Silent Knife, Holy Knife

Orinoco felt no qualms about killing the two fools. He was surprised they had lasted this long.

He did feel a little sympathy for the pig however.

Still, orders were orders and an assassin who didn't follow orders to the letter was considered too dangerous
to live.

In a way that made his kills simple self defense.

One would have needed specialized knowledge to realize that he broke his own rules by whistling on the
way home.

Not the whistling. The tune. Few indeed knew the words to "Silent Knife, Holy Knife".

But any of those few might well have ended his career with a quick word to the wrong ears.



(added 2-16-13)


His room was just that. A room. 10 feet by 40 feet with a door at one end and an ornate bed at the other.

Not that Orinoco ever slept in the bed. Misdirection had been ingrained by hard lessons. The bed was just
the first thing anyone saw when they walked in the door. Since he slept behind the door it was also sometimes the last.

Between the door and the bed were boxes, chests, sacks, crates and tables laden with all kinds of interesting
and useless junk. Anyone searching this room would spend far more time than they intended. Time was very
important to someone in Orinoco's career path. Survey time, set up time, action time, escape time. Time to
find excuses. Time to be somewhere far, far away.

Orinoco entered only after checking all of his tell-tales for intrusion, and finding none opened the door. He
immediately stopped whistling.

Somebody sat up in his bed. Somebody magnificent. Somebody impossible. Somebody with a small smile
on her face.

A very cold, very angry, very satisfied smile.