“I, I didn’t kill anyone!” he protested, his voice shrill with desperation. “No girls were really abducted, nobody was really killed! It was all just, just an act!”
I squatted down next to him and studied his face. Again, staring into the face of someone who looked like my identical twin was incredibly peculiar. Surprisingly enough, it seemed that he genuinely believed what he was saying. There were no markers of a lie in his expression or body language, and as an assassin, I’d been well-trained in the art of spotting a lie.
“Are you really that stupid?” I asked him. “You seriously think that no girls were abducted or killed?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, but you won’t listen. It’s the truth.”
“No, it isn’t. Do you know how I know? Because I’m the God of Death. What did you think that stink down in the crypts was, where you hide your stash of gold?”
“You know about my gold?”
I grabbed a fistful of his hair, hauled his head up off the ground, and then smashed a hard jab into his nose, sending his head jerking back. He screamed with pain, and then started crying.
“It hurts, it really hurts,” he whimpered, “and now this glorious nose has been broken! My beauty has been marred! No, no, how could you, how could you, you monster!”
“If anyone’s a monster here, it’s you. Your little act was not just an act. Your lies were covering up real death, real murder. Who do you think is buried in all those shallow graves in the crypts of the ruins, huh?”
“I, I don’t know, I didn’t know,” he wailed. “I wasn’t allowed to go down there! If the guards caught me there, they’d beat me! That’s why I hid my gold there. They thought I was too scared to enter the crypts! But I didn’t know there were bodies buried there. I swear on everything that’s holy, I didn’t know, I didn’t know!”
As ludicrous as it seemed, he honestly didn’t know about the corpses in the crypt. He had my dashing good looks, all right, but none of my brains. That didn’t change the fact that he’d knowingly impersonated me with the express intent of ruining my reputation and turning everyone in Brakith against me.
“You are one thick-skulled son of a whore, aren’t you?” I said as he whimpered. “I’m ashamed to look like you. Or, uh, ashamed that you look like me.”
“I didn’t know, I didn’t know,” he continued to wail.
“I can’t just let you walk away. You helped my scumbag uncle completely destroy my reputation in Brakith. For that, you’re getting punished. There’s no way around it. But maybe, maybe if you answer all my questions truthfully, I’ll let you live. Maybe.”
“I, I understand that you want to kill me,” he sobbed, “and for what I did, I deserve it. But, before you do, please, let me do one thing.”
“What?”
“You, you’ve been my muse, my inspiration as an actor,” he said, finally stopping his weeping. “And, I want to see if I can pull off an impersonation in front of the real thing.”
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Here I was, threatening to pull his teeth out, and his last request was to do an impression of me? Actors: they’re a weird bunch.
“Fine,” I muttered, “go ahead.”
Standing up on shaky legs, he dusted himself off and wiped the tears from his cheeks.
“I just need to do my breathing exercises and warm-ups,” he said. “Five minutes, please.”
“Five minutes? You’ve got about 30 seconds before I start doing a popped watermelon impression with your skull. Move it!”
“Okay, okay!” he said frantically. Then he began doing a set of strange stretches and breathing exercises, and then belted out a few notes of a song. I had to admit that the asshole had a pretty good voice.
“Time’s up,” I said.
He spun around, and his face had taken on an entirely different expression: one of cocky arrogance. He puffed out his chest, tensed his muscles, and threw his shoulders back proudly.
“All right, assholes,” he said, mimicking my voice almost perfectly, “I’m here to chew knavesroot and kick ass, and I’m all out of knavesroot. To the hot broads in the corner, lube yourselves up and spread your legs, because when I’m done killing these scumbags, I’m gonna feel like plowing some wet cunts!”
Well, shit on me, this was just like watching myself in a mirror—if a reflection in a mirror could move and talk on its own.
“How did I do? How was that?” he asked eagerly, his voice and posture reverting to normal. “Did I capture thine essence, m’lord?”
“As much as it pains me to admit it, yes, you did. That was pretty fucking spot-on.”
“Excellent! I did it! Now, m’lord, you may behead me or run me through. I can die with a smile on my face, accepting a just punishment for my crime.”
“I’m not going to kill you, yet,” I said. “First, some questions, remember?”
“Ah, yes, yes,” he said, his hopeful smile fading.
I spent the next few minutes questioning him about how long he’d been there, what he did during the day, how often he ventured out to scare townsfolk and peasants in his vampire makeup, and, most importantly, how often he saw my uncle and whether he was able to gain access to the castle.
I learned that my uncle had ordered the construction of a secret passage that led from the bowels of the castle out into the hills beyond the outskirts of Brakith. One of the actor’s conditions for taking the job was that he was regularly allowed out of the ruins to “take care of his urges” with young men that my uncle hired for such things and to meet with my uncle every now and then. Because the actor couldn’t be seen anywhere near town, and my uncle couldn’t be seen anywhere near the ruins (and, more importantly, so that my uncle had a way to get the
