The Nailbiting Adventures of Rose Trellis, Asthmatic Assassin

Illustrated by Gianluca Farrugia

The yellow pools of light from swinging lanterns dimly lit the corridors. Long dark shadows clung to archways. Not a torch ruffled the blackness strangling the isolated pools of light, not a sound disturbed the silence.

Miaoo- ended in a dull thud. Muffled curses came from a particularly black patch of shadow. ‘Not now, Sugarplum! You missed your cue…’

Rose Trellis patted the dead weight in the bag, suddenly crooning. ‘Sugarplum, Sugarplum! Was that too hard? You must wake up, come kitty kitty! Look, here’s some cheese, you like cheese… I know it’s dyed black, but it’s your favourite, look look…’ No response.

She sobbed. Which turned out to be a big mistake. She wheezed, spluttered, and dragged out the inhaler. Rose took a deep breath, and leaned against the wall in relief, heart thumping against her chest. She was on a mission… to prove that an asthmatic assassin was a viable investment. This was her first assignment.

She lay in wait for what seemed like forever, listening for the running footsteps that would mean she’d been discovered. She’d come prepared – if anyone were alerted by the sound of her padded feet on the stones, she could let the cat out of the bag, and leave it to Sugarplum to allay suspicion.

Slowly and surely she detached herself from the safety of the pillar. She took a step, and stopped. She willed the panic to stop rising. If she scarpered, she’d be doomed to eternal shame. Better than eternal night, said the little voice in her ears. She batted away the imp that had adopted her shoulder as its perch, and directed angry thoughts at it, willing it not to keep reading her mind. It leapt back up and buzzed back, ‘I’ve carefully ignored that – see.’

Rose Trellis wound her way through the cavernous corridors, hugging the shadows, imp hopping from shoulder to shoulder, cat suspended limp in her black cotton sack. Once, she had to leap back from the resounding footsteps of the watchmen on their beat, only to discover she’d landed in a yellow splash of light where none had been before. The lantern swung violently in the draught from an opened door. Thankfully, the creak covered up any noise she’d made. She cursed herself for not observing more caution. The imp cheerfully agreed.

Here she was – finally – after taking several tortuous routes, and encountering dead ends, she was here – at the centre of the labyrinth. The castle towered above her, shimmering like a mirage in the mist. She knew better – it was a mirage. Many had entered, many had gone mad and gotten lost in the elaborate dreamscape. Many were still inhabiting the evilly alluring glittery world of drink and orgy within its chimerical walls, oblivious to the fact they were trapped in a dream…

‘Let’s go… let’s go!!’ buzzed the little imp excitedly, rubbing its little pointy hands in glee. It didn’t sound half bad, she had to admit.

Instead, she turned towards the tiny hovel that stood beside. Its crumbling moss-encrusted walls held absolutely nothing to dazzle the eye or enrapture the soul. ‘Not exciting enough,’ the imp gave its verdict, and sat down, looking distinctly bored.

Rose crawled towards the hovel, trying to keep below the line of sight of the crystal eyes set around the square. She considered her environs, and decided the best way in would be to dig a hole and burrow her way through to the throne rooms. A quick glance through her inventory showed her she had nothing that could blast through stone. Besides, Sugarplum – even unstunned – would be an unlikely suspect for the noise.

Rose took a deep breath on her inhaler, and jumped through the window.

She fell, and fell, and fell… and landed on something warm, sweet, sticky and squelchy. The imp jumped down, and tasted it.

‘Treacle, yum.’

Rose tried to steal away, but slid around and slipped in a chocolate puddle. The imp hopped back onto her shoulder, chuckling. ‘Not going to lose me that quickly; no sirree.’ She sighed.

She tried to sidle over to the small wooden door at the far end. With a mere consonant shift, her sidle became a slide, and she arrived at the door legs akimbo and imp whooping merrily. Well, she considered as she unstuck her bum from the treacle, she was only a consonant off, and the results had been more or less the same. She’d reached the door.

Which was glowing greenishly. Ah, enchantment… ‘Ah,’ the imp echoed, looking effortlessly wise. Brow puckered in concentration, Rose tried to think back to class… ‘Professor Prackett had said’… she flicked the imp away… use the… the imp climbed back on… use the… ir- ‘on wand…’

She drew the blue quivering wand from her sleeve, and delivered the imp a whack to the head. Now – to gauge the level… She held the wand a short distance from the door, and ran it over the lock. Ah, just as she’d thought. She pressed the green button on the wand, and drew out the door’s enchantment, which disappeared with a pop and crackle.

Behind the door – darkness. ‘Shall we step forth into the unknown, when there’s all this gorgeous yummy food behind us?’ That decided her, just to spite the little self-confident devil, she stepped out into the unknown.

And regretted it. It was only another storeroom, but the things in here ‘would shred one’s tongue. Can’t we go back to the treacle?…’

Knives and axes lay in disarray, large spears and other pointy things discouraged crossing. They were strewn about the floor. Rose had to walk over them, or clear a path and risk setting off alarms. What was the worst that could happen…

‘No doubt we’ll find out,’ the imp shut its eyes tight, and buzzed a little tune.

Rose tiptoed forward, willing herself to be as light as possible. She held her breath all the way, banishing the sharp pain in her toes to another, distant, place. She let out her breath when she’d found a clear spot two-thirds of the way through. And struggled… coughed… wheezed. The imp jumped up and down to avoid her rhythmic shakes. The door at the other end swung open.

Rose had to play her cards right in this deadly game of cat and mouse. ‘Cat!’ Yes, yes, she thought at the imp. With deftness and dexterity, she loosened the rope and let the cat out of the bag. She went back to being perfectly still – as was the cat –  hoping no one would see her.

There was a roar from the door. Two Royal Guardsmen rushed over, and pointed at the cat, lying on the floor. They were standing just two axes away. Rose tried to breathe – she went blue in the face – between near-gasps – suspense was unbearable – imp jumping up – and – down – buzzing ‘still’ – ‘still’ – into her earssss… She felt like she was going to implode, pretty blue circles floated into her vision… she wheezed audibly.

The guards looked round. She grabbed the inhaler, and sucked in air – ‘too noisy!’, the imp buzzed at her. Well, she was surrounded by sharp points. What was an assassin to do in such circumstances? Conventionally – move like a lightning streak leaving a trail of blood in her wake. She drew her shiny new blade into her right hand, and pulled at the little thread on her wristband. Gleaming points dripping with almost-lethal poison sprang out. She lunged with her left hand, inhaler forward. And tried to correct the mistake mid-lunge.

‘I could have told you this would happen,’ buzzed in her ears, as she wriggled in the guards’ clutches.

‘Cat murderer! Our King loves cats! Do you know what the penalty for cat murder is? Well, do you??’ The imp cowered as the man bellowed close to her ear.

‘Sugarplum’s not dead! Look…’

They turned to look, as Sugarplum sluggishly got to her feet. Sugarplum took two unsteady steps, then let out an agonised miaow and a gurgle, as she got skewered in the neck by a falling rapier.

‘You’re coming with us.’

*          *          *

‘You have murdered one of the 4-legged beasties of Ligeia.’ The Sorcerer King turned to stare into her eyes, swirling cape billowing around him.

‘Pardon?’

‘The 4-legged beasties of Ligeia.’

‘Sugarplum?’

‘The 4-legged beasties of Ligeia. You are in my Kingdom now – you play by my rules. Do you know what the penalty for that is?’

The Throne Room. So close to her target… if only it weren’t for the chains wound around her arms. And the fact that the only ‘concealed’ weapon they hadn’t bothered removing was a safety pin holding up her skirt. Well, she supposed that might have had something to do with the fact that it was more concealing than concealed.

‘Well?’

‘This is a nice place… I like what you’ve done with the giant scimitars – difficult things to coordinate, aren’t they. I think the contrast of having fluffy Sugarplums walking around gives the place just the right atmospheric balance.’

‘Do you have any idea what penalty awaits you, Miss Rose Trellis?’

‘For being an assassin?’

‘For being a cat-assassin, yes.’ He let the pause linger. ‘You must be fed to the gigantular 4-legged beasties of Ligeia.’

‘Wait – no, this is wrong. I’ve got three degrees from St Assassinine College… I can’t go down in history as…’

‘A cat-murderer.’

‘I’m an assassin! I can prove it…’

‘You’re a disgrace. A cat-murderer.’

‘No!’ She was dragged away, protesting.

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice looked after her struggling form. ‘Perhaps, Master, I should go make sure the rage of the fire lions is suitably stoked up.’ The King nodded. The Apprentice limped off.

*          *          *

‘Listen to me… I am an assassin, recently graduated with honours, not a cat-murderer.’ The imp tutted its dissent – ‘mighty assassin my pointy toe. You’re a disgrace to cat-murderers.’

The cage was lowered, its bars charred from years of trying to contain the flaming manes. Rose drew up breath too sharply, and choked on the smoke.

‘What’s that?’ the guard asked, watching her suspiciously as she sucked on the inhaler. ‘Poison?’

‘No, I failed poisons…’ but he wasn’t listening. He was looking down the mouth of a caged fire lion. He decided to abscond halfway through her vicious diatribe against the Properties of Herbs.

She was alone. Now was a good time to think of making her escape. Though – it would be good for someone somewhere to witness it, so it could pass into the annals of history and thence be bloated beyond recognition in legend. ‘Away, away! I will turn bard, and sing your song… now, away! Now!’ She wondered what sort of song the imp would buzz into people’s ears. ‘How you ran, stopped for breath, tripped, ran… A rousing song for cowards everywhere, urging them to flee. Now… Too late.’ The Apprentice limped in.

The imp shook its little head and muttered dejectedly. It hopped off her shoulder, and abandoned its perch to fate. It had had a good run. The imp indulged sentimentality for a half-second… then blithely leapt onto the Apprentice, who scratched the new ticklish itch that had materialised around his neck. The Apprentice made a mental note to order another shipment of flea powder.

‘Come along; follow me,’ he whispered hoarsely. He picked up the end of the chain that bound her, and led her into the next room.

‘I’m not going to die?…’

He laid a finger on her lips. ‘I was the one who placed the contract. I can’t stand them, and I’m not in a position to do it myself. And… that… is the worst of them.’

‘Who?’

He pointed at the throne standing on an elevated section. A golden longhaired cat yawned and applied itself to licking its paws.

‘I placed the contract; the cats have gone far enough.’

‘You’re mistaken – I came here for Queen Cornflake.’

‘You’re looking at her.’

‘It says here –’ Rose pulled out a slip of paper with her teeth; the Apprentice apologetically unchained her. ‘“Accessibility level: Moderate to Hard”… that sounds about right, I did overcome quite a few extreme risks and hurdles to get here; “Target level: Handle with care”.’

‘In deference to His Majesty’s wishes.’

‘Does he want her killed?’

‘Good Great Tac, no. That’s my demand; but habits die hard.’

‘“Wear gloves at all times…”’ she continued; she looked questioningly at him.

‘Her Majesty has a fierce set of claws.’

‘Good God!’ she exclaimed – the Apprentice flinched – ‘I am a cat-assassin aren’t I?’

‘Don’t use the G-word here,’ he told her reproachfully. ‘It’s Tac in here. You might want some flea powder too.’

‘No thanks; now if Great Tac would see fit to provide me with my bag of weapons, we’ll see what we can do.’

‘Excellent, I managed to salvage one when they threw them out.’

Rose wheezed in happy anticipation as she held it in her hand. ‘My favourite! This is my own personal invention. No one ever suspects a miniature tea-pot.’

‘How does it work?’ The Apprentice looked intrigued.

‘It’s an ingenious device. You can pour scalding liquid onto one’s victim, or alternatively throw it through the air, and the momentum will make lots of sharp little blades appear, till it becomes a terrifying instrument of death.’

Rose prepared to demonstrate its use. She carefully approached the cat, and positioned the spout just over the target. She poured it all over the Queen, who looked mildly annoyed.

Several minutes later – ‘Shouldn’t it be scalding?’ the Apprentice asked, intrigued, still batting away at his shoulder.

‘Oh. I thought something was wrong. All my fire implements are in my bag. I need two sticks, a kettle, thick gloves, fire blanket…’

‘Or we could just use the lions in the next room.’

‘Couldn’t – not without a fire blanket; this is already a high-risk job as it is.’ She took up a position at the other side of the room, motioning to the Apprentice to move out of the way. She hurled the teapot at the placid cat, now lapping up the puddle of water on the throne. The Queen was accustomed to food coming to her.

The teapot whizzed through the air, turning and turning. The blades popped out. The cat squealed upon impact.

The Apprentice gave Rose an urgent shove, ‘Now – run!’

Rose didn’t linger; the imp who had been idly watching from its new perch stayed to contribute to the epilogue.

‘Is it all over, darling?’ The Sorcerer King walked in.

The Apprentice peeled off his pointy beard and hat, and shook out his long golden hair. ‘Finally. There’ll be no more contracts. That was genius, sweetiepie.’ The voice was… different.

The imp shook itself out of the flea-infested tresses, engaging several doomed fleas in a spirited fist-fight.

The King walked over to inspect the body, and wove a complicated pattern in the air with his wand. The imp watched as the form transformed before its hair-impeded eyes; into the familiar pointy-bearded Apprentice.

‘I’m sorry Simon, but you’d never have made a good Sorcerer anyway. And I couldn’t possibly sacrifice any of my 4-legged beasties.’ The curled up figure heaved one last breath, and lay completely still.

‘I can’t believe they sent someone so inept, it’s almost insulting. How easy did they think it’d be anyway?’

‘Who said that?’ They both turned around.

The imp continued to buzz – ‘No respect. Whoever it is, the records will mark the contract as closed, and I will be troubled no further.’ The imp found the stream of thoughts fascinating reading.

‘Darling, what happened to your voice?’ the King looked at her worriedly.

‘Nothing! It’s not me, at least, I think it’s not…’

‘You’ve had a long day; come to bed?’ the King ran his hand through her hair.

The imp jumped down, and ran away before the hand could reach it. It hitched a ride on a flea-bitten cat, that darted into the fire lions’ room. The imp jumped up and down in merrily competitive unison with the fleas, and in one over-enthusiastic bound leapt higher and further, landing in the keyhole to the cage. It seemed like it could be a significant and strategic position. The imp tried to read its thoughts. The keyhole remained inscrutable. There was, however, another way to penetrate it, and force it to give up its inmost secrets – the imp set itself to work figuring out the inner cogs. There was a satisfying click.

Just then, the Royal couple walked into the room, and approached the cage. ‘How are you, my honey-coated beauties? You’ll get your supper soon, don’t worry. How does roasted Simon sound? He never did like you. Hungry, are you?’ The King leaned against the bars, which swung inward. The lions were indeed hungry, the imp observed as it leapt to a safe distance. Queen Cornflake also backed away, but one of the lions was quicker. The imp buzzed cheerfully, chomping on fleas and encouraging the mayhem.

Rose Trellis found the imp’s return strangely comforting. She’d grown used to its buzz.

The imp hadn’t found it hard to catch up with her – her flight was punctuated by rests every 20 metres, her trusty inhaler in hand.

‘That was a success though, wasn’t it?’ she directed the mental question at the imp. ‘Of course, I still have some way to go. The mark of a master assassin is not being recognised…’

The imp buzzed in complete and self-satisfied agreement, and settled down for a nap.

Krista Bonello Rutter Giappone

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