The scream chilled his blood.

Trey was already running late. It was only the new street lanterns the Duke had installed last year that let him work this late at all. Even so, he needed to be back before the second bell, or Master Leonir would punish him for dawdling. Again.

Even with the lanterns, it was best to keep to main streets where the shops and taverns were still open. Where there were witnesses. Whoever's screaming, I guess they forgot that, Trey thought.

Another thin scream, this time cut off early. The second cry for help was enough to allow Trey to figure out the direction, and he started off down a side street. Three alleys over, behind the potters? I think I can make it by going around the Smith Keller's shop. Trey was already moving at a trot now, loosening his belt knife and rounding the corner behind the whitesmith's workshop, when he stopped himself. But what can I do to help? I'm just a 'prentice, not a guardsman or one of the Black Kites. I can only

Another desperate scream cut off his stream of thought. He shook his head, as if to clear it of doubts, and then quickly moved to find the source. The girl. and whatever else we'll find there. he thought. He wasn't running now, but instead moving as fast as he could while remaining silent, sticking to the shadow along the back walls of the shops, and coming up short at the entry to the alley where he was sure the screams originated.

He gripped the hilt of his belt knife hard, as if to find courage there. Steeling himself like a man about to jump off a cliff, he put his head around the corner, just enough to see what was there.

He saw the limp form of a girl being dropped to the hard-packed dirt. She was dressed plainly, likely a shop girl or a perhaps one of the serving girls from a nearby tavern. Her dark hair spilled out on the ground, her limbs fell and lay at odd, uncomfortable angles. Above her stood a figure in a black cloak, any features hidden in the shadows of the half-light that spilled into the alley from the street.

Trey heard a loud voice yelling, “Murder! Murder! Call out the watch!” It took him a moment to realize that the voice was his own, and that he was charging into the alley with his knife already in hand. What in the hell am I doing? was the only thought that occurred to him, before he gained his resolve and ran even faster, hoping to take the attacker by surprise.

He barrelled into the cloaked man and managed to bowl him over. They struggled briefly in the street, when Trey felt a cold hard grip take his throat. From the way they collided, the man was no taller than he, and weighed even less, but this grip was like iron. Trey felt himself being lifted from his feet as he choked and struggled. Half formed thoughts skittered across his brain as he fought for air, and against that grasp. What kind of... is this even a man? And then he also saw that they were not alone. At the back of the alley stood five more figures, also wearing the long black cloak. Each also wore a bone white mask, the sort sometimes used in pantomime plays, the features a grotesque exaggeration of a smiling, leering face.
They stood apart from the struggle, which was just as well. Trey was already dying. He could feel himself blacking out, drowning. He fought and kicked, but the arm that held him might as well been the limb of an oak. It did not budge.

Just as he felt the last of his consciousness slip away, Trey was flying. He hit something hard, and fell to the ground. But he could breathe now. He gasped and pulled in air like a man just breaking the surface of the water. He couldn't move, he could only breathe.

He finally opened his eyes, and saw a city guardsman standing over him. “Are you alright, lad? Here now, take it easy.” With the guardsman's help, Trey finally sat up. Trey saw the knotted cord on the guardsman shoulder, a mark of some sort of rank.

Another guardsman was further in the alley, examaning the girl. “No good, Sergeant. This one's dead,” he said, as he pulled up her cloak to cover her face. Trey caught a last glimpse of that face, contorted in agony. He saw that face and heard an echo of the chilling screams. He shuddered and looked away.

The Sergeant put a comforting hand on Trey's shoulder. “There now, lad. You'll be fine. Can you talk?”

Trey managed a croak, but no words yet. “Time enough for talking later, I guess. This will be a long night,” the sergeant said. Trey could only nod.

The Sergeant quickly barked orders, “Lucan, run to the watch house, rouse the rest of the men. Maccus, you check the other end of this alley, and the adjacent streets.” Both guardsmen nodded, and quickly moved to follow the commands.

Trey could only stare at the body. He'd been too late to help.

##

”I don't see why we had to be there anyway.”
“It was part of the bargain. I also find it... distasteful. But the terms are clear.”
“Do you think the boy saw anything?”
“With these?” He gestured to the cloaks and masks now piled by the doorway. “Even if he saw us, what can he tell the Guard?”

The room was richly appointed, though perhaps a bit small for the six people crowded inside. The two men who had been talking took seats at a small table and helped themselves to the wine there. A well-dressed woman sitting by the fireplace was already sipping her wine, and turned to ask, “Well, Captain? Is this going to be a problem?”

The man in armour was leaning against the mantle. He shook his head. “There is no problem. Just a young man who will soon be,” he paused to stroke one of his long moustaches, “missing.”

One other stood in the corner, a figure who still wore the long black cloak, the hood pulled up to hide it's face. The cloaked figure stood unnaturally still. And at watch at the only window, stood a tall man with black hair and beard, both streaked with grey.

“Don't worry about the boy,” the tall man said. “I know who he is.”

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