Free Shadow's Son by Jon Sprunk Page A

the top, lounging on the canted tiles.
    "Are you going to take all night?" she asked.
    Caim gathered up the rope behind him. He left it coiled around the
chimney stack it had snagged on. "I thought you wanted to stay a bit."
    She sat up. "Can we? It's really beautiful inside! You have to see this
crys-"
    "Any guards?"
    Kit huffed and laid back on the rooftop. Her hair spread out beneath
her head like a silver pool. "No."
    "Is the servant asleep?"
    "I suppose."
    "You didn't check?"
    "Of course I did. All the lights are out and no one is moving."
    "Good."
    Caim ignored Kit's glare and crossed the tiles. At the northeast
corner, he lowered himself onto his belly and leaned over the edge. The
window he wanted was directly below his perch. He swung his legs over
the side, lined it up as best he could, and let go.
    He landed on the pitched gable protecting the window with barely a
sound. From there it was an easy shimmy down to the casement. Caim
stepped out onto the narrow stone shelf projecting from the windowsill
with care. With some old houses, the masonry was weak and prone to collapse. But it held.
    The shutters were closed and secured from the inside.
Caim took a
thin steel bar from his belt and slid the hooked end between the wooden
doors. After a moment of searching, he snagged the latch and lifted it out
of the catch. The hinges swung open without protest. The window was
closed, but not locked. Caim pushed the misted panes open far enough to
slip inside.
    He paused as his soles touched down on the floor of a hallway, one
hand under his cloak to grip the hilt of a knife. This was the most precarious moment. Had his entrance been heard? He listened for sounds of movement, for the sharp intake before a cry was given. Even an old man
could raise a hue, and in this neighborhood the tinmen would come running. Fortune favored him tonight. All was quiet.

    The hallway ran the width of the top floor and joined with a staircase
winding down to the levels below. The target's room was the third door on
the right. Caim crept across the hardwood floor and paused at the first door
to listen. According to the packet, the target's daughter was a child of five.
She should be sound asleep at this hour, but children could be unpredictable. The crack under the door was dark and no sounds issued through
the wooden panels, but Caim stood at the door for several moments. He
didn't like the idea of harming innocents, especially children. Yet by his
actions tonight he would be making an orphan of this girl.
    I'm serving the greater good. The target was a vicious man who had
earned death a hundred times over. The daughter would be better off
without him. Sure. That worked out well for Duke Reinards son, right? Caim
put the thoughts out of his head as he continued to the third door, the
master suite.
    He drew his right-hand knife, turned the knob, and eased the door
open. By the orange glow that emanated from the stone hearth, he could
make out the details of the long room, which was larger than his entire
apartment. A four-poster bed against the far wall dominated the floor
space, but there was room enough for a large desk and chair, a sideboard,
and rosewood cabinets. The bed was empty, its blankets flat against the
tall mattress.
    Caim turned his head very slowly until he located his target, slouched
in a chair beside an antique desk. Wisps of white hair rose above the seat
back.
    Caim glided across the bedchamber floor and yanked the head upright
by the hairs with his free hand. The suete knife came up. Its point hovered
as Caim stared down at his victim.
    He could not believe his eyes.

    "Can we go now? Please?"
    Kit sat on the desk and regarded the old man's body. She'd appeared moments after Calm's discovery. Upon hearing that it hadn't been him
who put the victim's lights out for good, she had lost her zest for sticking
around, but he wasn't ready to go, not until he made sense of this.

    Was another