Hi everyone! I’ve been thinking a lot about the Lowlifes, and I think we’re due for an important reminder: these are not good people. Let’s hang out with Rukes!
*
Rukes wondered, as they pulled a sheet so tightly around a mattress that you could bounce a silver coin off of it, when they’d started taking jobs like this. Long cons. There was something they liked about a long con, it was true. Maybe the normalcy of it. Don’t mind little Idzy, meandering along, changing sheets. They’re just the new chambermaid.
It was pretending, was what it was. Putting off the job. Work your way into someplace normal, forget that you were studying the Baron’s schedule like it was Sune’s Four Principles of Love, have people treat you like you were a somewhat rude but not unpleasant coworker. Maybe it counted as a vacation.
And to be fair, it had taken Rukes a rather long time to decide how to kill the Baron. Poison, blade, noose…or something subtler, something that looked like an accident. That took more planning, of course, which meant more time being a chambermaid.
“I could do this for a living,” Rukes muttered, fluffing each pillow with devastating skill. “Maybe I should quit.”
It was not the first time they’d had this thought. The sublimated rage that had first driven them to this profession was not consistent.
Fortunately, there were two things that were very consistent about being an assassin. One was the paycheck, and the other was—
“Idzy!” hissed a voice from the door.
Ah, annoying to not be allowed a moment to admire their work. Oh well. Rukes turned to see the housekeeper, Mavis, waving a frantic hand at them.
“What?” Rukes griped, joining Mavis in the doorway.
“Our lordship’s guests will be here any minute.” Her voice was quick and breathless. She’d run here, for whatever reason. “Are you finished?”
“Yes, only just.” Rukes squinted at her, searching her face. Not just out of breath…her eyes were shifting, searching the room behind them. “What’s wrong?”
“What could possibly be wrong?” Mavis snapped. “Go and find some extra blankets, just in case, and then you can eat something.”
“Glad to,” Rukes said sarcastically, crossing their arms, “so long as you tell me what’s up with these guests. Should I be worried or not?”
Mavis hesitated. Ah, Rukes loved being right.
“It’s just that these particular guests bring out the worst in our lordship,” Mavis muttered. “Last time they were here, it was…well.”
“How bad was it, Mavis?” Rukes said dryly.
“I would never besmirch his lordship’s name, but some suggest that he…killed a servant. A chambermaid.”
Oh, Mavis was concerned for Rukes. That was sweet. And hopelessly wrong-footed, but Rukes couldn’t help but appreciate the intention. Mavis was trying to get them to safety.
“Is that true?” Rukes said, allowing Mavis to shoo them out of the room.
“You didn’t hear it from me,” Mavis said. “Go, get the blankets so you can be off for the evening.”
*
Rukes strolled through the halls long after dinner with an armful of the blankets they did not procure earlier, wandering into the Baron’s chambers. They owed Mavis a debt of gratitude; the blankets had been just the inspiration they’d needed for this job. Some choice words and carefully placed wine to lure away his guards had done the rest. In fact, Rukes was relatively certain they wouldn’t even have to leave right away after the job was done—it always looked more suspicious if you did, on a long con, and it was so unprofessional to have people know your face and suspect you did it.
They moved silently—always, always silently—but given the smell of alcohol that permeated the rooms of these chambers, they needn’t have bothered. The Baron’s room, unguarded and dark, was filled with the sound of the man himself snoring.
All right. Now, the job.
Rukes put the blankets on a convenient chair, pulled a pair of handkerchiefs out of their pocket, and looped the Baron’s wrist gently to the bedposts, one after another. They knew this part would be easy because they’d already scoped out how the Baron slept—arms above his head, on his back, snoring like a small earthquake. They just needed to make sure that he didn’t fight back when he woke up.
And now, the coup de grâce. Rukes scooped up the blankets again, and made their way back to the Baron’s bedside.
And paused. The snoring had stopped.
Cautiously, Rukes took their position, finding the Baron straining against his bonds silently, eyes starting to stream, although from drink or fear Rukes wasn’t sure. He froze when he saw Rukes, terrified.
“Who are you?” the Baron rasped.
Now this was offensive. Rukes had spoken to the Baron—hell, they’d been flirted with. Why didn’t the man know his own servants? It’s like he was asking to get assassinated.
“Me?” Rukes said, nonchalant. “I’m the last face you’re going to see.”
And they pressed the blankets over the Baron’s head.
Smothering someone took a while, but it was easier when the person was already drunk and panicky. He didn’t struggle long.
Rukes checked his pulse, and then removed the handkerchiefs and placed them in their pocket again, repositioning the dead man’s arms as they went. He had died with his eyes opened; Rukes closed them carefully.
There. To anyone besides a skilled physician, the Baron had died in his sleep.
Rukes left the blanket that had touched the Baron’s face on his bed, spread out as if he had been cold, and took the rest, with the same steady pace, out of his chambers. And here it was, the other part of this job that was consistent, the thing, besides the money, that made it worthwhile to Rukes.
The satisfaction of a job well done.