I pretended to stumble. His lordship skewered me straight between the ribs. The impact tore a strangled sound from my throat. Blood spilled, stupid amounts of it. I fell into him and caught a handful of his coat.
I clutched it, scrabbled at it trying to rip it out of me, barely felt it bite into my bare hands.
I clutched and scrabbled at it; trying to rip it out, barely feeling it bite into my bare hands.
Tombstones pushed up out of the sea of mist like the bones of broken ships. A grave nearby had been hacked open and the mouldering bones scattered in the search for valuables. The skull grinned at me from atop the tombstone, dirt still clinging to discoloured bone, a worm wriggling in one socket.
I’d assumed anyone who wanted to meet in a graveyard was an idiot in search of cheap thrills; now I was thinking that graveyards were isolated. Good places to kill.

Karsten wrote:I couldn't find quite the right word - the English language doesn't seem to have an exact term for "bad guys who kill you and resurrect you from the dead to make you their minion as part of a conspiracy".Any takers?
My master hadn’t let employers rattle him. Listen to the money, that was his rule. Even the gold wasn’t singing to me quite so sweetly any more. “If I looked like an assassin I’d be dead already. I’m a professional. I kill people. That’s not something I shout to the rafters.”
For all that he looked twenty years older than me, he’d drawn with the speed of a striking snake, so I’d have to be faster still. Maybe I could reach the dagger in my boot in time.