A three-toothed, nearly bald old man was crouched in the shadows of the alley I had just turned into. He began staring hard at me, as if he held the map to my soul.

I move to wait elsewhere, but he whispers creakily. “I know your future.”

I sigh heavily, annoyed at the distraction. I know his type; he will follow me until I respond. “Well? Let’s have it.”

“First tell me mine.” His cloudy eyes shine with poorly disguised greed.

I am supposed to deny ability to see the future, which will prompt him to demand payment instead. If I am foolish enough to agree, he will spoon-feed me vague tripe until I am penniless. I hate his kind.

“Your future?” I pretend poorly to be stumped, but quickly tire of the ruse. “Easy.”

“I see death.” I carelessly flick my wrist at him, and the metal of his fate winks in the light.

His last breath rattles around the dagger in his throat. His expression: pure shock, devoid of fear.

Clearly a charlatan. Had he any true future knowledge, he would not have flagged me down. I tug my weapon from him and wipe the blood on his beggar rags.

“Pitiful. Seeking special knowledge of the future.” No man has need for seer’s wisdom; death is everyone’s future. Exact knowledge only matters to cowards.

I reset the throwing dagger in my sleeve and move to a different spying position. For a moment, I consider whether the beggar’s body may give me away. No, a dead beggar in an alley matters little, perhaps even less, across from a rich man’s villa.

As I settle in and wait for my true quarry to emerge, I fill with disgust for both the fortune-beggar’s arrogance and the folly of those who would have believed him. Why waste life merely postponing death?

I live in constant danger, but I have never blinked. I will die as surprised as the fortune-beggar, and I refuse to be a coward up to it.