72. Assassin (Patreon)

Fret not, Fatima's letter continued, I am aware you would not be so foolish to delay your delivery. I have sent for a trusty knight to investigate the missing package, and after failing to find any evidence of the location of either the package or the courier, I have determined that this must be the work of the assassins.

Surprisingly, the mention of the assassins calmed Aloe. It was one thing being stolen by drug addicts, and the other one infuriating a sultanzade.

As soon as this letter reaches you, please send me a package back. It needs not to be the actual product, but the more real the decoy it is, the better. This new courier will be escorted by guards, if the assassins get them again, then we will have to restructure the contents of our deal.

This was what Aloe was scared of. What would the princess addicted to aphrodisiacs do when she could no longer get them? Would she try to seize Aloe's secrets? Or she would be just satisfied with moving to Sadina herself? It was impossible to tell.

The letter continued for a bit, but the message was clear: make a decoy and discover if this was the act of assassins or some lucky bandits. Fatima offered the possibility of the latter as the dweller was gone, and because the corpse of the courier was eventually found with lacerations and stabbing marks, he might have been a victim of highwaymen.

"I want to crush some skulls." Aloe lowly groaned. Not only had she become irritable as of late by Rani's aggressiveness, but now she was forced to go outside the palace and prepare more aphrodisiac. Which wasn't a comfortable chore as she needed to do so in her house, with Lulu herself bringing buckets of water and dry wood to start the fire.

"Excuse me, have you said something?" Said maid questioned her.

"Huh?" The scribe looked at the fair-skinned young woman, only to now realize that she had uttered those words aloud instead of her mind. "Nothing, Lulu." She dismissed with a sway of her head. "Only that I will need to go to my house at some point in the near future. Also," she picked up the letter, "can you prepare some tea? One that has a yellow color, please."

The maid struggled to comprehend the odd petition but nonetheless answered with an "Understood," and a bow.

Whilst Lulu was gone, Aloe prepared the glass flasks. Ironically enough, those were her only real expenses as of late because she commissioned them to a somewhat known glassmaker to put fancy floral designs on the bottles. Some may consider moronic spending a whole fajati – or half the monthly pay of a commoner – for each batch of disposable bottles she would never see again, but it was a matter of pride.

She had so much money because of these dealings that it was irritating to her not being able to use it. Her apprenticeship as a banker had taught her that money in a vault did nothing for the economy but was also a loss of money. Truth was, most of the vaults at Sadina were empty most of the year because the bankers spent their clients' money to start their own businesses behind their backs.

But no. Aloe wasted the money on the flasks because it made her feel important like she had a high-quality brand worthy of the price the odious sultanzade paid for. Pride, more often than not, was an idiotic thing without reason. And today's pride told Aloe that she had to look like a respectable merchant.

Once Lulu arrived, the scribe of commoners ordered her to pour the steaming tea on the half-dozen set of bottles and corked them. The maid was well aware by now that she sent Fatima aphrodisiacs on a somewhat constant basis, so the awkward expression in her visage came from exactly that knowledge.

Her face screamed "Why are we putting tea instead of the usual stuff?" and Aloe did nothing to soothe her growing questions. Ignorance was bliss. Once corked, Lulu put the hot bottles on a padded chest and the scribe told her to give it to the courier that had brought the letter.

During this whole process, Aloe had penned a letter telling Fatima how much she was sorry the package was lost and she sent as soon as possible a lower-grade batch for free to compensate for it. Of course, this was all bollocks.

Just a red herring to distract the would-be-robbers.

As soon as Lulu delivered the package and the letter, Aloe totally removed the whole event from her mind, deciding to instead worry once she received a response letter from Fatima confirming or denying her if the package had made it back to her.

In the repetition of the boring office days, being buried in work was fun, for she was not able to think. And when Aloe was able to do so, she would ponder to herself things like "Why am I not doing more for the city?" only to then be summoned to Rani's bedchamber and razing to the ground any prospects of prosperity she may have.

Day by day, she cared less and less about those beddings. Not negatively, not positively. Simply, no opinion. She wasn't able to tell herself if that was worse than hating them or not.

Training. The scribe told herself as her body became a tool of pleasure for someone else. No different than training the other stances. She was slowly progressing in all of them. Speed was more manageable and with muscles she was building in her arms, the strength stance gave her even more power than it ever did.

It's better this way. Aloe told herself every day. Every morning. Every audience. Every lunch. Every afternoon. Every night. She just had to remain that way, until someday, in some unpredictable future, she would be strong enough to seize her own life.

That future just hadn't arrived yet.

Sometimes she cried in her sleep wondering if it would ever come.

A week later, a courier carrying Fatima's letter came back to her. The pompous letter could be summarized in two key sentences.

The package has safely arrived on my side. Fatima started with that. Then she continued with: Though I was disappointed to find it was actually not a low-grade batch but plain tea. Alas, I understand the precaution.

The sultanzade explained that she wanted no aphrodisiac drops to fall on the hands of the dastardly assassins as they could do heavens know what with it and praised Aloe for the foresight. The scribe snickered at the fact, as she only filled the bottles with tea because she wanted to be done with the letter as soon as possible.

But now that the route was safe again with the escort of the guards, Fatima pressed hard on getting a batch to her as soon as possible.

Aloe groaned, "Tell the guards to bring the palanquin, we are going to my house."

"Understood," Ever-the-dutiful maid, Lulu bowed and made the preparations.

Going out was a thing that Aloe avoided as much as she could since her limited mobility made everything a nuisance, but the oppression she felt from Rani's erratic summons anchored her in her office, too demotivated to go elsewhere if not forced.

Like right now.

Lulu came a few minutes later to announce to her that the guards were already at the palace's entrance. Even if it wasn't needed, the maid pushed the wheelchair all the way there.

Toughness allowed her to make the bumps of the staircase down the palace hill trivial as she rode the palanquin, but it was still an uncomfortable ride.

When they reached the bottom, Lulu once again offered to push the wheelchair, but she was stopped by Nesrine, who had somehow appeared next to them without Aloe noticing. Not that she was paying much attention.

As always, once at the house, one woman carried her upward and the other followed behind with the wheelchair. Already knowing the motions and the scribe's desire for secrecy, Nesrine and Lulu went downstairs.

With a groan, Aloe unlocked the office door and pushed herself into the room. The room was dark, that was the first sign of something going wrong.

Once she closed onto the windowsill, Aloe saw faint glimpses of light, only to notice the source was the window and not a magical entity.

"Fuck!" In a surge of anger, the scribe flayed her hand and dropped both pots on the ground, the ceramics crashing with the ground and shattering into a thousand pieces.

Both the Blossomflame and Grace's Exaltation lay in soil and clay, dried and withered.

Dead.

"Is there something wrong?" Nesrine voiced out in worry as her steps grew louder and closer.

"DON'T YOU FUCKING ENTER!" Aloe growled at the guard, her hands trembling in rage. The sounds of steps instantly died at the clamor.

It's her fucking fault. It's all her fault. The scribe whispered to herself, her hands wrapped around her head. I… When was the last time I watered them? Did I ever allow someone to do it? No. Ah… I… Urgh…

Aloe growled, groaned, and grunted until air left her lungs, then took a deep breath and recomposed herself. Cold fury flowed in her veins.

The scribe pushed herself out of the room and locked it behind her, she met the other two women at the top of the staircase.

"Everything is fine." She revealed with an absolute lack of emotion. "I need you to carry me somewhere else."

"I…" Unlike the serviceable maid, the moronic guard didn't know when she shouldn't speak up or not.

"Now." The scribe of commoners sternly added.

With much confusion, Nesrine obeyed and carried her down. After locking the house, she made the guard follow her directions, even if those came in the shape of grunts. In a few minutes and many narrow alleys later, they made it to a nondescript building.

"What is this place, venerable scribe?" Whilst she was still unable to keep her mouth shut, at least the guard had the dignity to use appropriate honorifics.

"An apothecary." Aloe taciturnly explained. "Remain outside. You both."

The scribe's hostile tone was enough to make the two women not question her decision. Aloe shoved aside the unruly curtains the shop had with much disdain as they tried to tangle with the wheels of the chair.

"W-welcome," A slow yet juvenile voice announced from the counter.

"Where's the owner?" Aloe spat; her visage twisted in anger.

"Ex…cuse… me?" The syllables spoken by the man were slow and somewhat disjointed, which only made the woman angrier.

"Where the fuck is Umar?" The scribe reiterated.

At the mention of the name, intelligence shone in the halfwit of a man. He vanished under the counter, only to appear behind it refreshed and way faster of mind a second later.

"Can I know the reason for your inquiry?" He now spoke fluently, if even charismatically.

The sudden change refreshed Aloe's mind. I know him. Their first and only encounter, whilst somewhat trivial, was too special to forget. He's like Umar's niece or something like that. His name started with ta-something. Taric? No, but almost. Tareek? Yeah, that sounds right.

"I need to speak with him."

"I fear that will not be possible," Tareek explained calmly.

"How's that?" She crossed her arms like an entitled customer.

"Because he is dead." His voice was sharper than a blade and colder than a desert night.

"H-how?" The revelation broke her trail of thought.

"Sickness." The man admitted. "A few months ago. If you want to present a complaint about a product, I'm afraid you are a bit late if you didn't know about his passing. The herb you bought is probably expired by now."

Aloe frowned at the smugness of the clerk, her bubbling emotions only boiling more.

"Tell me," her own voice became cold, "are you the heir?"

"Of the business? Yes." He answered.

"No, not the apothecary." Tareek frowned at the question, and then the scribe continued. "Of his darker business."

The light in his eyes dimmed. "So you knew, Aloe Ayad."

His tone devoid of life made her subconsciously shift into toughness. But Aloe didn't let herself be intimidated. The man's words didn't escape her comprehension.

"Yes, Tareek." She answered threat with threat, even if it meant little.

"I see." His hostility diminished, if ever-so-slightly. "What can I do for you then?"

"You stole from me." She now recalled why she had even come here. In a fit of rage, she wanted someone to blame for the loss of her nearest grace. Of course, she herself wasn't a valid objective.

"I do not know what you mean." He denied the question.

"Assassins have stolen from me. You have royally screwed me over."

"And what makes you think I am an assassin?" Tareek smiled all-knowingly.

"Tell that to Aaliyah. Umar didn't end well the last time they confronted each other." A void threat if the man knew anything about Aloe. That woman was but an object of hate for everyone, to everyone.

Tareek closed his eyes and sighed.

"Aloe Ayad, scribe of commoners of Sadina, daughter to Amid and Shahrazad Ayad, head and last member of the Ayad family, personal whore to Rani-al-Sadina," the last one hurt, "do I need to continue?"

"What do you mean to tell me with that?" She scowled.

"That I know everything about you." The assassin maintained his calmness.

But that was what betrayed him. Aloe could see it; he knew nothing of her Evolution or Nurture. Or at least how the vital arts may relate to her. He only knew what the snake-tongues may whisper. After all, not once since she had gained her acuity did she ever detect anyone spying on her. One's that she wasn't aware of.

"So you are aware of my relationship with Umar and my grandfather Karaim, right?" Another bluff. It wasn't until the old man died that she had known anything about him.

"Karaim certainly provided us, but his partnership ended with his death, if not Umar's."

"I could tell the emir about your location." She counterattacked.

"I could kill you." Tareek casually threatened.

"There's a guard outside of the shop," Aloe explained. "And I trust my ability to survive until she comes to assist me. What will happen if I survive and live to tell the tale?"

"Hmm…" It wasn't a grunt, but more of a hum that came out of the man's mouth. A pleased one. "I see. There is no need to spoil anything here. Nor secrets, nor lives. I offer you this," he placed his forearm on the counter and leaned on it, "no more assassins will steal sultanzade Fatima's packages and I will let you live. In exchange, you maintain the status quo as before. The imperial family certainly wouldn't like your past dealings with us, would they?"

Aloe frowned. This was what she had wanted, but she couldn't help but feel dissatisfied. And to also feel a heavy sense of foreboding. The man was too pleased with the outcome as if she had misplayed somehow.

"I accept those terms." The scribe begrudgingly said after being unable to find where she had exactly misplayed.

"Perfect," Tareek extended his hand to signal the end of the transaction.

Aloe responded by pushing her wheels backward. "I will shake no hand tainted in blood and drugs."

The response only exacerbated Tareek's smile. "Thank you for your patronage," The young man waved her goodbye.