Nothing moved in the street except a few flakes of snow, the first snow of the season was beginning. Footsteps echoed in the distance and the sky rumbled as a plane passed overhead. Vaughn Smith stood on the dark street waiting, listening. The quiet sounds of the night were interrupted by the buzzing of his watch. He jumped, startled, and switched it off. He glanced around to see if anyone was around to hear but the street was empty, no one witnessed his small blunder.
He pulled his fedora down and his collar up in a vain attempt to keep himself warm. He shivered, breathed out a cloud of white vapor and watched it slowly disperse in the dim light of the street lamp. He glanced up at the banner strung across the street that read ‘Happy New Year - 1914′ as it swayed in the breeze.
He heard a faint click and watched as the door of the hotel across the street opened. A short man in his early twenties stepped out and pulled his coat firmly around him. The man pushed his glasses back up his nose as he descended the stairs and hopped on to the icy street. He hurried down the sidewalk.
Vaughn followed, crossing the street slowly and keeping to the shadows.
The man reached the intersection and paused at the curb. Startled, he looked down the side street. He paused a second before heading toward whoever or whatever had drawn his attention, disappearing behind the building.
The crack of a gun shot echoed from every direction.
Vaughn broke into a run. He reached the intersection, turned the corner and saw… nothing. The short man was nowhere to be seen. He pulled out his gun as he ran down the street a few yards.
It took a minute before he spotted the body. The short man slumped against the wall of the building, hidden in the shadows of a staircase. Blood was forming a puddle around the body. Vaughn tested for a pulse but the man was dead.
There was no one else in sight.
“Shit!” he yelled. “God Dammit!”
A flash like lightning illuminated the sky.
Thunder rumbled and rain began to pour. Alex Rylee glanced at his watch. Midnight exactly. He slipped off his horse and stood surveying his target, a small group of tents in the valley below.
Alex dropped the horses rein’s and slapped its hind quarters sending it galloping away. He had no more use for the beast and decided setting it free was the easiest form of disposal. It disappeared into the dark of the night.
His eye twitched for a moment, then he headed down the hill.
As he approached the encampment, Alex heard the whisper of breath from somewhere in the dark. He stopped short and dropped to a crouch, it only took him a second to locate the guard hidden from view behind some brush. There were usually two guards posted at each compass point, but he had not expected them to be further than a few feet from the edge of the camp.
He reached under his tunic and, in a single motion, he slipped the gun from its holster and screwed the silencer into place. Then, moving stealthily through the mud and rain, Alex got him in his sights and fired. With barely a sound, he slumped over dead. Alex watched as the guard’s sword fell to the ground by the muddy corpse.
There was a rustle of movement and a second guard appeared a few feet away. His feet squelched through the mud to where the first lay motionless. He began to cry out, sound the alarm, but managed less than a syllable before Alex fired again and the guard stumbled and fell back into the brush. A final shot and he was dead.
Alex slipped the gun into his belt and headed into the camp, keeping low.
He moved through the rows of identical animal skin tents, toward the center of the encampment where the largest tent stood. As Alex crept closer he spotted another guard by the entrance. He reached for his gun but stopped, the guard was fast asleep.
Alex stole past the guard and into the tent. He took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness inside. On the cot to the left of him was a stocky man covered by a large camel skin, he snored quietly. Alex turned to the opposite side of the tent where his target lay.
The small boy slept silently on the bare cot.
He stepped over to the boy and pulled out his gun.
A minute later a mournful cry from the tent woke the guard. He scrambled to his feet and ran inside where he found the King cradling his young motionless son. Blood ran from a strange wound in the boy’s forehead. The guard stepped back outside and looked around.
There was no one else in sight.
The doors to the Green Dragon swung open and Vaughn Smith stepped inside. The pub’s usual dust covered counters and empty stools had given way to a packed crowd of singing patrons. Vaughn knew immediately that something was wrong.
He pulled the fedora from his head and sidled up to the bar, sitting down on one of the few vacant stools. He waited while the bartender served a round of beer to one of the more boisterous of the groups before heading down to his end of the bar.
“Hello Reg,” Vaughn said, getting the bartender’s attention. “Business seems to be good.”
“Oh, very good, very good,” Reg said. “What’ll you have, the usual?”
“Sure thing, Reg.”
Reg turned to the row of bottles on the shelf behind him. A group at the back of the pub began shouting out a song and soon everyone was singing along. Vaughn watched, a little confused, the war wasn’t going well and rationing was only a year away. These people didn’t have anything to celebrate for a long time yet. Maybe it was somebody’s birthday, he thought. He decided to ignore his concerns. He had more important matters to attend to.
Vaughn turned back to the bar where Reg had returned with a bottle of gin. He poured some into a small glass and handed it to Vaughn. The man on the stool next to them, who had obviously drunk too much, dropped his glass to the floor. It bounced and rolled across the ground. Beer spilled down the floor boards.
“Oi!” Reg shouted. “Watch it mate!”
The man groaned and put his head on the bar.
“What’s going on here, Reg?” Vaughn asked, letting curiosity get the best of him.
Reg turned to him wide eyed. “You haven’t heard yet?”
“I guess not.” Vaughn said. He glanced over at a pair having a contest to see who could drink their beer the fastest.
Reg was still staring at him. “Here I was, thinking you knew everything.”
“Obviously not.”
“I can’t believe it.” Reg said, filling a beer for one of the other patrons. “The biggest news of the century and the all-knowing Vaughn hasn’t heard yet.”
“Just spit it out, Reg,” Vaughn said, an annoyed tone rising in his voice. “What’s happened?”
Reg passed the beer to a short man standing behind Vaughn.
“Keep the change,” the man said, flipping Reg a coin. “I still can’t believe the war is already over.”
Vaughn turned to the man behind him. “The war is over?”
The man laughed and walked away, sipping at his beer.
“They called a cease-fire this morning.” Reg smiled.
“It’s not possible!” Vaughn said in disbelief.
“I know,” Reg said refilling Vaughn’s glass. “It’s great news though. A lot of people could have died otherwise.”
“But it’s supposed to go on for another couple of years!” Vaughn said. He glanced at his watch.
There was a flash like lightening from outside.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Reg said, slapping his hand on the bar.
“It means, Reg,” Vaughn sighed. “Someone is still making changes and I have to stop them.”
Vaughn glanced at his watch. He squeezed his eyes shut and threw the gin down his throat. He held them closed tight for a minute and let the silence rush over him. When he opened them again the pub was empty. Everyone had vanished, replaced by dust and cobwebs.
He dropped a couple of coins on the bar next to his fedora, stood up and walked through the broken doors.
“Dammit.” He mumbled to himself.
The street outside was dead silent. A few pages of an old newspaper fluttered down the street caught up in the dry wind. Vaughn pulled up his collar and stepped off the curb.
There was no one else in sight.
