The Collection

Drizzle

Drizzle patters softly on the paved streets, sent down from the shining gray expanse of sky above the city, speckling the cobblestones. The streets are, as always, busy: the hawking of merchants mixes with the hubbub of the crowds, and the rattle of the harnesses and pound of the hooves of carriages. Pedestrians hurry on their way, shielding their heads with their arms or the curve of an umbrella. The sky darkens, and a rumble of thunder marks an increase in intensity of the falling rain. Waterlogged citizens now run, sloshing through the roads, and the crowds quickly disperse as foul weather makes their journeys through the street nigh impossible. Carriages expel water from underneath hooves and grinding wheels, and causing overflowing gutters to slop lazily across sidewalks. Soon, only a few remaining homeless and especially ambitious beggars remain on the streets, all other citizens having fled to their homes or the few remaining horse-drawn carriages that still occasionally flit by on rain-greased wheels.

A man smiles in the shadows of an abandoned street vendor's canopy. It is a perfect time for him to do some business. He steps from the darkness, and the shelter of the canopy, the brim of his round dark hat swept low over his eyes, rivulets of water forming a small circular waterfall around him.

A merchant stoops miserably under his own leaky canopy, not far off from the man in the shadows. The stranger moves silently, and the hapless shopkeeper doesn't notice him until the last moment, when the man steps out into the dim light in front of the booth. The peddler flinches, startled by the sudden appearance, but quickly squares his shoulders. In a whisper of crisp material, the newcomer deposits a small gold coin and a ragged patch of parchment from the sleeve of his long jacket. The brimmed hat turns as this strange apparition glances around the deserted marketplace, ignoring the chill water slithering down the back of his neck. Nobody there. Good.

The miserable merchant quickly makes the coin vanish before picking up the scrap of parchment, studying it closely. Nodding every so slightly, the owner leans forward nervously. The customer speaks; his voice deep and gravelly, yet only loud enough for his compatriot to hear him over the rhythmic sounds of heavy rain fall all around them. The vendor pales noticeably, shaking his hands in front of his face in a gesture of refusal. After a few more moments of hushed conversation, the visitor leans forward, his coat whipping in the wind. Retrieving a small object from one of his pockets, he passes it straight across the counter to the man waiting on the other side. Scowling, the shopkeeper accepts it, nods, and hurries away down a side alley, leaving the figure only to wait for his return.

The dark visitor fidgets, still scanning the surrounding darkness, shifting weight from foot to foot. A minute goes by. Two. Five. Ten. He checks his time piece. Something doesn't seem right...

He looks up, just in time, to see another man dressed in simple, nondescript manner advancing steadily towards him. How had they found him?

He pulls the brim of his hat lower over his features, and turns tail, running as quickly as he can away from his assailant, each step covering his boots and shins with more muck and grime.

However, his pursuer is too quick and as he gains ground, he can hear him yell something that's swept away by the howling of the wind and rain around them.

He's been recognized. Simple escape was no longer an option.

With one smooth motion, a silvery blade appears in his hand. He stops suddenly, almost losing his footing in the slick shallows of the streets, but managing to remain upright despite the lash of the storm. A flash of lightning directly overhead illuminates the faces of the two foes and thunder crashes and booms as the plainly dressed man comes crashing into his doom.

The runner plunges the dagger into the man's gut. A hand stifles the scream before it passes his lips. The other, removes the knife, and his enemy's lifeless body slumps limply onto the ground with a quiet splash.

Turning away, the nightmarish visitor exits the market quickly, boots splashing through red-tinged rain as he flees.

His presence is known. He can't let them find him. He's ready to run.

And so he does, disappearing into the night in nothing but a whisper of shadow. Behind him ,the rain continues to pelt the cobblestones, pooling in crimson circles and then draining from the streets, fading like faint regretful memories.