Weapon of Fear (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy II Book 1)

by Chris A. Jackson

  Graving looked annoyed. “Why bring it to me? If you know where he is, tell the chief constable to have him arrested.”

  “Chief Magistrate, I was instructed to relate this information to your ear only.” Hoseph cast a sidelong glance at the butler.

  “Oh, very well. Come in. Bentley, get out.”

  “Yes, Chief Magistrate.” The butler bowed and left.

  Two leather-upholstered chairs fronted the magistrate’s desk, but Graving made no offer. Instead, he jammed his pen in his inkwell and leaned back in his chair, ink-stained fingers nesting upon his formidable belly. “Well, what’s so important that it couldn’t wait until I was in my office tomorrow?”

  Hoseph took a steadying breath before speaking. He would have to play this carefully until he was sure of Graving’s allegiance. “There are those, Chief Magistrate, who are concerned about the direction in which Crown Prince Arbuckle is taking this empire.”

  “Direction! There is no direction! It’s utter chaos! He’ll be serving the bloody commoners our heads on silver platters if he keeps it up!” Graving narrowed his eyes. “What does this have to do with the traitor priest?”

  Hoseph struggled not to smile. Now that he knew Graving and he were of the same mind, he made his opening move. “First, let me assure you that High Priest Hoseph is no traitor to the empire. He served our emperor dutifully, though his tasks were necessarily not as publically acclaimed as your own. He had nothing to do with the emperor’s death, but was privy to many of Tynean Tsing’s confidences. He was forced to flee rather than be compelled to divulge the emperor’s secrets.”

  “How do you know this? If—” Graving’s piggish eyes widened. “Good gods, it’s you!” His hand reached behind the desk.

  “Please, Chief Magistrate, don’t do anything rash! If you betray my trust, I’ll simply vanish. I’m sure you’ve heard the story of how I escaped the dungeons, so you know I can do it.” Hoseph fingered the tiny silver skull, ready to flee, but praying to Demia that he wouldn’t have to. “Do you want rumors to spread that you met with a traitor? And do you truly want Arbuckle to be your next emperor?”

  “Of course not! The man’s a disaster!” The magistrate pulled a small silver flask from one of the desk drawers. Unscrewing the cap, he tilted it into his mouth with a quivering hand. “Your question implies that Arbuckle’s ascension to the throne isn’t assured.”

  Hoseph spread his hands and smiled. “You know the saying, ‘The only sure things in life are taxes…’”

  “…and death.” Graving glanced warily around the office as if he expected someone to hear his whisper. He tilted the flask again. “What does this have to do with me?”

  The interest in Graving’s eyes warmed Hoseph’s heart. He was in. The priest settled into one of the leather chairs. “It takes time to arrange such matters, but that’s my job. Your job will be to organize a network of nobles and magistrates who think the way we do. Their jobs will be to prevent Crown Prince Arbuckle from getting the support he needs to make significant changes in the interim.”

  “He’s making trouble enough with his blasted edicts, and he won’t need the nobles’ support after he’s crowned.”

  “He’ll never be crowned.”

  Graving digested this information and his thick lips twitched. “All right. I’ll draw up a list of potential—”

  “No, Chief Magistrate. This is too sensitive an undertaking to put names to parchment. Besides, I can’t just go around visiting nobles. Not only would it draw attention, but each encounter with the constabulary increases the chance that someone will recognize me. You will visit our prospective allies. If you decide that they’re worthy of our cause, and our trust, have them pen a mundane invitation that will allow me to visit them without suspicion or undue scrutiny.”

  “You’re very devious.”

  “I’m very careful.” Hoseph nodded respectfully. “When I talk with them, I’ll invite them all to a meeting to discuss the situation.”

  “When do you want to have this meeting?”

  “Tomorrow evening.”

  Graving pursed his pudgy lips. “That will take some doing, but the sooner the better, I suppose. Arbuckle’s already causing riots. The way things are going, we’ll have people begging to join our conspiracy.”

  Hoseph frowned. “Conspiracy is an ugly word. We’ll be the saviors of this empire, nothing less.”

  “Saviors…” Graving considered for a moment. “Yes. I like that better. Now, Duke Tessifus is next in line for the throne, but he doesn’t seem the type to join this sort of…endeavor. Should I—”

  Hoseph was already shaking his head. “Tessifus has already been taken care of.” At least, if Lady T has done her job. “He’ll cooperate when the time comes.”

  “I see. Very well, I’d best get moving.” Graving heaved up from his chair.

  “Be discreet, Chief Magistrate. Tell them only enough to enlist their cooperation. We must keep this group small and be absolutely sure of those we recruit. There can be no chance of betrayal.”

  “Do give me some credit.” Graving sniffed, then looked suspiciously at Hoseph. “What do you intend to do if someone declines?"

  Hoseph met the man’s gaze calmly. “Don’t worry. People won’t be dropping dead immediately after you’ve visited them. That would be noticed. Just let me know if you suspect a problem, and I’ll deal with it.”

  “All right. But how discreet will a meeting of nobles and magistrates be? Hardly anyone is leaving their houses with the current unrest. Where in the Nine Hells will we meet?”

  “Leave that to me. I’ll transport everyone magically so there’ll be no chance of someone seeing us come and go.”

  Graving blanched. “I’d…rather not.”

  “I didn’t ask you what you would rather, Chief Magistrate.” Hoseph surveyed the room, memorizing it for later use. “The only other option is to risk discovery. Now, on with your task. I’ll come for the invitations at precisely nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Be here in this room…alone.”

  Mya clenched her jaw as she stepped out of the dry-goods store into the darkening street. Ten strides took her to a narrow alley and she ducked inside, stepping around the piles of trash. Loosing the reins on her frustration, she smashed her fist against the wall. Mortar crumbled and two bricks cracked under the blow. The bones of her fist also undoubtedly fractured, but she felt no pain, and the injury healed instantly. Leaning her forehead against the cool bricks, she sighed. Her day had not gone well.

  Clemson’s directions had been good, and Mya had no problem finding the other masters’ offices. That was where her luck ended.

  She’d visited Master Blade Noncey first. Tall, broad-shouldered without looking brawny, and good looking, he reminded her of Sereth. Despite the city-wide law banning swords to all except constables and nobles—or perhaps because of it—he did a good business supplying ne’er-do-wells with all manner of dangerous implements, some of which she’d never even heard of before.

  Master Hunter Umberlin proved as slimy as Noncey had been suave. An obsequious little man with a bald pate and a smarmy smile, he made her skin crawl. He seemed less like a Hunter than an Inquisitor.

  Or a solicitor, she thought.

  The two men had one thing in common; like Clemson, neither would acknowledge her without Lady T’s endorsement. She doubted the last two masters would prove more amenable.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Mya forced down despair. Why did I ever think that I could pull this off? Lady T’s right—just because I wear the Grandmaster’s ring doesn’t mean I’m in control of the guild.

  Scuffling footsteps at the mouth of the alley drew Mya’s attention.

  Five figures advanced, fanning out to block her exit. Did Umberlin send people after me? That seemed foolish, but then she saw that none of the figures was very large or very old. Not yet teens, she estimated, relaxing. Street urchins?

  “Good evenin’, lady.” The boy in the fore looked to be the eldest, wiry,
in torn britches and a canvas shirt, a rusty kitchen knife in one grimy hand. “Out for a stroll?”

  I do not need this right now. Mya was exhausted from her lack of sleep, frustrated by her lack of progress, and had an hour-long walk back to her inn. To add insult to injury, her stomach growled loudly.

  “What I’m doing is none of your business. And you’re in my way, so move.” She stepped forward.

  As if on some silent command, the other youths all pulled out weapons, though more pitiful than fearsome. One boy wielded a broken bottle, while another brandished a board with a protruding nail. A third boy held two stout sticks, and beside him a girl with a twisted leg twirled a makeshift sling. Stopping, Mya looked behind her, but the alley was a dead end, strewn with rotting crates and refuse.

  The leader stood his ground, the knife steady. “I don’t think so, lady. Now cough up your purse or you’ll be coughing up blood. It’s both the same to us.”

  Mya regarded them critically. The boy’s eyes glinted with desperation, and the rest were no better. They were all malnourished, with prominent collar bones and wiry ropes of muscle under grimy skin. They were on the edge—rejected, abandoned, fighting to survive.

  She’d been there once.

  Years ago, living on the streets of Twailin, not quite a child but not yet a woman, her belly tight with hunger, Mya had known that desperation. They would take everything she had, or die trying. They didn’t know the monster they faced.

  But even a monster doesn’t kill children.

  “I tell you what.” Mya fished a gold crown from the pouch at her belt and held it up. “Take this and—”

  The blow to the back of Mya’s head came without warning, hard enough to send her sprawling. Stars exploded in her vision, and the cobblestone street came up to smash her in the face. Blinking hard, she shook the ringing from her ears.

  “Finish her, Knock.”

  Instinct took over. Mya thrust her palms hard against the cobbles, kicking out in the direction the blow had come from. Her shoe struck something solid. As she landed on her feet, she caught a glimpse of a squat girl wearing only short breeches and a rag tied around her chest tumbling backward into the refuse in which they had apparently been hiding.

  The girl landed with a crash, and lay there for a moment staring at Mya. An ugly little thing, the girl peered out from beneath a jutting brow, her gaping mouth full of crooked teeth, with one prominent tusk jutting up from the left side of her lower jaw. She looked strong, and clutched an axe handle in one broad fist. Thankfully the axe head was missing, or Mya’s brains would have been dashed across the side of the building.

  How the hell did she get close without me hearing her? Mya didn’t have time to ponder the question.

  The rest of the urchins attacked.

  As the lead boy slashed with his rusty knife, Mya caught his wrist and wrenched the weapon away, then planted a foot on his chest and sent him flying. With a twist of her wrist, she used the flat of the blade to deflect a sling stone aimed at her head. She batted away the nail-studded board an inch before it pierced her skull, and dropped that boy to his knees with a kick to the gut. She’d pulled most of the force from her blows, unwilling to kill.

  These little ruffians are playing for keeps!

  A stick cracked her shoulder as the boy with two clubs flailed at her. Mya smacked his knuckles with the back of the rusty knife hard enough to send one of the sticks flying from his grasp. Snatching it, she shattered the last boy’s broken bottle in his hand, eliciting a startled yelp. Stick boy struck again. Mya parried with the knife and slapped aside another stone slung by the crippled girl. The board came down at her head again as the boy she’d kicked in the gut recovered. She dropped the knife and flung up a hand to catch the blow. The nail pierced her palm.

  Enough is enough!

  Mya jerked the board from the boy’s hand and cracked it across the lead boy’s wrist as he tried to recover his fallen knife. She batted another slung stone away with her stolen stick, then flung the club at the girl, striking her square in the forehead. Bending under the next stroke of the stick wielder, she swept his feet out from under him. Sling girl and stick boy both hit the ground hard.

  “Knock!”

  Mya whirled to see the axe handle coming at her. She braced the board stuck to her hand to intercept the blow, but it snapped under the impact. The hardwood shaft smashed into Mya’s face, and she felt her cheekbone shatter.

  The kids fell back, panting with their efforts, wide-eyed to see their foe still standing.

  Mya bit back ice-cold rage and spat blood. She might have just walked away, but for some unfathomable reason, she couldn’t. Instead, she shook her head, felt the bones of her face click back into place as she pulled the nail from her hand and flung the broken board away. Grinning at their surprise, she spat another mouthful of blood at the feet of the stocky girl who had twice hammered her.

  “You’re good with that stick.”

  “Knock!” The girl’s lip curled back from her crooked teeth in either a snarl or a grin, Mya couldn’t tell. “Knock knock!

  She swung again, lightning quick, but Mya wouldn’t underestimate her again. Leaning back, she let the axe handle miss her head by a hair’s breadth.

  “But not that good.” Mya reached out and slapped the girl on both cheeks.

  The girl blinked in surprise, then grimaced. “Knock!” She swung again.

  Mya ducked the blow, reached out to slap her twice more, harder this time. The girl stumbled back, blinked. Amazingly, tears rolled down her cheeks. “Knock!”

  “Stop it!” The lead boy stepped between them and glared at Mya. “Don’t you hit her like that!”

  They all glared at her, murder in their eyes.

  Mya couldn’t believe this. “She was trying to kill me, and you’re mad because I slapped her?”

  “Killin’s part of livin’,” the boy said. “But there ain’t no call for slappin’ her like she was some bratty kid!”

  “What?”

  “She ain’t your kin. You got no right to slap her like she was your blood.”

  A memory rushed through Mya’s mind, so real that she felt the sting of her mother’s open hand on her cheek, her ears ringing with the blow. She remembered the gut-wrenching anguish of being abused and humiliated. These urchins may have attacked her, but they were still children. She was the one who should know better. Killing was survival. Torment was just wanton cruelty.

  “I’m…sorry.”

  Again they stared at her. Perhaps they’d never heard an apology from an adult before.

  “What are you, lady?” The boy took a step back and the others with him. “Knock put you down. Nobody gets up when Knock puts ’em down.”

  Monster… “You don’t want to know what I am.”

  She watched as the lead boy pulled the crippled girl to her feet and tried to wipe her bloody forehead clean with his filthy shirt tail. Stick boy helped pluck glass splinters from the hand of the boy who had wielded the broken bottle, while the crossbreed girl watched over her companions protectively. They might be homeless urchins, but they were tough and they were loyal.

  And they were leaving. Slowly, they slunk back into the shadows.

  “Wait!” Mya surprised herself with the outburst. Loyalty…desperation…street smart…hungry! “I have a proposal for you!”

  They stopped but didn’t come back. Mya pulled another coin out of her pouch and held it up. She had to be frugal if she wanted her money to last until she had won over the guild, but this seemed a smart investment.

  “You already have one crown. That should feed you well enough for a while, but if you want to eat every day, come work for me.”

  The urchins inched forward.

  “What kind of work?” asked the lead boy.

  “Knock!” The girl who had nearly spattered Mya’s brains across the street grinned and smacked her stick into her palm.

  Mya held up a forestalling hand. “Not exactly that kind of work.
I need someone I can trust to watch while I sleep. Someone’s trying to kill me.”

  “Kill you?” The boy shook his head. “Dunno if I want to fight nobody who could kill you. Knock put you down, and you popped up like you was some spring toy!”

  “You wouldn’t have to fight, just watch and warn me.” Mya’s mind spun as she considered other ways in which she might use the urchins. Street kids like these were ubiquitous in a city like Tsing, utterly ignored as long as they weren’t making trouble. “And maybe do a little spying. You can fight, and you’re tough, but I need smart, too. I need you to be quiet and sneaky and watch people for me. Do you think you can do that in exchange for food? If it works out, I’ll see about getting you a dry place to sleep and better clothes, too.”

  The children looked at one another, more communication passing in their glances than most people accomplished with whole sentences. Each nodded in turn.

  “Okay.” The lead boy hooked a thumb at himself. “I’m Digger.” He pointed to the others in turn. Nestor was the boy with the broken glass in his hand, and Gimp the girl with the twisted leg. The boy with the two sticks they called Twigs, and the boy who had nearly put a nail through Mya’s skull was called, appropriately, Nails. The crossbreed girl, of course, was Knock.

  “I’m Mya.” She looked them over and grimaced at their injuries. “I hope I didn’t do any permanent damage.”

  “Nah.” Digger flexed his injured wrist. “Nothin’ broke. A few scratches.”

  “Good.” She considered them. “Don’t the rest of you speak?”

  “Not to strangers.” Digger tapped himself on the chest. “I’m oldest. I do the talkin’.”

  “Right.” She bit her lip, wondering how she could manage to get them all where she needed them. If anyone saw her walking with a gaggle of urchins in tow like a row of ducklings, there would be too many questions. “You know where the Tin Dulcimer is?”

  “Sure. Big fancy inn near the river.”

  No one Mya knew would have called the Dulcimer fancy. “Meet me in the alley behind the inn. I’ll bring food and we’ll talk.”

  “Okay.” Digger nodded and the urchins followed him out of the alley.