Duke Norington awoke from his slumber to a most peculiar sound. It was the sort of squelching sound that Duke Norington wasn’t keen on hearing in his bedroom —at least, not while unaware of its origin. “What the Devil was that?” He asked, aloud. Had something happened with the plumbing again? Norington swore that he would have that magus’s head, even if the sound wasn’t his fault. Having sewage inadvertently magicked into his bedroom at night was inconvenient enough, but living in perpetual fear that it could happen again at any time was a unique form of psychological torture that no one, much less a Duke of Norington’s standing, should be subjected to. “Illuminate!” He said. Were Norington a wiser, more fiscally responsible Duke, this command would have activated a heatless flame or photocrystal, allowing him to see the same way a commoner’s candle or lantern might. However, he instead elected to install an enchantment which produced light with no source; it was as if the darkness itself was banished, leaving a perfectly lit room, eerily free of shadows. But Duke Norington hadn’t the time to think about how he’d abandoned his shadow, the last friend he’d kept since birth. He mentally steeled himself before peering over the edge of the bed, toward the entrance, where he thought the sound had come from.
Duke Norington was unsure of how to feel about what he saw on the floor of his bedroom. On one hand, it wasn’t shit, and when one expects to see shit in one’s bedroom, it is often quite a pleasant surprise to see something else. On the other hand, he had no idea what it was, other than a shallow pool of deep blue goo. He was also quite sure that its presence in his bedroom was the responsibility of a wizard who would have to prove themselves quite persuasive to find themselves still breathing at week’s end. “Servants!” He cried out, “Attend me!” Allegedly, a quasi-psychic link would carry his words to his servants anywhere in the manse, though at this point he was hardly trusting of anything a magician had ever said to him. After just a minute or two of waiting, The Duke got impatient. Besides, it wasn’t like some servant would know how to deal with this mystery goop better than himself, a Duke. The first thing he’d have to do is determine if it was safe to touch. He dropped a pillow of the finest lace in the middle of the puddle. He wasn’t eager to stain such an expensive pillow, but he could easily afford to replace it. It didn’t seem to be dissolving, so that was a good sign, at least. He gingerly poked the puddle. It was viscous, like honey, but it didn’t leave any residue on his finger. Most unusual. Nothing in the room would help him clean the mess, so he’d have to cross it. It seemed safe enough at first glance, but he’d have to know way more about it, or be way more desperate to escape it, to willingly step in it. It was too wide for him to jump across, but if he used the pillow as a stepping stone, he was confident he could make it. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that the one and only Duke Norington had nothing to fear from liquids, no matter how blue and mysterious they were.
Duke Norington carefully stretched his leg out and stepped to the pillow from his bed. As soon as he put his weight on it, the puddle bubbled and jiggled, making a noise that almost sounded like laughing. This startled The Duke, causing him to lose his footing. For the briefest moment, he was certain he would die. He sighed in relief when he fell into the puddle, wet and uncomfortable, but uninjured save a bruised bum. His sigh was short lived, as the goop slid out from under him and formed itself in the shape of a human woman.
“Ah, fuck,” the woman-like creature said in a voice which the Duke would find cute and bubbly, under better circumstances. “Er, you don’t happen to have a swear jar, do ya, hon?” The slime girl asked. The Duke could only shake his head. “Thank God,” She said, “I know the swear jar was my idea, but sometimes ya just gotta say fuck, ya know?” Duke Norington did not know, but he nodded timidly, anyway.” “Wh-who are you?” He asked, terrified. “Now, where are my manners?” She said, “The name’s Margaret. Although, I guess there’s not much sense in telling ya now.” “And why’s that?” The Duke asked. “Well, my name won’t do you much good once you’re dead, now will it?” “D-dead?!” The Duke stammered. “O’ course!” Margaret said, “Oh, here, maybe this’ll make it clearer.” What seemed to be a glove on her hand revealed itself to be part of her body, as it quickly melted, dripped to the ground, and oozed under the bed. When it crawled back up her leg and reformed as a glove on her hand, she was clutching a wicked obsidian dagger that seemed immune to the room’s illumination. “An assassin!?” The Duke yelped. “Hey, not so loud!” Margaret whispered aggressively, as her arm darted into his mouth, filling his throat and gagging him. “Listen, hon. I don’t want to drown you. Ghastly way to go, but if ya keep hollering and carrying on like that, you won’t leave me with much of a choice. Can I trust you to keep your voice down?” The Proud Duke Norington sobbed and nodded his head desperately. Margaret pulled her arm from his mouth, allowing The Duke to breathe again. “Now that’s a good boy,” she said, “Sorry about all this. Back in my prime, I coulda carved ya like a holiday ham afore you even woke up. So it’s kinda my fault that you’re currently faced with the terrible certainty that these are your final moments on this Earth, so if there’s anything I could do to make them more bearable, just let me know!” “Well, you could always just… not kill me.” The Duke said.
“Sir, who are you talking t- Aaa-!” Thanks to The Duke’s unorthodox lighting situation, the servant that he had summoned could not see the assassin in the room until he had crossed the threshold, and by then, it was too late. With ruthless efficiency, Margaret stabbed her dagger deep into the butler’s throat. She sucked the dagger back into her gelatinous body through her arm, leaving her hand over the wound to absorb the blood. With her other hand, she covered the man’s nose and mouth. She glared at The Duke, who understood her wordless threat crystal clear. It didn’t take long for the bubbling, choking noises to stop. “Sorry you had to see that, hon,” Margaret said, “But in my defense, it was kind of your fault. If you value your servants’ lives, I’d recommend you keep them out of this.” “How is it my fault?!” The Duke demanded, “For all I knew you were a stain! If you weren’t so good at hiding your identity, I would have called for my guards to protect me, instead!” He had never been unfortunate enough to have to summon his guards to his room, so he could only pray that the quasi-psychic link worked as well for them as it had for the servants. “Oh, yeah, that would’ve been way more convenient for me,” Margaret said, “Seeing as I already killed all the guards.” “You what?” The Duke said, shocked, “You monster! Those men had families!” “Don’t think trying to tug on my heartstrings will get ya anywhere,” Margaret said, “For starters, I don’t have any!” Duke Norington continued to look baffled. “C’mon, that woulda killed back at the office!” Margaret said, “Ah, right, I guess you’re not really in the mood to be ‘killed’ right now.” “Was that a joke about how you’re going to murder me?!” Duke Norington asked, incredulously. “O’ course! Just ‘cuz I gotta kill you doesn’t mean we can’t have a laugh. But if ya like, I can tell ya flat-out: I got no pity for widows or orphans. I mean, I’m sure you have a family, too,” Margaret said, ignorantly, “But it won’t stop me from killing ya. And if your servants have families, I’ll kill them too. If I gotta.” “I don’t understand,” The Duke said, “If you are kind enough to offer me mercy in my final moments, how can you be so cruel as to murder innocents?” “Hmm…” Margaret thought about it for a moment, “Maybe it’s ‘cuz… ah, forget it. Even if I could explain it to ya, I don’t think understanding me would do ya a lick o’ good.” “Whatever,” The Duke said, giving up, “Despite what your employer surely believes, I do value my servants’ lives. I’d prefer they not meet their end on the blade of a slime assassin.” “Suit yourself,” Margaret said, “I could probably use the refresher in eliminating witnesses, but if you’re making my job easier, I won’t complain.” Duke Norington shuddered. How could someone so friendly value human life so little?
“Anyway, back to what I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted,” Margaret said, finally taking her hand off the servant’s wound, allowing a few drops of blood to trickle to the floor, “I’m afraid letting you live isn’t really something I can do.” “You are an assassin, correct?” The Duke asked, “Then surely you are getting paid. How much?” “Enough,” Margaret said, coyly. “I’ll double it!” The Duke said, “Triple it! I promise, I’m worth more to you alive than dead.” “Well, that’s a mighty tempting offer,” Margaret said, “But word travels fast in the underground. Who’d hire an assassin who can be bought off? I’d be out of a job.” “I can pay you enough that you’d never have to work again a day in your life,” Duke Norington said. “And my girls?” Margaret asked, before hastily correcting herself, “Er, and boys, too, I s’pose. This is bigger than just me. I’m a regional manager in the Assassin’s Guild, so my failure will reflect poorly on my employees. Do you have enough money to pay them, too?” “W-well-” The Duke began. “Not to mention, failure would piss- er, I mean, peeve- oh wait, no, piss off the rest of the assassin’s guild. And I’m sure I don’t need to tell you why it’s a bad idea to piss off a bunch of assassins.” “Please, have mercy,” The Duke begged. He knew that this assassin was too professional to be have any sympathy for a target, but he was too desperate to care, “I don’t want to die. I can’t give you a reason why you should spare me, I just… I just hope that you do.” “Hmmm…” Surprisingly, Margaret seemed to consider letting him live. Margaret sighed. “Ah, what the Hell?” she said, “Maybe if I flub this job, I’ll get to do more actual assassinations. That’d be nice…” “So… You’ll let me go?” Duke Norington asked in disbelief. “Sure. Get as far away from here as ya can, as fast as ya can. I’ll fake your death and contact you later to discuss the matter of payment.” “R-really?” The Duke asked. “O’ course!” Margaret said, “Now go on! Git!”
Relief washed over Duke Norington like a wonderful dream, the kind that tormented him more than any nightmare. The monsters and horrors of a nightmare are ephemeral, vanishing the moment one wakes up. But when one has a lovely, impossible dream, in which the dead live and the one who got away returns, the torment is lasting, for cruel reality is much harder to escape from than any fleeting night terror. Margaret smiled, pleased with herself for giving Duke Norington one last moment of happiness before utter oblivion. The moment he crossed the threshold into the dark hallway outside, Margaret carved him like a holiday ham before he could wake up.
Excerpts From The School of Havoc Library 