Dark Side Of The Moon

Chapter 9: Ebony

When Ebony thought of espionage, she did not think of third-wheeling at clubs with a hopeless romantic and a playboy bartender. Or having the "Cock Tails" steamrolled down her throat like the time Elvira forced her to drink arsenic to build poison immunity.

This is so cliche, she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Dressed up in a tacky maid outfit, she itched at her stiff collar.

Remember, you are a maid by day and a dancer by night.

Ebony struggled to wrangle her hair into a bun, cursing mentally as the hair tie snapped.

One of two downsides of having long, thick hair. The other was people cutting, pulling out strand by strand, or burning it over an open flame. The Dusk family loved their pranks, after all.

She dug out another, preparing herself and stepping into the bustling kitchen. It was packed to the brim with other boys and girls.

Sweaty bodies pushing, pulling, chopping, barking. Calloused, dry hands. Dainty ones rubbed lychee pink.

There are 438 ways I could wreak havoc here. 120 people. 345 different ways to kill them. The chef's knives are 5 feet away on the counter. Bread knives 1 foot away. The cleaver knife an arm's length away. But kitchen scissors are closest, and I have impaled someone with them before-

"Hey! You there!" A raspy voice yelled.

No one here stood a chance against her. She could kill every single one of them without breaking a sweat.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Those dishes need washing. Get yourself a sponge and get the work before I kick your ass out of here and hand it to the princesses on a silver platter."

I prefer platinum. Ebony nodded and grabbed a particularly squishy sponge.

The next few hours came and passed while she laboured over icy cold water and ceramic dishes.

"How are your hands not cold?" The girl next to her inquired, her own hands taking on a bluish undertone.

"I'm from Montisima," Ebony shrugged. "We're used to the cold there."

"Where's that?"

"A small town a few miles east of the Crystal Empire," Ebony replied.

"Cool! I've lived here my whole life."

Montisima was actually much hotter than the Glaciera, the Song family empire's capital. Like its name, the entire city was encased in a giant glacier even further north than the Empire.

After a quick lunch of leftover bread and soup, Ebony switched to cooking. Chopping vegetables was perhaps the hardest. The cleaver was something Ebony stared enviously at. Out of all the weapons, it resembled a battle axe the most.

How I wish I could just try out that knife on these people, she sighed, wondering if her own pathetic chef's knife would be any good at chopping a few fingers without making a mess.

"What?" The boy next to her, Drago, demanded.

Don't gawk at the weapons. Tsk, tsk, Ebony. She could imagine her mother's voice chiding.

"Do you think that...."

Don't talk about murder. Tsk, tsk, Ebony.

"What about it?"

"Do you think we could switch jobs?" Ebony tried, hoping it would work.

"Whatever," Drago shrugged and slammed the bloodstained cleaver into her hand.