“Oh, Hector, stop!” the woman laughed, languidly stretching a leg out of the steaming water and splashing playfully at the man. She brushed her red curls back from her face and giggled, sliding closer to the so-called Hector. Hector laughed with her, sliding an arm around her nude waist and pulling her up against him.

“Hector, darling, don’t forget I’m here too,” the blonde on his right pouted, squeezing her breasts together with her arms and leaning closer.

“Oh my, how could I ever?” the man asked, turning her way and sliding a hand under her rear. He lifted her up and pulled her onto his lap, the other woman giggling and running her hand through his long red-orange hair. The three laughed together, apparently enjoying their time in the fire-heated tub. But “Hector” didn’t let enjoyment interfere with work.

I swear, these women never shut up. Grasping the redhead firmly, he bent her close for a kiss, letting his tongue do it’s work while he strained to listen. The voices drifting in from the room next to theirs were muffled, but Hector somehow managed to make out the gist of it. Satisfied with what he heard, Hector released his grip on the woman and let he slide away, her eyes rolled back and her body limp with ecstasy.

“Well, ladies,” the man said, raising from the hot water to step out of the tub, “I swear I’ll treasure our time together, but I’m afraid I must go.” The women protested at once, pouting and lifting themselves out of the tub to reveal rather ample portions of their bodies. “I know, I know, but the spice business waits for no man,” he said with a wink, wrapping a towel around his waist. Scooping up his discarded clothing, the spice merchant made his exit.

<====}=0 – 0={====>

The small chamber was only moderately lit, but Isaac knew where everything was without having to see it. Shirtless, he grabbed a bottle off of one of the many shelves lining the wall and bent over, squeezing a water-like solution over his head. Setting the bottle back down, he began working the solvent in to the roots, working it all around his scalp. When it was fully spread beneath the base of the wig, Isaac grabbed a handful of the red-orange hair and pulled it smoothly off. He grabbed a ladle of water and poured it over his head, sighing in refreshment. He ran his hands through his short blonde hair as he turned and took a few steps over to a small trunk set against the wall of the hidden storeroom. Opening it, he grabbed a set of black clothing. He wouldn’t need his full “battle suit” to assassinate one of the brothel’s guests, but the dark clothing would help. He slipped on the black pants and shirt, along with the black leather vest and black steel boots.

Isaac reached up without looking and pulled a pair of gauntlets off a shelf overhead, sliding them on over his forearms. Over those, he donned a second set of steel gauntlets. He looked at the pair of shoulder guards and the leather strips, but closed the lid of the trunk, deciding that he wouldn’t need them. Numerous knives were slid into slots and gaps all over his body, and his hand crossbow placed in its holster. He glanced at the bladed tonfas on the wall, but left them, along with the larger crossbow. Snagging the large tattered cloak off a peg, the assassin wrapped it around himself, snapping the collar closed and flipping the hood over his head. Lastly, he grabbed a long sword sitting in a stand. Getting a feel for its grip, Isaac spun it around a couple of times, finally swiping it across the single flame in the small room, extinguishing it like he would soon extinguish a certain man’s life.

Hooking the sword on the back of his belt, the man turned his gaze upwards, to the trapdoor that lead into the secret storeroom. Unlocking the latch, the assassin pressed up, flipping the trapdoor over backwards to reveal the night sky. Gloved hands grasping grass, Isaac pulled himself up out of the hole, emerging as if out of nowhere in the grassy plain. A quick look around assured the assassin that no wayward travelers lurked in the distance or along the nearby road. Turning about, the man reached down to close the grass-covered trapdoor, but froze in mid-movement.

A boy, surely no more than thirteen or fourteen years old, laid sprawled-eagle in the grass. Muttering as he came out of his sleep to push the trapdoor away from where it had hit him in the head. Isaac, stunned for only but a moment, reached back within his cloak and unhooked the sword from his belt. He needed no witnesses.

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(Sig by Happy Mask Salesman, Banner by GK)