Be a dear and refresh my drink for me, would you?" I glanced at Andrew and his eyes narrowed. I better be good here. Just do as your told. You can do ...t. "Yes, Miss Lydia," I said, stacking the plates and putting them aside. While I was pouring her a new drink, they talked quietly amongst themselves. Why did I feel so left out? Why did I feel the need to be 'in the loop'? Was it a hangover from my vanilla days? What do I do if she starts commanding me? Surely Andrew won't let her. And damn. I have the wisdom of my own ancestry.So I wouldn’t be the Old Man of the Mountain, father of all assassins, but rather would I be his friend the poet who sat under a tree by the fountain in the royal courtyard, paid a monthly stipend in gold with which to drink and think about sex and to write about thinking and drinking.After all who now can recall the political reasons or pure greed which motivated the drug addled murders of the hashishins- while every one even now recognize at least two. More

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