Weapon of Pain (Weapon of Flesh Series Book 5)

by Chris A. Jackson

  “Oh, I’ve got more questions,” the sergeant said.

  “Do you want an escort, Miss Moirin?” Dee followed her to the door, his brow furrowed with worry. “Or a carriage?”

  “I don’t’ think I’ll ever set foot in a carriage again after what happened to Lady T, but thanks for the offer, Dee.” She gripped his arm briefly and gave him a covert smile. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “Yes, Miss Moirin.”

  Mya was halfway down the block before she heard the door close.

  Chapter III

  A distillery?” Mya squinted up at the swaying sign: ‘Westwind Distillery’, a black flag with crossed cutlasses painted below the name. She should have guessed; the distinctive sweet-yeasty tang had drawn her from blocks away. Opening the gate to the wide courtyard, she cautiously looked inside.

  The place was busy.

  To the left, a towering heap of sugarcane mounded high against one wall. Like keepers placating a ravenous beast, workers grabbed armfuls of the cane and fed it into the chute of an enormous grinder at the courtyard’s center. Four mules plodded in a wide circle around the machine, driving the huge gears that pulled the cane in, chewed it up, and spat the waste into a heap. A wooden vat beneath the grinder collected the juice, and well-muscled workers hefted buckets full of the sweet liquid, carrying them into the shade of a slanted roof.

  Mya paused, analyzing every person in the courtyard. Despite the authenticity of the letter, this could, of course, be a trap. The workers were beefy enough to be Enforcers, but they didn’t move like assassins, and not one spared her a glance. Besides, assassins couldn’t attack her. Clemson could have recruited mercenaries, but these just looked to be laborers, their hands scarred by the cane, but no marks of combat on their sweat-streaked bodies.

  “Help you, ma’am?” A squat dwarf strode forth, unruly red hair atop a curiously beardless face. Then Mya realized that the dwarf’s nearly spherical frame included breasts. The dwarf woman scratched one of the muttonchops that framed her round cheeks and looked Mya up and down. “Yer not lookin’ fer work, are ya?”

  “No, I’m looking for Clemson.” She raised her hand and flicked her ring finger, the movement obvious to the dwarf, inconspicuous to anyone merely glancing her way. “I’m Mya.”

  Recognition shone in the dwarf’s eye, but not alarm or deceit. “Oh! Well, then, follow me!”

  Mya tensed as the dwarf led her across the courtyard past the grinder. Toss someone into that chute, and they’d be pulped as flat as any sugar cane. She doubted that even her runes would save her from that. But her guide’s rolling gait didn’t slow as she led Mya beneath the sloped roof. Despite the shade, the heat was oppressive, and Mya quickly saw why. The bucket haulers dumped the cane juice into vast metal bowls—wide and shallow—set over roaring fires. The liquid bubbled thickly, looking more like sludge than rum.

  They continued through a door into an open, warehouse-like building. Here, taller stone vats full of amber liquid also bubbled, though there were no fires beneath them. Peeking over the rim of one tub, Mya watched as a fat bubble amidst the foam popped, releasing a yeasty smell.

  “It’s fermentin’,” the dwarf explained. “From here, it goes into those boilers. The steam condenses in that copper tubing, then gets piped here.” She plinked a nail against a curved glass chamber half filled with clear liquid, a tube in the center. “This separates the rum from the wood alcohol, then its decanted inta oak barrels ta age.”

  Mya gazed about in wonder. All this just to make rum?

  “Sorry.” The dwarf grinned. “My pride and joy, this place.” Continuing on, her guide finally stopped outside a door and opened it, motioning Mya through. “Go on down. Someone’ll meet you at the bottom. Don’t mind the funny light; the lamps burn wood alcohol, not oil.”

  “Thank you.” Mya looked down the stone stairway, eerie in the blue-tinged light, and felt a twinge of worry. The deeper she went, the more difficult it would be to escape if this was a trap.

  Too late to turn back now. She descended the stairs. The bottom T’d into a corridor protected by a man holding a crossbow leveled at her chest.

  “You are…”

  “Mya.” She showed her ring again. “Here to see Clemson.”

  “Right.” He nodded down the left-hand corridor. “End of the hall. Knock.”

  “Thank you.” Mya strolled down the hallway, attempting to look relaxed and confident, despite her jangling nerves. She cocked an ear as she passed several closed doors, but detected no noises behind them, no whispers or clanks of weapons being readied. None burst open to disgorge murderous mercenaries. The place smelled of rum, oak, and mold. At the door at the end of the hall, she knocked.

  A familiar figure filled the portal when it opened.

  “Hello, Jolee. I’m here to see Clemson.”

  “Aye.” The massive woman’s lips twitched in a hint of a smile that exposed thick tusks, making the greeting seem more threatening than welcoming. Backing away from the door, she waved Mya in.

  Mya stepped across the threshold and stopped.

  The room was pleasantly cool, well-appointed, and crowded. Master Enforcer Clemson stood and stepped out from behind her desk, looking slim and almost child-like among her hulking Enforcers. Mya envied the woman’s snug black trousers, blousy white shirt, and soft boots sporting sheathed daggers. She felt awkward and out of place in a dress, but she hadn’t dared change her clothes with the constables in the house, and a dress was less conspicuous.

  “Grandmaster.” Clemson nodded respectfully. “Good of you to come.”

  Master Blade Noncey rose with the grace of a dancer from a chair beside the desk. He towered head and shoulders above Mya, with the broad shoulders and well-muscled frame of a trained fighter. His deferential nod was echoed by the rest of the Blades and Enforcers crowding the room.

  “Good of you to acknowledge my position…finally.” Mya stepped forward, the junior assassins jostling to make room for her. Clemson and Noncey were the only two masters here. She cocked an eyebrow. “The others?”

  “They’ve sided with Hoseph.” Noncey’s lip curled, marring his handsome face.

  Mya’s stomach clenched. “Do you know for that for a fact?”

  The Master Enforcer nodded. “We were all in communication after Lady T’s…death, trying to reconcile the information coming from Hoseph and my Enforcers. I trust my people; they wouldn’t lie about something like this. If they say that Lady T acknowledged you, that’s good enough for me. Noncey agrees. The others didn’t.”

  “They’re fools.” Noncey plucked a dagger from his sleeve and spun it in his palm before burying the tip in Clemson’s desk. “That priest’s crazy. He accused Lady T of treason, but she didn’t betray the guild, just him.”

  Only two out of five factions on my side… Mya tasted blood and realized that she had bitten her lip. The lack of pain was sometimes startling and inconvenient. More importantly, Lad had warned her against the unconscious tells that revealed her moods. Deliberately unclenching her fists and taking a deep breath, Mya forced her mind to calm. She had to give her two loyal masters the image of a Grandmaster in control.

  “Of the other three, who is most likely to come over to our side if offered the right incentive?”

  The two masters looked to one another, then Noncey said, “Twist, probably.”

  Clemson nodded as she leaned back against one corner of the desk. “I agree. He’s ambitious, but pragmatic. We can send a discreet inquiry to one of his businesses and hope it reaches him. The problem will be finding the right incentive. Hoseph offered up the guildmaster’s ring.”

  “In exchange for your head,” Noncey added as he leaned against the other corner of the desk.

  Mya scoffed. “Hoseph must be getting desperate. He’s tried to kill me twice now and failed miserably. I don’t know what he thinks the masters can do except hire more mercenaries, since assassins can’t touch me.” She wiggled her ring-clad finger. “Wha
t about Lakshmi and Kittal?”

  “Lakshmi is very ambitious, so the ring will be quite a draw for her. She and Kittal are thick as thieves. There’s no budging one without the other.” Clemson quirked a smile at Noncey.

  “That’s true.” The Master Blade smiled back.

  Mya pursed her lips as she examined the two masters. They looked for all the world like a pair of deadly bookends. Clemson, though dwarfed by her hulking Enforcers, appeared confident and dangerous. Noncey, now casually fingering the curious buckle of his belt—wrought in silver and resembling the misshapen branches of a tree, it could have been some exotic and deadly weapon for all Mya knew—looked fearless and eager for the coming conflict. Mya might only have two of the five guild factions, but the Enforcers and Blades represented the bulk of the guild’s fighting force. She could have done worse.

  “So, what do we do?” Clemson’s incongruously dark eyebrows arched above her pale eyes. “Are we at war with the other factions?”

  “Let’s first find out if they’re at war with us. I don’t want a divided guild.” I had enough of that I Twailin, Mya thought, remembering the five years of opposing her fellow masters. “You know the situation as well as I do, and your fellow masters much better. Any suggestions?”

  “Yes. Kill that mad motherfucker of a priest.” Clemson’s curse belied her even-tempered tone.

  “I agree.” Noncey nodded. “Cut the head off the snake, get the guildmaster’s ring back, and you hold all the cards. The others will fall into line. You appoint a guildmaster, and we’re done.”

  “Excellent plan. I agree.” Mya gave them a wry smile, pleased to find Clemson and Noncey’s assessments in line with her own. “So, no killing other guild members yet unless they start a fight. Indiscriminate killing now will only lead to bad blood later. Send a message to Twist; recruiting him is at least worth a try. Lastly, issue a standing order to kill Hoseph on sight. Don’t ask permission, just put a crossbow bolt in his heart. Clear?”

  “Perfectly clear, Grandmaster,” Clemson said.

  “Crystal,” Noncey added.

  “Good. Now how do we find the mad motherfucker to kill him?” Using Clemson’s own epithet drew smiles from both of them. “He’s hard to get a hand on, impossible to track, and lethal if he catches you unaware. He can cast magic that knocks your mind for a loop and kill with a touch.”

  “We’ll warn our people.” Clemson frowned. “The problem is, we’re not Hunters.”

  “Exactly.” Noncey nodded. “We don’t have the contacts necessary to track someone down in the city, especially someone who can appear and disappear magically.”

  Mya started to pace as her mind settled into problem-solving mode. “No, but you can observe. Send a few spies to watch the businesses of the other factions. If we’re lucky, we might find out where they’ve moved their headquarters to. That information could lead us to Hoseph; he’s got to sleep somewhere! Of course, we have to assume that they’ll also be watching your businesses, so assign the rest of your forces to guard duty. If they spot anyone spying, capture them, but don’t kill them unless you have to.”

  “I’ll see what kind of information we can get from the Blades I’ve hired out as bodyguards.” Noncey smiled at Mya as she whipped around to squint at him. “The order to form a security company came from Lady T, but it was your idea, I take it? It’s a good one. We charge top rates and already have ears in several mansions in the Heights.”

  “Do you have anyone in the houses of Chief Magistrate Graving, Duchess Ingstrom, or Duke Seoli?” Inside information on Hoseph’s co-conspirators would be quite the coup. Her hopes flagged as Noncey shook his head. “No matter. There’s no such thing as bad information. Are we done here?”

  The two masters shared a glance, then nodded.

  “Good. Noncey, where’re your new headquarters?”

  “I’m set up at the Flint and Steel Cutlery Shop on Greenbriar, but more often than not you’ll find me here.” He glanced at the Master Enforcer and one corner of his mouth twitched. “Master Clemson and I…work well together.”

  Clemson flushed ever so slightly.

  Something suddenly clicked in Mya’s mind—the casual familiarity with which the masters sat beside one another, joked, exchanged glances, nearly finished each other’s sentences. Ahhh… Well, that was their business. Both masters were no-nonsense assassins, and as long as they did their jobs, she wasn’t interested in what went on behind closed doors.

  “Until further notice, I’ll be staying at the orphanage.”

  “The other masters know that, too. Do you want protection?” Clemson waved over several hulking Enforcers.

  “No. I’ve got my own defenses, and caps will be coming and going for a while yet. Besides, I don’t want to give the other factions any way to track someone from my home back here. I took some unusual precautions coming here today.” She smiled. “I don’t want to risk my two loyal masters.”

  Noncey laughed. “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that.”

  Mya just smiled. “I’ll be in touch. I’ll send my assistant, Dee, around to meet you. So you’ll know him, he’s tall, slender, clean shaven, and dark haired.”

  The masters nodded, and Mya left. Before she walked out the gate, the distillery’s proprietor pressed a bottle into her hand.

  “Gotta look like ya was here for a reason,” she said, waving as the Grandmaster walked down the street.

  Mya strolled back through the Dreggars Quarter, vigilant as always, but content that she at least had some assassins on her side. A delectable aroma stopped her in her tracks, and she stared at the tempting display of pastries inside a bakery window. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. It was now mid-afternoon, and she had a long walk back to Midtown.

  As she munched on a sweet roll and sipped a cup of blackbrew, her back firmly against a wall in a corner booth, she thought long and hard about her opposition: Hunters, Inquisitors, and Alchemists…a deadly trio. Mya was a great believer in the adage, “Know thy enemy”. As a Hunter, she felt competent matching wits with Umberlin. As for the other factions, she had schooled herself on the relative strengths and weaknesses of each during her struggle against the masters in Twailin. But even more than that, one thing gave her comfort. She fingered the Grandmaster’s ring as she strolled back out onto the street.

  “They can’t touch me…”

  Dee drummed his fingers on the kitchen table, ignoring Paxal’s annoyed glances.

  Where is she?

  Mya had been gone for hours to who knew where. He’d checked her office, but found no trace of the letter she had received. Had she gone to meet the masters? Had they lured her into a trap? Had mercenaries intercepted her? Was she lying dead in some alley? He knew he was being foolish. If anyone could walk the streets of Tsing without fear, it was Mya. The only person of any real danger to her was Hoseph, and if he tried to kill her in broad daylight, Mya would likely kick his head right off his shoulders.

  Maybe that was what she was hoping for. Dee shifted in his seat, scraping the chair legs across the floor and earning him another annoyed glance from Paxal.

  Why am I so damned nervous? Over the years he’d seen Mya off on hundreds of dangerous missions. What was so different now? Of course, in Twailin she’d had Lad to protect her, but now Dee knew she was every bit as capable and deadly. A vision flashed into his mind—Mya in his bed, their bodies flesh to sweat-slicked flesh…

  Oh, gods, I’m in so much trouble! He hadn’t thought that one night of intimacy would change how he looked at her so drastically.

  The back door latch clicked. Dee vaulted up from his seat, bolting for the hall. The sight of Mya ducking through the door was like a gasp of air to a drowning man. Dee ran his eyes over her, relieved to see no torn clothing, no blood, no sign of any violence. Not even a sweat stain marred the cloth, despite what must have been a long walk in the sweltering heat. She’d explained that the wrappings she wore were enchanted to keep
her comfortable, but he wondered if anyone else noticed that she never sweated.

  Safe…she’s safe.

  Her sour expression stifled his relief. “What’s wrong?”

  “I saw a cap on the front stoop.” Her voice was low, and she glanced toward the front of the house before pushing him into the kitchen. “Tell me our guests aren’t back already.”

  “They never left.” Dee’s worry eased. If it was the constables she was concerned with, then whatever she had been doing must have gone well. “Paxal tried to run them off by serving lunch, but—”

  “Hey! I heard that, you little pipsqueak!”

  Laughter exploded from the urchins loitering about the kitchen.

  “Admit it, Paxal, those sandwiches you served were vile.”

  “The kids ate them!”

  Dee rolled his eyes. “I rest my case. Unfortunately, the constables also have strong stomachs and ate them. I bought some cookies from that bakery down the block to make up for the sandwiches.”

  Mya’s expression turned stern. “Why are you feeding them? They’ll never leave!”

  “Hospitality.” Dee raised his hands defensively and lowered his voice to a bare whisper. “Remember, they’re here to talk with Moirin, concerned bodyguard of the late Lady T, heroine of the coronation, not Mya, impatient Grandmaster of Assassins and stone-cold killer. You’re the one who brought them into this.”

  “Well, nothing to do but answer their questions, I suppose.” Mya sighed and shoved a bottle into his hands. “By the way, Clemson and Noncey are on our side. I’ll fill you in later.”

  “Good.” Dee eyed the bottle of rum curiously as he considered her information. Only two out of five? Well, that any of the masters had backed Mya was good news. He had been afraid none of them would, considering the cool reception they’d given her so far. “Blackbrew?”

  “Or how about something stronger?” Paxal grinned as he stirred a huge bubbling pot on the stove. “I can mull some wine.”