The Swordsman of Tanosa: A Short Tale of the Middle Sea by Duncan M. Hamilton Page B

save Nozza’s life when it looked as though his reign in Tanosa’s underworld was about to be brought to a premature end. Bafion had far more ability than a man in his situation ought to. It was enough to lift him back out of the cesspit if he chose, but he seemed to have lost all will for life. Nozza was not one to complain; he was glad to have him. Still, he was curious. It was a broken heart most likely—aristocratic types had foolish notions about such things, although Nozza found himself in a position where he could empathise, for his own heart bore an open wound.
    Nozza had a daughter, Constanza. She was the light of his life. When she was old enough, he had sent her away to Ostenheim to be educated in literature, music, art, and all the finer things in life. He intended for her to be a governess or a tutor; some such respectable position in life that would keep her away from the filth that he had to deal with every day.
    During her years in the city, she had mixed in society, with Lord dal this and Lady dal that and Nozza could not have been more proud. He had expected that she would marry a gentleman—a man of minor title and substance—and have gentle children. Their proud grandfather could watch on as they enjoyed a life he could not even have begun to imagine when he was a child.
    That dream had been destroyed however; through her carelessness and a randy nobleman who couldn’t keep his prick in his britches. Now she was back in Tanosa, with a child and a scandal that not even his influence could erase. Back in the filth and there to stay. The poor child would never know who his father was, would never know the privileged life that Nozza had intended for his grandson.
    Nozza had not entertained many dreams in his life. There was never the time for them when fighting one’s way up through a mire. To dream was to hope and hope rarely ended with anything other than disappointment. His dream for Constanza was perhaps the only one he had ever allowed himself. And a whoreson nobleman had robbed him of it. She was an obstinate girl, however, and refused to reveal who had put her in the family way. He wondered if she genuinely believed that would stop him from finding out. It had taken a little while, and a lot of money, but the arrival of the note that morning proved that where there was a will, there was a way. Nozza had never met Nicolo dal Sason, but he would order his death and not lose a moment’s sleep over it.
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    B afion shambled into Nozza’s office wearing worn out fighting clothes that once were fine and well tailored, but now made him look like any other down on his luck mercenary. It had been several days since he last shaved. His tunic stank of the previous night’s dinner—a bottle of something the vendor had sworn was whisky, but was very definitely not. It was alcohol, though, so Bafion drank it. And spilled a good deal on his tunic it seemed.
    ‘I’m glad to see you’re fighting fit,’ Nozza said.
    Bafion shrugged but said nothing. He might have to work for Nozza, but he didn’t have to pretend to enjoy it.
    ‘I have something I need you to do,’ Nozza said.
    ‘What?’ Bafion’s curiosity was piqued, but only a little. Instead of getting a dressing down, or a blade in the back for having let the last unfortunate live, he was being offered more work. An unexpected development, but not a particularly welcome one.
    ‘I need you to kill someone in Ostenheim.’
    Nozza was not a man to refuse, but Bafion had no desire to ever return to the city. ‘Isn’t there anyone else who can do it?’
    ‘No. I need a gentleman killed so I need a gentleman to kill him.’
    The murder of an aristocrat drew more attention than the usual type of killing Nozza ordered. He was too clever to bring that type of trouble to his door, smart enough to know there was a better way. An aristocrat killed in a gentlemanly duel—even if it was nothing more than a pretty façade for an assassination—would