of the hallway were a problem. At least he could now be certain that those two were important to Salliniari. Nobody who wasn't important would be getting in there.

But how to get at them in a protected area? The guards looked tough and no-nonsense. Messing with them was not an option. He would have to take his time and devise another plan.

Standing up from his table, he left a few bishani on the table and headed for the exit. All the while, he made a mental map of what he could see of the layout of the building, along with the glimpse he had of the hidden hallway.

Jasmina found herself enjoying the smells, as much as anything else. She'd always liked perfume, though she'd rarely had any of her own, and the undertone of smoke reminded her of the pipes sometimes enjoyed in the evening by the men of her clan, sitting around the fireside sharing jokes and stories. It triggered pleasant memories, and she allowed them to wash over her even as she drank in her current surroundings.

No particular reaction from the bellydancer to the people in the room, aside from a brief friendly smile. She'd seen hookahs before plenty of times, so she wasn't shocked. As for the prostitutes, Jasmina might have been shocked by them-- her culture highly prized chastity as a virtue-- but she didn't recognize their profession. Jasmina had seen a great range of styles of clothing that city women wore in various places, and assumed it was merely a trend of fashion in Keltaris. That their clothing was odd by Jasmina's standards didn't lead her to assume anything other than that their tastes were different than her own.

By any standards, the room she was shown to was amazing. Jasmina had never been in such a place, and she took it all in slowly. She turned a full circle, her skirt gently billowing around her, and then unashamedly stroked the curtains to get a feel of the material, then traced a vine on the carpet with her finger, trying to determine how it was made. Next a hand investigated a light fixture, exploring the fine scrollwork. She touched the bedspread, and poked her head into the bathroom.

The whole time, her face was bright with a smile, and her eyes were as delighted as those of a child in a fantasy castle out of a storybook.

Jasmina turned back to Guido. "Classy indeed, sir. Mister Salliniari has outdone himself. I anticipate the best sleep I've had in years, in such a palace. Please give Mister Salliniari my compliments. And as for yourself... thank you, Mister Guido. Your help is much appreciated."

Watching Jasmina enjoy the room, Guido could see that it had the desired effect. Twirling around, she was not afraid to go touching the soft silk on the curtains and the artistic stitching of the carpet. She looked like a little girl lost in a wonderland. It made him smile.

Guido nodded - again a second too early - and already had his pen writing on his little notepad before she was finished her last sentence. Fortunately, he managed not to come across as the type of person who was dismissing her gratitude towards him.

He went on writing a bit longer than last time, before holding it up for her to read. You have a beautiful smile, that is thanks enough to mister Salliniari. If you need me for anything, ask the servants. My room is across from yours but I will be entertaining guests for another hour.

After she read what he had written, he thought for a second and added to it quickly: Food is free.

With a wink, he leaned forward a few inches in what was essentially a small bow, and saw his way out of the room once he was sure she was okay with his last remarks.

* * *

There were a few notable things about Keltaris, aside from the extravagance and wealth of the people that struck Cervantes. First off, it was warmer. Even as the last rays of the sun shot long shadows of houses and people across the cobbles, and a man went around lighting some fancy gas torches that lined every major street, the air remained pleasantly warm.

Secondly, this was probably part of the reason why the people stayed out in droves when most folks in Trelham would be calling it a night. Indeed, there appeared to be -more- people out when the sun set than during the day. All of them looked like they were enjoying themselves shopping or gallivanting around. Despite being more educated than Cervantes was, he got the impression that most of them were pretty stupid. Stealing from suckers like these was a child's game.

Thirdly, and most importantly, there were guards patrolling the streets, policing the people. Sure, Trelham had guards, but they were so few that Cervantes knew them each by name, and they were pushovers. The guards in Keltaris were something completely different. Their ominously black and uniforms, and their organization and training, made him nervous. He made a not of being doubly cautious because of them.

Winding his way around the building, he kept to the far side of the street so that he could see inside each of the windows he passed along the path that Jasmina and Guido had taken. Silently, he cursed under his breath because he could not see inside. Each of the windows had some white curtains drawn. The best he could do was to keep walking and hope for luck. He quickened his pace.

Luck found him. Around a bend he reached a bigger street. A bulge in the building he was watching revealed a set of windows that did not have curtains drawn. Able to see inside clearly, he positioned himself to get the best view of what turned out to be the very hallway he had looked down from inside the tavern. Hands in his pockets, trying to appear casual, he stared in the hope of spotting someone.

The squat, balding man appeared from the left side, closing a door behind him and holding a little notepad in his hand. Cervantes grinned. A plan began to formulate in his mind. This was going to be easy.

Jasmina smiled again-- she had appreciated the compliment about her smile, and that made her even more likely to wear the expression-- and gave a tiny curtsy in acknowledgment of Guido's bow. She didn't require anything else... truthfully, she had already been given much more than she needed... and there was no point in delaying Guido from what were certain to be more important tasks. "Have a pleasant evening, sir," she said as a simple farewell.

Once Guido had departed, Jasmina had to decide how to occupy the rest of her evening. Ordinarily she was ravenous after a performance, but for some reason she didn't feel hungry at present, perhaps because of the excellent meal she'd enjoyed earlier in the day. She also habitually saw the sights in a new places, particularly in an interesting city, with the added benefit that the walking provided additional light exercise, which helped keep her in dancing shape.

Perhaps she should even shop for baby things; she wouldn't need any of it for another six months, but who knew where she would be then, if she decided against staying in the city. She would be able to find nicer clothes and toys for her little one here in Keltaris than in some muddy backwater village, if such a village was where she ended up when her time came.

But even this held no appeal tonight. Jasmina was tired, far more tired than usual after a show, and not because of the dancing. Much as she liked Salliniari and Guido, the need to be on her best behaviour, and to make polite conversation in a language that was not her birth tongue... all of it was wearying.

Jasmina decided that, instead of going out, she would get in bed, at least for a nap, and maybe for the night if she didn't wake up naturally. Everything else could wait. She made sure the door was locked and the windows secured, then took her stubby sword out of her bag and tucked it beside the bed. That was more out of habit than anything else-- she'd slept in some very rough places, and while she was unlikely to be attacked in such a nice tavern, there was no sense ceasing to be cautious.

With her preparations for the night made, Jasmina climbed into bed, arranged the covers and pillows comfortably, and closed her eyes.

Soon after the departure of the man, the woman he had led into the hall appeared in plain view in one of the windows of her room. She was still wearing the same clothes, which suggested to him that she did not live there, but was a guest for the night. Silhouetted against the soft light in the room, draped in those veiled clothes, she looked even more beautiful...

He pushed the thought from his head. It didn't matter. That fact was why she made such a good target. Taking that little beauty away from Salliniari, along with his bald friend, was cruel enough to guarantee him his reward and, presumably, advancement in rank.

His eyes shuttered slightly as he watched her fingers lock each of the windows he could see in turn. She was being careful, even in the safety of that place. Grudgingly he admitted the intelligence of her actions, though he scoffed at the futility of them. It was going to be a pain to get in there without waking her up, but that wasn't going to save her life. If it came down to it, and things got violent, he would smash his way in and tear her to shreds before anyone could show up to help. Not his style, but if she wanted to play hard to get, she was asking for it.

The sky was getting completely dark. It had to be at least nine in the evening. There was plenty of time. Cervantes knew how to get past windows, and he would take this opportunity to go test his ability to get what he needed on the streets of Keltaris.

* * *

"Fifty bishani."

Cervantes took on a dangerous, annoyed expression, which was threatening even though he was outnumbered three to one. "Fifty? You've gotta be pulling my leg. I can get those for ten."

The street urchin struggled to look unimpressed. "Well, why don't you go get one for ten, then? This one is fifty."

With a lengthy pause filled with a promise of pain and retribution in the future, Cervantes reached down to withdraw four coins which he placed down in front of the kid. "Forty."

They weren't going to fight him. The three of them, even with the knives he knew they had, didn't have the nerve. He was a dangerous individual, and they did not last on the streets, even in a place like Keltaris, by failing to identify danger when it confronted them.

He gave Cervantes the glass cutter, and they parted ways. Cerv could tell the kid's hand was shaking. It made him smile.

* * *

By the time he returned to the street corner where he was planning his entry it was already passed one in the morning. The streets were now mostly empty, with the nightlife of Keltaris finally dieing down. Not only were there fewer civilians, but there were fewer guards and, as lights went out, it became darker.

He walked back into the alley beside the building, just beneath another set of windows in Jasmina's room but in a far more isolated place where nobody would see him down below, and quietly removed his shoes and placed them beneath the window.

It was cold enough to make him shiver, but in a second that no longer mattered. Facing the street, making sure nobody happened to walk past and look into the shadows at an inopportune moment, he shifted forms. Dark gray fur sprouted beneath his clothes, hands and feet were replaced with clawed extremities that were half human, half canine. His head lengthened forward into a long snout, eyes transformed into golden-black orbs that caught the light and improved his vision. He could smell better, hear better, move more swiftly. It was like being on a drug, taking a bite of ambrosia.

The high was purposeful though. He would not remain a beast for long. Only long enough to do what had to be done.

He looked up at the window one story above him, reached out with a paw and tested the brick wall with a paw. It was textured and soft enough to scrape, but would not give him the hold to climb directly. Over his head, however, the windowsill was wood. That would provide good grip.

Behind him, only about two meters away ( the width of the alley ) was another building. It would do for leverage. It was all he needed.

Up and down the alley he looked again, just to be sure. From his pocket he withdrew the small glass cutter, designed, apparently, by some gnomish tinkerer. Bracing himself, he inhaled once, held it, and mentally gauged the distance up to the window. About three meters.

He picked a spot about two meters up the opposite wall and, with only room for a single step forward, jumped up and hit that place on the wall. With both feet hitting the wall simultaneously, he pushed off again and launched himself backward at Jasmina's window.

The feat took only a fraction of a second, and left him clinging to the windowsill with one hand, claws dug deeply into the wood, and his two clawed feet struggling to find a hold in the wall. His landing made almost no noise and the dark gray of his fur kept him well obfuscated.

Glass cutter still in his other hand, he placed the device up against the glass below the lock and slowly cut a small circle. Rather than a suction cup, the stupid thing used some kind of glue to stick to the glass and prevent it from falling. What a piece of junk. It took a dozen revolutions to finally weaken the glass enough to break it, and, with that, he pulled it out and placed the circle of glass in his breast pocket with the device.

Reaching into the window with a furred hand, he easily unlocked it and then stopped to catch his breath.

He could see inside clearly. The young woman was in her bed, sound asleep in a fluffy mess of extravagant white sheets. Hopefully she stayed that way. Then she would never know what happened, and he might have less trouble ending her life.

Carefully, slowly, he eased the window up. It was more difficult to do that without making noise than any of the previous feats. Luckily for him, the city made almost no noise at night when everyone was in bed. The distant clip-clopping of a horse was the only thing he could hear. He waited it to pass before completely opening the window and slipping inside.

On the floor, about five meters from her bed, he withdrew his knife from its place at his side and shifted back into his human form. His bare feet made not a sound on the soft carpeting as he took the few steps required to place him just over her bed.

Knife in hand, he looked down at Jasmina. He could see her neck clearly exposed, along with the curve of her body beneath the sheets. There were ample places to strike that would end it quickly, but something in him hesitated. Only for a second, as he stared at her, he thought of her dancing.

She was too innocent. She looked too much... Too much like someone he left behind...

Outside, distant but loud enough to be heard, a man yelled something, something that sounded like a bottle broke. It sounded like a fight at one of the taverns.

Cervantes' eyes widened in surprise. He had forgotten to close the window.

The sound of the breaking glass bottle woke Jasmina with a start. It sounded too... close, somehow. More like it did when she slept outside. She was confused by that, before anything else. In an instant, though, the rest of it returned. The room, the bed-- and the man standing there in the darkness.

Jasmina screamed. Not so much a cry for help or an attempt to scare the man away, but just her first reaction to an unexpected situation. Even before the sound was past her lips, she was moving, wriggling her body away... not for the purpose of escaping the man, since there was really nowhere to go, but the pull the rope on the bell Guido had told her to use if she need anything.

Her hand groped for the cord as she lunged backward. Fingers extended and reached. If her screams weren't enough to bring help, and if she could pull the cord before he got to her, maybe the bell would summon assistance in time.

Cervantes sneered when she awoke and screamed. The sudden loudness of her voice jolted him out of the studious calm he possessed and put him right on edge. It was nobody's fault but his that things were now botched, that he couldn't kill her cleanly and silently, in a way that befit him and the Tarsis. Now, on top of things, she knew his face.

He willed the knife to plunge down into her and stop her scream the moment it started, but his hand would not respond. It froze in place of its own accord, repulsed like a magnet from the place in her neck he intended it to cut.

It was a first for Cervantes to not be able to kill someone casually. Why exactly he could not bring himself to do it he didn't know. She was just some stupid bitch in the wrong place at the wrong time. What difference did it make? He needed to show the Tarsis he could do what they wanted...

There was no time to figure out why his hand refused to obey. Already she was trying to do something, her body twisting around to the side. Cervantes saw the rope, saw her reaching out for it, and knew he had to stop her or he wasn't going to be able to salvage things at all.

If his hand wouldn't listen, at least the rest of him would. Shocked into action, he lunged on top of her, literally throwing his body over top of hers while he used his left hand to force hers down to prevent her from getting at the rope. Dropping the knife beside her head onto the pillow, he shoved his right hand on top of her mouth as best he could to muffle her screams.

Jasmina took the briefest instant to consider the options open to her. With the stranger on top of her, pressing her down, there weren't exactly many to choose from.

Her initial instinct was to bite, and then lash out at him with her legs. She was strong from dancing, and if she could get his hand away from her mouth, she'd be able to scream for help again. On the other hand, she wasn't in a position where she could really get away, not with him so close, especially since she'd locked the door. And she wasn't sure antagonizing the man was the best idea at this point. If it was just her, she would fight tooth and nail... but she had her baby to worry about. Getting into a physical fight-- well, more of one than she was already in the middle of-- was likely to put her pregnancy in danger. If she could convince him that she was cooperating, maybe she could get more distance from him. If she could reach her sword, they would be slightly more evenly matched.

But that was a future concern, even if only a moment in the future. Jasmina relaxed her body, not fighting anymore. She stopped trying to scream. Completely limp, she gave the man a questioning look.

She couldn't talk, not with his hand there, but she hoped her eyes would ask him. Why are you doing this? Why me? What do you want?

Cervantes worked hard to keep her from reaching that cord. He pressed his body firmly up against hers, shifting around to stop any opportunity she might have to knee him or claw him with her free hand. She was no weakling. If she really wanted to, she could make things very difficult for him, even get away, so long as he refused to strike her properly. If anything helped him out, it was that she was trapped under the sheets as well.

He kept it up until she stopped struggling and he felt her body relax beneath him. Reluctant to remove his hand at first, he stared down into her eyes while keeping her mouth shut. She could feel his heart racing, and the way he forcefully slowed his breathing. His eyes were full of warning and the promise that he would use that knife of his if she tried to scream if he let his hand away from her mouth.

There was no enjoyment in it for him any more. Something in the pit of his stomach wrenched at the thought of what he was going to do to the beautiful girl beneath him. It was a feeling of disgust and self loathing that had never touched his being any of the other times he had taken a life. Everyone else had deserved it for one reason or another. They were all bad, all scum in their own way.

Not her. All she was, was scared.

"Don't scream..." Came his harsh whisper of an order, though it was unwittingly imploring, not commanding. He really didn't want her to scream, almost like he was afraid of what would happen if she did.

Slowly he withdrew his hand, sliding the fingers down past her chin, testing her impulses before he had the confidence to remove it completely.

He sat up then, still straddling her. He didn't know what else to do, and his mental struggle showed on his face. Sharp features pulled taught in his face as he struggled to deal with a situation gone completely awry. It pained him to think that he was going to kill her, but it also pained and confused him to realize that he couldn't. For whatever reason, he couldn't. He was weak.

She didn't scream.

Nor did she try to move. The way he was positioned, above and across her body, Jasmina was concerned that any struggle on her part would lead to getting kicked or hit in the belly, or just having more weight applied there. She wasn't going to die to avoid miscarrying her pregnancy-- that would be silly, the baby would die anyway if she did-- but she was still going to do her best to protect her child.

She just looked up at him, trying to guess his motives. Robbery? It seemed unlikely, since she wasn't rich and nothing she wore was expensive, but perhaps he'd made the assumption based on the room she'd been given. Rape? Also possible, given the circumstantial evidence of a man in her bedroom, but he hadn't touched her in any sexual way, and it seemed like if he was planning to do that, he would have already.

Jasmina couldn't think of any other reason the man could be in her room. Unless...

She spoke softly, just a whisper. "Why are you doing this? If you want money, I have very little, but you may take what's there. Or did Mikkel send you? Or perhaps his wife?"