Tor sighed in relief when they stumbled onto the main road. Wealthy Perlas regarded them haughtily, dressed in their evening best. Some wore gowns with gems woven right into the fabric. They were walking toward the docks in droves.
At the front, Melda tried to squeeze through, but the crowd was too thick, and they got pushed to its edge, against a row of town houses. Tor turned in all directions, searching for a flash of purple. More spectrals could appear anywhere. Or the Calavera captain, with his long sword at his side. A captain famed for bloodshed… Nowhere was safe.
Captain Forecastle cursed as a spectral appeared at the outskirts of the crowd, searching it intently.
Tor opened his mouth, just as a hand covered it.
“Don’t move if you want to live,” a voice said into his ear, before he was dragged through a door.
He had been pulled into a townhouse foyer. Melda, Engle, Captain Forecastle, and Vesper stumbled in behind him. The door slammed shut. Through a gap in the window shutter, Tor saw a spectral pass by, hood covering most of its head, looking for them.
“I take thank-you payments in dobbles, gold, and chocolate,” a voice said. The same one that had just spoken into his ear.
A young woman stood before them. She wore an impressive three-tiered pink hat—three bows stacked atop one another—and a white dress with a ribbon at the waist that was puffed out at the bottom like one of Tor’s father’s soufflés.
She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Not what you expected? I know the dress is a bit over the top… It’s a pain trying to fit in, in a place like Perla.”
In a quick movement, she untied the ribbon at her waist, and the bottom half of the dress snapped off, revealing a much more practical pair of pants and boots. She kicked the skirt away with disdain.
“Now, then.” She smiled widely. “Nice to meet you. I’m Violet, and I’m an assassin.”
The Sundrop Salmon
The sun cried, just once. And its first and only tear formed a fish that fell from the sky. It landed in the sea and had golden scales, each more glittering than the last. It blinded the other fish as it passed, its radiance never before seen.
The other fish, consumed with jealousy, formed a plan to take all of the sundrop salmon’s scales that night, so that it would be dull, like them. While the golden salmon slept, the first fish went to pry off one of its scales—
And fell dead. The would-be stolen scale turned silver. And none of the other fish approached the salmon again.
It is said that this scale is enchanted. Gifted by the moon, who protected the sun’s fish. For the attack happened at night, while the sun slept. The moon’s scale amplified the fish’s innate ability to stun other fish, protecting it from danger.
And some say that if wielded by an Emblemite, it would magnify their abilities, too.
To this day, the golden fish swims, known to trail pirate ships, chasing treasure that shines as brightly as its creator.
13
Violet, the Assassin
Tor heard Engle gulp behind him. Melda said, “Excuse me, what?”
Captain Forecastle laughed. “Should’ve known by the hair clip,” he said. “Which house?”
Violet beamed. “Crimson.”
He nodded, then bowed. “An honor, then.”
She bowed her head back at him.
“Do you have the slightest idea what’s happening?” Tor heard Vesper ask Engle.
He shook his head. “Not a crumb of a clue.”
The pirate turned. “There are five houses of assassins, ye see, each with their own code. Rules, if ye would. We pirates intersect with them quite a bit.”
“And what code does the Crimson house follow?” Melda asked.
Violet motioned for them to follow her farther inside, and, as she casually strode down the hallway, she pulled an impressive amount of weapons from her person. A dagger from her chest, three knives disguised as pins from her hair, a full sword from between her shoulder blades. Along with many other trinkets Tor didn’t recognize, undoubtedly enchanted to be lethal.
She led them to a large sitting room with a cozy couch, fluffy pillows, and thick blankets strewn about.
Violet slumped into a chair with a groan, kicking up her feet onto the marble coffee table. “What a day,” she said, shaking her head. She ran a hand through her long brown hair, then said, “Oh, missed one!” before pulling a three-inch-long knife, disguised as a hair clip, from behind her ear. She dropped it onto the table with a clatter. “Now, then, what’s your name?”
She was looking at Melda, who blinked. “Grimelda Alexander. Melda, for short.”
Violet smiled. “Well, Melda, House Crimson has very simple rules. Never kill for pleasure, never kill the innocent, and never miss a target.” She shrugged. “That’s it.”
Vesper tilted her head at her, an eyebrow raised. “And who determines who is innocent?”
“Good question. I do, of course. I only kill the despicably dreadful.” She picked at a piece of lint on her top. “In a city as corrupt as this one, it’s one of the only ways to get them to stop hurting innocents.”
“Corrupt?” Melda’s forehead was a folded up fan of lines. “Who is corrupt?”
“All of them, I’m afraid.” Violet leaned in. “I’ve gotten assignments from housewives, lawmakers, aristocrats…even children, if you can believe it.” She saw Engle’s expression and shook her head. “I don’t take them, of course.” She squinted. “Well, not all of them.”
“How does one become an assassin?” Tor asked, curious. He had never really heard it thrown around as a job prospect.
She smiled, revealing a row of dazzling white teeth.
