Weapon of Pain (Weapon of Flesh Series Book 5)

by Chris A. Jackson

  Verul’s pen scratching across parchment was the only sound for a long moment.

  Arbuckle considered his advisors’ concerns, then made up his mind. “We wish to know more about her. She saved Our life yesterday, Ithross. If she wished Us harm, all she would have had to do was stay her hand.”

  “There is that, Majesty.” Ithross pursed his lips, looking like he’d just swallowed a lemon. “The constables will be questioning her with regard to Baroness Monjhi’s murder. I’ll contact Chief Constable Dreyfus and ask him for a copy of the report.”

  “Good. That’s a good start. That’s all for now.”

  “Yes, Majesty.”

  Arbuckle motioned to the footman to refill his cup. While he sipped his blackbrew, he thought about the attempts on his life and the young woman who had saved him. Yes, he would definitely like to speak to her again.

  Chapter II

  Hoseph materialized from shadow, staggering as pain lanced through his head. Blessed shadow of death, soothe me… The mantra wouldn’t banish the pain, but it helped calm his mind. It was getting worse, there was no denying it. The more he used Demia’s talisman to travel through the Sphere of Shadow, the worse he felt. Leaning against one rough brick wall of the alley, he waited several minutes until the pounding eased, his reeling vision cleared, and his stance firmed. The pain was still there, but manageable.

  Pushing himself upright, Hoseph opened his palm to stare down at the talisman—the small, silver skull gifted to him when he ascended to High Priest of Demia, Keeper of the Slain—and wondered once again why using it had begun to pain him so. A spark of fear singed the back of his mind. The talisman was the means by which he traveled, flicking from one place to another with just the whisper of a word. It also kept him alive in the Sphere of Shadow, that incorporeal realm of banished godlings and demons through which he passed. He couldn’t be the Right Hand of Death without it. Well, there was nothing for it. He had too much to do and not enough time to plod like a peasant through the cobbled streets of the city.

  Hoseph blinked to accustom his eyes to the early morning light stabbing into the narrow alley. Orienting himself, he emerged from between the close-set buildings and set off through the Dreggars Quarter toward the address that Master Enforcer Clemson had given him. After familiarizing himself with her new headquarters, he would be able to use the talisman to travel there directly.

  This was his second round of visits to the Assassins Guild masters in as many days. Last night he had informed them of Lady T’s treachery—actually saving the crown prince’s life when the guild’s future depended upon his death—and her subsequent execution at his hands. None of them had protested his actions or questioned his motives, a refreshing change from working with the cantankerous Lady T for the past weeks. And when he showed them the guildmaster’s ring, offering it as the prize for killing Mya, they’d shown pointed interest.

  That meddlesome usurper! She thought that merely donning the Grandmaster’s ring entitled her to control of the guild. She would learn otherwise. Hoseph hadn’t achieved his position—the real power behind the Grandmaster—only to lose it to this power-hungry Master Hunter from Twailin.

  Every one of the masters had, however, used the same argument against confronting Mya: blood contracts. Every assassin signed one, binding them to the guild for life and preventing them from lifting a finger against a superior. Hoseph had eliminated that problem last night by burning the blood contracts. Now every guild assassin had free rein to attack Mya.

  Hoseph rounded a corner into the full glare of the sun, and his head throbbed anew. Pulling the cowl of his acolyte’s robe low over his face shielded his eyes from the glare, and also maintained his anonymity. His likeness was plastered on every posterboard in the city, a hunted man. They’d never catch him, of course, as long as he could fade into mist and shadow at a whim.

  In due time, he arrived at the address he sought. All the Masters had moved their headquarters last night to avoid Mya. This shop was Clemson’s new abode. Lamps and candlesticks lined the shelves behind the barred windows. Unprepossessing, it would never be suspected as an assassin’s lair.

  Hoseph turned the door handle, but found it locked. He rapped loudly on the door. Clemson had had plenty of time to make the move. He’d already visited Master Inquisitor Lakshmi and Master Alchemist Kittal in their new quarters.

  So where is she? Hoseph rapped again, louder this time. When that still yielded nothing, he pounded.

  “Ay there! Stop that!”

  Hoseph squinted up at a ruddy face glaring down at him from a second-floor window of the next shop over. “I’m looking for Clemson.”

  The man scrunched up his nose. “Don’t know who that is, and don’t care. That lot spent half the night bangin’ and clatterin’ about. Packed up everything and lit out. Now go away and let a poor old man sleep!” The shutter slammed closed.

  “Gone?” Hoseph peered through the window at the shop’s interior and gritted his teeth. The shelves and hooks were bare. The festooned windows only gave the semblance of a working shop. “That lying…”

  Hoseph strode away, back into the cool shadows of a nearby alley. He considered materializing inside the shop—no problem since he had seen the interior—but he couldn’t afford to be frivolous with the use of the talisman, not how it pained him. If it was indeed an honest mistake, he’d find out soon enough. Flicking the talisman into his hand, he spoke the word of invocation and dissolved into mist.

  In the Sphere of Shadow, Hoseph’s pain eased and his mind cleared, untroubled by the fatigue or discomfort of a material body. Though lingering here was tempting, if only for a respite, he could not delay. He pictured another narrow alley, also in the Dreggars Quarter, and close to the smithy where Master Blade Noncey was resettling. He invoked the talisman and re-entered reality.

  “Mother of…” His knees came close to folding as he appeared in the alley. Every time seemed worse, especially when he transited the shadows many times in quick succession. Yesterday had been trying, and today was becoming even more so. When his legs steadied and his vision cleared, Hoseph stumbled onto the street and turned toward the ironmonger’s front stoop, ducking beneath the roofed porch. The broad double doors were closed. A simple, hand-painted sign hung from the handle.

  “Closed for renovation?” Hoseph rattled the iron handle—the doors were locked and nobody answered—then snarled in frustration. “Noncey, too?”

  This didn’t bode well at all. He might excuse one missing faction as an error, but not two. Hoseph didn’t believe in coincidence; this smacked of treason. If both the Blades and Enforcers had defected, the primary physical might of the Assassins Guild now lay in Mya’s hands. However, with the Inquisitors and Alchemists safely loyal, he still controlled the brains and magical might of the guild. There was only one more faction to check, one he needed desperately. Mya was a Hunter; he needed his own to match her skills in stealth and surveillance.

  Staggering back to the alley, Hoseph flicked the talisman again into his hand. “Shahallariva,” he snapped, louder than he intended, but there was no one around to hear. The mists took him.

  This time when he materialized, his knees did fold, but the crack of his shins against the cobbles was nothing compared to the pain in his head. His sight edged in black, darkness pressing in. Nausea welled up and his stomach emptied, bile burning his throat. Shadow of death…please… After a prolonged, excruciating interval, the pounding in his head finally eased. He could see again, breathe, think. He spat out the vile taste in his mouth and raised his head.

  Across the narrow alley huddled a rag-clad man clutching a brown bottle. He stared at the priest with rheumy half-lidded eyes, looking as if he might fall asleep at any moment. A witness… Normally, Hoseph would immediately kill anyone who observed his magical arrival, but who would ever believe this old sot? As he sneered in disgust, something warm tickled his upper lip. Wiping at it, he recoiled at the blood on his hand. His nose was bleeding.


  “Got the shakes, huh?” the ragged man croaked, holding out the bottle with in a trembling hand. “Wanna li’l nip? It’ll steady ya. Works fer me.”

  Hoseph ignored the loathsome creature and forced down the cold trickle of fear. Something was dreadfully wrong.

  It doesn’t matter. I’ve got work to do. I can rest…later.

  He dragged himself up the moldy brick wall until he stood, then staggered into a street that was noticeably dirtier and narrower than those he had recently walked. Why Master Hunter Twist Umberlin had chosen to seek refuge here in the Downwind Quarter amongst the dregs of society, Hoseph had no idea. The stench alone would keep most civilized people away.

  Hoseph rarely frequented this area and didn’t know many places here. Consequently, he had quite a walk to find the Master Hunter’s new headquarters. He finally located the tannery by the increasing stench. Turning into the foul yard, the priest wrinkled his nose.

  Stinking pots bubbled over coal fires, tended by a shirtless woman. Rivulets of sweat dripped from her pendulous breasts as she stirred a pot with a wide paddle. Along the courtyard walls, hides hung on drying racks. Two men, also bare chested, were beating the hides into suppleness with long, flat clubs. None of the workers even looked up as Hoseph strode forward.

  At least this place is operating, he conceded, hopeful that he might actually find Umberlin here.

  “Who are you and what do you want?” A tall woman with a thick brow and a wrinkled, upturned nose stepped from the shade of a shed and glared at him.

  Her attitude and tone galled the priest. When Emperor Tynean Tsing II still ruled the Assassins Guild, Hoseph had dealt exclusively with the guildmasters, commanding the instant recognition and respect appropriate to his position. And I will again…soon.

  Swallowing his pride, he said, “I’m Hoseph. Twist is expecting me.”

  The woman’s nose twitched. “This way.” She turned and ducked into the shed.

  He followed her through a door, down a dusty hall, and through another door into a much cleaner and better-smelling room. A breeze of relatively fresh air wafted in from a duct in the ceiling. A wind catch, he realized. Many of the city’s buildings had small sails on their roofs to funnel the breeze down and provide fresh air to interior rooms. The woman led him through a clutter of boxes, crates, barrels, and trunks—testimony to the Master Hunter’s recent relocation—and motioned the priest forward.

  “Hoseph here to see you, Master Twist.”

  Twist Umberlin stood from behind a shabby desk in the room’s corner. A loaded crossbow lay atop a litter of ledgers and papers, but the Master Hunter didn’t even spare it a glance. The three other Hunters sitting about the room didn’t look as benign, regarding Hoseph with wary eyes, their hands on their weapons.

  “You don’t look good.” Umberlin squinted at Hoseph. Delving into a pocket, the thin man dredged up a questionably clean handkerchief. “There’s blood on your lip.”

  “I’m fine.” Hoseph ignored the handkerchief and wiped his face with his sleeve. “What have you heard from the other masters?”

  “Nothing.” Twist tucked his handkerchief away and sat back down. “Should I have?”

  “Clemson and Noncey are not where they told me they would be. I can only assume that they’ve gone over to the enemy.” Hoseph’s statement raised eyebrows around the room.

  The Master Hunter frowned. “That’s not good.”

  “No, it’s not, but Lakshmi and Kittal are with us. We must strike quickly, before Mya can organize against us.”

  “Strike who, exactly, and how?”

  “Mya, of course. She’s the cause of all of this! Kill her, and the guild will be whole again.”

  Twist slumped back into his chair and rolled his eyes. “That brings up the ‘how’ part. She wears the Grandmaster’s ring, remember? Usurper or not, we can’t touch her. The blood contracts don’t—”

  “You can touch her,” Hoseph interrupted, smiling grimly. “I’ve seen to that.”

  “You’ve…” Umberlin’s forehead furrowed, then his eyes widened and he shot up from his chair. “You did not!”

  “I did. I realize it was a drastic measure, but it was—”

  “Fool!” The Master Hunter’s face contorted. “If what you say is true…” His eyes flicked to his subordinates. “Bev, come here.”

  A short woman in snug leathers rose from her seat and strode to her master’s desk, sparing a glance at Hoseph on the way. Her eyes were the hue of ice, and every bit as warm.

  Umberlin held out a hand, palm down. “I want you to cut me, Bev.”

  “Master?”

  “Cut the back of my hand. Now!”

  The woman drew a dagger and slashed, quick as a viper, across her master’s hand. Twist didn’t even flinch as his skin gaped and bled, dripping on his stacks of papers. His eyes, however, widened in horror. In fact, every eye in the room save Hoseph’s widened. The journeyman should not have been able to attack her master. It was impossible…until now.

  “You idiot!” Umberlin glared at Hoseph and jerked the soiled handkerchief from his pocket to wrap his hand. “You have no idea what you’ve done!”

  “I know exactly what I’ve done,” Hoseph retorted with a smug smile. “I’ve given you the ability to kill the usurper. When that’s done, we’ll forge new blood contracts and appoint a new guildmaster.”

  Twist’s eyes narrowed. “And our new guildmaster will be…”

  “Whoever brings me the usurper’s head, Master Umberlin.” Hoseph fixed him with a stern look. “Your faction represents the best chance we have of a quick victory. I’m counting on you to get the job done, so work out the details for yourself. I know where she’s living. Strike as soon as you can before she moves. Enlist whatever help you need from the other factions if you must, but get it done!”

  Twist Umberlin just stared at him for a long moment, then swallowed and sat down. “Fine. What’s the address?”

  Hoseph gave him the location. “Be wary inside the house; she’s got trip wires strung everywhere upstairs. Also, she’s using street urchins for cover. They look harmless, but they’re armed.”

  “Kids?” Umberlin looked disgusted. “How many?”

  “I don’t know. Five or six at least. Don’t underestimate them. Do whatever you have to do to get to Mya. You are an assassin, aren’t you?”

  Umberlin’s lips thinned and his countenance hardened. “Fine. But when I hand you her head, the guildmaster ring’s mine.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then get out of here and let me work,” the Master Hunter snapped.

  Hoseph didn’t like his tone, but decided to let the impertinence go for now. Nodding, he flicked the little silver skull into his hand, invoked Demia’s grace with a whisper, and faded into mist.

  By mid-morning Mya’s head spun with too much blackbrew and too many questions. To say that the sergeant and his corporal were being thorough was an understatement.

  “How many ways do I have to say the same thing?” she asked in frustration. “Can’t we please take a break?”

  “We were told not to rest until we found Baroness Monjhi’s killer, Miss. Don’t worry, we just have a few more questions.”

  “That’s what you said an hour ago,” she muttered.

  The knock on the door came as a welcome respite.

  “Dee, can you get that, please?”

  “Yes, Miss My—Moirin.”

  Mya tried to ignore the near slip of Dee’s tongue. It wasn’t the first time this morning he had stumbled over her assumed name. It had only taken one look at his ashen face to realize why; Moirin had been the name of his barmaid lover, who had killed herself in front of him when he caught her spying on Mya.

  Why the hell did I choose that name? she wondered.

  Dee returned and held out a letter. “Message for you, Miss Moirin.”

  “You’ll pardon me, gentlemen, this could be important.” She stood and examined the envelope, which was sealed with black
wax and impressed with a stylized “C”. Clemson?

  “More important than investigating Baroness Monjhi’s murder?” Benj rose to his feet, his eyes sharp.

  “This could very well be the key to finding the person who did it, Sergeant.”

  “You’re conductin’ your own investigation?”

  “Are you suggesting I don’t? As you have so kindly pointed out several times, Lady T was my responsibility, and I failed her. I’m sure that, if we asked him, the emperor would appreciate any assistance in apprehending the killer of the woman who ordered me to save his life.”

  Benj looked as if Mya had suddenly laid out a winning hand of cards. “Of course not, but I’d like to know what you find out.”

  Pleased that her dropping of names had worked, she mollified the constable by promising, “Of course, Sergeant. As soon as I get solid information, I’ll let you know. However, right now I have to read this. Excuse me.”

  “Let me freshen your cups, gentlemen and ladies,” Dee said as she strode away. “And I’ll rouse out something to eat for you as well. Paxal!”

  Mya stepped into her office and pressed the Grandmaster’s ring onto the wax seal. If it worked in the same manner as her master’s ring, it would shock her if the seal was a forgery or a trap. Instead of a jolt, she felt a reassuring tingle up her arm. Cracking the seal, she read the brief message.

  27 Elderberry, DQ

  ASAP

  C

  Mya burned the note, then strode back out to the front room. “I’m sorry, Sergeant, but I have to go meet a friend. This could be the break I’m looking for.”

  “About the priest?” The sergeant stood, wiping cookie crumbs from his chin.

  “Maybe a lead to where I can find him, yes. If so, you’ll be the first to know.” She started for the door. “I don’t know when I’ll be back, Dee. Sergeant, I think I’ve answered all your questions about three times now. If you think of anything else, please get in touch and we can speak some more.”