Arrin had been unable to sleep. His young mind was afire with the implications in the letter.
Pride filled Arrin, he was the man the King turned to in his darkest hour. A cursed child forced to become a common street urchin. A street urchin that lived long enough to be a thief. A thief turned thief-taker. A thief-taker brought into the circle of the royal family. If things went his way, there would be songs about Arrin. Imagined glories worked to placate his fears and worries, for the time being.
Two hours before dawn and much to early he left his apartment just outside of the Palace. He was situated in a room above a failed candlemakers shop in the merchant's ward. The stink of rendered tallow and atrocious attempts of soothing scents had almost dissipated in the last month. But not entirely. Arrin had become used to the smell for the most part. Unfortunately, after an extended trip away from his home, the distinct stink was very apparent to him.
Stepping out into the familiar alleyways and empty streets the night felt off. The usual lingering drunks and their snoring and bickering were not to be heard. The people knew to stay in. Someone was up to something. Or something had happened earlier in the night to send everyone skittering home.
The commoners were talking of striking down at the docks. It was possible that the people had made good on their threat and something had happened. Whether it was the docks or something else, Arrin made a note to investigate later in the day. If he was being realistic he would be investigating the next evening. While his curse could lend him strength he was like any man, he still needed sleep.
Arrin knew most of the palace guards as he had been in and around it often enough with his jobs, both the one that all knew of and the other which only a select few were privy to. The thief-taker knew most of the guards tasked with protecting the palace and recognized all of those that stood watch at the mouth of the bridge. Polite greetings sounded all around as he stepped on to the only bridge that stretched from the city proper to the palace grounds.
As he approached gate at the end of the bridge that opened into the palace grounds there were much fewer guards than usual, just two.
The two men waved limply in greeting. They were relatively new to palace duty but knew he could come and go as he pleased.
The two were Boris and Carn if he remembered correctly. Boris was the quiet and mellow type. A bit creepy truth be told. Carn had a problem with starting fights in the bars, bathhouses and brothels of the city. Just last week this pair of guards had a run-in with Arrin's brother Arris at one of his many houses of ill repute.
Carn had stabbed a bouncer who'd made the mistake of trying to tell Carn to calm down. Carn didn't drink but had a habit of eating plants that warped the mind. Carn had eaten a particularly volatile plant and was certain that the bouncer was an evil fisherman that was trying to alert all of the other fishermen that there was a "Clam Down."
Carn, believing that he was a clam and fearing for his life stabbed the bouncer. It was a damaging wound but not deadly, the bouncer would most likely never use that hand again.
After the stabbing, Boris rushed Carn out of the whorehouse and the pair hightailed it back towards the palace. They weren't fast enough. The other bouncers and eventually Arris himself caught up to them and dragged the duo back to the slums. Had they not been palace guards they would have likely ended up pigs feed. Being a palace guard earned them a few allowances but harming one of his men was something that Arris wouldn't ignore.
Arris catered heavily to those with money and influence. He would have let them go unharmed while dancing a jig and doing it with a smile was it the will of the truly powerful. Unfortunately for this pair of guards, they had no support high enough in social circles to warrant a full pardon in the court of Arris.
Both Boris and Carn were stripped naked, beaten, and rubbed raw with a local shrub that caused terrible welts. Being forced to walk home naked and bruised with growing welts would have likely been the end of it. Regrettably, for Carn, it was not. The seasoned guard had come down from his hallucinations and was making demands of Arris.
The word among the common folk was that Carn had stepped in close to Arris and whispered to him that he would return and kill the cripple. What was said between them would be known only to the two men. What happened next, was known to everyone as the crowd that had gathered had a very clear view.
Arris grabbed Carn by the wrist, placed his hand on the guard's elbow, and… SNAP. Snap isn't the sound it made, the sound was said to be closer to that of a pop and wet rocks slathered in mud and gravel being ground together. And also a child screaming.
To Arrins mind there were two types of people those that were more than met the eye and those that were exactly what they seemed to be. Two foolish guards making the same mistakes that every guard before them had made. Nothing interesting or in-depth about these men.
Arrin nodded as walked past the guards. Their welts had subsided but Carns left arm hung oddly and the man made no attempt to move it. Getting it into that uniform must have been hell. Inwardly Arrin was impressed by the grit it would take to stuff a broken arm into the rigid uniform of a guard. The two looked in his direction but neither made eye contact.
The thief-taker passed through the gate and walked directly to the kitchens. Located in the kitchens was the entrance for the servant's hallways. Built into the walls was a second set of passageways. Servants were to be unseen in the palace and this extravagance was needed to assure that the common folk did not mix and mingle with their betters when running to and fro on errands.
Lit with the dull light of lesser holding stones, the passageway was narrow when compared to the regular hallways of the palace but it was wide enough still for two men to walk down side by side without their shoulders touching. In a few minutes' time, he had located the path that would take him to the purple garden. The hall narrowed on this little offshoot and it felt cramped, the ceiling lowered and the walls closed in, half as wide as the main servant's passage. Arrin stopped at the a door, he would have to duck a bit and a fat man might have scraped his belly against the doorway were they to try and squeeze through.
Pulling the slender door open, Arrin stepped through. True to its name the garden was purple all over. On every path, on every lattice, by every bench. Moonlit through the glass ceiling, the plants and flowers and even some of the tree trunks and stalks shared the color purple with the world.
Smattered about were a few other colors that he could make out thanks to the pre-dawn moon. Arrin guessed that if not for the reds and the blues and some oranges here and there it would just be a purple mess. But with the accent flowers, it was truly a marvel to behold. He had only ever been in the servant's garden. He had thought it beautiful. Compared to this it was a nappy patch of onions and wildflowers.
Were the red and the green and the white garden as beautiful as this?
The cursed thief-taker closed his mouth that had been gaping in awe and flared his nostrils breathing in the garden. Sweet and clean. The moon beamed down at him through the glass ceiling. Perhaps as happy for Arrin as he was for himself.
In his excitement and partial dread, he had left early and arrived an hour before the King was to meet him here. The meeting was to be secret, just Arrin, and the King. Gods that sounded strange; just he and just the King. Arrin and Allouicious.
Through the main door of the greenhouse that the purple garden grew he heard a voice. Then another. The two distinct voices overlapped each other. One trying to rise above the second. Not wanting to be discovered by anyone that may not know his reasons for being in a royal garden before daybreak Arrin scrambled into a particularly large set of purple shrubs.
The voices shot back and forth rapid-fire. Arrin strained to listen but could not make out any clear words. Feeling a familiar tickling on his arm he looked down. It was a bug of the flying variety. There were so many multitudes of indistinguishable small flying bugs in gardens and forests and rivers the kingdom-wide that he quickly gave up trying to figure out names for each distinct bug.
To Arrin The Cursed, the small bug and its shape could be a tool. It was small and it could fly. For a person inclined towards ingenuity as Arrin was, the possibilities given by taking the shape of an insignificant flying insect were near endless.
Gently reaching down he pinched the small insect by the wings between his thumb and forefinger. He raised the unlucky bug to his lips and sucked in. The small bug tasted of sugar and butter, a luxury that he had sampled on three occasions. Each time it was a task to restrain himself from scooping it by the handful.
When bugs reached a certain size, they ceased tasting like butter and sugar. The big juicy ones all shared the same flavor. They flooded Arrins senses, a burst of smell and taste akin to the best meal Arrin could imagine. The taste of the large bugs was addicting to describe it mildly.
Anything larger than a bug Arrin preferred not imbibe with the purpose of stealing its shape. The shapes would be effective, the price would immense. He often lost himself when consuming larger animals for their shape.
He thought of the bug. He thought of how it had felt between his fingers. He remembered how just a second before it had kicked him squirmed before ceasing all movement hoping that whatever had grabbed him would let go. He held the image of the tiny doomed insect in his mind.
His heartbeat slowed. He was more in control. Learning to feed the curse had allowed it to become less of a curse. He was now capable of harnessing the potential offered by his burden. Working up the will for the payment of some shapes was a different story and one that Arrin felt he was rarely the victor in. Still, almost anything was better than when the curse seized hold of him. When that happened all bets were off. Thankfully since learning to feed it, the curse had no need to take the reins and find its own shapes to consume.
The magic within him stirred. His body told him that with the right amount of focus he would be able to assume the shape of a tiny flying insect.
The door creaked open a few inches. The voices became more clear, he could work out a word here and there. The door lazily yawned open more and more until the handle rested against the wall of the greenhouse.
There were voices in the doorway he could not make them both out but one of them sounded like Pallum Hitchen. Arrin's direct superior and the Kings Shield, the man responsible for the safety of the entire royal family.
The first figure to come into his view did so facing away from Arrin and towards the door. Walking in backwards a step then receiving a shove from the hulk towering over him the man fell onto his backside. Keeping the danger in front of him the man worked his way up to his knees.
A man average height wearing a well-made nightshirt rested on his knees in the dust ten feet in front of Arrin.
The former thief held his breath, he was not supposed to be seeing this. Where is the king? Surely this wasn't part of his secret meeting. Was it? Had Hitchens caught an assassin in the night? A spy?
The man tried to speak but Pallum lifted his arm and with it came the sword that he had hanging loose at his side. The oversized man leaned forward, pressing the tip of his sword against the chest of the man in front of him. He loomed as a sharp dark nightmare visiting his worst dreads upon the most beautiful of places.
The sound of movement in the hallway did not draw the attention of The Kings Shield away from his quarry, the sound of a voice did. Arrin could not make out what was said but the response from Pallum was a simple nod. He turned his head back to the man in the nightshirt and spoke down to him.
"Your failures and impotence have sullied this once great kingdom. Your people murder each other in the streets for scraps, your allies plot behind your back and those you love the most despise you. I judge you unworthy of your seat and sentence you to death." With those words and a twist of the hips, Pallum plunged his sword into the man's chest.
Arrin panicked, his mind tried to find order. Was it Prince Kavish? Had Hitchens just killed his own lifelong friend and crown Prince Kavish for treason? No. This man was older and more soft bodied, a spoiled and sedentary life. A scheming noble or merchant then.
The man gurgled and gasped. Stabbed in the lung. A slow death depending on what exactly was hit and how bad. It could be minutes, hours or days. No telling. Not something that Arrin thought the honorable man would do. What had this man done to cause a man of honor to stoop so low to doling out a cruel death?
Pallum tugged at his sword but the man he had stuck the weapon into had grasped the blade. Wrenching, wrestling, and twisting the sword didn't free it but when paired with a kick the wounded man flopped backward and gave the larger man full control of his sword once again.
The sounds the man now made were mostly squelching sounds. Like someone was trying to drink a lake by skimming their lips on the surface and inhaling. He didn't seem to be able to breathe anymore.
With what would be one of his last two words the man sputtered, "family".
Pallum smiled in response and sheathed his bloody sword without bothering to clean the blade. Arrin knew the man but did not recognize this person before him. He seemed insane, consumed with hate.
"Thank you for reminding me!" He smiled wider, madder. "I will go see to them now." He turned around and took a step into the doorway. He stopped and turned back. "Don't fret, you'll live awhile yet. Guardsman Boris and Carn will stay and keep you company. Goodnight Ally."
Pallum focused his attention on the two guards and spoke in hushed tones before his feet thundered on the ground alerting all within earshot of his departure.
In his place stepped Boris and Carn. The two guardsmen looked about the greenhouse. Both men seemed unimpressed by the man dying on his knees just feet in front of them. They hardly spared him a glance.
After less than a minute Carn spoke, "By Krom, he's taking his time."
"Maybe he's actually made of king material after all." Boris offered back. When his response started the corner of his mouth was twitching. By his final word, his grin reached ear to ear.
"Right now it looks like he's made of stupid and blood." Carn followed up with a snigger.
A few moments passed. Arrin focused on the small flying bug. He needed to be out of here. Whatever it was that he was seeing, it was something he knew he didn't want to. His meeting with the King clearly wasn't going to happen.
The man struggled to find balance. Drooping from upright on his knees to having one hand pressing on his wound and the other on the ground keeping him from falling on his face. The wheezing sounds he let out were wet and pathetic.
"I'm bored." Carn stepped forward and kicked the man in the side of his face. Unused to trying to kick someone while having a broken arm the kick Carn hit the man with was much weaker than he had intended. But it was enough to put the man down.
The man now lay on to his side, his hair covering his face. His body trying to curl up instinctually for defense. Arrin could be at his side in a second. But what would that do? There would be two dead men in this wondrous garden instead of just one.
Carn pulled his sword from his scabbard and jabbed the prone man in the other side of his chest. The man groaned as the blade slid in.
"No." Boris didn't move and his smile was replaced with a snarl. "We ain't supposed to be touching a hair on the Good King's head. The whole thing of this was the boss wanted to strike the final blow and all that. You shouldn't have done that. Put your blade away. Krom damn you ya fool."
Did he say, king? They couldn't have. Arrin looked at the man on the ground. He was the right size. His hair was the right shade. That nightgown… With a bit more attention Arrin saw how fine it was. A fist full of rings glinted in what light the garden had. It was the king. It had to be. Every fiber of Arrin's being was sure of it.
Voices sounded, echoing in the vast and open palace hallway. Feet, many feet could be heard running. Help was on the way! The two men spun to look out the door.
But it was not help, it was more of the palace guards and they smiled and shared words with Boris. The peaked past him at the languishing figure.
"Change of plans, Prince Kavish put down the riot and is on his way back right now. Got out without a scratch." The new arrivals told Boris.
"We're going to go see that the Queen's been done for, sit tight." The leader of the men in the hall said and they continued down away from the purple garden. The sound of their group jogging slowly faded.
Carn and Boris stood in the doorway observing the hall as if it was more interesting and worth their time than a dying monarch.
"On his way back right now? Hmph. Well, that certainly changes things. Thanks for the heads up boys." Boris responded to the empty hall, scratching the back of his head. "Guess we'll just wait here for the boss then."
"Fuck me." Carn said, fiddling with the hilt of his sword, "We wait then."
They began talking about what the wanted for breakfast as they looked down the hall, probably waiting for Pallum to return.
Shedding all the self-preservation skills that had shepherded him to the ripe old age of twenty-one, Arrin crawled out from the shrubbery moving towards the king. Traversing those handfuls of feet he watched the backs of the guards.
Arrin kept his eyes fixed on the danger until he was on top of the curled-up king and he whispered "My liege, it is I, Arrin. I'm here to help. You're going to be ok."
Watery eyes and a mouth that was intermittently dribbling and bubbling blood peered up at Arrin. Pain and confusion wrote on his face.
It was then that King Allouicious Purges III, ruler of the Kingdom Of Marscelance said his final word, "Who?" The question wasn't very loud but the horrible choking sounds the dying monarch made after were.
Arrin heard the sound of leather soles grinding dirt against stone. Boris had closed the distance between them and was whipping his sword out in the time it took Arrin look up. The thief-taker focused on the image of the flying insect.
The sword rang out its metallic hum as it cleared the scabbard. Arrin had two choices death isn't one that he would ever choose, so shapeshifting it would be.
Every muscle in Arrins body flexed, every surface inch of his body expanded an almost imperceptible amount. Boris nor Carn could see the change happening but Arrin could feel it. He focused on the bug. He focused on the shape.
Boris swung his sword down, aiming to take the thief-taker between the shoulder and neck.