Annunu was escorted into what she assumed was an interrogation room by two Brass Blades, who then left her there, shutting the door firmly behind them. She listened for, but did not hear, a subsequent locking or bolting; another piece of evidence then, a telling indicator. She had not been searched, arrested, or chained; the Blades had approached her privately, not publicly; they had couched their invitation to meet with Rosewater as a request, not a demand. And now, fully clothed and armed, as he had to know she would be, she had been left - but not locked - in this room, a small stone-walled enclosure with no windows but brightly lit by torches burning in holders bolted to the wall. A table with two chairs facing one another sat in the center of the room. An assessed that Rosewater's next move, predicted from this series of events, would be to appear after giving her a few minutes to rest and just long enough to start to worry. Perhaps half a bell. She sat, and waited, her head down and her hands folded on the table.
Those best at strategic games could anticipate their opponent's moves not one or two turns in advance, but many. An had marveled, as a child, at stories of games between masters that ended far in advance of actual victory, as both acknowledged the inevitable result. Her father had tried to teach her a Doman game of skill involving capturing colored stones from an opponent, and had seemed disappointed and annoyed when she'd shown little aptitude or enjoyment for it; the ability to think ahead, he'd told her with rare anger, to anticipate an opponent's moves, to counter or evade them, was crucial to an assassin's trade. One must seek to evade discovery or danger entirely, he said, to escape if possible - and eliminate the threat by self-defense or proactive action only as a last resort. To use the blade was when danger was at its greatest, and the odds of survival lowest.
He had worried a lot about her survival after she had taken his place, An noted detachedly. Far more than he had ever worried about his own. Behavior she had no doubt absorbed along with his many other lessons.
After Master Gogonji had freed her in a dramatic showdown with Rosewater the other day, he had failed to obtain a critical piece of information - what it was that Rosewater wanted from her. For all that the Master had berated her lengthily about letting her emotions - her feelings for him - control her actions and open her up to Rosewater's manipulations, so his own emotions had driven him to act rashly and sacrifice long-term benefit (understanding Rosewater's plans and intentions) for the sake of short-term victory (An's freedom). An could not be sure whether that was because the sight of her in custody had inflamed the Master to rash behavior, or whether his ego and resultant underestimation of Rosewater had demanded immediate validation. She suspected the latter.
He had ordered her to find a way to foil Rosewater's plans that did not involve yielding to his unknown desire. An obeyed. She was a katana poised to be unsheathed, a blade wrapped in stillness. And so, methodically and without distraction or feeling, she had plotted how best to discover that critical piece of missing information and fulfill the Master's request.
If she knew what Rosewater truly wanted, that would be the key that unlocked all of the man's seemingly erratic behavior. Currently, he had the advantage over her, because he knew what she desired enough to throw away all she had for it - the Master's life and happiness. Rosewater would seek to exploit that vulnerability to control her, just as the Master had feared. But once she knew what Rosewater wanted - wanted badly enough to risk tangling with an assassin and a dangerous mercenary group like Khamja... Logically, it had to be something Rosewater wanted so badly, and so immediately, that he had rushed his hand by involving the Master in the first place. Rosewater hadn't even seriously tried to break her first. Rather than let time and isolation and deprivation wear her down like wind and water on a stone, he'd gone immediately for the sledgehammer. Perhaps he'd be so impatient now, so rattled by her unexpected release, so frustrated by the Master's actions, that he'd make a fatal error.
He would underestimate her.
And so, she had carefully baited the hook. She had let herself be seen in public, briefly but regularly, first in Thanalan, then twice in the city itself. She wore hooded robes - enough to throw off the press but not trained surveillants. She didn't return to her work, but lingered in surreptitious places. She had no contact with anyone, including the Master. Rosewater would understand it was an invitation to talk, this hesitant, unobtrusive behavior in his stomping grounds - and in his haste and desperation, he might even think he knew why she wanted to talk to him. He'd think he'd won, that she was coming to him to offer her complete cooperation in exchange for the Master's safety. Every aspect of her behavior and appearance outside of closed doors - her downcast eyes, her loose tunic that clearly concealed weapons and/or armor beneath, the carelessly wrapped bandages around her wrists and ankles where the chains had chafed her - was chosen carefully to reinforce that perception.
And as she had predicted, at nearly half a bell, Rosewater entered the room. He tossed himself roughly into the chair opposite, dropping two heavy files filled to bursting with papers and parchment onto the table. She saw her name on the top one; she didn't need to see the name on the other to know to whom it belonged. She swallowed hard and stared at the grain of the desk; she needed to be careful, she reflected dimly, and not overplay it.
"Well!" he said finally. "Been a busy week for both of us, huh?"
She said nothing, shifting slightly in her chair. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, arms loose and draping. "Don't know how you got away from Oan. Must've been harder than escaping me, eh?" He chuckled. "Or does he trust you? Doesn't seem much like a man given to trust, but some are weak to a pretty girl."
An made herself wince, as it was the proper response to the goad; within her, nothing moved. "... Make me an offer."
His eyes lit up, but his voice remained light, casual. An kept her gaze downcast, as if she didn't see the excitement in his eyes. "Eh? What do you mean, missy?"
"You want something from me, don't you, Captain Rosewater?" An kept her voice neutral - the careful neutrality of someone barely holding it together. "That was the point of all of this, wasn't it - imprisoning me in the first place, contacting Master Oan." She lifted her eyes to his. "So make me a deal."
"Hmmmm."Â He drew the syllable out, touching his tongue to his lips. "And if I say there will be no deal - that you will do as you're told, or your precious 'Master Oan' dies?"
An's voice remained impassive - both to play her part, and because she knew the threat was a feint. As was her response. "Then I kill you now, and as many of your men as I can on my way out."
He laughed. "You're not Oan - you know more will come, and that my replacement - or his - will get you and Oan both dead in the end."
"Yes, but that wouldn't help you much, now would it, Captain Rosewater?" An allowed drawing steel into her voice, permitted Rosewater's impending death into her eyes. "So the question is, Captain - how much is your life worth to you?"
For an endless moment, they stared into one another's eyes. Then he leaned back in his chair and pushed the two files toward her roughly with one hand. "Everything we have on you and Oan."
She opened her file, glancing quickly through it. Even wrapped in stillness as she was, she felt a momentary prick of respect; many of the documents within were originals or authenticated copies. A birth record from La Noscea with her true name, rather than the one her father had given her. A death record for him with his true Doman name, which he'd thought completely secret in his lifetime. Meticulous records of most of her kills. A few sealed affidavits - some of her clients had attempted to give her up, it seemed, whether under duress or for personal gain. And artist's renditions of Khamja and her work with them, the Master, Chuta, even a depiction of her last conversation with the Master at the beach before she'd turned herself in. It was likely enough to send her to the headsmen's block, all told - and even if they had copied the file, without some of these originals, the case would fall apart if attacked by a skilled barrister. At the very least, it represented years of investigation into her activities.
"I want signed assurances of immunity from prosecution, with the sultana's seal, for both myself and Master Oan," she said, then paused. "And upon my death, I want a sizable compensation paid directly to my estate."
Rosewater grunted, half-annoyed and half-amused, likely at her demands for still more after receiving the files. But then, he had brought the files in as nothing more than an additional bargaining chip. "Who said anything about you dying?" He smirked, confident of his victory now - after all, they were merely haggling over price at this point. "If you're skilled, you may even survive."
"And what exactly am I to be doing?" she asked, her voice tinged with just the right touch of asperity. Inwardly, she held her breath. Everything had led up to this moment - a baited trap, the irresistible urge to reveal his grand plan. She had come to him, vulnerable and alone but still defiant enough to threaten him and haggle over her price for cooperation. The temptation for him now would be to reveal, to awe, to reassert his power over her, to remind her that he'd won and he owned her now, no matter what files he surrendered.
He tossed his head back and laughed, his eyes closed. "Why, we're going to finish your beloved Master Oan's work, my dear - you will kill the Emperor of Garlemald."
Those best at strategic games could anticipate their opponent's moves not one or two turns in advance, but many. An had marveled, as a child, at stories of games between masters that ended far in advance of actual victory, as both acknowledged the inevitable result. Her father had tried to teach her a Doman game of skill involving capturing colored stones from an opponent, and had seemed disappointed and annoyed when she'd shown little aptitude or enjoyment for it; the ability to think ahead, he'd told her with rare anger, to anticipate an opponent's moves, to counter or evade them, was crucial to an assassin's trade. One must seek to evade discovery or danger entirely, he said, to escape if possible - and eliminate the threat by self-defense or proactive action only as a last resort. To use the blade was when danger was at its greatest, and the odds of survival lowest.
He had worried a lot about her survival after she had taken his place, An noted detachedly. Far more than he had ever worried about his own. Behavior she had no doubt absorbed along with his many other lessons.
After Master Gogonji had freed her in a dramatic showdown with Rosewater the other day, he had failed to obtain a critical piece of information - what it was that Rosewater wanted from her. For all that the Master had berated her lengthily about letting her emotions - her feelings for him - control her actions and open her up to Rosewater's manipulations, so his own emotions had driven him to act rashly and sacrifice long-term benefit (understanding Rosewater's plans and intentions) for the sake of short-term victory (An's freedom). An could not be sure whether that was because the sight of her in custody had inflamed the Master to rash behavior, or whether his ego and resultant underestimation of Rosewater had demanded immediate validation. She suspected the latter.
He had ordered her to find a way to foil Rosewater's plans that did not involve yielding to his unknown desire. An obeyed. She was a katana poised to be unsheathed, a blade wrapped in stillness. And so, methodically and without distraction or feeling, she had plotted how best to discover that critical piece of missing information and fulfill the Master's request.
If she knew what Rosewater truly wanted, that would be the key that unlocked all of the man's seemingly erratic behavior. Currently, he had the advantage over her, because he knew what she desired enough to throw away all she had for it - the Master's life and happiness. Rosewater would seek to exploit that vulnerability to control her, just as the Master had feared. But once she knew what Rosewater wanted - wanted badly enough to risk tangling with an assassin and a dangerous mercenary group like Khamja... Logically, it had to be something Rosewater wanted so badly, and so immediately, that he had rushed his hand by involving the Master in the first place. Rosewater hadn't even seriously tried to break her first. Rather than let time and isolation and deprivation wear her down like wind and water on a stone, he'd gone immediately for the sledgehammer. Perhaps he'd be so impatient now, so rattled by her unexpected release, so frustrated by the Master's actions, that he'd make a fatal error.
He would underestimate her.
And so, she had carefully baited the hook. She had let herself be seen in public, briefly but regularly, first in Thanalan, then twice in the city itself. She wore hooded robes - enough to throw off the press but not trained surveillants. She didn't return to her work, but lingered in surreptitious places. She had no contact with anyone, including the Master. Rosewater would understand it was an invitation to talk, this hesitant, unobtrusive behavior in his stomping grounds - and in his haste and desperation, he might even think he knew why she wanted to talk to him. He'd think he'd won, that she was coming to him to offer her complete cooperation in exchange for the Master's safety. Every aspect of her behavior and appearance outside of closed doors - her downcast eyes, her loose tunic that clearly concealed weapons and/or armor beneath, the carelessly wrapped bandages around her wrists and ankles where the chains had chafed her - was chosen carefully to reinforce that perception.
And as she had predicted, at nearly half a bell, Rosewater entered the room. He tossed himself roughly into the chair opposite, dropping two heavy files filled to bursting with papers and parchment onto the table. She saw her name on the top one; she didn't need to see the name on the other to know to whom it belonged. She swallowed hard and stared at the grain of the desk; she needed to be careful, she reflected dimly, and not overplay it.
"Well!" he said finally. "Been a busy week for both of us, huh?"
She said nothing, shifting slightly in her chair. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, arms loose and draping. "Don't know how you got away from Oan. Must've been harder than escaping me, eh?" He chuckled. "Or does he trust you? Doesn't seem much like a man given to trust, but some are weak to a pretty girl."
An made herself wince, as it was the proper response to the goad; within her, nothing moved. "... Make me an offer."
His eyes lit up, but his voice remained light, casual. An kept her gaze downcast, as if she didn't see the excitement in his eyes. "Eh? What do you mean, missy?"
"You want something from me, don't you, Captain Rosewater?" An kept her voice neutral - the careful neutrality of someone barely holding it together. "That was the point of all of this, wasn't it - imprisoning me in the first place, contacting Master Oan." She lifted her eyes to his. "So make me a deal."
"Hmmmm."Â He drew the syllable out, touching his tongue to his lips. "And if I say there will be no deal - that you will do as you're told, or your precious 'Master Oan' dies?"
An's voice remained impassive - both to play her part, and because she knew the threat was a feint. As was her response. "Then I kill you now, and as many of your men as I can on my way out."
He laughed. "You're not Oan - you know more will come, and that my replacement - or his - will get you and Oan both dead in the end."
"Yes, but that wouldn't help you much, now would it, Captain Rosewater?" An allowed drawing steel into her voice, permitted Rosewater's impending death into her eyes. "So the question is, Captain - how much is your life worth to you?"
For an endless moment, they stared into one another's eyes. Then he leaned back in his chair and pushed the two files toward her roughly with one hand. "Everything we have on you and Oan."
She opened her file, glancing quickly through it. Even wrapped in stillness as she was, she felt a momentary prick of respect; many of the documents within were originals or authenticated copies. A birth record from La Noscea with her true name, rather than the one her father had given her. A death record for him with his true Doman name, which he'd thought completely secret in his lifetime. Meticulous records of most of her kills. A few sealed affidavits - some of her clients had attempted to give her up, it seemed, whether under duress or for personal gain. And artist's renditions of Khamja and her work with them, the Master, Chuta, even a depiction of her last conversation with the Master at the beach before she'd turned herself in. It was likely enough to send her to the headsmen's block, all told - and even if they had copied the file, without some of these originals, the case would fall apart if attacked by a skilled barrister. At the very least, it represented years of investigation into her activities.
"I want signed assurances of immunity from prosecution, with the sultana's seal, for both myself and Master Oan," she said, then paused. "And upon my death, I want a sizable compensation paid directly to my estate."
Rosewater grunted, half-annoyed and half-amused, likely at her demands for still more after receiving the files. But then, he had brought the files in as nothing more than an additional bargaining chip. "Who said anything about you dying?" He smirked, confident of his victory now - after all, they were merely haggling over price at this point. "If you're skilled, you may even survive."
"And what exactly am I to be doing?" she asked, her voice tinged with just the right touch of asperity. Inwardly, she held her breath. Everything had led up to this moment - a baited trap, the irresistible urge to reveal his grand plan. She had come to him, vulnerable and alone but still defiant enough to threaten him and haggle over her price for cooperation. The temptation for him now would be to reveal, to awe, to reassert his power over her, to remind her that he'd won and he owned her now, no matter what files he surrendered.
He tossed his head back and laughed, his eyes closed. "Why, we're going to finish your beloved Master Oan's work, my dear - you will kill the Emperor of Garlemald."
People have forgotten this truth. But you mustn't forget it. You become responsible forever for what you have tamed.
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