Jack Daw Part Two

The grave was dug, and the man crawled out of the hole to the bodies. He took the taller one first, picking it up easily and placing near the edge. The smaller corpse seemed almost heavier, but he placed it on the opposite side. He knelt down at the foot of the grave and tears filled his eyes once more, blurring the grave to an earlier scene…

** “Nothing like hot sugared tea to take the chill out,” said the bearded man. In contrast to his bland garb before, he now wore a green flowery coat with a double row of buttons on the front, with lace dripping from neck and wrists. His vest was silk, and the buttons on it appeared to be solid gold. A fancy-looking short sword rode one hip, and a spiked buckler rested against the wall. His high leather boots were shined, and his tri-corner hat had a long feathery plume sticking from one side. A waxed moustache complemented his beard, and the scar rode up around his right eye in a wicked and jagged half circle.
The short man sitting opposite him at the lone table only grunted. He had a whippet’s lean look and a panther’s smile, when he chose to show it. Today was not one of those days. He wore loose red linen for the most part, with a sash of black velvet. A long knife depended from the sash, and he had a smaller version tucked into one boot. He had a number of pouches at his belt, and he restlessly fiddled with things inside them between drinks of tea. The clinks of small metal objects came from within.
“Can we get on with this? I have an appointment afterwards, and I don’t want to be late,” said the short man.
“Of course. More tea?” At another grunt, the bearded man poured the shorter man’s glass full once more, and then spooned sugar from the bowl on the table into it. Two scoops, and then he sat back and began to describe the job.
The smaller man listened attentively, and had the other describe in detail the buildings they would be encountering, with an eye for decorative stonework, ease of gripping, projection on which to catch a grapple and such. But as they talked, he found it harder and harder to concentrate, and had to ask more questions to figure out what their next move would be…was it the target building that had the stucco face? Was it the one next door, or did that one have the gargoyle statue on the roof?It was all … too …much.
The bearded man watched the other closely, and was ready to catch him when he fell. He eased him to the ground and quickly checked his pulse, then raised one eyelid and let it slide shut.
“You’ll be out for a little while, my rooftop crawling friend. Long enough, at least.” Grabbing the body under the arms, the bearded man dragged the body out into the cold. **

Eyes still red, but weeping finished, the man dragged the taller body into the grave. It thumped down with solid suddenness. He tried to arrange it as best he could, and then turned to the other body, and gently pulled it into the hole. He set it down next to the other, and pushed them close together. Then he slowly pulled himself from the hole for the last time. He said a few words, in a halting voice, but they seemed to go unheard amongst the pines and the cold, and he soon stopped.
The first shovel of dirt hit the smaller body, and the top of the sheet jerked down enough to expose a child’s face …

** By the time the bearded man returned to the house, now scruffy from travel and wearing a stained great cloak over his nicer clothes, it was far too late. The son was dead already, and the woman was in convulsions that would soon lead to madness, if not death. It took only one look at the sugar bowl, next to now knocked over mugs, to see the culprit … Or a look in a mirror. They had come in from the cold and taken a drink to get warm, figuring that no one would begrudge them that small favor. The woman was injuring herself as she thrashed, and her eyes were wide and bloodshot. Her tongue had swollen and her fingernails were ice blue.
He held the woman down and cut her throat to end her pain…there was nothing else he could do. **