garrattj

Five-Minute fiction - 12:58-13:03

The wind whipped over the cart, tugging the hood of Grims cloak back, and threatening to rearrange his perfectly quaffed hair, but neither Grim nor Darker had any time or energy to focus on that. The near constant barrage of projectiles was proving to be an ample distraction. A heavy crossbow bolt thudded into a crate to near Grims leg and he squawked like a surprised chicken, though without the comedic effect of producing an egg, and shifted sideways hoping the pile of crates would provide better protection.

Darker snapped the reins driving the horses on harder as they sped through the streets of the City. People threw themselves out of the way, some waved and there was a distinct air expectation.

Where the hell are the police? Darker screamed.

I think you, perhaps, the first assassin in history to ever utter those words, Grim replied as he reloaded his crossbow and peered around one of the crates. A bolt shuddered into the woodwork near to his head and he promptly returned to his hiding place.

I am sure, I am not, but nevertheless