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Just one of those days.

Chapter 1.

Sometimes, there's a few advantages to being the only offspring of a thief. Especially when the thief in question is as good as my old man is.

There's the downsides, of course. Sure, when things are going well, it's all rainbows and unicorns. But when things go to shit, they tend to do so pretty spectacularly.

I was having one of those days today, with a vengeance.

It started as a typical run-of-the-mill morning. Barely breaching midnight, stuck in a large tree overlooking the grounds of an inner-city chattel owned by one of pop's more ruthless competitors. Competitors, enemies, whatever, really. They're the same shit, in our industry. For every good thief, there are a dozen or more trying to relieve them of their place in the Guild, and by relieve, I do mean snuff off, of course. You don't get to the top kissing arses and babies; that's left for the politicians and royalists in town in their butt-smooching climb up the hierarchy ladder.

No, ours is a "carve out their kidney" type of industry. Which made you a lot of "competitors" however you chose to look at the definition of the word.

Dad was the best of them, of course. Had been so for a decade, which had the competition pretty hot under the collar at times, as well as a hefty death count.

Whomever had coined the phrase "honour amongst thieves" was a complete idiot, and probably ended up lying cold and stiff in a gutter somewhere.

Still, an education in the family business was at least... interesting. Intense, often horrifying and quite frequently painful, but it was never boring.

At least, normally it wasn't boring. Normal was relative, I guess. Tonight was about as terminal as it could get.

Shifting my abused butt for the n'th time, I tried making myself as comfortable as one could perched thirty feet above the hard ground, on a too-thin branch I swore was made out of pure discomfort, or razor wire, or both. It didn't help much, and I winced again as another sharp stab of abused muscle pain shot up my coccyx to my lower back, trying to make its way to my upper spine. Curse this assignment, and curse the maggot-infested fool I was targeting, I grumbled some more pointlessly, reseating the ocular to my right eye and adjusting the focus yet again on my target.

The fat fool continued to sit at his overly huge and overcompensating desk, pudgy arms sweating streaks onto the polished timber surface as he hunched over his latest batch of paperwork. His goons were another matter, both of them standing in opposite corners of the large office, eyes fixed glassily on their boss, or the window through his head, or random dust mites floating in the air; exactly what was hard to tell.

You'd be mistaken to think they weren't dangerous, though. A novice might, perhaps, but I was anything but a novice; not for a long time. While only eighteen in years, I was a lot older than that in experience, as my misspent youth attested.

That, and most novices doing so wouldn't be in the business very long.

When Castillo dropped a pen he was twiddling in his fat fingers, fumbling the recovery and sending it flying to strike the marble floor with a clatter, both goons had knives drawn before I could blink, scowling at the source of the noise with displeasure.

My eyes narrowed as I watched their response time, mentally comparing it with the briefing I'd been given the previous day, and noting its accuracy. Two dangerous guards, one fat bastard, and a safe behind the portrait of the bulging prick above the far right wall behind. The tight arse had always kept his protection small, experienced and close. There had been urban rumours he even slept with a pair of them in his bedroom, although my intel discounted that. They were more likely to be in bed with him, the fat pervert, if he wasn't already sharing it with some of the local, less fussy whores, who were as like to being underage as legal. Still, the brothel madam's didn't care who the client was, so long as they paid in front and in copious amounts, and the local constabulary looked the other way once receiving their own cut, so it was a system that worked, if in a sick and dysfunctional way.

Leaning back, I stretched my neck, cracking the stiff from my spine with a silent groan. The full coverage black gear I wore was hot, even on a less than clement evening as it was, and it itched like a bitch! It was normal protocol to delouse the things between missions before storing them away for reuse, and I swore when I got back home, I was going to track down the previous user and shove a bag of leeches up their arse in retribution for failing to do so.

When is the fucker ever going to sleep? I cursed, resuming my observations grumpily. Sitting here all night in abject discomfort wasn't my most favourite way to spend the evening, and with time running short to meet my rendezvous, the last thing I needed was more delays!

Dad would be pissed as hell if we didn't secure those documents! Then again, dad probably would have already been inside, retrieved the files, an additional half million in gold coin, and both the guards underpants, without them ever suspecting anything had occurred.

Yeah, he really was that good, curse him!

The sudden movement as the fat bastard stood up was all it took to have my eyes again firmly fixated on my objective. The ocular on maximum zoom, I watched him cross the floor to the painting beside the fireplace, pressing on a nearby knot in the wood panelling to release it on its hinges, then step back as it swung aside to reveal the concealed safe.

Standard seven pin steel construction, cast hinges, and at least five inch thick steel, the monstrosity would have taken a ton of dynamite to open, assuming you didn't care about the condition of the content after. Thankfully, I had no need to blow up anything that night, and I strained into the eyepiece, watching the fat fingers dial in the combination before swinging back the door with an audible squeal.

Smiling, I set the numbers to memory; 7, 23, 14, 8.

Fat Bastard didn't even try and hide his movements, the amateur! I sneered, watching him file away the papers inside before closing the safe door. Collapsing and pocketing the ocular with a practiced movement, I climbed to my feet and stepped lightly along the large branch to leap nimbly onto the narrow ledge outside his window, ready for the next move.

I missed the muttered words he had with his guards, but didn't consider it mattered, as he immediately left with them in tow, the office lighting dimming automatically upon their exit.

After a five minute wait, I was ready. The place was mine, now, as were the contents of that safe!

The window wasn't difficult to pry open, the ancient lock no match for my more modern steel picks, and it was the work of a moment to jimmy the catch after applying a judicial squirt of penetrating oil to the ancient hinges. Still, I paused, letting the oil take effect, as rust had corroded them nearly solid, and I spent a nervous few minutes hoping the lubricant would eliminate any sound as they opened.

It did, and I was soon enough in the room.

Leather moccasins may not be the height of fashion anywhere in the civilised world, but they absorbed all noise from my footsteps as I reached the far wall, inspecting the picture frame for any hidden alarms. There were none, testament to his belief his home was sacrosanct to intrusion.

Fat bastard was naive there, I mused with a snort, pressing the hidden catch and pivoting the picture outwards, gloved fingers light on the frame. Hell, I had more security on my bedroom back home than this idiot had in his entire building.

One can never be too careful, with thieves and perverts about, after all.

The safe was a non-event, open in moments. Pursing my lip, I surveyed the mass of documents within, deciding if I had time to be picky and search for what dad wanted, but I shrugged instead, slipping the entire lot into my backpack with difficulty. I'd let dad's people decide what was important, and just get the hell out of there while the getting was good.

It was a personal trait to leave the scene exactly how I found it. Some might call it professionalism, but I just got a buzz out of knowing how bewildered they'd be next time they returned to find their stuff nicked without a trace. A little twisted, I know, but the mark of a true professional, dad always said. Keep them mind-fucked as long as possible, and you'd have more time to get away with it.

I liked getting away. It was more fun that way, without the torture and the beating, and such. Plus, it is much more beneficial for the ego.

Not that I have a big ego. I do, but it's definitely not that. Consider it professional pride.

Locking the picture back in position with a faint click, I paused a moment to survey my work, making sure it was left as I found it. Satisfied, I hefted the stupidly heavy backpack and was about to beat a hasty retreat, when without any warning the door to the chamber opened, flooding the room with light, and leaving me sprung like a startled deer.

The moment Fat Bastard's eyes met mine, I bolted, his cry screeching through the room as I leapt for the window frame, racing back along the branch like a monkey, and began dropping down from branch to branch with little regard for gravity. I didn't spare any time to look up from where I'd made my escape, which was almost my undoing, as a crossbow bolt embedded itself several inches into the tree where my head had been moments before, nearly making me lose my grip.

"Shit!" I muttered helpfully, dropping the last eight feet to the grass, where the backpack again delivered a surprise, its weight settling on my back with a thud that sent me staggering as my shoulder wrenched. Worse were the increasing cries of my pursuers, now followed by lights from within the big building, as the roused rabble awoke inside.

"Shit, shit, shit!" was my reply, always useful when a single verb doesn't rectify a situation. Getting to my feet, ignoring my shrieking shoulder muscles, I took off towards the perimeter. Details of the grounds, all six acres of them, I'd committed to memory before the night had started, so unlike my pursuers stumbling around in the dark, I beat a hasty exit around bush and shrub, and managed to dodge several strategically placed, albeit tacky water features whose cherubic statues watched me with startlement.

The rock wall surrounding the complex was ten feet high, three feet thick, and would have been an easy manage had my arms been free, or my shoulder healthier. Of course, it was at that moment that the strap holding the right side of the pack decided to part company with its fellow, sending me into the wall with a thwack as my head contacted solidly.

Dazed, it was only the hiss from above as my colleague gave a frantic wave, head and torso barely silhouetted against the starry sky, that woke me to the fact the danger was far from over. Having Buckley's chance of climbing the wall one handed, and knowing I had even less hope tossing the bloody thing to him in my present state, I took the time to securely tie the pack to the bottom of the rope he'd lowered to me, then scampered atop the wall beside him as he pulled the pack up to join us.

"Did you get it?" he hissed again, snake like features dim in the starlight.

Sniffing, I shrugged. "Of course I fucking well got it! Would I be here if I hadn't?"

Glaring, he tossed the rope down the other side, bag and all, and followed it like a rat down a drainpipe. Which was pretty much what he was, after all. I'd never really liked the sleazy prick, unsure why my father had ever enough trust in the man to risk any mission with him. But then again, perhaps he thought my presence would be enough to deter him from abject foolishness.

It wasn't, unfortunately, but we'll get to that in a moment.

With our mission compromised, I grabbed the knot holding the rope in place, slipping it over the iron spike affixed to the wall top and lowering myself down by hand, arms stretched painfully as I dropped the final six feet to land lightly beside him.

"Good job done there!" I said, rubbing my shoulder, and he nodded, following up his affirmation with a large fist which met my face squarely, dropping me like a suitcase.

From that point, my recollection of events was pretty fuzzy. As I lay dazed, he laid in a few well placed boots into my stomach and side for good measure, receiving little more than a groan in return. Hefting the pack, he then slipped into the darkness, leaving me sprawled to my fate, as faint cries of our pursuers began heading in our direction.

Or my direction, really, as he was well from the scene by the time my injuries sent me into darkness. As I said, I never trusted the weasel faced arsehole.

Teach me to not heed my own gut feelings, and knife the prick when I had the chance.

_______________

Bright light and pain met my awakening, along with a sharp stinging slap to my already tender cheek.

Wincing, I cautiously opened an eye, the unappealing visage of Fat Bastard no better when perched inches from my nose than it'd been earlier viewed from several dozen feet away.

So, I decided to try a different tract.

"Hi there!" I said, trying to avoid the potency of his breath as he drew back his hand, slapping me again harder.

"Where is it?" he spat, halitosis curdling the air as he grabbed my shirt front, shaking me roughly.

With my head thrown back and forth, I managed to gasp out "In the bathroom, in the cupboard above the sink!!"

My world stopped spinning for an instant, as his piggy eyes narrowed confusingly. "What?" he grunted, releasing me to flop back into the chair I'd been bound to.

"The mouthwash! It's in the cupboard above the sink in...."

I didn't finish, as another fist met my vision, along with the rest of my face, snapping my head back painfully.

Taking a step back, he glared at me again as I gave him a toothy grin, which would have been more impressive had the teeth in question not been loosened and blood covered at the time.

"I want those papers back, kid. I know you took them, and I know who you took them for! I'm not an idiot!"

I almost replied to that, refraining to save what little dental remains I had fixed in place, and simply shrugged.

"I can't help you there, my fat friend. If you know who I am, you know who my dad is. He'll have already received them by now. The real question is, what do you think he'll do when he finds out you've kept me locked up here?"

The broad grin crossing his face would have made a bear pale. "Oh kid, I think you'll find that your old man knows sweet fuck all about much of anything! Seems the rumour mill has you listed as dead, due to unforeseen, and possibly nefarious, circumstances."

I didn't let the shock hit my face, frantically trying to calculate how long I'd been under, when the fat bastard thrust a newspaper before my eyes, the headline screaming out my demise.

Shit! Dated two days after the mission ended. If I was still here, without rescue, I was truly, seriously fucked.

"Look, perhaps we can cut a deal. I have something you want, and you have something I want. Namely, my freedom. So, what about it?"

Grunting again, the man turned, beckoning over his guards with a sausage like finger. "Kid, you are so very right. You do have something I want back. But I'm not interested in deals."

As he left the room, the two goons closed in, cracking knuckles menacingly. Still Fatso paused at the door, muttering "Keep 'em alive, I guess. Might still be useful. Anything else is up for debate."

My first scream was cut off in mid shriek, as they got to work with enthusiasm.

_______________

There's nothing quite like waking up naked in a vermin-infested dungeon, face down in ancient, reeking faeces and with your flesh pounded to within an inch of your life.

Seriously, nothing comes even close. Some might consider it one of those moments in existence where you repent your sins, plead for whatever Gods you hold dear to help you, and basically whine like a bitch for your mommy.

Sure, I did all those things, but didn't dwell on them overly, too busy keeping my swollen lungs repeatedly inflated, and scratching frantically at the flesh of my right armpit with bound hands.

It was still there, thank both the Gods and my aforementioned unknown mother, the false skin peeling back to expose the short, thin, flexible blade of my assassin's knife, as well as my emergency lock pick. Two tools essential in a life or death situation, my dad always said, berating me whenever I went out without them concealed on me. For a change, I'd heeded his advice, spending the time to place them carefully where most casual searches would not find them before I'd left.

There were other locations, of course, but I'd taken the easier approach in positioning it. After all, running away was never the same with a three inch razor sharp knife blade concealed up your orifice. You know, I once heard of this guy who had done that, and... Well, I guess there's a time and a place for that story, and perhaps this wasn't it.

Gripping the thing was always a bloody nuisance, its lack of a decent handle making its use somewhat precarious. After slicing myself twice proving just that, I cut through the last off my bonds, grateful to whomever had used rope instead of metal bands to secure me.

It's the little things like that which define the amateur from the professional.

The bindings on my legs followed shortly, and I crawled to the wall, using it to brace my rise as I groaned to my feet, bruises and worse sending stabbing spears of pain through my frame, threatening to send me back into blackness.

Still, I managed to keep it together long enough to make the cell door, dim light through the peep grill striking my face as I pressed it against the bars, looking for any guards.

For the first time in days, lady luck held me in favour. The hallway was empty, although dim voices from further afield were just audible echoing down to my cell.

So I didn't waste any time, groaning at the pain as I twisted my arm through the bars, bruised fingers fumbling for the door lock as I twisted the pick in the confined space, tense until I heard the click and the door swung wide, taking me with it to freedom.

I locked it behind me, of course. Mainly for the psychological factor, but in particular so they could only guess at my real means of escape.

I might have to use it again, after all, if I didn't get out of here the first time.

Shivering in the dank, chill air, I lurched forward, brushing the wall and recoiling as the icy slime coating its surface drooled down my skin, sending goose bumps and worse through my nerves. As dungeon's went, this had the atmosphere, and I shuddered as I passed an open door leading to what seemed the same room I'd been in earlier; its racks of torture devices spotted with rust, or worse, hooked on metal pins driven into the mortar between the rocks. I paused, then, considering my plight, not to mention the dim voices which had risen in volume as I had progressed. Doubling back a few steps, I slipped into the chamber, choosing a pair of the more gruesome of the edged weapons within to accompany my escape, and discarded my tiny, paltry knife in distain.

The large, sharp toothed medical saw was a no brainer, and a few swings had it assessed for balance. It wouldn't throw well, but given its weight, would cause a fair degree of damage if it struck anyone, wielded by hand or otherwise.

I took a moment on my second choice. Hell, if I had to go out, I might as well going out with a bang. A large, hooked gaffe, twelve inches long with a vicious sharpened spike on the end fit the bill, and after hefting it experimentally, I continued on my way towards freedom, feeling a lot more confident than I had earlier carrying nothing more than a mini pig sticker.

At the end of the hallway, a large metal banded timber door had been left slightly ajar. Amateurs, I scoffed again, putting an eye to the crack to assess my chances.

Which were surprisingly good, as it turned out. My Fat Bastard friend was across the room not ten paces away, while my two erstwhile beaters stood at attention before him, their backs to me as all three were concentrating on something just out of view from my position.

"You're gonna kill it, huh, boss?" one of the goons said nervously, shuffling in place as his eyes stayed locked on whatever fucked up thing had his interest.

Fatso grunted in reply. "What do you think, moron? I know of a dozen apothecaries willing to pay a fortune just for small pieces of it. The thing's worth a fortune! Of course I'm going to kill it!"

I couldn't miss the scuffling sound as the object of their attention struggled, so whatever it was must have been alive. At least for the moment, a deeper part of me pondered, although the rest of me had slipped through the door, thankful at least one set of hinges in the bloody place were kept properly maintained, as I crept up on the closest guard, weapon at the ready.

Thank the Gods for small miracles, I thought, as the saw slashed through the man's neck, spraying his lifeblood across the floor before him as he gagged on his own fluids, helpless hands trying to keep it from gushing from him.

Still, the noise was enough to alert the second guard, who spun towards me ready to attack, only to widen his eyes as the gaffe I'd brought down with all my strength smashed through his skull, the pointed end lodging out bloodily from behind his chin like a quite amusing, if somewhat excessive, piercing.

It was the work of a moment, deleting the two from the picture, and as the second goon fell, I grabbed his long knife from his belt, letting his corpse fall heavily behind me as I sprang forward to confront Castello, who barely had time to draw a breath before I took it from him, the hilt of the dagger penetrating through his heart with a most satisfying of squelches.

I kept his gaze as he fell, watching the horrified gleam fade from his eyes as his life followed similarly. Long moments passed until I was satisfied my revenge on the prick was complete. Hell, if you're going to slaughter people, it has to be for a reason, otherwise you're nothing more than a loony.

I was not crazy. I may have been a thief, a criminal and a bloody effective assassin, but crazy? Them's fighting words, and I might have to kill you for 'em!

After spitting on his rank carcass, I looked down at my naked torso, grimacing at the amount of blood splattered there, obscuring the more colourful of my bruising. Gore central, I snorted in amusement, wiping a hand down my chest which did little more than smear it thoroughly across my breast. Giving Fat Bastard's corpse another swift kick, splattering even more blood across the stone floor, I spotted a water barrel in the corner, the adrenaline still flowing through my veins keeping my increasingly painful movements bearable as I buried my head beneath the icy surface. Gasping with the submersion, I splashed more down myself, washing red trails down my skin to the floor to pool in burgundy swirls at my feet.

Still, it was unusual for me to be so distracted, my brain still struggling to awaken from the fuzziness encompassing it. A testament to the efficacy of my prior beating, I mused, as I scrubbed gingerly at my hair, dislodging encrusted blood from several scalp wounds that then chose to add my own blood to that of my captors.

It wasn't until a grunting gasp from behind had me made me recall I wasn't alone, and I turned swiftly to check out the state of the other prisoner unfortunate enough to experience Castello's hospitality.

Wide, silver eyes returned my shocked look in fear, sending me stumbling back against the wall, my heart racing frantically.

"Oh, I am so very fucked!" I muttered hoarsely, sliding down the blockwork to sit on my arse on the icy cold floor, staring in disbelief at my fellow captive.

For the first time in a long while, I think I truly meant it!