Chapter17 The Unexpected Stratagem
The market square, usually bustling with activity, was eerily silent.
A tense atmosphere hung in the air, thick and heavy like a wool blanket in summer.
John Smith, a usually jovial farmer, stood with his hands clasped tightly, his face etched with worry.
He pointed towards a crudely drawn symbol etched into the cobblestones – a stylized dagger dripping with blood.
"This… this was found just an hour ago, Master Jack," John stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.
"They say… they say it's a mark of the Shadow Syndicate.
Assassins, sir.
"
Jack, instead of showing fear, raised an eyebrow.
Assassins?
This was starting to feel like a bad B-movie.
He had expected hispass through life to involve jousting tournaments and maybe a dragon or two, but assassins?
Seriously?
Returning to the castle, he found Isabella and Sophia anxiously awaiting news.
He explained the situation, his tone surprisingly calm.
Isabella paled, her hand flying to her throat.
"Assassins?
Jack, we must hide you!
"
Sophia, ever the pragmatist, narrowed her eyes.
"Who would want you dead?
"
Jack shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Probably someone who doesn't appreciate my killer dance moves at the last ball." He paused, then a slow grin spread across his face. "You know what?
Let's throw a party.
"
Isabella stared at him, dumbfounded.
"A party?
Jack, are you mad?
They're trying to *kill* you!
"
"Exactly," Jack replied, his grin widening.
"What assassin expects their target to throw a lavish banquet in their honor? It's the perfect counter-measure. Think of it as… a 'Surprise! You're Dead' party... for them, of course."
Thus began the most unconventional party planning in the history of the kingdom.
Jack, drawing on his memories of corporate team-building exercises and college frat parties, envisioned a spectacle that would both dazzle and disarm.
Tapestries were hung, musicians hired, and the kitchens worked overtime preparing a feast fit for a king – or, in this case, an assassin.
He even had Lady Eleanor, surprisingly adept at crafting, create a piñata shaped like a rather unfortunate-looking rat, a subtle nod to a certain infamous assassin's guild.
He instructed Lady Eleanor and Sophia on their roles in his grand scheme.
Lady Eleanor, with her sharp eye for detail and uncanny ability to blend into the background, was to be his eyes and ears, observing the guests for any suspicious behavior.
Sophia, with her burgeoning magical talent, would subtly weave protective enchantments around the banquet hall, creating an invisible shield against any unforeseen magical attacks.
It was a risky plan, bordering on insane, but it was their best shot.
The day of the party arrived, bringing with it a palpable tension.
Lord Blackwood, looking like a thundercloud in human form, arrived first.
He eyed the festive decorations with open disdain.
"A party, Jack? While assassins lurk in the shadows? This is sheer folly!"
Jack, dressed in his finest attire, simply smiled.
"On the contrary, Lord Blackwood, I believe a little celebration is exactly what we need to lighten the mood. Besides," he added with a wink, "wouldn't want to disappoint the guests of honor, now would we?"
As more guests arrived, including representatives from rival families known for their… less than savory methods, Jack greeted them with a disarming charm, his demeanor a carefully constructed facade of carefree nonchalance.
The tension in the air crackled like static electricity.
The inevitable provocations began.
Sneer remarks, veiled threats, and pointed questions aimed at undermining Jack's position and authority.
But Jack, like a seasoned internet troll, deftly deflected each barb with humor and wit, turning the insults into opportunities for self-deprecating jokes.
He even introduced a modified version of poker, using magically enchanted cards that displayed fantastical creatures instead of suits and numbers, captivating the younger nobles – even those from the rival families – and effectively diverting their attention from more sinister pursuits.
The atmosphere, though still charged, began to shift.
Laughter, albeit slightly nervous, filled the hall.
The clinking of goblets and the murmur of conversations replaced the tense silence.
Jack, seemingly oblivious to the underlying danger, moved through the crowd like a social butterfly, charming everyone with his easygoing manner and surprisingly engaging stories of… well, he couldn't exactly talk about his past life, so he improvised tales of daring exploits in far-off lands, filled with mythical creatures and improbable adventures.
As the evening wore on, a sense of unease settled in the pit of Jack's stomach.
Everything seemed… too perfect.
The guests were enjoying themselves, the atmosphere was light, and even Lord Blackwood seemed to have relaxed slightly.
It was as if the threat had simply vanished.
He caught Sophia's eye across the room.
She gave him a subtle nod, her expression unreadable.
Something was wrong.
He could feel it.
Turning back to the group he was entertaining, he forced a smile.
"Now, about that time I wrestled a griffin…" he began, his voice trailing off as he noticed a flicker of movement in the periphery.
"Excuse me for a moment," he murmured, a chill running down his spine.
"I believe I've just spotted the birthday boy…"
Jack's stomach churned.
"Significant" rarely meant good news, especially in a world where a misplaced comma could mean the difference between a royal feast and a royal execution.
He followed Lady Eleanor through the winding castle corridors, his mind racing.
What fresh hell awaited him in the village market?
A rogue cabbage cart?
A spontaneous outbreak of interpretive dance?
The market square was abuzz, not with the usual cheerful bartering, but with hushed whispers and anxious glances.
John Smith, a farmer Jack had befriended during his less-than-graceful attempts at haggling, spotted him and rushed over, his face etched with worry.
"Master Jack!
Thank the heavens you're here!
They're saying… they're saying…" John stammered, wringing his calloused hands.
"Spit it out, John!
" Jack urged, feeling a prickle of unease crawl up his spine.
"They're saying there's an assassin!
Sent for you!
"
Jack blinked.
An assassin?
Him?
He was just a moderately competent magic apprentice trying to navigate the complexities of aristocratic life, not some powerful warlord worth assassinating.
This had to be a mistake.
Unless… He shot a glance at Isabella, whose usual serene expression was replaced with a mask of concern.
Could this be connected to the Blackwood family's ongoing feud?
"Right," Jack said, forcing a casual shrug.
"An assassin.
Well, that's just… delightful.
"
Instead of panicking, or seeking the protection of Lord Blackwood's guards, Jack did something entirely unexpected.
He marched straight to the nearest tavern, the Rusty Flagon, and ordered the largest, greasiest plate of sausages and ale he could find.
"Are you mad?
" Sophia hissed, her eyes wide with disbelief.
"There's an assassin after you, and you're ordering a second breakfast?
"
"Precisely," Jack replied, through a mouthful of sausage.
"Think about it.
What's the first thing an assassin expects his target to do?
Hide.
Cower.
Surround themselves with guards.
I'm doing the opposite.
I'm making myself a highly visible, and frankly, rather pungent target.
"
Isabella, though still worried, couldn't help but be amused.
"You're… baiting the assassin with sausages?
"
"Exactly!
" Jack grinned.
"It's the unusual counter-measure.
They'll never see it coming.
" He winked at Elara Moonshade, the enigmatic advisor who had recently joined their circle.
She offered a subtle nod, a hint of amusement in her eyes.
She seemed to appreciate the unorthodox approach.
As Jack continued his theatrical consumption of sausages and ale, the whispers in the market intensified.
People pointed and stared, some with fear, others with morbid curiosity.
He even heard a few wagers being placed on how long he'd last.
Then, it happened.
A glint of steel flashed from a nearby rooftop.
Jack, who had been subtly scanning the crowd, saw it out of the corner of his eye.
He let out a theatrical yell, dropping to the floor just as a crossbow bolt whizzed over his head, embedding itself in the unfortunate sausage platter.
The crowd erupted in chaos.
Lord Blackwood's guards, finally spurred into action, scrambled to find the attacker.
Jack, meanwhile, lay sprawled on the tavern floor, amidst spilled ale and scattered sausage remnants, a wide grin plastered on his face.
This was certainly more exciting than haggling for cabbages.
"Perhaps," he muttered to himself, spitting out a stray crumb, "I should add 'assassin bait' to my list of marketable skills."