Beowulf is Back, Page 2

  Chapter Two

  In which shadowy figures hold covert meetings for the usual reason: the discussion and commission of shadowy projects.

  In a tall, thin, darkened room; at the top of a well guarded, twisty spiral staircase, in the Duke’s Tower, that arose like a single skeletal finger, beckoning from the massive stone structure of Castle Jutland, a strong young man was waiting on a powerful old man, to learn what mission he had been employed to fulfil.

  Naiman Nazri El-Nadir was not a fearful man by any standard. He was one of the most dreaded assassins in Northern Europe. He was a clean shaven, tall, dark man with an athlete’s build. He was dressed practically, with a travelling robe covering a suit of tough, yet flexible leather armour. This item, although appearing worn, and, perhaps, a little shabby, concealed a number of lethal devices that he was highly proficient in the use of. He was at the height of his powers; muscular, stealthy, resolute and fearless; a dreaded killing machine, and yet, he felt a strange sensation of unease as he regarded the short, weak, pale old man who sat on the throne in front of him.

  There was nothing remarkable in the man’s appearance; beneath his plain, golden coronet he had a mane of dark, lank hair that spilled over the shoulders of his expensive gown. His short thin arms ended in pale hands with disproportionately long, white, bejewelled, fingers (one in every pie, it was said). The fingers tapped together incessantly, the only sign of restlessness in his small body. His pointy chin was masked by a short goatee of the same greasy black as his hair. Above his thin, unsmiling lips sat a beak of a nose and his face was rounded out by the most malevolent small black eyes that Naiman had ever seen. They regarded Naiman spitefully as he stood before the Duke of Jutland’s throne and Naiman wondered if it had been a mistake to answer this summons.

  ‘So, you claim to be the finished item? The best in your field? The pick of the pack?’ The Duke sounded politely sceptical. There was a pause. Naiman correctly assumed the Duke was being rhetorical.

  ‘I expect to be disappointed and, at least so far, you are a disappointment. You aren’t even authentic are you? Naiman Nazri El-Nadir? It isn’t even a proper Arabic name. I suspect that you are from southern Spain and your real name is Hector. You have never seen the Old Man of the Mountains, let alone been trained by him, have you? I would guess that were you not gutting men you would be gutting fish for a living. I wonder if you are even dangerous at all?’

  The Duke looked sharply at the sleeve where Naiman kept his throwing knife.

  ‘Don’t begin to think it,’ said the Duke, who laughed at Naiman’s angry expression. Naiman wondered how the Duke was so well informed,

  ‘You would be dead before your thought was finished and the time, money and effort I have expended in bringing you here would have been wasted. Do you think I have time to waste, at my age?’

  The Duke waited politely, as if inviting an answer, but as none came, he continued.

  ‘Of course not, and, however inauthentic you may be, your record, unless exaggerated is at least adequate. You can kill people and you can do what you are told, I suppose?’

  This time the Duke’s eyes demanded an answer.

  ‘I can do both these things, your Grace. I am trained in all the arts of the assassin and spy, and when committed; I achieve my goal.’

  ‘A very fine answer,’ said the Duke, although his tone suggested otherwise, ‘all men who serve say thus; however, I need a lion, not a liar. Are you as deadly as the plague? As swift as Mercury, yet as silent as Death itself? Can you walk through the fire and fear no pain? Can you walk through the water and leave no footprint? Are you the elite assassin I seek or are you simply a murdering bungler looking to line his pockets at my expense?’

  The Duke held his breath, feeling pleased with his string of dismissive insults.

  ‘I like to think-‘

  ‘A lot of us like to think,’ the Duke interrupted, ‘but it is the reality not the thought that I am seeking. I will ask you only one more time and this time your answer must be convincing, as I take disappointments badly; can you do whatever I need?’

  Naiman felt his life in the balance. He thought carefully. He took a deep breath and answered in a confident, measured voice.

  ‘I can, your Grace. Explain what you need.’

  The Duke smiled momentarily. It was not a pleasant smile.

  ‘That will do. You will need to accept a mission, yet not complete that assignment until you have commissioned an alternative course of action that is contrary to the spirit of the agreement that prompted your initial undertaking; only when this secondary charge is dispatched are you free to fulfil your primary contract and then, that is what you must do. Do you grasp this?’

  Again, as his mind raced, trying to make sense of this gibberish, Naiman felt the malignant eyes of the Duke upon him.

  ‘In essence, your Grace, I do; however I would need to be appraised of the details. I have always found the details to be of the highest importance. Accuracy is essential.’

  A strange mixture of emotions crossed the Duke’s face. Naiman, who was a skilled interpreter realised that although the Duke was pleased that he had found someone who could understand and attend to his mission, he was also angry that he had not been able to overawe, confuse or bully him. When the mission was completed, he knew he would have to be very, very careful.

  ‘I would be grateful,’ he said, ‘to learn the detail of how I might serve your Grace.’

  The Duke explained. It took him some time.