"Arabian Nights"
Part 50
by Beryll
The room was filled with the warm but not yet overly heated light of the morning sun, streaming in through the high narrow windows. The sun's rays were repainting the beautiful patterns of the wooden lattice of the windows on the slightly rose tinged marble floor.
It would have been a scene of serene peace if it hadn't been for the brooding presence of the man sitting in a high backed chair behind a huge desk. A deep constant frown had etched itself into his forehead over many years. But right now there also was a smouldering anger in his eyes that made the others in the room maintain a careful silence, not to draw his attention.
Finally the man behind the desk looked up, staring at the two people in front of him. Both men where kneeling on one knee with their heads bowed, completely motionless. One was dark haired, the other blonde, both were lithe and even in their submissive posture exuded an air of competence and strength.
"So he lives." The man behind the desk stated, the hatred in his voice barely controlled.
Neither the two in front of him nor the man standing by the door answered. The kneeling men didn't react at all but the man by the door shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably. He knew that the current situation could not be blamed on him in any way. Yet he had witnessed often enough that being at fault was not a necessary prerequisite to become the target for the cruelty of the man behind the desk. This time he was ignored.
"Why does he live?" The man behind the desk asked, his voice rising in volume only a tiny bit nevertheless filling the room with its dripping hatred.
This time the blonde man in front of him answered without raising his head. "The assassin failed."
"Again?!" The hands of the man clenched on the edge of the desk. "I thought he was an expert."
"He is indeed an expert. The likelihood that he would fail was slim."
"IS?" The man latched on to that word. "What do you mean, is? He was taken alive?"
"Yes, master."
Now the man's voice rose in volume again, the knuckles of the hands gripping the table going white. "So he has been questioned? What has he revealed?"
The dark haired man kneeling in front of him answered this time. "There was nothing to reveal. He never saw either of us. Just heard my voice."
"But he could recognize you?"
"It does not matter," the blonde said, "you know we can not be captured."
Slowly the man behind the desk relaxed back into his chair. Again he stared at the two kneeling men for a long time.
"You failed." he then stated. "You know what your punishment for failure is."
This time both men reacted, shifting closer together almost imperceptible but remaining silent.
The man behind the desk turned his attention to the tall, bald man waiting by the door and his new target flinched under the scrutiny. "So what do we do now?" he was asked.
He was still searching for an answer when the kneeling blonde spoke up: "If you allow us to forego mundane methods he will be dead within a few weeks."
The man's burning stare returned to him. "I told you already, it would draw too much attention!"
"It will look natural." the dark haired man explained. "A curse to wither away his health. Untraceable to any but the enlightened. Something he has no defence against. And it will look like he died of a natural cause."
The man behind the desk pondered this suggestion. "Will he suffer?" he asked finally.
The two men kneeling in front of him exchanged a quick glance and for the briefest moment disgust flitted over their faces, which did not escape the notice of their master.
"He can be made to suffer." the blonde answered his question.
"Then make it so!" the man behind the desk hissed angrily, leaning forward. "And know that your punishment for failure as well as for your growing insolence will be harsh!"
"Yes, master." Both men replied, their voices flat and not betraying any kind of emotion.
If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Beryll
go to PART 51