Weapon of Pain (Weapon of Flesh Series Book 5)

by Chris A. Jackson

  “Heroine,” Dee corrected with a wry smile. “And you’re not that heavy.”

  “Right. Now, another problem is that they might want to question you two.” She nodded to Dee and Paxal. “So, here’s the gist of the story I gave them. I’m a bodyguard, relatively new in town, hired to see after Lady T’s safety. She only needed my services when she was out and about, so I wasn’t staying in her home. Pax, you’re an old acquaintance giving me room and board in this orphanage you recently started up.”

  “And I’m helpin’ you out of the goodness of my heart? With all these kids to support?” Pax scowled as he took their plates to the wash basin. Two of the urchins hurried to help. “They’re not gonna buy that.”

  Mya smiled. Pax sometimes seemed to know her better than she knew herself. He should, considering he nearly raised me. In Twailin, she had paid him well to let her use the Golden Cockerel as headquarters for her faction of Hunters, but she knew that, truly, he did it for her, not for the money. Why else would he have accompanied Dee all the way to Tsing to find her?

  “Good point. I’m paying you.”

  “Who am I?” Dee asked. “Do I work for Pax or you?”

  “Me.” Mya wasn’t about to let Dee out of her sight…for many reasons. The memory of his skillful touch sent a shiver up her spine. “You’re my assistant.”

  “Why does a bodyguard need an assistant?”

  Mya smirked. “I’m a highly trained bodyguard to nobility! I need someone to handle my contracts, keep track of the money, do my correspondence…basically, what you’ve always done for me. In fact, I’ll probably need you to—”

  A knock at the front door interrupted her.

  “If that’s caps, they’re early risers.” Paxal scowled and nodded to the eldest urchin. “Digger, go check, but don’t open the door.”

  “Yes, Master Pax.” Digger ran off.

  Mya rose from her seat, downing the last of her blackbrew. “Whoever it is, I’ll have to deal with it.”

  Dee got up just as Digger returned.

  “Caps, all right.” He looked down at his fingers, counting. “Six of ’em.”

  “All right.” Mya nodded to Dee. “Let them in, Dee. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “Yes, Miss Mya.”

  “Right!” Paxal picked out two urchins. “Twigs and Digger, stand watch on the stairs. The rest of you look busy, and no weapons on the first floor! Go.”

  The urchins scattered.

  Mya followed Dee to the door, girding her nerves as he opened it to admit the constables. Her stomach clenched. She had expected maybe one or two, but uniforms crowded the doorway. As Dee greeted them pleasantly and waved them in, she stepped forward, extending a hand automatically.

  “Good morning, Constables. I see that you’re…” She hesitated as she recognized the two in the fore. Damn! Of all the rotten luck! They were the very two who had taken an interest in her as she crossed back and forth from the Dreggars Quarters to Midtown in the days after the emperor’s assassination. “…up early this morning.”

  “Good morning, Miss…” The sergeant’s eyes narrowed as he shook her hand, then widened. “I know you! From the Fivestone Bridge—”

  “Ah, yes. I remember that we met on the bridge a few times.” Mya smiled disarmingly and gestured them all into the common room. “Welcome, Sergeant…” She dredged up his name from her trained memory. “…Benj. And this is Corporal Jorren, isn’t it?”

  “It’s Sergeant Benjamin, Miss, and Corporal Jorren Arryx.” His eyes narrowed again.

  Mya cursed silently. In trying to be amiable, she’d pricked his suspicion by using the names she had overheard at a distance too far for normal ears to eavesdrop. Waving a dismissive hand, she declared, “I’m always getting names wrong. And these are…”

  “Privates Alli, Wanless, Tovi, and Kert.”

  “Please come in and have a seat. Can I offer you blackbrew or tea?” Mya perched on an upholstered chair, hopeful that the sergeant would overlook her gaffe and just get this questioning over with.

  “Blackbrew’d be welcome, Miss Moirin.” The sergeant eased into the chair opposite Mya. Corporal Arryx remained standing at his superior’s shoulder, a small notebook in hand. The four privates also stood, looking around as if bored by such mundane duty. Benj looked at her, his shrewd, calculating eyes belying his disheveled appearance and ingenuous manner. “Pardon me, but I don’t remember you giving the name Moirin when you crossed the bridge. Are we both mistakin’ names today?”

  Mya had enough lies to remember, so she decided to go with the truth about this, at least. “No, Sergeant, you remember correctly. I was using the name Ingrid Johens. You’ll also find that I have, at times, assumed the name Bouchard, posing as head mistress of this orphanage. I apologize for the confusion, but I occasionally take on pseudonyms to maintain the anonymity of my clients.” She shrugged as if unconcerned. “You understand the need for propriety when serving the upper classes, I’m sure. Lady T contracted for the services of a professional bodyguard with the utmost discretion. Oh, and I also posed as the Lady’s niece in order to accompany her to the coronation.”

  The corporal raised his eyebrows, but scratched notes without saying a word.

  Benj nodded slowly. “Well, what I need are the facts. Is your real name Moirin?”

  “Yes,” she lied with a straight face.

  “And where are you from?”

  “Twailin.” At least that’s the truth.

  “And you came to Tsing to work for Baroness Monjhi?”

  “No.” Mya cringed at the mention of Lady T’s new title. She’d been a baroness for less than six hours before she was murdered. “I came here to work, period. It’s only good business to go where the money is, and no other city in the empire can hold a candle to Tsing when it comes to well-heeled folks who need protection.” She paused as Paxal brought in a blackbrew service and poured for everyone. Why had she ever offered refreshment? It would only encourage them to take their time. She had more important things to do.

  The caps jostled for cups, smiling and nodding gratefully, all save the corporal, who shook his head and kept scratching notes.

  Benj sipped his blackbrew and rubbed his jaw, his callused hand rasping against the stubble like sandpaper. “So, you arrived before or after the emperor was assassinated?”

  “Sergeant Benjamin, I answered all these questions for your colleague last night. I don’t see why—”

  “Yeah, well, we find that sometimes a night’s sleep can refresh the memory, bring back details you didn’t even realize you noticed. So please, Miss Moirin, bear with me. Did you arrive in the city before or after the emperor was assassinated?”

  With a sigh, Mya capitulated. “Before. Dumb luck on my part, I suppose. With the unrest following the assassination, I had more offers for work than I could take. I settled on the then Lady T, and…well…that didn’t work out very well.”

  “Not for Baroness Monjhi, but it sure turned out well for our new emperor, from what I hear.”

  Mya shrugged. “That was just being in the right place at the right time. I attended the coronation to protect Lady T. She ordered me to intervene in the assassination attempt, so I did.”

  “And saved the crown prince’s life.” Benj looked thoughtful, obviously not the dullard she had hoped him to be.

  “Yes.” Mya sighed, trying for a forlorn look. “And then failed my contract.”

  “Pardon me, Miss, but…” The tall corporal fixed her eyes, his pencil finally still. “…how exactly did you manage to save the crown prince’s life, if you don’t mind my asking? There are rumors, and they’ve no doubt grown in the telling, but they all agree that you…um…showed some remarkable abilities.”

  “I actually do mind you asking, Corporal.” Mya gave him a tight smile. “My…abilities have no bearing on your investigation of Baroness Monjhi’s murder. My livelihood depends on people underestimating me.”

  He looked surprised, his pencil scratching anot
her note. “Well, everyone’s glad you did, anyway. Save the prince, I mean.”

  “Not everyone, obviously,” she countered. “My mistress is dead.”

  “Yeah, well, about that.” The sergeant glanced at his corporal, then looked to Mya. “Do you know why this priest, Hoseph, would want to kill the baroness?”

  “No, Sergeant. I was only told what to look for and what he was capable of.” Mya frowned. “Neither of us knew he could pop right into a moving carriage.”

  “I see…” The sergeant rubbed his jaw, the corporal’s pencil scratched, and the questions continued.

  Arbuckle had given orders that the first full day of his reign, Emperor Tynean Tsing III would be allowed to sleep late. After the tumultuous events of the day before, he figured deserved it.

  Surprisingly, he slept deeply and soundly until the morning light dappled his silk-encased pillow. Stretching and blinking, he took stock. Alive—Surviving one’s own coronation shouldn’t be such a trial!—and hale, but sorrowful that the woman who had risked her own safety to save his, the valiant Baroness Tara Monjhi, had been murdered for that selfless act.

  Justice… I’ll bring that loathsome Hoseph to justice.

  Climbing out of bed, he rang the bell on his night table. Baris was through the bedroom door before the bell’s tone died, a brilliant smile on his face and fresh clothes over his arm.

  “Good morning, Your Majesty!”

  “Your Majesty…I almost expect to turn around and find my father behind me.” The new emperor chuckled. “It’ll take some time to adjust to being Tynean Tsing III. I still feel like Arbuckle. No matter. Good morning to you, too, Baris. How are things about the palace?” Arbuckle stripped off his nightshirt, handed it to his valet, and accepted clean linens and breeks. “Has everyone settled down from the excitement?”

  “Not hardly, Majesty.” Baris grinned. “Half the guests have sent messages that they don’t intend to leave their suites today, and the other half are already packing to leave.”

  “That sounds about right.” Arbuckle allowed his valet to fuss over his appearance with his usual deft efficiency, finding it hard to stand still with the enticing scent of blackbrew in the air. “Is Tennison about?”

  “Did Your Majesty expect anything less? He’s been pacing since sun-up, ready to commence with the business of your new reign. I wouldn’t let him disturb your rest.”

  “Thank you for that, Baris.” Arbuckle found his secretary an indispensable, but harsh, taskmaster. Well, I’ve tarried long enough. Finally dressed to his valet’s exacting standards, he braced his shoulders. “Into the breach then, I suppose.”

  “We suppose, Majesty.”

  “We… Right.” Referring to himself with the royal ‘We’ would also take some getting used to. Bother… “We suppose.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” Baris opened the bedchamber door.

  As Arbuckle strode into the sitting room, Tennison immediately ceased pacing and bowed, his face alight with relief. The rest of the company in the crowded room—a full squad of Imperial Guards, Captain Ithross, a knight, two footmen, Master Keyfur, and the imperial scribe, Verul—also bowed low and voiced their good mornings.

  “Good morning, everyone. Please pardon Our late rise. We found yesterday’s events rather taxing.” Arbuckle seated himself and nodded to the footman who held the blackbrew pot to fill his cup. With a blissful sigh, he sipped the hot, strong beverage; he didn’t feel quite human until his first cup of blackbrew. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Tennison fidgeting. Studiously, he turned to his breakfast, swallowing the guilt that pressed him to hurry with the first bite of a delicious omelet. Tennison had taught Arbuckle to never allow another to interrupt the emperor’s daily schedule except in dire emergency. There was no emergency today. He would enjoy his breakfast, then attend to business.

  Finally, after popping the last bite of sweet pastry into his mouth, Arbuckle relented and waved his secretary forward. “All right, Tennison, what’s got your feathers all ruffled?”

  “The documents we drafted prior to your coronation are ready to be ratified into law, Majesty.” The man fairly leapt forward. “I thought that you would want to sign them first thing.”

  “Excellent!” Finally, I can pass whatever laws I like without having to kowtow to anyone.

  Arbuckle still didn’t understand why so many of his nobles were dead set against equal justice for commoners. If they had read any history at all, they’d understand that Tynean Tsing II’s unjust laws would ultimately—and grievously—fail. A populace could only be oppressed for so long before they revolted. With a flourish, he signed the parchments splayed on the table before him. “Just the first of many. Did you record Our actions here, Verul?”

  “With pleasure, Majesty.” The scribe smiled as he scribbled in the big book atop his lap.

  Tennison swept up the documents and consulted his ledger. “Your Majesty has a full docket this morning meeting with departing guests who wish to pay their respects before they go.”

  Arbuckle frowned, irked by the bothersome protocols of the imperial court. “Can We dispense with any of this, Tennison? We must speak to the dukes, of course, especially Mir and Nythes, but We greeted the minor lords during the coronation. If they’re in such a hurry to leave…”

  The secretary tapped his pen against his chin in thought. “We could arrange a dinner tonight honoring all of your guests, Majesty. That would shift the responsibility for maintaining protocol onto their heads, not yours. It would free up most of this morning and several hours this afternoon.”

  “Excellent. Do so.” The emperor sipped his blackbrew happily. “We want to work on Our new edicts. There are many wrongs that need to be redressed beyond the few We just signed, and We’ll have to make a public announcement soon. So…what next?” He looked at the others and decided his single remaining wizard took precedence. “Master Keyfur?”

  Keyfur bowed amidst a swirl of colorful robes. “With Your Majesty’s permission, I’ll begin interviewing wizards and assembling a new Imperial Retinue.”

  “Do We truly need one?”

  The wizard looked confused. “There’s always been an Imperial Retinue of Wizards, Majesty.”

  “But why?” Arbuckle persisted. “For the prestige of having magical power at the emperor’s beck and call? Archmage Duveau’s attempt to assassinate Us demonstrates all too well how easily that power can turn against Us. What tasks really need a wizard’s touch?”

  Keyfur considered the question for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Maintenance, mostly, Majesty. Maintaining the palace wards against magical travel in and out, the enchantments to detect poison, other safeguards, things like that.”

  Arbuckle grinned. “So, Master Keyfur, are you up to the task?”

  “Me, Your Majesty?” The wizard looked shocked. “My expertise doesn’t cover all of the disciplines of magic required. I could acquire the necessary skills for specific enchantments after some study…”

  “Then please begin immediately. We grant you complete access to the former possessions—magical or mundane—of the deceased members of the Imperial Retinue, including Duveau’s.”

  “Your Majesty is too kind.” The peacock feather tucked behind Keyfur’s ear swept the floor with his low bow before the wizard stepped back, his face cracking into a wide grin.

  Arbuckle grinned back, pleased at how well his morning was proceeding. “And Captain Ithross! To what do We owe your personal attendance today?”

  “Palace security, Majesty.”

  Arbuckle looked around the room at the guards. “Do you not consider a squad of your finest imperial guards sufficient for Our protection?”

  “In all honesty, no, Your Majesty,” Ithross confessed, his face flushing red. “You need better protection. There’s no reason to assume that because you’ve been crowned the attempts on your life will simply end. You mustn’t forget that there’s a conspiracy against you. Duveau was merely their tool.”

 
; Arbuckle sobered, the last gulp of blackbrew seeming to burn down his throat like acid.

  The captain continued. “We lost too many good men and women of the guard yesterday, as well as several knights. Though our troops are the finest in the empire, they’re trained to augment the protection provided by your personal body guards.”

  “The Blademasters of Koss Godslayer…” The gruesome mass suicide of the monks in response to their perceived failure to protect his father still haunted Arbuckle. “It will be a generation before a new cohort can be trained.”

  “There are other martial orders,” Tennison suggested.

  Ithross shook his head. “None with the intense training of the blademasters, or their Koss-blessed skills.”

  “Any ideas, other than keeping Us locked up in these rooms for the first twenty years of Our reign?” Arbuckle laughed shortly and without humor. Would the greatest effort of his reign merely be staying alive? The only reason his people were wishing their new emperor a good morning instead of standing around his grave was because of— “What about that young woman who saved my life yesterday?”

  Ithross looked aghast. “Your pardon, Majesty, but we know nothing about her.”

  “Or what type of magic she wields,” Keyfur added. “I owe her my life, Majesty, but she does wield magic. She was gravely wounded in the fight with Duveau and by all accounts healed instantly.”

  “Not to mention bounding around like she had springs in her legs!” Ithross agreed. “I was nervous enough allowing her in the royal presence during the reception, Majesty. We don’t know enough to trust her with your life!”

  Tynean remembered dancing with the remarkable young woman at the reception. Moirin…

  “And don’t forget that she failed in her duty last night by allowing Baroness Monjhi to be killed by High Priest Hoseph,” reminded Tennison.