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and especially so for “the room on the second floor, in the far back corner,” as the old woman had so willingly supplied.
    By early evening it began to rain and Jeda tried to edge farther back into the alcove, but the slight overhang did little to protect him from the drizzle.   He leaned forward to get a better view with the coming darkness and a cold drop of rain hit his neck, slowly making its way down his back.   He sighed as he saw the candle still burning in the small window across the alley and leaned back into his cover.  
    It was going to be a long night.

Chapter 3 – The Touch of Fate
     
    The candle continued to burn in the window, but the rain stopped shortly after midnight.   As the storm clouds cleared, the slums of Constantine became more distinct.   This place was definitely one of hell’s holes.   Jeda washed himself in a rainwater barrel he found on the rooftop and changed from the beggar’s clothes he had worn into his assassin’s dark clothing.   The air was filled with the stench of death and decay, but at least it was not coming from him any longer.   No amount of rain could wash away the smell from the dead bodies on the rooftop or the stench that came from the streets and alleyway below.    
    These slums were overflowing with cramped buildings, stacked closely together, separated by narrow, twisting alleyways filled with refuse and garbage.   There were no clean-up details assigned to the slums, so what was thrown into the alleyways--what the rats or stray dogs did not eat--generally stayed there.   The only exception was the bodies of the dead.   As soon as a body was discovered, the local constabulary was notified and they made arrangements to dispose of it.   This was not done out of some sense of duty or justice.   It was much more basic to the self-survival instincts of the locals and constables alike.   Fear of plague and its excruciating death was the underlying motivation for body cleanup.  
    Jeda surveyed the indistinct shadows of his handiwork on the rooftop and knew the constables and cleanup crews would earn their pay tomorrow.   He listened to the chitter and scampering of the slum rats as they found the feast he had left them, but aside from that, the night was quiet.  
    His surveillance left him the time to ponder his target and her choices.   His first thought was why she was not staying at a coven with her sister witches.   They would have been able to provide her with a measure of security and a more comfortable, congenial environment to care for her babies.   Not that it would have stopped Jeda, but the added security of a coven would have made his assignment more interesting.   The only logical answer he could come up with was she was running from them as well as the Berkshire family.   The desperate and destitute lived in these slums and Jeda decided she must feel at home here.   Her reasons and choices did not really matter to him; it was just something to pass the time as he waited for her to go to sleep.   Once he killed her and delivered her children to the Countess of Berkshire, he would be done with the whole affair and on to his next assignment.
    The moon finally broke through the dissipating rain clouds and its light afforded Jeda a better view of her building.   The lone window of her room had scant protection: a threadbare cloth covering that barely held out the elements.   The window would provide easy access for Jeda’s entry, but the rain had made everything a slick mess.   He studied the outside of the dilapidated building and memorized the handholds and ledges that he would use in his climb to reach her.  
    As he surveyed the building, his sixth sense flared again and a disturbing feeling swept over him.   He had always thought of these feelings as his curse, his assassin’s curse: to be able to discern unknown danger before it happened.   It often left him second-guessing himself and the choices he made.   It was hard to