Making a Villain

The Footpad

The Phoros slowed to a halt on Triton’s soft sands. Donovan stood at the stern of the ship with his arms folded. He had to mentally prepare himself for what he was to do on the island. It was not that murder was abstract to him, he had assassinated more men and women than he could remember. However, he always took precautions.

“You must find a way to make it seem a suicide,” Nicolette had told him back in Tellus.

He had been agitated with their exchange but did well to hide his thoughts, counting from one to a hundred and then back down again as the conversation ensued. “I know my job, Madam. Leave the thinking to me.”

Nicolette had touched his muscled bicep then and grinned. “Do the job to my satisfaction and you will find me worth more than mere coins.”

“The job won’t cost mere coins,” Donovan had replied and moved his arm away from her touch. It was not that the diplomat was not attractive. The footpad figured he would enjoy rutting with her enough, but he never mixed business with pleasure. He had a mind to rise high in the world after decades of scraps, and sex had a way of mucking that up.

Nicolette had been taken aback by his reproach. Her thoughts had trailed to distaste for Donovan before she curbed them quickly. “I will make certain you are handsomely rewarded, there is no question about that.”

“Good,” he had replied, and that was it.

Now they were on the deck of the Phoros together, watching with apathy as the infants were removed from the ship. The footpad scowled at the sound of the children. Gaian babies were bad enough, but Thalassans? There was nothing worse than the pink face of a wailing babe hoping to be held by tender arms. Donovan had never been the type to give that love to a child. He had one of his own in Tartarus, his home town, born from a young local woman in the port city. At least she claimed it was his, and with the dark blue eyes and light brown hair the three-year-old child possessed he supposed the woman was right. He shared those features, but as much as he liked to feel a high regard for himself he could not foster feelings for a cheap copy whelped off a tavern slut.

Nicolette disembarked, all but pushing her way through the sailors on her way to the boarding ramp. Donovan followed in key, along with an armed guardsman named Frederick who glanced his way and then averted his eyes immediately. The footpad grinned at the obvious fear he instilled in others.

Nicolette walked along the fine sands of Triton’s beach at a rapid pace. She never stopped to say hello to a single villager on her way to the Thalassan Embassy. Donovan matched her speed while Frederick struggled to keep up. Thirty pounds of armor and ten pounds of weapons will do that to a man, Donovan thought with a sneer. He had always been averse to wearing the heavy armor others dressed in, preferring a boiled leather cuirass to block only feeble blows. If anyone should land anything but a frail strike I would deserve death anyway, Donovan reasoned. All in all his armor and the shortsword he carried weighed only fifteen pounds so he could always be quick on his feet. In his line of work heavy armor was unnecessary anyway. His victims never saw it coming.

Nicolette went through the door with her silver gown flowing like smoke. As soon as she entered the building she swiveled to Frederick. “Prepare my room, have something quick to eat, and then meet us in the conference room.”

“Yes, Madam,” Frederick said quickly and walked from the Embassy hall up the stairs to the quarters reserved for Triton’s Gaian visitors.

“The prince is not here yet,” Donovan thought with his dark blue eyes staring into Nicolette’s jade ones. 

“Now you see his insolence firsthand,” Nicolette responded.

“I could not care less about his insolence,” Donovan thought with a shake of his head.

“Yet you care deeply for Thalassan impudence in general,” Nicolette replied with a smirk. “Do not think too highly of yourself, footpad.”

“You know nothing of what I think.” Donovan sneered. He turned his attention away from her and began analyzing the patterning on the wall’s tapestries until he felt her presence in his mind dissipate. There was a wall-hanging for every isle of Thalassa, each with their own letter in the center of the piece while colors swirled around the letters of the distinguishing characteristics the lands carried. Pontos’ tapestry was very regal, with the crimson and gold colors of the Coren family, Thalassa’s royal House. Contrastingly, Triton’s wall-hanging was mainly swirls that must have represented waves. There was also an olive branch that signified the peace held on the isle. Donovan found that amusing. As if they offer us peace. A vassal kingdom.

A new mind entered the room and Donovan turned to find an older gentleman standing before the doorway. He was clearly higher born than the average man. Judging by the thoughts rambling in the old man’s head, Donovan guessed he was probably the cousin to one of the noble families of Thalassa. His thoughts were clear and educated, and he was even wise enough to guard them a bit when he looked from Nicolette to Donovan and back again.

“Madam, are you ready to be seated?” Aldous asked.

“The prince’s ship was not in port,” Nicolette stated with a forced smile.

“He is often tardy, Madam, my apologies on his behalf.” Aldous gave a small bow of his head. He was the constable of Triton’s small garrison, and thus a sort of makeshift governor for the isle as well. Though he must have been in his latter fifties the gray-haired man carried himself with an elegance that made his barrel-chested frame seem out of place.

“We’ll take that seating in the meantime,” Donovan spoke for both of them. Nicolette shot him a glance but he ignored it and followed the constable into the meeting room.

“I do not believe we have met before,” Aldous said. He extended his hand and Donovan shook it awkwardly.

“Armand is ill this week,” Donovan said regarding Nicolette’s other guardsman. The footpad had stolen into the guard’s quarters in Tellus and had replaced three of the green spinach and lettuce leaves in his pantry with hyacinth leaves. Armand must have made himself a salad that very night for two days later when it came time to embark on the Phoros he was unable to leave the latrine.

“That’s a shame,” Aldous said dutifully. He looked Donovan up and down with a cocked expression. “You do not wear mail?”

“He asks a lot of questions,” Donovan thought wolfishly.

“Only one will die, fool, we do not want to arouse suspicion,” Nicolette snapped in her mind.

Donovan forced himself to smile for the constable. “Gaian Military does not require us to wear mail. We are given a choice between leather and metal, but of course our commanders and nobility typically wear plate. Thalassans must have the same ideals I see,” he added with a nod to the armor Aldous was wearing.

Aldous glanced down at the expensive leather cuirass he wore and smiled sheepishly. “My old bones ache in the morning and at night, however if I wear mail like the rest of my garrison then they ache all day and I’m rendered immobile when I try to climb into bed.”

Donovan grunted and turned to the lavish chair Nicolette stood behind. He pulled the seat out for her and she gracefully sat down and thanked him. He then stood at her right, staring straight ahead until Frederick entered the room. The other guardsman gave a clumsy greeting to the constable and took his place at Nicolette’s left. He tried to stand as still as possible as well while Aldous took his leave to await Prince Daemyn in the next room. The three Gaians were like statues, fixed in place and letting no words utter from their mouths as thoughts gently floated between their minds.

The prince of Thalassa entered the room with a swagger and feigned joy to see the Gaians awaiting him. He embraced the two Gaian guards strongly and with a giggle went to his gilded chair and plopped down like a bag of sand. His own guardsmen, the superior ones called watchmen in Thalassan Military, followed at their prince’s heels and stood to either side of him. One was middle-aged with a face like he had just bitten into a lemon, while the other was a youth of olive complexion and slightly taller than the average man.

Daemyn’s thoughts were fluttering as he entered the room, first thinking on how he must have come across by being late a second time to meet with Nicolette, followed by a swift mental comparison between Frederick’s appearance and the new guardsman Nicolette kept at her right. He briefly looked at Nicolette’s curvaceous body revealed by her silk gown but then quelled those thoughts to a minimum and began the process.

“How many children were brought today?” Daemyn inquired. 

Donovan found it amusing that the prince was genuinely interested, not just feigning such for how it made him look.

“There were thirty-four this month,” Nicolette answered briskly. “Let’s skip the pleasantries.”

“A meeting lasting several heartbeats,” Daemyn observed. “You’re quite the talker.”

“Do you have two hundred and forty pounds of gold on your vessel or not?” Nicolette asked through clenched teeth.

“I do not,” Prince Daemyn declared, “because we only owe you two hundred and twenty. We have already had this discussion, Nicolette. I will not go over it again.”

“You cannot blame a woman for trying,” Nicolette said with a sly grin. Daemyn had a fleeting thought of how much he would like to feel those lips on his body when suddenly Nicolette said, “I assume, then, that you have the two hundred and twenty pounds we require?”

“Everything is being transferred to your boat as we speak,” the prince answered. “I took the liberty of putting forth a bit more effort in this meeting.”

Nicolette was clearly agitated by that but let it pass. “I suppose that concludes our business, then.”

“Will you be staying the full week as usual, Madam?” Daemyn inquired.

“I shall,” Nicolette answered. “I have a desire to see last month’s babies. I trust they have not been sent anywhere else?”

Donovan felt a smirk coming to his face but halted it instantly. The Gaian diplomat had no wish to see the squalling children no matter what month they had been brought from the mainland. That notion did not seem out of the ordinary to the prince for his thoughts lingered on the fact that she was a woman and thus naturally wanted to see children no matter how calculating she was in business. Nicolette’s thoughts were well guarded and Frederick was wondering whether or not he should buy a new pair of boots when he got back to Tellus. Triton’s watchmen were uninterested with the whole meeting. The sour faced one was trying to recall the lines of a song he had learned during his drunken outing the night before, and the other was tallying up savings and a current salary he had just been advanced to.

“They have not been sent away yet,” Daemyn explained. “The children stay here until they are two or three and able to function well enough in an orphanage. Then they are distributed evenly among the islands.”

“The nursery has two-year-olds as well?” Nicolette asked.

“Yes,” the prince replied, “the ones that were delivered two years ago.”

That explains the gargantuan size of that building, Donovan noted.

“With your leave, I think I shall go check on them now,” Nicolette said.

“Take your time,” Daemyn said cheerfully. Thank the gods that’s over, the prince thought as he stood from the table. Now to get drunk. Donovan smiled but hid his thoughts behind a math problem he began to solve. It would not do for Frederick to be aware of his intentions. Things would only get more complicated. 

The prince of Thalassa walked from the room with a curt farewell for the Gaians. His guards followed suit, their blood red cloaks flapping behind the prince’s royal crimson one trimmed in gold. Donovan took his leave before Nicolette even had a chance to dismiss Frederick. He wanted to get on with his true business on the small island and had neither the time nor the patience to converse with his traveling companions any longer. He headed back to the trading cog to exchange the green cloak of a Gaian diplomatic guard for the weather stained gray of a man with no allegiance to anyone. It was time to visit the local tavern.

*

“One cup of wine,” Donovan ordered. He sat alone at a table near the back of the tavern, his hood removed so as not to arouse suspicion but the shadows hid him well enough. The serving girl went to fetch his wine and he grabbed her wrist. “Water it down.”

She nodded and hurried away. Donovan leaned back in his chair and observed the Thalassan prince’s interactions with those around him. He was a boisterous young man, detailing stories with flourishes of his hands to emphasize their drama. He had one guard alongside him, the youth who had been in the meeting. Though Daemyn drank quickly and in large quantities, his companion had very little.

The serving girl returned and placed the cup of watered wine carefully before the footpad. She waited a moment until he slid four coppers along the table then swiped them up and went to deliver them to the barkeep. There were not many people in the tavern, but that was probably a result of being in such a small town. Donovan counted eight patrons, including himself, yet the barkeep was pouring a tankard of ale with a carefree smile on his bearded face. There are probably only five patrons normally, the footpad thought with an internal chuckle.

He was beginning to wonder if the young watchman was going to be a problem, when suddenly the guard in question moved to the window to check where the sun hung in the sky. It was dusk, and that was apparently the watchman’s time to leave because he thumped the prince lightly on the shoulder and said his farewells. Donovan watched him depart and his heart began to beat loudly within his head as anticipation began to take hold. It was only a matter of time now before Daemyn got bored and left the tavern to retire to his quarters.

The prince ordered another round for everyone in the tavern and even purchased a meal of boiled eggs and toast from the barkeep. Donovan waited patiently, sipping his second watered wine and looking over at the serving girl. It was plain that she was unwilling to even mutter so much as a word to him. Little did she know, his disdain for her kind went deeper than his sexual needs. She reluctantly walked over to his table to inquire if there was anything else he wanted, to which he tersely brushed her off. He fought back the urge to tell her that she needn’t eye him like a predator. There wasn’t a Thalassan woman in the whole archipelago worth sullying himself over. 

Night came, and with it arrived a new guard that Donovan had not seen in the meeting. He was a young man as well, possibly not even twenty. He came to escort the drunken prince into his room. Daemyn fought about it for a moment but ultimately gave in, laughing despite himself over the mess he had made on his white linen shirt. The guard allowed his prince to put most of his weight on his shoulder and grunted as he helped the drunk to the door. The serving girl ran to open it for them and bid the prince goodbye, saying she hoped she would see him the following evening. He blew her a drunken kiss and stumbled. She turned to close the door once more and found Donovan standing before her. She did not say anything as she held the door open for him as well.

Donovan wasted no time once he was out on the road. There would be guards making their rounds and walking the streets. Doubtless they would all be unused to any grand amount of trouble on Triton, but he was extra cautious to stay in every shadow as he trailed behind the guard helping Thalassa’s intoxicated prince toward the inn. Donovan found the nooks along the buildings of Triton and hung there for a brief moment before moving on, edging his way closer to the men he followed in order to get close enough that he could hear their thoughts.

The young guard was thinking of nothing but how amazing sleep sounded, while the prince was pondering on a lover he had made on a boat that he wished to do away with. Apparently he felt bad for the girl and was at a loss for how to let her down easily. I can handle that for you, Donovan thought as he came to the side of the inn and slipped behind the wall into a shadowed alley. 

Daemyn was fuming internally over his stupidity with having slept with the girl in the first place when the guard spoke. “Do you remember your room number or not?”

“You cannot speak to me in such a way, Victor,” Daemyn said, a little more loudly than he had anticipated. He suddenly burst into a fit of laughter. 

Victor spoke in an agitated voice. “Please, Your Highness, you need your rest.”

“That’s no way to sweet-talk,” Prince Daemyn scolded in jest. He thought that was hilarious. “My room number is… three. Have you not been to my room before? I sleep in the same room every time I come here.”

“No, I have not,” Victor explained. “Tonight was the first time we met, Highness. Xander sent me to escort you to your room.”

“Xander,” the prince parroted with an edge to his voice. Donovan was too far away to hear his thoughts. He had, however, heard what the room number was. As the annoyed guard led the prince to his room, Donovan moved around the building to where the room was located. 

The prince’s room was on the second floor of the two-story building. Donovan moved rapidly to lift himself into the air and float to the window. The air fluttered about his cloak as he concentrated on telekinetically lifting his own body weight. When his feet touched the sill he crept swiftly to the bed and slid underneath the wooden framing holding a feather-stuffed mattress. There he waited.

* *

Daemyn came in and flopped down on the bed as exhaustion overcame him. Donovan stared at the wooden boards as they bowed slightly under the weight of the slender prince. He waited for the door to sound again as the guard retreated back down the stairs but instead the guard was trying to pull off Daemyn’s boots. He got one off before the prince kicked him in agitation. Daemyn reeled with laughter and waved off his escort, who left the room in frustration. 

The door shut with a click and Donovan waited as the prince disrobed, first taking off his belt with a holstered flintlock pistol and an elegantly made longsword with a gilded hilt. He threw his tunic and breeches on the floor and then jumped back onto the bed. Daemyn questioned himself internally on why he did not take any women into his bedroom that night. He even wondered if he should go retrieve the one off the boat that he had been thinking about earlier. With his mind occupied and the sheets rustling as he tried to search for a comfortable sleeping position, Daemyn did not hear the door’s latch turn as Donovan reached out with his mind to slide the lock into place.

When the prince’s thoughts began to recede into nothingness and his breath could be heard as drawn out inhalations, Donovan slid from underneath the bed and grabbed the flintlock pistol from the bunched up belt on the floor. He rose to stand next to the prince. For a moment, Donovan thought he might relish seeing Daemyn’s face as he lost his life, but then thought better of it. It must look like a suicide, the footpad told himself once again.

Donovan muffled the prince’s mouth with his left hand and wrapped his arm around the captive as he woke, startled. Daemyn looked confused for a moment but then furious as he vaguely registered his captor’s face in the dark. He tried to shout but the footpad held him tighter and brought the pistol up under the prince’s chin. Daemyn’s attempts to free himself suddenly ceased as he realized his life hung in the balance.

What does this Gaian bastard want? Daemyn wondered.

“I can hear you,” Donovan whispered in answer.

“Well, then what do you want?” Daemyn inquired. His thoughts were frantic and his blue eyes wide. The alcohol was no longer taking so much of an effect on him as he looked into the bloodthirsty face of the Gaian.

“I want what every true Gaian wants,” Donovan whispered. “I want a world without flaw. A perfect world where every man, woman, and child is free from the limitations you Thalassans possess. The stupidity in the Eastern Provinces must be destroyed as well… but we shall take things a day at a time.”

“I cannot do that for you,” Daemyn thought back. “Unhand me, now.”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that for you, Prince,” Donovan said with a smile.

Daemyn began to struggle once again as he realized the severity of those words. He attempted to bite his captor’s hand but Donovan only smacked him in the temple. His eyes closed for a moment then fluttered back open again and he started to move more hysterically. Donovan used his mind to keep the pistol steady under the prince’s chin and his arms to force Daemyn to sit at the edge of the bed. “I swear if you do not unhand me you will rue this day. I will slaughter you, Nicolette, that other guard, and any other bastard son of a whore who tries to get taxes from my land again. I will be king, you bloody fool. I will be king!” Daemyn screamed in his head and fought for leverage but Donovan had muscle where he did not. 

“No, you won’t,” Donovan said softly.

There was a click. The hammer of the pistol fell and for the briefest moment in time a ting sounded, followed by a muffled blast as a lead ball fired up through the prince’s chin to erupt from the top of his skull in a mess of brain, blood, and bits of bone. The prince’s body went limp and he slumped onto the floor, his thoughts eradicated. Donovan placed the flintlock in his hand and went to the windowsill. Without looking back, he floated down to the street below. He hugged the shadows on his walk back to Triton’s embassy, and smiled in anticipation for the soft mattress that awaited him.

To find out what happens next in Severance, check it out here.