Jahn's breath seemed to rattle in his throat. He reviewed his plans, fiddled with the clasp of his cloak. His benefactors had arranged for a stash of weapons to be concealed within the attic of a nearby house, so he could slip into the city unarmed, kill the king, and then disappear like dust in the wind. He thought back to memorising the maps of the city, tried to bring them up in his mind's eye. It remained blank Breathe! His pulse raced, a sea of faces pressed around him, his ears filled with the wash of a million voices. He tried to remember the all important details of the plan, but could not. The stress pressed in on him, crushing his brain. The smells of cooking fat from food stalls filled his head with cloying pressure. A bubble formed in his ears, the unbearable pressure pressing his brain against his skull.
