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

by Chris A. Jackson

  “Does seem like you’re paddlin’ upstream until you can off this priest fella.” Paxal picked his teeth with a splinter he’d whittled into a toothpick. Next to him, a boy with a nail-studded stick—Nails, Mya had appropriately called him—picked up the knife Paxal had laid aside, and started whittling his own toothpick.

  “Finding him’s the problem.” Mya flicked her finger and thumb, her nails ticking faintly.

  Dee understood her problem, having seen Hoseph fade into mist in the blink of an eye, but thought she might be missing the real issue. “I hate to say it, but I don’t think it’s a matter of finding Hoseph as much as making sure that he doesn’t find you.”

  “So far, I seem to have dodged him.” She shrugged. “Lady T promised to set him up for me, but I’m not sure yet if she’s on my side or his.”

  Dee paced as he thought, until his foot encountered a noisome lump in the straw. Cringing, he scraped the bottom of his boot on a board. “The first order of business, Miss Mya, should be to find a better base of operations. If you want any hope of earning the respect of the guild, you shouldn’t be living in a third-class inn and conducting business in squalor.”

  “They don’t know where I live or do business,” Mya protested. “That would be an invitation for Hoseph to kill me.”

  “I understand that, but in time the guild will come to recognize you as Grandmaster.” Dee hoped he sounded more confident than he felt about that eventuality. “By that time, you’ll need to be well-established somewhere…well…better than this. Someplace north of the river would be best, a nicer neighborhood, and certainly more convenient for the work you’re doing now.”

  “A better headquarters would help,” Mya conceded. “And now we have the money. An inn, maybe. Someplace like the Cockerel back in Twailin.”

  “How we gonna do that?” Digger looked down at his grimy hands. “Street kids ain’t welcome in fancy inns.”

  Dee was about to suggest that the urchins were fine where they were, when Mya nodded in acknowledgement. “Don’t worry, Digger, we’ll find someplace we can all stay together.”

  “Everyone can wash and get new clothes like me!” The pretty little Kit twirled to make her skirt spin out around her.

  “Problem is, street kids stick out anywhere they’re not on the street. You put us in some fancy house, and everyone’s gonna know somethin’s up. You pretty us all up like Kit, and we stick out on the street unless we’re walkin’ with a grown-up.” Digger shrugged. “Seems to me yer buggered either way.”

  “And it seems to me,” Paxal flicked his toothpick into the straw and plucked his knife from Nails’ unwilling fingers, “that you’re already runnin’ an orphanage. Why not make it official?”

  “An orphanage?” Mya’s eyebrows arched.

  Dee considered the idea and sighed. He’d never been partial to children, but it looked like Mya wasn’t going anywhere without her army of urchins. To be honest, it made sense. He and Paxal might be here to help, but the two of them couldn’t do much, and certainly not what these children did. His job should be to advise her, not thwart what she’d already built.

  “An orphanage sounds good. We clean some of the kids up for times when you need them for cover, like you did with Kit today. Others we can leave…as is…so they can continue to do what they’re doing.”

  “Easy enough to dirty up for street work.” The little girl, Gimp, wiped her nose with her arm. “Harder to stay clean than it is to get dirty.”

  “We might be able to lease an inn that’s been abandoned.” Paxal’s forehead wrinkled above raised eyebrows. “Quite a few folks left the city when the trouble started, if the traffic on the road was any indication. I’ll find you a place.”

  Mya bit her lip. Dee had seen her like this before, weighing the pros and cons of a plan. “We’ll have to think up a cover story. Who am I and why am I doing this?”

  “That’s simple.” Paxal levered himself up off the floor and dusted off his trousers. “You can be the widow of some landed gentry who never liked the country. You come back to Tsing to find so many kids on the street that it broke your heart. You want to change things, but kids have to work to support themselves, right?”

  “Work?” Nails sat up straight. “I ain’t gonna—”

  “Not real work, boy. We just tell ’em what they want to hear, ay?” Paxal tousled the boy’s grimy hair. Turning back to Mya, he said, “The powers that be will be thrilled to have the kids off the street, and you and your little army of spies can come and go as you please without a hitch.” With a wave, he started for the door.

  “Pax!” Mya looked dubious. “Are you sure you want to get so involved in this?”

  “Sure as rain falls and taxes rise, Miss Mya.” Paxal left without another word.

  “Well! It looks like we’re going to have a new home.” Mya stood, brushing the straw and dust from her skirt.

  “Knock!” The half-breed girl’s face twisted into a misshapen frown.

  Kit frowned and patted her friend on the shoulder. “Knock thinks she’ll stick out like a turd on a silver platter north of the river.”

  Dee chuckled at the girl’s language. Even dressed up, she was still a street urchin.

  Mya smiled reassuringly and ruffled Knock’s hair. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out.”

  The kids clustered around her, chattering and smiling and tugging on her skirts.

  Dee bit his lip to keep from laughing at the sight of Mya, the stone-cold killer, holding hands with a little girl with ribbons in her hair and affectionately teasing the other children. He thought at first that it was an act put on for the kids’ benefit, but she actually seemed sincere. He’d sooner have expected her to be hobnobbing with nobles and gentry, plying her assassin skills amid the political turmoil that inevitably followed assassination, than setting up an orphanage for street children.

  Dee wondered what he’d gotten himself into and where it would take him. Knowing Mya, it would be someplace dangerous.

  Chapter XVIII

  Mya stepped down from the carriage and looked uncertainly at her new home. Pax had returned the previous evening with a lease in hand. A former inn, its proprietors had fled during the Night of Flame. The place might have been pleasant once, but hadn’t seen a new coat of paint in years, and the boards on the lower windows made it look mean. It wasn’t even as nice as the Twin Dulcimer. A nondescript building on a nondescript street in a nondescript Midtown neighborhood. It was perfect for their needs, but Mya felt vaguely disquieted.

  So much for moving up in the world.

  As delighted as she had been when Dee had up-ended his heavy saddlebags onto her bed at the Tin Dulcimer, she knew the money would go quickly. Rent, food, whatever payment the Gnome demanded for plans to the palace… They couldn’t afford to be frivolous.

  “Problem, Mistress?” Dee asked as he climbed down from the driver’s seat.

  “It’s just so…dreary.” She kept her voice low.

  “Paxal thought it best if we didn’t draw attention, and I agree. Besides, it was inexpensive, and he said the inside was clean, with hardly any rats.”

  “Wonderful.” Mya knew Dee was right, but the place looked like a worn pair of shoes, with no character or charm.

  It’s supposed to be an orphanage, not a brothel, Mya. Get over it!

  “I like it!” Little Kit hopped down from the carriage, showing off her pretty dress. “Mommy.” She grinned up at Mya and grasped her hand. Kit had flatly refused to take the dress off, so they’d decided it best if she posed as the head mistress’ daughter. She seemed to be enjoying her role a little too much.

  “Whoa, you mangy critter!”

  Paxal’s hoarse cry and several stifled giggles drew her attention to the rented wagon pulling up behind her rented carriage. The mule pulling the contrivance had proven difficult, especially at the bridge, where it balked and refused to cross. Paxal had proven even more determined, however, convincing the recalcitrant beast to proceed w
ith much cursing, lashing of reins, and finally bribing it with a carrot. Mya’s urchins found it all very entertaining.

  “Time to play our parts.” Mya had noticed curious glances from the shops lining the streets, and she didn’t want to arouse suspicions. Tugging her plain black dress straight, she cracked the tip of her parasol hard on the cobbles. “All right, you lot. Out of the wagon and line up. No nonsense!” She bustled forward, finding the padding beneath the dress both restricting and cumbersome. That, along with a hat, a lace veil, and some simple makeup to age her youthful features, transformed her into the middle-aged widow she was attempting to portray. “Paxal, get the door. Dee, my bags.”

  “Yes, Mistress Bouchard.” Dee opened the boot of the carriage while children lined up. Paxal hurried to the door with his ring of keys and opened the door.

  “Caps comin’,” Kit whispered, squeezing her hand.

  “It’s all right.” Mya stepped forward and regarded her urchins. They’d cleaned up a bit, but still looked rough, which was exactly how she wanted them to look. Let’s see how well this cover story holds up. “Now remember. You’re here at my pleasure, so if you misbehave, you’re right back across the river. Our first order of business is to make this place livable.”

  “You’ve got quite a passel here, ma’am.”

  Mya turned and craned her neck to look the tall constable in the face. “Good morning, Constable. Is there a problem?”

  “Just wondering where you’re goin’ with so many…” He surveyed the children with a skeptical eye, “…young ones.”

  “My name is Bouchard, and these are my charges.” She waved at the urchins. “I’ve leased this inn with the intent to begin an orphanage.”

  “An orphanage?” He looked dubiously at her, the children, and the building. The five bored caps behind him chuckled and shook their heads. “You’re taking on quite a responsibility.”

  Nosey nuisance, she thought, fixing him with a glare. “Yes, I am, Constable. My late husband left me with a child to support, finite funds, and a limited set of skills. I am quite capable of disciplining children, however, as well as teaching them to read, write, and do their sums.” She cracked the tip of her parasol on the cobbles. “Inside now, all of you! Paxal, put them to work.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Paxal herded the children inside.

  “No offense meant, ma’am, but how are you going to support such a…your orphanage if you have limited funds?” The constable rubbed his stubbled jaw, obviously puzzled.

  “The children will work, of course, as all children must.” She cracked her parasol on the street again with an exasperated sigh. “As you know, many children traverse the bridges every day to work in the shops and factories here in Midtown, only to go back across to live in squalor every night, barely earning enough to survive. Here, I’ll pool their meager pay and provide a roof, food, and education. Everybody wins.”

  “I see.” He arched an eyebrow. “Well, as long as you understand that you’re accountable for their behavior while their under your roof. If we catch any of them stealing, you’ll be held responsible.”

  “I understand, Constable. Now, if that’s all, I have children to attend to.”

  “That’s all, ma’am. Have a good day.” He touched his cap in deference, and waved his patrol on.

  “Thank you.” Mya turned to go, but not before she caught Kit sticking her tongue out at the constables. “Kit! Behave now.”

  “Yes, mother.”

  Mya hurried the little girl up the steps and into the inn. She cast a glance at the constables as Paxal closed the door behind her, but none of them were watching. In the entry hall stood all of her urchins, grinning like fiends in the dim light.

  “He bought it hook line and sinker, ma’am.” Digger patted Knock on the back. The girl had simply kept her head down and gone along with the crowd.

  “They did.” Mya looked around at the drab but clean interior. “Well, let’s get to work. Boards off the windows first, and let’s air things out. Dee, check the place over and assign rooms, then return the carriage and wagon. The cook and scullery maid won’t arrive until this afternoon, and I’d like us to look like an orphanage by then. Remember, I’m Mistress Bouchard, and if I’m not wearing this getup when someone comes to the door, then you tell them I’m out on business.”

  “I’ll tend to the kitchen and stock the larder, Miss Mya.” Paxal headed to the back. He knew more about running a place like this than anyone else.

  “Good. Supper at sundown. We won’t bother with a watch on Lady T’s house tonight.” Her spies had not seen anything untoward through the guildmaster’s windows lately, though Mya knew she and Hoseph must be having fits over the thwarted assassination attempt. “We’ll sleep in three rooms, each adult with two children in the room, one awake at all times. Two more down here will keep watch on the doors.”

  “Yes, Miss Mya.”

  Dee lifted Mya’s trunk and started up the stairs. “Would you like to pick out your room?”

  “Pick one for me on the third floor.” She looked around. “Where’s the office Pax told us about? I need to draft a letter.”

  Dee stopped and nodded toward the back hall. “Through there and left. Who are you writing to?”

  “Lady T.” Mya took off her hat and scratched under it. She hated disguises, and planned to wear this one only when necessary. “I’m going to hit her up for a donation to support our fine charity work here.”

  “You’re kidding.” He gaped at her as if she’d told him she was planning to steal the crown jewels.

  “Yes, I am.” She flashed a grin and started for the office. Gods, it felt good to have an adult around who she could joke with. “I don’t want to barge into her home again, and I need to speak with her. She needs to know why she shouldn’t be trying to kill the crown prince.”

  “You’re not inviting her here, are you?”

  “Don’t worry, Dee.” Mya raised her voice over the banging of hammers as the urchins began removing the boards covering the windows. “I’m still not sure she’s on my side. The last thing I want is for her to know where I live.”

  Arbuckle sipped chilled lemonade as he watched the small contingent approach his table across the lawn. Halting, the herald bowed, then announced his charge.

  “Duke Nythes of Miravore, Sovereign of the Southern Province.”

  “Crown Prince Arbuckle.” Nythes bowed low.

  “Please join me for some refreshment, my good cousin.” Arbuckle gestured to the chair across the small table.

  With little support from the local nobility, the crown prince had shifted his attention farther afield to the provincial sovereigns who had begun to arrive for his coronation. Nythes seemed a likely hope for an alliance, second cousin on his mother’s side, and Arbuckle’s childhood companion during his infrequent visits to Tsing. He had inherited his dukedom ten years ago when his father died in a hunting accident. Arbuckle now doubted it had been a hunting accident after all, considering his father’s association with the Assassins Guild, but hoped that Nethys would support him.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to greet you personally upon your arrival, but the affairs of state are drowning me.”

  “Thank you, milord. You’ve been most welcoming.” Nythes sat stiffly.

  “I hope your trip was uneventful.”

  “It was fine, milord.”

  “How are things in the south?” Up close, Arbuckle noticed the fine lines around Nethes’ eyes, his wan features, hair gray at the temples. The man boasted only a few years more than Arbuckle, but he seemed to have aged drastically since they’d last met only a few years ago.

  A far cry from the dashing figure of his youth…

  Arbuckle recalled his tenth birthday party, when they first met. Nythes had seemed such an adult then, strong and straight, blissfully ignorant of the onus of his title. They had had such a good time until—

  The remembrance dredged up another memory. That was the birthday when Arbuckle’s fa
ther had presented him with a live elephant. The young prince had been elated until the next gift arrived—a gilded hornbow.

  “Aim here!” his father had instructed, prodding the restrained beast with a long pole. “Kill it!”

  Horrified, Arbuckle had dropped the bow and refused, only to see the elephant slaughtered anyway. Another memory of dear father.

  His stomach roiled. He wondered if part of Nythes’ discomfort were his own memories of the day. His cousin’s voice cut off his musing.

  “We are having some…difficulty in the south, milord. Your edicts,” Nythes paused, looking increasingly uncomfortable, “have caused unrest among the upper classes, and elicited violence from the commoners.”

  “Revenge violence, I assume.” Arbuckle sighed. “Yes, we’ve seen a bit of that here, but it’s settling down. You’ll see the same, I’m sure.”

  “I doubt it, milord.” Nythes eyes slipped sideways toward Arbuckle’s guards standing at his shoulders. He licked his lips and sipped his lemonade. “There’s too much hatred among the commoners. I fear we can’t keep order without drastic action. The rebels must be put down.”

  “Force is not the answer, cousin.” Arbuckle looked curiously at the man. He could see his fear as plain as day, and he sounded as if he were reciting words that he had learned by rote.

  “We…” The duke’s eyes flashed up to Arbuckle’s for the first time, then at the guards behind the prince. He looked away. “As you say, milord.”

  Enough of this. Arbuckle gritted his teeth. He had to know why Nythes was so terrified. “Sir Calvert, take your detail for a stroll. Servants, all of you, leave us.”

  The duke’s eyes snapped to his, surprise clear on his face. “But milord, there has been an assassination attempt…”

  Arbuckle smiled to mask his own nervousness. He was taking a chance here, but he had to know. “My good duke, I count you my friend and ally. Let’s reminisce about old times. Verul, you go, too. Duke Nythes and I have a lot of catching up to do, and there’s no sense in cluttering up the archives with nonsense about our personal lives.”