Weapon of Pain (Weapon of Flesh Series Book 5)

by Chris A. Jackson

  Absently holding out his cup for more blackbrew, the new emperor analyzed the lists. He’d examined them before, but so much had transpired lately that he’d had little time to really study them. Then a thought struck him, and his blackbrew cup clattered into its saucer.

  “Verul, might We borrow your pen?”

  “Certainly, Majesty.” The ever-present scribe stepped forward and placed the beautiful object into the emperor’s hand.

  “Thank you.” Arbuckle drew a careful line through the names on the longer list that were also on the shorter. When he was done, the top name on the longer list remained unblemished. He handed the pen back and motioned his secretary over. “Tennison, what do you think of this?”

  “Duke Tessifus remains the chief beneficiary of your death, Majesty.” The secretary nodded. “As your nearest cousin, he is next in line to the throne until you produce an heir. Yet his name is not on the list of conspirators.”

  “Exactly! Which makes me wonder, if these people…” he tapped the list of conspirators, “…want Tessifus on the throne, why have they apparently not included the duke in their plot?”

  Tennison’s angular face became somber. “The duke has consistently spoken out against the changes Your Majesty is instituting. Perhaps they believe that he would revoke your new policies and return to your father’s.”

  “But they couldn’t be sure if he wasn’t directly involved.” Arbuckle shook his head dubiously. “They’ve worked very hard to have Us killed. We can’t imagine what they offered Duveau to make the attempt. After all that effort, they can’t just hope that an Emperor Tessifus would rule the empire to their liking.” He tapped both lists. “There’s something going on between them. We must find out what it is.”

  “The people Commander Ithross employed to discreetly watch them haven’t reported anything unusual. Duke Tessifus meets with many nobles, but none more than any other. One of the conspirators,” Tessifus pointed to a name on the short list, “Magistrate Ferrera, disappeared. She hasn’t appeared in court, and her servants can’t say where she is.”

  Arbuckle raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps her conscience got the better of her and she’s dropped out of the conspiracy, fled the country. That may indicate their organization is falling apart.”

  “Commander Ithross would still like to have the rest detained and questioned.”

  “No, for two reasons.” Arbuckle fixed Tennison with a resolute stare. “First, arresting them will tip my hand. Keeping them ignorant of what We know might give Us more than would an interrogation. Second, I will not imprison citizens without hard evidence and due process. This note is not sufficient evidence. But that brings us back to Our initial question: why does the conspiracy not include the person with the most obvious reason for wanting Us dead?”

  “I don’t know, Majesty.”

  “Well…We don’t think any of the conspirators are likely to tell Us, but there is one person We could ask.” Arbuckle downed the last of his blackbrew. “Arrange an audience with Duke Tessifus.”

  Tennison frowned. “That might tip your hand as well, Majesty, if he is involved.”

  “Perhaps, but We’re tired of fumbling around in the dark.” He tapped the list of conspirators again. “They have to have a plan for what happens after We’re dead, and Tessifus has to be a part of that plan.”

  “It seems logical, Majesty.”

  “Yes.” Arbuckle stood and frowned. “Tell Ithross and Keyfur that We plan to talk to the duke, and that We want security in place for the meeting. Discreet security.”

  “Yes, Majesty.” Tennison scratched in his ledger.

  “Good, now let’s get to work. We’ve made a good start on the New Accords, but We want to get this right the first time. The stronger the case We make for instituting sweeping changes in the justice system, the less likely the next emperor will be to overthrow it.”

  “Of course, Majesty.”

  Tennison and Verul fell in line as the cadre of guards escorted the new emperor to his office.

  Chapter VI

  Oh, how the mighty hath fallen. Hoseph looked down at the noisome remnant of the former captain of the Imperial Guard. There wasn’t much resemblance to the stiff-backed disciplinarian he had known from the palace. The grizzled and unkempt wreck lay on a rumpled bed that stank of alcohol, sweat, and cheap perfume.

  It hadn’t taken Embree’s Hunters long to track Otar down to a gambling house in the Dreggars Quarter, where the former captain seemed intent upon squandering his not-inconsiderable pension on whiskey, trollops, and games of chance. Being dismissed from the highest post in the Imperial Guard had apparently destroyed his will to live. Hoseph wondered if there was enough left to be of use.

  Hoseph closed the small room’s door, banishing the noise of the raucous crowd in the gambling hall below. He had taken a chance coming here, but there was no way around it. He needed to talk with Otar in private.

  “Captain Otar,” Hoseph said quietly, less to ease the man’s waking than to avoid irritating his own throbbing headache.

  Otar didn’t respond.

  “Captain Otar!”

  The sleeping man stirred, snorting and rolling his head away from his drool-stained pillow. One hand rose to wipe his face, but fell away, and he started to snore.

  Hoseph’s patience vanished. “Wake up!” He kicked the man’s foot.

  Otar jerked, two bloodshot orbs flung wide to stare at the man standing at the foot of his bed. “Who the bloody…” Annoyance evolved into recognition. “Gods!”

  Otar lunged out of bed, but one foot tangled in the sheet and he sprawled naked on the floor. Scrabbling to the corner of the room, he snatched up the sword propped there and fumbled to draw it. Finally, the scabbard clattered to the floor and the blade pointed at Hoseph, though it wavered unsteadily.

  “What are you doing here? What do you want?”

  “Lower your sword, Captain.” Hoseph folded his hands, fingering his talisman should the man become unreasonable. “I’m here to make you an offer.”

  Otar blinked at him as if the words had not penetrated the fog of alcohol and fading sleep. “You…what?”

  “I said I’m here to make you an offer. If you lower your blade and don some clothing,”—Hoseph gestured with thinly veiled disgust—“we can speak about it. However, if you’re not interested in regaining your former position with the Imperial Guard, I’ll simply leave and you can continue to slowly kill yourself with alcohol.”

  Otar stiffened as if he’d been knifed. The sword steadied, and his face firmed into a mask of indignation. Quicker than Hoseph would have thought the man could manage, the former captain buried the blade’s tip in the floor, letting it stand within easy reach as he fumbled his pants on. After cinching the belt tight, Otar reached for a bottle on the night table and poured a measure of amber liquid into a dirty glass. He knocked the liquor back, then worked his neck and shoulders as if to relieve the kinks. After a moment he seemed to regain his composure and a faint semblance to the man he had once been.

  “Start talking.” Otar put down the glass and leaned against the wall, resting one hand on the pommel of his sword. “But stay where you are. If you try anything, I’ll gut you like a codfish.”

  “I stand forewarned.” Though Hoseph doubted the man’s reflexes were as sharp as they had been, Otar could certainly use a sword. He folded his hands around the talisman and tried to look unthreatening. “I’m here because I need your help.”

  Otar cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, really? How the world has changed when a high priest of Demia deigns to consort with us lowly mortals.”

  Hoseph ignored the sarcasm. He’d never paid much attention to Otar; that the man resented him for his close association with the emperor didn’t surprise him. Many had.

  “Yes, the world has changed, Captain, and not for the better. When Tynean Tsing II was emperor, we were both powerful men, and the empire was well-ordered and prosperous. Now that Arbuckle is on the throne, gangs of peasants ro
am the streets with his blessing, while nobles cower inside their homes as their businesses burn. And we, loyal servants of the empire, are disparaged and cast aside.”

  “Miss the power, do you?” Otar snorted. “Don’t glare at me, priest. I do, too. Get on with what you came here to say.”

  “As I said, I came here to make you an offer, Captain. You and I aren’t so different. We have no place in this new world Arbuckle has forged. I wish to bring back the old world. How would you like to be reinstated as Captain of the Imperial Guard?”

  “How are you going to manage that? Arbuckle won’t—” Otar’s words caught in his throat as his eyes widened. “Were you behind the assassination attempt at the coronation?”

  “That is neither here nor there, Captain.” The man was not so besotted that he hadn’t heard the news, but Hoseph wasn’t going to confess to him his crimes. “Suffice to say that there’s a consortium of nobles and magistrates who feel as I do, who want to see someone more…amenable on the throne. Someone who recognizes that Tsing’s glory lies in control and order, not some anarchist’s paradigm of equality.”

  Otar seemed to consider this, one hand rubbing his stubbled jaw. “So what do you want me to do? I no longer have access to the palace and have no influence with the Imperial Guard.”

  “What would you say if I told you that a single person was responsible for both of our predicaments? Responsible, in fact, for all the upheaval and trouble. Responsible for murdering Tynean Tsing II and for thwarting attempts to rectify the situation.” Hoseph actually believed that Lad had killed the emperor, but there was no sense in quibbling over extraneous details.

  The captain’s eyes gleamed and his nostrils flared. “I’d say point him out to me and I’ll take his head.”

  Hoseph smiled. “A fine sentiment, Captain, but your role will be infinitely easier. I only need help finding this bothersome woman so that we can eliminate her.”

  “A woman who’s thwarted your attempts to rectify the situation?” Otar poured another measure of liquor and swirled it in the glass, chuckled softly, and sipped. “Baroness Monjhi’s bodyguard, I assume?”

  Hoseph blinked in surprise. ”I’m impressed, Captain. Your powers of deduction and attention to current events remain as sharp as your sword.” The man might be a drunk, but nobody rose to Otar’s rank by being stupid.

  “And you can’t find her?” Otar smiled wryly.

  “Unfortunately, no. She’s gone into hiding, and she’s working with the constabulary now.” It had been very sly of Mya to call in the constabulary; it not only absolved her of guilt in Lady T’s murder, but put hundreds of more eyes on the street looking for Hoseph. It did, however, give him a place to start in locating her. Though it would have been easier to use guild resources—and far less annoying than dealing with the former Captain Otar—Lakshmi’s contacts were all low-ranking street constables who weren’t privy to details of the investigation.

  Otar’s eyes narrowed to reddened slits. “And you want me to do what, exactly?”

  “I need you to talk with Chief Constable Dreyfus and find out—discreetly, of course—if they know where she is. If they don’t, then how do they contact her? If she contacts them, then how and when?”

  Otar sipped his drink and considered, finally nodding slowly. “I can probably do that. Dreyfus owes me dozens of favors.”

  “Excellent.” Hoseph breathed a sigh of satisfaction.

  “How do I contact you?”

  “You don’t. I contact you.” He nodded to the room’s single grimy window. “When you get the information, tie one drape open and leave the other hanging until you hear from me.”

  “All right.” Otar rubbed his jaw again and knocked back the rest of his drink. “I’d best get cleaned up.”

  “Proceed with caution, Captain.” Hoseph levied a humorless smile at the man. Otar showed no signs of deceit, but the priest wouldn’t risk his life on it. He’d given the man enough information to tempt him into regaining his former position by delivering a wanted criminal to the new emperor. “If you tell anyone that you met with me, your life will be forfeit.”

  “I don’t take kindly to threats, priest.” Otar’s hand rested on the pommel of his sword.

  “I never threaten, Captain.” Hoseph flicked the silver skull into his hand. “I simply state facts.” With a murmured invocation, he dissolved into mist, enjoying the last glimpse of shock on the man’s face before the Sphere of Shadow engulfed him.

  Hoseph materialized in darkness, staggering with the familiar blinding pain and dizziness. It took so much longer to ease the pain now, and only one transition to bring it back. After resting a moment, he invoked Demia’s blessing. Pearly light blossomed in his hand to reveal his surroundings. He regarded his safe haven with sly satisfaction. Who would guess that he once again resided under the very roof where he had devoted his life to the goddess of death? In the deepest archives of Demia’s temple, where few ever ventured, Hoseph lay down upon a rumpled nest of cloaks and took his ease, the musty scent of aged parchment a comforting balm, and the cool stone easing his throbbing head.

  Blessed shadow of death, sooth me… He banished his light and closed his eyes, content that his plans had been nudged into motion.

  Dee felt like a cat walking into a kennel full of hounds as he strode into the central offices of the Tsing Constabulary. Since joining the Assassins Guild, he had regarded most constables as the enemy. The only good constable was one who could be bought. Never had he thought to work openly with them, but here he was.

  He’d been dubious when Mya summoned the constables to investigate Lady T’s death, but her strategy seemed to be working. They didn’t appear to doubt her account of the murder or her reason for assuming multiple identities, and seemed sincere about finding Hoseph. Posters of the priest in his acolyte guise were plastered all over the city, advertising a hefty reward. Between the citizens and the constabulary, they might have a chance of locating Hoseph before he and the rest of the guild located Mya.

  “You!” Sergeant Benjamin spilled blackbrew the color of tar down the front of his uniform. “Blast!”

  Dee stiffened as every eye in the constabulary headquarters turned his way. So much for keeping his visit low-key.

  The sergeant slammed the cup down on a desk and wiped ineffectually at his stained uniform before striding forth and extending his hand in greeting. “Damn glad to see you, Master Dee. Damned glad!”

  “Good to see you, too, Sergeant Benjamin.” Dee shook the man’s damp hand and forced an amiable smile; if their meeting looked casual, maybe some of those curious stares would go back to their own business. “How are your constables?”

  The sergeant’s smile fell. “You know Tovi was killed. Kert died before we could get him to a temple, but the others’ll pull through. And your mistress? How is she?”

  “Well enough. I’ve come to—”

  The sergeant held up a forestalling hand. “Best let you save it for the chief.” He led Dee through the maze of desks to a door with a brass name plate nailed to it. “He’ll want to thank you for what you did.”

  “Just following my mistress’ orders, Sergeant.”

  “Aye, just like I was following my chief’s, but that don’t change the facts.” Benjamin lay a heavy, gnarled hand on Dee’s shoulder. “Call me Benj. I’d be lookin’ up at six feet of dirt if not for you, and I won’t forget it.”

  “I appreciate that…Benj.” How surreal to have a constable beholden to him for saving his life.

  The sergeant knocked on the door and opened it, ushering Dee into the chief constable’s office.

  “Yes?” The man behind the desk looked up from a stack of papers two fingers thick.

  Benj closed the door behind them. “Chief, this is Miss Moirin’s assistant, Dee. He was with us when her home was attacked.”

  “Yes, I remember from your report.” The chief constable stood, a stocky man of late middle age, slightly haggard, but still powerful. “Sergeant Benjamin s
ays your quick reactions saved their lives, Master Dee. My thanks to you and your mistress for that.” He peered beyond Dee and the sergeant. “Where is she?”

  “In hiding, Chief Constable. She asked me to act as her liaison with the constabulary.”

  “Her liaison?” The chief constable’s eyebrows shot up. “Who does she think she is? First she refuses protective custody, then sends a lackey.”

  Dee swallowed his apprehension at the man’s flash of temper. “Captain, please understand, Miss Moirin went into hiding not only for her own protection, but to avoid danger to those around her. The presence of constables didn’t prevent the last attack, and two of your people were killed. She refuses to put anyone else at risk for her sake, so she’s found a place where she’ll be safe for the time being.”

  Dreyfus sat back down and snatched up a pen and paper. “And where would that be? I’d like to send Sergeant Benjamin over to ask a few more questions.”

  “I’m sorry, Chief Constable, but I can’t reveal where she’s staying.”

  Dreyfus glared from beneath his bushy brows. “This is a serious case, Master Dee. The emperor himself has tasked the constabulary with solving it as quickly as possible.”

  Sudden inspiration struck Dee. “I understand that, sir. Miss Moirin is well acquainted with the emperor’s vehement pursuit of justice. They spoke of it at length after the coronation.”

  The chief constable’s glare remained undiminished. “If she refuses protection and won’t cooperate with our investigation, she’s impeding rather than helping us to apprehend the perpetrator.”

  Dee took a breath. “Rest assured, sir, Miss Moirin has every intention of remaining available to assist with the investigation and share any information we come by on our own.”

  “She better. And who gave her the okay to conduct her own investigation anyway?” Dreyfus shot a savage look at Sergeant Benjamin.