Villain's Assistant

by Carley Hibbert

  Denny and the Lieutenant watched from behind. Rebecca pulled out another newly embroidered handkerchief and wiped her eyes and nose. “I’m done.”

  Denny offered his arm and eyed the handkerchief in Benjamin’s hand as he led Rebecca to the stairs. Benjamin stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket. He turned away, hoping the breeze would dry his face.

  The Lieutenant, his father, stood next to him. He gazed into the east.

  “After the wedding, we’ll have to make a trip to see my estate, Gehnry. I haven’t seen it in ages. I was thinking of taking Rebecca and everyone there. Otherwise it really won’t feel like home.” The Lieutenant pressed his fists into the stone. “I don’t know how I’ll settle into a quiet life after so many years of dirty work.”

  “You think the king will let you retire?”

  “He agreed to let me try.”

  “Do you think the king would let me retire?” Benjamin tried to laugh but failed.

  The Lieutenant turned. He put his hand on Benjamin’s shoulder and looked him in both eyes for a long time, trying to read what Benjamin wouldn’t say. “Would you want to?”

  “I’m not sure. Probably not.”

  Benjamin sighed, and his father gave his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. Ursula and Baldo’s faces appeared in his mind. They were challenging him, weren’t they? A job left unfinished. Benjamin and his father silently looked over Lam until the guard changed.

  SIXTY SEVEN

  When Benjamin returned to his room, he knelt in front of the bed that had been his during his short visits to the castle. He tossed back the lace and ruffles and shoved his hand under the mattress, momentarily worried that the maids may have done too fine of a job. But after fishing around, he found them. His villain’s suit was properly crumpled. He couldn’t risk sending it to the laundry. They’d have gotten it properly clean and mended—or burned. He had washed it himself and rinsed it well enough to remove any obvious signs of mud, but it still felt stiff. After it was dried, he shoved it under the mattress, just in case.

  Benjamin stripped off his fine suit and laid it flat on his bed. He pulled on his old suit, rough and gritty. He realized now how poorly his villain’s suit fit him and how inferior it was. It scratched against his skin and pinched in a few places. Benjamin looked into the mirror and tried to remember the excitement and confidence he had felt that day he first put the black suit on. He felt none of that now—quite the opposite.

  Benjamin slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the eye patch that had survived the whole ordeal. It had dried into the shape of a dead blossom. He smoothed it out. It was nothing but a caricature of the one his father had hidden behind for so much of his life. Benjamin tossed it behind him, his eyes locking with Rebecca’s in the mirror.

  “I know there are rules about entering a lady’s chamber. Surely there are rules about the reverse?” he said, ducking his head as he secured his money purse around his waist. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t hear a knock.”

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Don’t I?” Benjamin looked back at the mirror.

  Rebecca stared back, hollow-eyed and pale.

  It has to be now. Benjamin felt his stomach twist. Her parents’ murderer was not even cold in his grave. By the Great Wolves, it has to be now!

  He slung the pack he’d paid a stable boy for on his back and walked out the door. Benjamin didn’t look back. The brothers were scattered down the hallway, confused. Obviously they’d pursued Rebecca down the hall, not realizing what she had already figured out. He looked past Denny, still in his uniform, who stiffened. Odie locked eyes with Benjamin, read all that was tangled in his heart, and simply nodded.

  Benjamin’s feet felt heavy. He didn’t think it would be this hard. He hadn’t realized his exit would leave a wound. He was simply following his story to the close. When did he become interested in the ending to other people’s stories? How much of his story was a part of theirs? Benjamin used to think all stories went on, independent of others with main characters and minor characters that came and went, but really they were all main characters whose stories relied on the telling of others’ stories.

  As Benjamin stepped out into the main courtyard, he caught a glimpse of flaming hair among the bodies coming and going. Molly watched him through her faded black eye and wore a knowing smile, though Benjamin had no idea what she could possibly know. The kitchen maid held out a sack, dropped it into his hands, and walked away. Inside were foodstuffs; alongside the hard rolls, she had packed a pair of worn gloves and a scarf. Summer was over, and the cold weather was coming. Benjamin looked back to thank her but only caught a glimpse of her skirt as she passed her lanky brother. The footman scrutinized Benjamin a moment and then followed his sister.

  Benjamin passed through the gate quietly. Sir Wendell did not watch him as he inspected his guard. And with little fanfare, Benjamin set out for his next job interview.

  EPILOGUE

  The night was unusually cold for so early in the fall. There was a bite to the air, and Benjamin blessed Molly’s name again as he rubbed his gloved hands together. The path was dark, but the full moon was quickly rising. He wouldn’t get lost in its bright light. He didn’t want to sleep in the rough again tonight. Not that his hideout was much better, but at least it had a roof and blankets. The road shone around him like the slow-moving river he’d glimpsed from the upper floors of Rebecca’s ruined castle the night before.

  The brambles that marked his ill-used path were lit by silver moonlight. The naked branches looked like skeletal sentries posted along the dark path to witness his undoing. Benjamin swallowed the knot in his chest, even as it tore it in two. The broken gate was invisible in the shadows, but he felt its presence all the same. The broken shutter creaked and cast its night shadow onto the bleached walls of the shack.

  He was only able to draw a shallow breath as he opened the door. He hadn’t thought to lock it in his rush to Shreb’s fortress. Inside, moonlight marked a corner of the table that was littered with mugs and plates.

  He lit a candle. In three steps, he crossed to the table and flipped it over, scattering broken earthenware across the floor. He leaned in to search out the words written underneath. With a few swift kicks, the top detached from the frame, and he reset the table with the words and a map facing up—a map that would lead him to Ursula. It slipped right into place. The road looked straight for once, without any hidden twists. He pulled out paper and a wax pen and then pulled the table closer to the window to take advantage of the brilliant moonlight. He knew he really should do this in the morning, but he couldn’t stop. This task was the one thing that soothed him. And now that he was here, he realized he couldn’t sleep here. This place was dead. Another cursed place to avoid at all costs.