One Final Act

Harry didn’t get nervous. Back home he was known as Harry the Hammer, solid and reliable no matter what needed to be done. So why was he shaking now? He couldn’t even hold the dagger the old man had given him for protection. Why did he even need to protect himself on this job? Who was the old man? So many questions flooded his mind making it hard to concentrate on his plan.

It was pitch black in the tiny cupboard he’d hidden himself in at the back of the dressing room. Waiting for the cast to head onto the stage, he tried to slow his racing mind and gather his wits. Taking deep breaths, he focused on the task ahead.

Putting his ear flat to the door he heard the final cast call.

“One minute to curtain, let’s go people!”

The noise outside of his hiding place grew as the commotion began, chairs scraping, people chatting, and singing to warm up their vocal cords and what else Harry could only guess. As soon as it had started, the noise died with the slamming of a door. Utterly alone, he set his mind to counting down to the curtain to make sure he didn’t stumble across an actor who was returning for a forgotten prop.

Reaching zero he slipped the door open a crack and listened intently. The only sound was Harry’s heart beating its way out of his chest. This was ridiculous, what had happened to him since he’d left Shavan? He wondered if he’d ever recover from the beating he took after being caught in High Chancellor Dobray’s office. This job was his chance at redemption after that scandal and he refused to let it slip away.

Creeping out of his refuge he closed the door silently behind him. A quick scan of the candle lit room told him Jason’s belongings were stashed neatly away in a far corner near a costume rack opposite the dressing tables. Jason had always been far too clean and tidy for his own good. On this occasion it hindered Harry also, he’d have to take a mental picture of the pile so he could cover his tracks after the deed was done.

Carefully stepping over clothes, props, makeup and all manner of filth, Harry made his way to Jason’s goods. Mighty fine clothes they seemed, but Harry only had a mind for one item, a small wooden figure of the warrior god, Heldus. There were thousands of these figures in Threftall but this one was special, unbeknownst to its owner. It was hollow, and if you carefully removed the base there was a small piece of parchment rolled up inside. The words it bore were enough to topple kingdoms if it fell into the wrong hands. Harry had been told the old man’s hands were the right ones, whatever that meant.

Time was of the essence; he’d been told that the wrong hands were pursuing Jason too and if he took too long about his work, he’d be caught in a tangle he couldn’t fight his way out of. Gently patting down the pile of clothes he tried to find the small hard lump that meant he’d located Heldus hiding in a pocket.

Nothing. Had he been given bad information? Had he been beaten to his prize? Given what was at stake he thought both were unlikely. He began his search again, slower this time in the faint hope he’d missed the unseen treasure. Again nothing. Harry let a sigh slip from his lips, if he wasn’t careful panic would take over and he could be caught.

Jason’s boots caught his eye, little more than a foot from his clothes. Why hadn’t Harry searched them too? Eagerly he turned each of them upside down, the second boot gave up his prize. Examining the miniature god, he noticed the tiny gap between Heldus and his podium. Feeling the anxiety drain from his body he took an identical figure from his pocket and replaced it inside Jason’s boot, taking care it was facing the same way and the correct way up.

After checking three times that Jason’s belongings appeared to be exactly how they’d been left, Harry turned to make his escape. Before he’d gone two steps, he heard a man’s voice in the corridor outside.

“… we’ve got three in the dressing room. I can fetch them if you like?”

Harry stood, rooted to the spot. His heart was in his mouth, this was it for him, game over. If he was caught on a job a second time it would be his neck in the noose when the council caught up with him.

“Hang on, there’s one here. Don’t bother now, this’ll do it.” A second voice answered.

Hearing footsteps retreat away from the door, Harry allowed himself to breathe once more. This was enough excitement for one job. Hearing no further noise from the door he opened it cautiously, peering left and right down the corridor. Blissfully empty. Hopefully his luck was changing for the better.

Passing the storage room, he made his way around the corner towards the actor’s entrance. He bumped into a small, stocky man with a thick moustache who was charging in the opposite direction.

“Watch where you’re going man!” he bristled, looking up at Harry through thin rimmed spectacles.

“Sorry sir.” Replied Harry trying his best to look it.

“You will be if I catch you skulking around here again, mark my words!” He threatened whilst wagging his finger at Harry’s chest.

Harry bowed his head and moved aside, hoping the angry little man would move on. After another glare and shake of the head he strode away muttering to himself. Ever more eager to depart, Harry made for the door as quickly as he dared.

Without wasting more time on caution, he pushed open the door and gratefully stepped out into the dark, cool night air in the passage behind the theatre. Making for the rear of a coal shed at the end of the alley he gripped his prize tightly inside his pocket.

“You’re late.” Said the old man, stepping out of a shadow.

“The show was thrilling.” Replied Harry, regaining a measure of his fabled confidence.

“You have it?” The old man asked, unmoved by Harry’s sarcasm.

“Here.” Harry passed the figure to him. He was glad to be rid of it since this job could have cost him his life.

Suddenly, strong arms grabbed Harry from behind, forcing his head upwards and holding a knife to his throat. He struggled furiously, but he soon realised whoever this was, they were professionals. Unable to fight his way out, he’d have to use brains rather than brawn to get himself out of this mess.

“What’s this?” he choked. “What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry it has to be this way son, I really am. Orders from above, you know how it is.”

“Orders? Why? I did what you asked. It’s all there, no harm done.”

“The problem in Shavan, it simply won’t do to have our men caught by a mark.”

“I told you, the report was bad. The mark turned up when he was supposed to be at the temple. Whoever did the observation double crossed me. If you kill me now, you lose your best chance of finding who did it. Then what? You’ll still have a traitor in the guild, and you’ll lose more men by the same hand.”

“So you keep saying, but you offer only accusations, no proof. You’ve had months to find who it was but nothing. I’ve always said you’re a good lad and a skilled operator, but this can’t be undone.”

“What if I find who it is? I’ll prove my worth to the council by catching the traitor. Just give me more time.”

“You’ll never find the traitor Harry, let alone prove anything.”

“Why not? Like you said, I’m a skilled operator, one of the best we’ve got.”

“Because it’s me.”

The cold, sharp steel bit flesh below his jaw with a searing pain like nothing Harry had ever felt. The arms let him drop to the floor and he grabbed pitifully at his bleeding neck. The red warmth of his life spilled out over the alleyway like a river breaking a dam. At that moment the sound of thunderous applause erupted from the theatre behind him. So, this is how it ends he thought grimly, a slit throat and a standing ovation. Slowly a black curtain drew closed over his vision. This brought the end to Harry’s final act, sneaking about in the same shadows he’d once sworn to destroy…