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Musicology Anthology Entry |
| Word Count ▼ Wren studied the soldiers from her perch on the open rafters. She was balanced comfortably on a thick oak beam high above the tavern’s floor; her back against the truss’ post, legs stretched, and ankles crossed. The light cascading from the oil lamp sconces that were sparsely dotted around the common room did not reach the eaves, a fact she used to hide her presence from the inebriated patrons. This was her favourite part of the process – stalking her unsuspecting prey. It meant she could look beneath the surface at her leisure and see the person's real face, the monster they kept hidden from rest of the world. She had learnt earlier on in her training that everyone had one. Some people were simply better at burying it. William Barrow, however, was not. His demons lay just beneath his skin and came out to play often. The heavy-set man sat at the table in the corner of the room. It had been three years since she had seen him. A night she would rather forget, unfortunately her nightmares had other ideas. Time had not been kind to him. Deep crows lines now furrowed his eyes, which were sunken beneath heavy lids and his blonde hair had thinned at his crown, no doubt from the slouch hat that was tucked into his side pocket. She watched as he schooled the subtle tremor in his dominant hand each time he raised his cup to his lips, and smiled; this was something she could exploit later. “Two stripe,” she observed, “still a Corporal.” His lack of promotion was not a surprise given his extracurricular activities and lack of composure. The man talked with his fists and thought with his dick. He was as predictable as the tide. It made him easy to follow. “Another round,” Barrow bellowed to the passing waitress. He wrapped his thick hand around the girl’s wrist and tugged harshly to get her attention. She winced and stubbled towards the table, but he took little notice. “I don’t want that piss-pale ale either,” he growled, “I want the good stuff.” He took a coin from the pouch on the table and handed it to the girl with a wink. Barrow was the last name on the list that made up Wren’s final assessment; ten blacken souls who’s elimination served as a demonstration of skill, creativity, and resilience before she was permitted to graduate and take her place amongst the other guild assassins. The elders had been gracious and allowed her to submit two personal candidates for consideration. William Barrow and James Kisp had made the cut. It was a concession granted only to those who showed exceptional aptitude and promise, and Wren was a prodigy. At five foot four she did not stand out as tall and her slight frame disguised the threat she posed. A trait she used to maximum efficiency when she needed to blend into her surrounding or disappear into the crowd. What she lacked in height and build she made up for in speed, agility, and stamina, and her lean muscles and reflexes were carefully honed to impeccable precision. She was silent, ruthless, and deadly – the perfect student. She had dispatched Kisp last week. His death was underwhelming and thoroughly unsatisfying, but it had met the guild’s brief of poison; a sprinkle of bintaro seeds and dried aconite on his morning porridge had induce acute heart failure. It was far less than he deserved. She would not make that mistake with Barrow. He had been sat with his men for the past hour, the roasted chicken at the centre of the table shared amongst the four of them, along with the empty earthenware pitcher. She did not recognise any of them. In comparison to their supervisor, they were young, fresh, and not yet tainted by his influence. It was what saved them from being collateral damage. Though that could change depending on how the evening unfolded. The waitress returned with the refill. The soldiers were three rounds deep into what looked like the start of a long evening. The alcohol flushed their faces and loosened their tongues, providing false bravado. Each man was desperate to impress Barrow and gain his favour. It was pathetic really. “I need a piss.” Barrow announced as he stood and ducked his head to excuse himself. The door to the back alley stood at the other side of the common room, across the sea of wooden tables, benches, and sawhorses. He slowly meandered his way through the crowd, bracing his hand on a man’s shoulder as he stumbled over his boots. He was well on his way to being drunk. “Finally!” She muttered. Once he had disappeared through the doorway, she stood gracefully and walked steadily across the joist, weaving her way around the struts that braced the ceiling. The loft window was narrow, but still large enough for her to slip through. Her footsteps were light and surefooted as she navigated the gentle slope of the slate tiles and climbed to the ridge of the rooftop . Winter was now well on its way. The temperature had dropped significantly since the sun had set and the first silvery threads of frost had begun to spread across the dark grey stone . Wren’s chestnut hair whipped around her jawline in the icy breeze. She pulled up her cowl and raised the gaiter over her mouth to block out the cold. Hiding her identify was not a priority, she had no intention of leaving any witnesses, but until she had passed the point of no return, discretion was always advisable. She crouched at the edge and peered into the alleyway, looking for signs of movement. Barrow leaned against the alleyway, oblivious to the danger he was in. One hand was braced against the wall, the other holding his dick as he tried not to piss on his boots. He was alone. A malicious smile graced her petite features. There was only one way down. She turned her body and lay flat on her stomach, swinging both legs over gable, and scaled down the side of the building silently. Her nimble fingers and small-tipped boots found easy purchase in the aging mortar. She landed softly and crept quietly down the alley, using the shadows to manoeuvre closer to her target. As she drew near, she stood to her full height and straightened her shoulders. Posture denoted confidence. She would not allow him any inroads to intimidate her. She stepped away from the wall and into the dim light. “William Barrow,” she called to get his attention. Her voice steady, yet lyrical “Who’s askin?” he quipped, tilted his head in the direction of her voice. “You don’t remember me?” Wren replied, feigning offense. She continued to saunter towards him at an even pace, only stopping when she was close enough to see the flecks of red in his otherwise grey eyes. It was the only hint of what he was. He turned towards her, taking his time fastening his breeches and casting a deliberate, lurid glance over her body. “I don’t believe I’ve ‘ad the pleasure Miss.” “You might not remember me William, but I certainly remember you.” He grunted in response. “You see, you and Kisp made a lasting impression.” The brief spark of recognition that flickered across his face was punctuated by a sneer. “Ah, yeah! You’re the little rabbit we caught the night of the Beltane festival and toyed with.” He stiffened, but held his position to maintain the distance between them. His calculating eyes tracked systematically over her form to assess her threat level, but his stance remain open and relaxed. The tips of his claws had started to elongate and break through his nailbeds. It was the only trace that the predator beneath the surface had raised its head and was starting to pay attention . “I should really be thanking William,” she provoked, “Without you and Kisp I wouldn’t have found my path in life. And there is nothing quite like indulging my rage and revenge – ask Kisp…. He got to see it firsthand.” A snarl left his throat, and his eyes shifted to their lycan form, the thick red ring bleeding into the grey iris. He lunged forward and gripped the thick black material of her tunic just above her heart, catching her skin in the pinch. She had forgone her usual leather breastplate, opting instead for her corseted belt which offered less protection, but allowed her to carry more of her silver kunai knives. Despite the inevitable bruise that would be visible tomorrow and the abuses Joss would levy her way at her reckless behaviour, it was still the tactical choice. The alcohol induced tremor weakened his grip, loosening it enough for Wren to grabbed hold of his wrist squeeze, twisting it away from her body. In quick secession, she twisted her body to the side and slammed her the forearm into his throat, sending his windpipe into spasm and forcing him to gasp for breath. She stepped a leg behind him, as she reached around his neck with her other arm, closing the circuit and placed him in a chock hold and used the momentum to swing him over her hip, taking him to the ground with a thud. She drew a mercury dipped blade and sliced at the soft flesh between his hip and ribs in a sweeping motion. Barrow screeched in pain. “You. Bitch. ” He rolled away and clutched his side. The cut was deep. The heavy metal would only take seconds to circulate through his bloodstream and affect his ability to transform. Paired with the alcohol his coordination was also severely limited. “It poetic don’t you think.” She sneered, “The rabbit… that’s what you called me right… the rabbit turned its tail to hunt the wolves.” “Your’re… unhinge,” he spat, his breath laboured. He tried to stand but only managed to draw himself to his knees before he collapsed forward onto him arms. “What have you done to me?” “Me? Nothing… other than the silver and mercury.” She twirled the silver blade between her fingers, “but you really shouldn’t have upset Cassie – the barkeep – she was only too happy to slip a little wolfbane in your drink cup.” Barrow leaned back on haunches and glared at her. Wren stepped forward and began to circle the wounded animal. Each step careful and deliberate. She slipped another kunai from her belt and palmed them both in her hands. The weight familiar and comforting. She stepped behind him , “Welcome to my dark side William! You were its architect.” and stabbed both blades between his ribs, piercing his lungs, “It’s only fair you get to see it before you go. Say hello to the dead for me.” She withdrew the knives and wiped them on his shirt, before slipping back into her belt. She glanced around the alley. It wouldn’t be long until he was discovered, but she would be long gone. With a final look at the monster that had shaped the trajectory of my adult life, she turned and walked away. **** Lyrics ▼ |
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