Scyther's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Scyther crossed the yard low and fast, the pumpkin knife flat against his sleeve. The physician walked ahead with his lantern, thin shoulders under a dark coat, moving toward the herb bed behind the manor. Scyther had the hour, the door, and the route. He did not have one thing, and the lack of it stopped him at the wall of the kitchen wing. He did not know if the man wore a warning charm. A bell sewn into the collar. A whistle on a cord. A signal that would bring servants or guards before the blade finished its work. If Scyther sprang blind and the man made one sound, the girl he had seen carrying laundry would come running, and so would others. He needed to see the man's throat and chest before he closed the distance. He pressed into the hedge beside the garden path. The lantern light passed and steadied. The physician set the lantern on a stone and knelt at the herbs. His coat fell open as he reached for a sprig. Scyther watched the collar. No bell. No cord. A plain shirt, buttoned high, and a chain thin as thread that ran under the linen. A chain meant something hung on it. Scyther held his breath. The physician pulled the chain free to keep it from the dirt. A small silver whistle swung at the end, no bigger than a thumb. One breath into that whistle would end everything. A soft light moved above the roofline. The crystal owl he had seen the night before circled once and dropped onto the peak of the two-story house, yellow-green plumage catching the lantern. The physician did not look up. Scyther did. The bird stared at the whistle, then at him, the way it had stared at the lit window. He understood the shape of the problem. He could not rush the man. He had to take the whistle before he took the life. Scyther slid the knife back into his coat and drew out the rosemary bundle he had cut that morning. He stepped from the hedge onto the path and let his boots scrape the gravel. The physician's head came up. His hand went to the chain. "Herbs from the field," Scyther said, and lifted the bundle. "Cook said to bring them round the back." The hand paused. The whistle stayed at the collarbone. Scyther walked closer at a delivery boy's pace, eyes down. Three steps. Two. He held the rosemary out with his left hand. The physician reached for it. Scyther's right hand closed on the chain and pulled. The thread snapped. The whistle came away in his fist. The physician opened his mouth to shout. Scyther drove the pumpkin knife up under the ribs before the sound left the throat. He held the man against him until the weight went slack, then lowered him to the herbs. The lantern still burned. No door opened. No feet ran. The owl lifted from the roof and was gone.