The Just and Unstoppable

The night sky was clear, the stars sharp. In the light of the waxing moon, Leonine walked unerringly down the centre of the street. He saw the imminent collision with a grizzled old man but did not step aside. Leonine didn’t move for his kind; his kind moved for him.

‘Hey! Mind where you’re going!’ the man said gruffly, rubbing his shoulder.

Leonine glowered at him. The words “I am your King” were on his lips, but he settled for a sneer before hurrying on.

He found the appointed meeting place easily, the red lantern shining brightly in the window of an otherwise dark street. Leonine slipped inside and found The Just and Unstoppable sitting at a table, waiting for him. The man was lithe and lounging, his hair smooth, sleek, and tied back. Leonine had expected a tonsure, given the man’s past.

The assassin wore fine clothes that were nonetheless faded. The table before him had on it a single candle and a single cup filled with wine. The latter was placed before the assassin. There was no cup for Leonine; he bridled at the insult.

The king took the empty seat, and the two men stared at each other. ‘They tell me you were a monk once,’ Leonine said gruffly, irritated that the man hadn’t formally addressed him or bowed.

‘Indeed. But I took a more… practical view to my brothers over cleansing sins.’

‘They tell me you are unstoppable.’

‘I am. Did they also tell you I am just?’

‘Yes. But my cause is just.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘Because I am your—’ Leonine stopped as the assassin shook his head.

‘You are not my king.’

Leonine ground his teeth but kept his temper. ‘But you care for the people of the kingdom, yes? That’s what they told me.’

‘I do.’

‘And you do not want to see them harmed?’

‘I do not.’

‘Think what civil war would do to them! Men would be called to arms while their crops withered. Brother would fight brother.’

The assassin sighed. ‘Two brothers fight, and because one of them is king, all brothers must fight.’

Leonine sneered. ‘I could have you killed for such insolence.’

‘Go ahead.’

Leonine clenched his fists, heat rising to his face. Seven. I have seven guards outside. Never mind his reputation, seven could kill him, couldn’t they? Yet while he felt that this might be possible, he knew for certain what was impossible: his whole army could not assault his brother’s castle and win. Only the man sitting opposite him could guarantee the death he craved, the death that would bring him peace of mind.

Leonine sat back in his seat and glared. ‘Will you do it, or not?’

The assassin took a mouthful of wine, savouring it before swallowing. ‘How much will you pay me?’

‘Five thousand.’

His eyes gleamed in the candlelight. ‘Twenty.’

‘Twenty?’ Leonine spluttered. He could afford it, raid the royal exchange if necessary, but the man’s arrogance made his bile rise. Yet there were no other choices.

‘Done,’ he said reluctantly. ‘But for that, I want to know as soon as you’ve done it, and I want proof. I want his head.’

‘So you may kiss his dearly departed lips? So you may suck out the remnants of his soul to prevent him haunting you?’ The assassin chuckled. ‘Your majesty, surely you don’t believe in such superstitions? After all, a ghost cannot haunt a man if his death is just.’

The assassin’s astuteness rattled Leonine’s nerves but he would not show it. ‘I wish to mount his head on a spike,’ he said coldly.

The assassin regarded him thoughtfully for a moment then said, ‘Very well. I will take your job. I shall send you a token, a black coin, when it is done. At the first new moon after you receive the token, come here, and you shall have your prize.’

Leonine felt a grin try to force itself onto his face, but he held it in check. He stood, nodded, and strode out of the hovel.

The next few weeks were an agony of waiting. Leonine could barely concentrate on the matters of state put before him. He worried that the assassin would not succeed. Then he worried that the assassin would succeed but that his brother’s ghost would torment him into madness.

No, no, he will not. I shall kiss his dead lips, I shall draw forth his despicable soul and I will gorge on it. Then the kingdom shall be mine alone, and I can sleep again.

It was a wet, overcast day when Leonine was handed a package with a plain seal. His heart stuttered in his chest, knowing what was inside, but he was in the middle of a council session and could not open it before his ministers. He slipped it inside his robe. It seemed to burn his skin, even through his clothes. At the end of the session, he hastened to his room where he tore open the package. The iron token fell into his lap.

Leonine screamed with joy, tears blinding him and laughter racking his body. ‘Yes! Yes! At last, I am free of him!’

The door between the king’s suite and the queen’s opened, and his wife entered, her face pale, her lips trembling.

‘Your majesty, I heard you cry out. Won’t you tell me what-’

Leonine embraced her, smothering her squeak of surprise with his greedy lips. He pulled away, leaving her gasping and proceeded to kiss every inch of her skin with fervour until, for the first time in two decades, they rolled naked on the bed and made passionate love.

The king spent the next few days until the new moon filled with restless energy. He paced the floor, picked up a dozen books, and even made love to his wife again several times in an effort to distract himself.

On the appointed night, as darkness fell, he left her sleeping and pulled on the tattered clothes he used to walk through the city in disguise.

The sky above him was clouded this time, but now he carried a lantern of his own to light the way. He had little reason to fear now that the deed was done. He made his way to the same hovel and found the same light burning. He’d brought only three guards with him this time. He instructed them to wait outside.

He slipped into the room and found The Just and Unstoppable sitting at the table. Only this time, as well as a jug of wine, there were two cups and a hessian bag.

The king licked his lips and advanced. He sat down at the table and took the bag. Then he hesitated, looking at the assassin with narrowed eyes. The assassin picked up a goblet, offered a silent toast and drank. The king grinned and fumbled open the sack.

His brother’s face was much changed in death; his skin was pale, waxy, and weeping, like cheese gone bad. The skin around his eyes looked black, and his lips were swollen and purple. But there was no doubt it was him; Leonine would know those eyes, dead or alive. And there was the distinctive scar on the left ear left unchanged by death.

The king lifted the head and held it before his own, staring into the unseeing eyes. ‘Who has the upper hand now, brother?’ he murmured. He gave a low laugh.

A draught of air tickled the back of his neck and he shuddered. Suddenly the shadows seemed to press closer, reaching out to him. The king sneered at the darkness, at where he thought his brother’s ghost might be waiting. He brought the head before his own face, kissed each cheek then pressed a final, triumphant kiss onto the head’s lips. He breathed in deeply, imagining he could feel his brother’s essence, his strength and life force, entering him. His stomach churned, and Leonine imagined his own fiery spirit battling the dead man’s soul, subduing it into subservience within his flesh.

The king was grinning as their lips parted, but he frowned when he saw the assassin staring at him.

‘I thought you didn’t care for peasant superstitions?’ the assassin said mildly.

Leonine stuffed the head back into its bag. ‘I suppose you want your money now?’ he said. He licked his lips which were wet with the moisture of death, a bitter but exhilarating taste.

‘It would seem only fair since the job is done,’ the assassin replied.

Leonine threw a heavy purse across the table with more force than was necessary. The assassin caught it easily.

‘Did my brother have any final words?

‘He cursed your name.’

‘Nothing original and witty then.’

‘More traditional,’ the assassin mused. His eyes fixed on the king who felt a shudder run through him. In a low voice, the assassin asked, ‘But would you like to know what he told me before I killed him?’ Leonine hesitated then nodded. ‘He thought that your sister had a better claim on the throne than either you or him.’

The king snorted. ‘Irrelevancies. She’s a woman.’

‘The nuns in my order were women, and I would not dismiss them so easily. The Mother Superior could break a man’s arm, and once did when a village boy was found interfering with one of her girls.’

‘Religion is not politics. Besides, while I live, I have the better claim than my sister.’

‘How true,’ the assassin said, swirling the wine around his glass. ‘While you live…’

Leonine’s guts roiled. His hand went to his throat which suddenly seemed to be constricting. ‘What… what did you do?’

‘Exactly what you asked me to. I found your brother, killed him, and brought you his head.’

‘My brother… what did…?’ Leonine couldn’t finish. Tremors were racing through his limbs, and his head was pounding.

‘Ah, now that is the correct question.’ The assassin’s voice sounded distant. ‘But I see you are struggling to speak so let me ask it for you. What did your brother do? I told you what he told me, but not all of it. Your brother wanted peace even more than you can imagine. He would have peace at the price of his own life, even yours. With both of you out of the way, your elder sister will inherit the kingdom. There will be no civil war.

‘Your brother took a toxic poison that I gave him. It stays in the system for several weeks after death and can leak out of the pores.’

The king looked down at his fingers which were still wet with the moisture that clung to his brother’s skin. He felt sick and bent double, but when his stomach contracted, nothing came up.

‘It is advisable to wear gloves when handling the body,’ the assassin continued. ‘I instructed his bedfellow to do so. I do hope she followed my advice; I would hate for any innocents to die.’

Leonine looked at the assassin, fury forcing its way through his fear. He tried to stand but his legs buckled and he stumbled to his knees. The assassin got up and towered over the king.

‘A touch is enough to get the poison into the skin, but death that way can be delayed, even prevented. By far the best way is to get the poison onto the face or the lips, then death comes swiftly. Your brother knew what you would do when you had his head. He knew your superstitions, knew your guilt would be too much. He gave his life in the way I instructed to ensure that yours would ultimately be forfeit too.’

‘But… I paid…’ Leonine gasped. He could manage no more; those words seemed to have ripped his throat apart. He felt blood trickling between his lips.

‘You paid for me to be unstoppable,’ the assassin said calmly, ‘and I was. But what you asked of me was not just. With your death, I have fulfilled both my functions.’

The assassin picked up the purse from the table. Leonine watched the man walking towards the door. Belatedly he realised that he should have used his remaining voice and strength to call for his guards. Now only a strangled squeak passed his swollen lips.

The assassin opened the door and strode outside, vanishing into the darkness. Just before his vision faded, the king saw one of his guards peer quizzically round the door. Then he saw nothing but blackness. He lay paralysed on the floor, seeing nothing, feeling only pain but hearing everything. He heard his guards yelling and the rattle of armour as the men hesitantly entered. He wanted to tell them of the treachery that had befallen him, but his tongue felt thick and his jaw was unmoving. He heard footsteps, although they seemed distant and he couldn’t tell if they were heading towards him or away.

Before death muffled every sound forever, Leonine heard the faint tolling of the palace bell that signified his death.

The Just and Unstoppable

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