Assassin

February 12, 1720 - a dark back alley in Tortuga
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"So? Is she dead?" the pirate client growled.

"I investigated, and it is as you claimed... Chantilly Angevin is Mean Celestine. Unfortunately the warrant you produced is now useless, as she has been exonerated for Armand Maugan's murder," Dihya explained quietly.
"Ye calls that progress? I coulda told ye that. Mean Celestine is legend now, e'en here in th' pirate settlements..." the client raised his voice angrily. "Why do she still breathe, Rousseau? I do believe ye said you could handle this, did ye not?"

Dihya sighed. "It is not as simple as I first thought."

"Not SIMPLE? Rousseau. Mean Celestine killed my brother. I paid you to find her and kill her. How can it get any more simple than that?"

Dihya looked at the client steadily, careful not to betray her emotion. She understood the man's outrage, for she felt it herself every time she saw Chantilly dart by on the docks of Grenville. She knew that Mean Celestine had dodged quite the bullet, and the injustice irked her.

Not that Armand Maugan hadn't been a bad man who deserved death; her own spies had confirmed that Maugan was indeed involved with some shady deals. And it wasn't that Captain Redcross hadn't deserved his fiery end either - he was a notoriously cruel pirate, if there was any room for someone like Dihya to pass judgment.

It was just the principle, really, that annoyed Dihya most, that just because Chantilly seemed meek and harmless, her execution had been prevented by not one, but two esteemed Confederates, both of which Dihya had previously thought to be intelligent, honorable men. She fought the instinct to roll her eyes at how they had clearly thought more with their desires than their minds. A girl like Chantilly was clearly a danger to the Confederacy.

"So are ye up to this or not, Rousseau?" the client asked again coldly.

But here Dihya was, herself caught in a situation much similar, caught between heart and mind. She had made the mistake of letting her guard down around Lisette von Klein, someone she had grown fond of over the past few weeks, and had confided in her the assassination mission - only to find out that completing it would put her at odds with Lisette, who also seemed convinced that Chantilly would be harmless.

She had promised Lisette that she would not carry out the assassination, and had relied on more reconnaisance, hoping that something would turn up a bit of proof that Chantilly was not the cold-blooded murderer that she'd been hired to kill, but nothing had turned up. And yet, Dihya hestitated, on account of Lisette. The thought of upsetting her ached deeply, in ways that Dihya did not understand...

Dihya shook her head at the client. "No. I am not up to this anymore. I will refund your advance immediately." She reached for the bag of doubloons inside her coat. Suddenly, a sharp pain hit her torso, and she looked down to see a sword sticking deep into her side. The pain was nearly unbearable, and she fell back against the wall of the dark alley.

The client smiled. "Keep the money, Rousseau," he smirked, yanking the sword back out as she doubled over in what appeared to be pain. The man let down his guard then in a fatal mistake, as Dihya was not only in pain, but also grabbing her pistol, which she aimed and shot directly into the man's back.

She slid down the alley wall, trying to control her rising panic, as she tore slits into her clothing with her cutlass and quickly managed a makeshift bandage. She then eased herself onto the ground next to the now-dead client, and hoped she would still be alive in the morning.