A slight smile formed at the edge of Merrick’s lips as he watched her from the street. A candle still burned on the second floor of City Hall, even at this late hour. Her figure moved hazily behind the curtains as she left her desk.

It will not be long now, he thought.

Merrick shifted his grip on the weapon. Only a foot and a half long, with a bow span even shorter, it lacked the penetration strength of a traditional crossbow. Still, it would be enough. His target wore no armor, and he was not relying on the force of the bolt. Venden pox coated the serrated steel tip. A deplorable poison for assassination, it neither killed quickly nor paralyzed the victim. The concoction would certainly kill, but only after what he considered an unprofessional span of time. He had never used it before, and had only recently learned of its most important trait—venden pox was invulnerable to magic. Merrick had it on good authority that the most powerful spells and incantations would be useless against its venom. Given his target, this would prove to be essential.

Another figure entered Arista’s room, and she sat abruptly. Merrick thought she had just received some interesting news and he was about to cross the street to listen at the window when the tavern door behind him opened. A pair of patrons exited, and by the sway of their steps and the volume of their voices, he could tell they had drained more than one mug that night.

“Nestor, who’s that leaning against the post?” one said, pointing in Merrick’s direction. A plump man with a strawberry nose whose shape matched its color squinted in the dim light and staggered forward.

“How should I know?” said the other. The thin man’s mustache still glistened with beer foam.

“What’s he doing here at this time of night?”

“Again, how should I know, you git?”

“Well, ask him.”

The tall man stepped forward. “Whatcha doing, mister? Holding up the post so the porch doesn’t fall down?” Nestor snorted a laugh and doubled over with his hands on his knees.

“Actually,” Merrick told them, his tone so serious it was almost grave, “I’m waiting to appoint the position of town fool to the person who asks me the stupidest question. Congratulations. You win.”

The thin man slapped his friend on the shoulder. “See? I’ve been telling you all night how funny I am, and you haven’t laughed once. Now I’m getting a new job … probably pays better than yours.”

“Oh yeah, you’re quite the entertainer,” his friend assured him as they staggered off into the night. “You should audition at the theater. They’re gonna be doing The Crown Conspiracy for the mayor. The day I see you on a stage—now that will be funny.”