Unusual Events: A Short Story Collection

by Max Florschutz

  She couldn’t have that. She needed to be invisible—or as close to it as she could manage—in order to carry on her work.

  A muted click echoed across the street, muffled by the thick mist but still recognizable to her gifted hearing, and her eyes darted upwards, locking on a single doorway a few dozen feet down the street.

  False alarm. The door to the jeweler’s business remained closed. She let her eyes crawl up the street, searching for the source of the sound that had called her attention, and saw another couple stepping out of a clothing store, a bundle clutched under the man’s arms. She watched as the woman offered her arm to her partner, who took it, and then the pair proceeded down the side of the street, idle conversation passing back and forth between them.

  Some other time, she thought as she watched the pair fade into the mists. I can only help so many. Besides, that pair had been older, probably the owners of the clothing shop itself. The older generation was already lost.

  That, and her quarry was already chosen. Other lost souls that needed her help would have to wait until she’d done what she could to help her current charge.

  Come on, she thought, frowning slightly as she brought her attention back to the jeweler’s doorway. You know you must get her home. Or perhaps she was too late, and the young man in question had already lost himself to his sex, destroying the young lady he’d been leading on without even bothering to do something as simple as wed her first.

  No, she thought, almost shaking her head but then arresting herself before the motion could begin. He wouldn’t do it here. Not in a public, commercial quarter. Still, if the couple didn’t appear soon, she’d—

  Another click echoed across the quiet street, this time from the direction of the jeweler’s shop, and she let out a silent sigh of relief as the door opened; warm, yellow light spilling out across the cobblestones, flickering as it mixed with the disturbed mists. Finally!

  Her quarry stepped out—the man first, holding the door for his companion—and then the woman. She gave him a smile as she looked up at him, and then, the door swinging shut behind them, they made their way down the street arm in arm.

  She reached out with her affinity, flexing her power and pulling inward. It was a bit like sucking in a breath, except that this was one she could continue to hold for hours. She waited a moment, feeling the faint trickle of energy that told her that her power was working, and then mentally shifted her power downward, toward her own feet.

  It took skill to direct one’s own affinity in this manner, at least for those with her particular gift, but she’d had a great deal of practice. Straightening her back, she strode out into the street, squaring her shoulders as if she’d been making her way down the block all along. Beneath her, the sound of her steps was faint even to her own ears, and she could feel the faint spikes of power that rolled into her with every footstep.

  Perfect. To the faint shapes of the couple ahead, already partially obscured by the mists, her footsteps would sound far weaker than they actually were, allowing her to follow them much more closely than she would otherwise be able to without drawing their attention to herself. All she had to do was keep her power pulling at the sound of her footsteps as she followed, even occasionally drop back until the couple were faint shadows and muffle the sound entirely as if she’d turned off the street, and then bring herself back with a different cadence to her step, or perhaps a slightly different walk.

  It was easy now. Following the first couple, that had been hard. She’d not even had a plan then, only a vague idea of what she wanted to do. Looking back, it was remarkable she’d managed to get as far as she had, much less succeeded at what she’d set out to do.

  And yet she had. No one had connected her to the event. No one had even suspected. And with each couple past the first, the hunt had only gotten easier. She’d learned to be patient, learned when to avoid and when to wait. When to choose a safer, less aware target. Men were horrible, violent creatures, but some of them were also quite smart. On two occasions she’d almost failed in her objective, saved only by the divine providence of the Creator and a little luck.

  She followed the couple for over a mile, taking care to never be directly behind them for too long. The grey dress she was wearing would make her hard to see in the mists, but it was better that they never suspected what was going on at all. And while she followed, she observed.

  The man was like all the others of his sex, self-assured and arrogant. She could see it in his nervous smile; the way he looked at his date with a fond expression that she knew wasn’t complete. The eyes were too wide, the smile too forced. He was a fraud. A liar.

  Jaceb Orilles, she thought as she watched him give a fake-sounding laugh. She knew his name. She’d taken the time to learn everything about him once she’d chosen the pair. Son of minor nobleman Ulren Orilles, a man who owned and oversaw several hundred farms on the lower outskirts of the capital, and one with powerful resources. A fairly standard noble house, wealthier than the one she’d been raised up in. Certainly too wealthy to have any real interest in consorting with the far less wealthy home the young woman Jaceb was courting hailed from. Unless they planned to absorb it after the wedding. That was a possible answer.

  But no, more than likely young Jaceb had simply seen the young woman as an obvious target for his decadent ways. Thus the occasional nervous looks, the sometimes faked smile.

  You are new at this, she thought as she followed them through the city. The woman laid her head on her date’s shoulder as they walked, and the sight of the motion made her blood boil. Luckily for your date, I will intervene before this goes much further.

  Alexes Tralione. That was the name of the woman. A young lady in her late teens visiting family in the Empire’s capital city of Indrim for the late spring and early summer. A perfect target for a nobleman’s son who couldn’t contain himself.

  Up ahead the pair slowed, and for a moment she almost panicked, barely keeping her step steady. But then the couple resumed walking, and she let out a sigh of relief. For a brief second she had been afraid that they were going to deviate from their current plans, go to some other place. But no, the young woman had merely slowed to laugh at something Jaceb had said, her melodic voice rolling through the mists. It was so lovely … so innocent.

  I have to save her. The mists coiled around her body, thinning as all three of them passed out of the heart of the city, moving gradually down the mountain toward the estates that made up one of the many upper-class sections of the city. Her own home wasn’t far removed from where the young Ms. Tralione was staying, in fact; merely a half-mile or so away from the small estate Tralione’s relatives owned.

  They were almost there now. She’d dropped so far back to avoid being seen that she’d almost lost sight of the pair in the gloom, but she could see the front gates to the family estate ahead. She didn’t need to get too close. She already knew what would happen. Jaceb would say a few words, Alexes would return them, and then they would walk to the front door where he would kiss her goodnight. After that farewell, he would return home to his own estate, some distance away in another part of the city.

  And to do that, he’d follow the lower road, a looping path that would take him past the side of his paramour’s estate, as if he were trying to catch a final glimpse of her through her bedroom window. Though to the best of her knowledge he’d not stopped and tried something so perverse yet.

  Still, as the pair approached the front gates, she did what she’d done the last several times she’d tracked them and turned aside, onto one of the small side streets pressed up against the northern side of the estate. There was a pneumatic station nearby, its constant activity making the steaming mists that moved through the streets rich and thick. And the road she was on intersected perfectly with the path young Jaceb would take home. Unless he brought a carriage, but he hardly ever did. He seemed to prefer to walk, as did young Miss Alexes.

  A moment more and she was turning down the street that Jace
b himself would be walking, her footsteps fading into silence as she increased the pull of her power. As soon as even the faint swish of her clothing was gone, she took a quick look over her shoulder to make sure that no one was looking, and then stepped into a nearby—and now quite familiar—alleyway.

  It was perfect. The steam from the pneumatic station was fresh and warm, just thick enough that in the low light it would be hard to identify someone standing in the alleyway at any distance. And with the hissing thump of the station rolling through the air, it would be hard for someone to hear anything—not that they would anyway, not with her gift. She was a muffler, and a skilled one at that. Sound was her realm, her gift from the Creator to change the world with. There were others like her, yes, but they were squandering their powers.

  She stood in the alley and waited, steam mists curling around her and mixing with the cool air. Tonight was the next to last run, the final precautionary test.

  She wasn’t waiting long.

  She felt his footsteps before she heard them, staccato bursts of power flowing into her, and she released her ability. It wouldn’t do to make the alleyway too silent. Besides, she needed to hear his footsteps with her own ears.

  There they were: A faint echo that was growing stronger by the second. Hidden in the darkness of the alley, she saw Jaceb as he moved down the street, the faint moonlight all the illumination she needed to identify his thin face.

  Her fingers twitched, itching to reach for the long, thin blade concealed at her side in the folds of her dress, but she clamped down on the urge. Control. Purpose. Tonight’s run was only a trial, a final test to make certain that, just like every other night, her quarry would pass by this same point. Her fingers stilled, the long knife remaining where she’d secreted it, and Jaceb passed by, unaware of how close he’d come.

  It wouldn’t matter. The night wasn’t the best night for it anyway. The moon was too full. In another four days, when Jaceb and Alexes went on another one of their regularly scheduled dates once more, the fullness of the moon would be waning. The alleyway would be dark, shadowed. Perfect.

  The footsteps faded, but she waited several minutes more, savoring the trembling anticipation that was flooding through her body. Four days. In four days, she would stand in this exact spot and her fingers would clutch the knife they’d so desperately wanted to hold tonight.

  Then she would strike, and another young woman would be saved for a time from the violent, abusive plague that was mankind. And the papers would once again erupt in a fury as the peacekeepers reported the loss of yet another young man. The sixth in nine months. Of course, there had actually been seven, but why bother correcting them? And technically there had been that one miscalculation … the incident where she’d been forced to silence the young woman was well as the man that had been courting her. It had been sad, but the girl simply hadn’t seen.

  In either case, she would arise the next morning once more as her usual self, the widowed Amacitia Varay, minor noble of no import, and read the paper for the story of her latest kindness. She would be forced to put on a pleasant face for her few friends, a face horrified by the sight of such ghastly violence.

  It was a lie for their sakes, of course. She had to admit, it was all so … delightful. The panic, the rush … the blood. The look on her victim’s eyes as she carved his throat out. Sometimes, if she had time, she’d go for the longer, more satisfying kills. Cutting out their tongue perhaps, or something equally rewarding.

  But she’d pretend to be horrified all the same, her expression to her friends one of shock as they regaled her with whatever stories they’d either concocted themselves based upon the information in the papers or heard elsewhere. Maybe one day the time would be right to tell them, to let them know how wonderful the work was she was engaged in. Maybe one day they’d understand.

  But not now. For now, Lady Amacitia Varay would remain Lady Amacitia Varay—at least to the public—and no one else.

  But, she thought as she walked out of the alley and began making for her home. I must admit I do like the name the papers have chosen for me. At first she’d been shocked by it, but as the months had stretched on, it had grown on her. It was a fitting name, if a little uncouth.

  The Ripper walked home, a smile on her face as she thought of the days to come. Soon … Soon young Alexes Tralione would be free.

  And one day, maybe she would understand.

  TWO

  The restaurant was quiet. Which wasn’t too surprising, considering the lateness of the hour. Most of the social strata had already gone home; those who had jobs to worry about, careers to follow, or holdings to manage, all needing to be prepared for an early rise to return to their work.

  All left the small restaurant far quieter than it had been earlier. Which was fine, as far as she was concerned. The lack of noise suited her. The soft, occasional clink of metal against fine porcelain or muted whispers of conversation were far superior to the more boisterous noise the eatery had been home to earlier.

  What a difference an hour makes, she thought as she sipped at a spoonful of soup. It had a pleasant flavor … mild but with a hint of spice hidden behind it. It would have been nice to have only come out once the hour had grown late … but there were necessities. Appearances to maintain. A lady who arrived late in the evening would call attention to herself, even if all she did was eat. A lady who arrived during the tail-end of the dinner rush, however, was a lady who’d simply taken her time deciding where to eat.

  The foolish judgements of men, she thought, but she didn’t let the creed sour her face. She kept her prim, proper smile armed as she took another sip of her soup, her eyes slowly wandering around the rest of the restaurant. Confining everyone to their “proper place.” Forcing me to attend dinner a full two hours before I would otherwise wish to.

  Thankfully, she had a cover for the length of her meal. Not only had a she brought a paper that she’d spent the last few hours slowly reading over, but she was a widow with no holdings but her home and money, someone who didn’t necessarily need to worry about how much time she spent having dinner. As long as she sat quietly with a soft smile on her face, patiently and slowly eating her meal, no one would look twice at her. And no one had.

  There was the soft whisper of feet against carpet beside her, and she looked up to see one of the serving staff standing there with a bright smile on her face. A glimmer, if her sleeveless arms were any indication.

  “Is everything suiting you so far, Lady Varay?” the serving woman asked, giving her a slight bow as she spoke. “Do you require anything more at the moment?”

  Lady Varay smiled, taking care to make sure that it was a warm, welcoming smile, one that stretched all the way to her eyes. It wouldn’t do to offend the staff, not now that they’d learned to simply let a woman be her server for the night. Restaurants that picked up on such things were rare. Many didn’t seem to care what sex served someone.

  “Could I get some more bread?” she asked. The serving girl gave her a polite nod. “And do give my compliments to the chef,” she said, waving her hand to signify that the server could go. “The soup tonight is most excellent.”

  “Wonderful,” the serving woman said. “He’ll be most pleased to hear that.” She turned and walked away, oblivious to the sudden pit that had filled Varay’s stomach.

  She glanced down at the soup, her appetite cooling. Suddenly her meal didn’t seem quite so flavorful anymore. Even the appetizing look of it had gone.

  All the more reason to have ordered bread, she thought as she picked up the spoon once more. After all, you did enjoy this for a time. It’s possible that the she was mistaken. Yes, that must be it, she thought as she took another sip of the soup. She’s mistaken. Or toying with me. She entertained the idea of leaving the bare minimum payment for her meal, but then discarded it.

  That would make me memorable, she thought. Make me stand out.

  Tonight, of all nights, that wouldn’t do.

  She took
another look around the small restaurant, eyes gingerly stepping past each occupied table until her gaze was fixed on the far windows. Even with the interior lights casting everything past the glass into shadow, she could still make out faint wisps of steam, coiling and curling on themselves as they slunk by the windows.

  No, on tonight of all nights, it wouldn’t do to draw attention to herself. She needed to stay pleasant, quiet, and ordinary. Unmemorable and unremarkable from every other night she’d spent out. At least, to the public’s eye.

  So she lifted her spoon and took another sip, the flavor tasting sour at first but then acclimating to her tongue. Sacrifices had to be made, after all.

  The serving woman wasn’t back with her bread yet, so she reached out once more, picking up the paper she’d been glancing through since she’d arrived. The headline was bold and vivid, its heavy, thick-lined typeface filling the front page.

  TYRSTORE KYRILLIS MURDERED, the top line read, with a smaller, less thick subtitle below it. THIRD NOBLEMAN TO BE ASSASSINATED IN SEVEN WEEKS – KILLING PRESUMED REVENGE FOR EARLIER ASSASSINATIONS OF NOBLES TILLANDIS AND NEVERMYRE.

  She’d already read the story and all its associated articles, though many of them had felt strongly of fluff, byproducts of too many reporters and not enough facts. There was an undercurrent of speculation to the whole situation, with many competing theories for what was going on. Most seemed to believe that another culling was at hand, another period of violence that marked the struggles and inner politicking of the noble houses made public.

  It wasn’t uncommon, certainly. That had been made quite clear by her educated upbringing. Her father had been a horrible man, but he hadn’t skimped on things that kept up appearances. She’d received an excellent education. Moreso than he’d realized, really.