Weapon of Pain (Weapon of Flesh Series Book 5)

by Chris A. Jackson

  “No one, Chief Constable, but my mistress is no less interested than you in bringing Hoseph to justice.” Dee shrugged helplessly.

  “Well, while she’s out conducting her investigation, tell her to come in anyway.” Dreyfus opened a desk drawer and removed an ivory scroll tube embossed with an elaborate crest. “This came from the palace for her, and I was instructed to place it directly into Miss Moirin’s hand.”

  “From the palace?” Dee blinked and swallowed. What in the Nine Hells… “Even so, she won’t come in for it, I assure you. Please, Captain, let me to take it to her. You can trust that I’ll put it into her hand myself.”

  “I’ll vouch for him, Captain. I trust his word.”

  Dee glanced at Benj in surprise. The man was putting his career on the line for him. Constables, apparently, were much more trusting than assassins.

  Dreyfus looked dubious, but finally nodded. “Very well, but it’s on your head, Master Dee. I’ll be sending a message to the palace stating that she refused to come in, and I was forced to hand this to you in order to get the message to her.”

  “Thank you. And I promise, Chief Constable, we will keep in touch.”

  “Set it up with Sergeant Benjamin. I’ve got enough on my plate.” Dreyfus turned his eyes back to his desk as he gestured dismissively toward the door.

  Outside the office, Dee navigated between desks and chairs beneath the curious stares of the constables, Benj at his heel. At the door to the street, he turned to the sergeant.

  “I’ll come by again in a couple of days,” Dee promised. “I don’t suppose—”

  Benj’s hand closed on Dee’s elbow. “Walk with me, Master Dee.” The sergeant opened the door and ushered him onto the street.

  “What’s wrong?” Dee hoped he’d hadn’t gotten Benj in trouble with his captain.

  “Nothin’. Just too many ears in there.”

  I wonder if he knows about Lakshmi’s informants. “Do you think the constabulary’s not safe?”

  “Oh, it’s safe enough, but caps gossip like fishwives.” He released Dee’s elbow. “Now, what were you sayin’?”

  Dee had no way to know if the cagy sergeant was telling the truth or suspected a spy. He decided to play along. “I wondered if you’d picked up any information on Hoseph yet.”

  “Some uncorroborated sightings, but nothing definite.” Benj looked disgusted. “There’re more than a dozen religious sects in the city, and we can’t very well stop every acolyte wandering the streets.”

  “I suppose not. We haven’t found anything definite either.” Dee stopped and extended a hand. “Thank you, Sergea—Benj.”

  “And thank you again.” The sergeant shook his hand, then squeezed hard and glanced over his shoulder. “Next time we should meet someplace else. There’s a blackbrew shop on the corner of Archer and Wayland Avenue. Day after tomorrow work for you? Say, noon?”

  “All right.” That Benj wanted to meet in a café told Dee that he probably did suspect some of his constables were on the take.

  “Tell your mistress she’s smart to lay low. Word on the street is that money’s being tossed around by people lookin’ for her.”

  Dee had no doubt of that, but nodded in thanks. “I’ll relay the message.”

  Benj clapped Dee on the shoulder and grinned, showing teeth stained by tobacco. “Watch your back.”

  “I always watch my back.” Dee grinned back. “Working for Miss Moirin instills caution, if nothing else.”

  The creak of a stair snapped Mya’s attention from her book, bringing her up off the divan like she’d been poked with a pin. Lose yourself in a book, Mya, and you’re apt to lose your head! She dropped the slim volume onto the cushion and drew a dagger. She didn’t know what had possessed Dee to buy her a book of poetry, but she found herself enjoying it. Too much, perhaps, if it was lulling her into complacency.

  Mya flattened herself against the wall behind the door, listening as something metallic clicked into the lock. Only Dee and the landlord have keys, but it could be a pick. She knew her paranoia was piqued by two days sequestered in the apartment, but better paranoid than dead. She tensed and readied herself.

  The lock clicked and the bolt knob turned. As the opening door stirred the air, Mya detected a familiar scent—male, sweat, with a hint of spice—and relaxed. Smiling, she put her dagger away, crossed her arms, and leaned casually against the wall.

  Dee stepped in, his free arm draped with clothing. Scanning the room with a glance and finding nothing untoward, he turned to shut the door.

  “Ah!” He started when he caught sight of her, barked a nervous laugh, and closed the door, relocking it. “Expecting trouble?”

  “Always.”

  “Good.” He looked her up and down. “You shouldn’t lounge around in nothing but your wrappings. What if someone came to the door?”

  “I’d just have to kill them.” She scrunched her face in response to his sour look. “Nobody’s going to drop in, and these are comfortable. Besides, I don’t have anything but that uncomfortable dress. What did you bring me?”

  “Some clothes, at least. The workwoman’s dress will be done tomorrow, the fancy one the day after. Mistress Gantry is making a killing off of us.” Dee draped two outfits over the back of the couch and pointed at first one, then the other. “Stealthy nighttime attire. Fancy young gentleman’s outfit.; I said it was for our nephew.”

  “Wonderful!” Mya snatched up the casual clothes and hurriedly donned them. “Oh, Dee. This is beautiful!” She fingered the collar of the deep-crimson shirt, a soft, brushed silk that swallowed light like a bottomless well. The snug, black-suede pants fit like a glove. Slipping her feet into the supple leather boots, she strode back and forth. “Perfect!”

  “Here.” Dee unrolled a leather case to reveal four exquisite daggers. “From Noncey.”

  “Ahhh!” Mya pulled a blade from its sheath, turning it this way and that to examine the dusky variegated steel. “Damn, this is a beauty!” The light refused to reflect from the matte finish—better for stealth—and the edge shaved the hair off the back of her hand without resistance. She’d rarely seen such quality in Twailin, but here in Tsing, you could buy anything from anywhere…for a price. With a pleased grin, she slid this daggers into the custom-made sheaths in her boots and at her hips. “What did you think of them?”

  Dee’s brow furrowed. “The daggers?”

  “No. Clemson and Noncey.”

  “I think you’re lucky to have them,” he said. “We might not have access to alchemical bombs or spies, but I’d bet on her Enforcers and his Blades over any squad of mercenaries the other side can hire. They seem sincerely loyal to you, and they’re certainly loyal to each other.” Dee hesitated a moment, arranging the other clothes on the couch before adding, “I was talking to one of their journeymen. It seems to be common knowledge that Clemson and Noncey sleep together, and no one thinks it’s a big deal.”

  “I figured as much. But don’t worry, Dee, our escapades will remain our little secret.” She cast him a wicked smile and winked. She didn’t want him to worry about coming to harm if anyone learned of their intimacy. “What about Pax?”

  Dee fished a scrap of parchment from a pocket and handed it to her. “It’s not much. Just an address down in the Wharf District.”

  “Good! It’s about time.” Mya had tried not to fret about the old innkeeper and the passel of urchins. They’d be safer away from her, out of the line of fire. Knowing that they had settled somewhere would ease her mind. Memorizing the address, she strode to the kitchen and tossed the note into the stove’s fire box. “I’ll check it out tonight. What did the constables have to say?”

  “Mixed signals there. Chief Constable Dreyfus doesn’t like the situation at all—me acting as your liaison and you conducting your own investigation—but he backed down. He delegated it all to Benj.”

  “Benj?” Mya’s eyebrow rose and an amused smile played about her lips. “You’re on a first name basis with the
sergeant? Excellent work, Dee! We can use a source of information inside the constabulary.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not all good news. He said someone’s spreading money around and asking questions about you. The guild, no doubt. They must know you’re calling yourself Moirin.”

  “That wouldn’t be hard to figure out, since that name is probably all over the poster boards in the news about my saving Prince Arbuckle’s life at the coronation. Hell, some bard is probably already composing an ode to the amazing Miss Moirin.” She smirked and made a rude noise, fingering the fine material of the trousers, shirt, waistcoat, and jacket draped over the divan. “I should try these on.”

  “Yes, you should, but I’m not done yet. Do you think we could deal with one thing at a time?”

  “Sure, Dee.” What’s he so testy about? “What else?”

  “Dreyfus gave me this.” Dee withdrew an ornate scroll tube from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to her. “It’s from the palace.”

  “The palace?” Okay, that’s enough to warrant a little testiness. “Prince Arbuckle?”

  “Emperor Tynean Tsing III, you mean.”

  “Right. Probably a bill for all the damage I did to the Great Hall while saving his life.” She chuckled, though her heart fluttered nervously. What could he want with me? She could think of nothing, and her paranoia resurfaced. “Maybe you’re not the only one with friends in the constabulary, and this is one of Master Kittal’s alchemical explosives.”

  “I…hadn’t thought of that.” Dee’s startled expression would have been amusing under different circumstances. “That would be…”

  “Not a bad tactic, actually.” Mya gripped the scroll tube in her left hand. The Grandmaster’s ring would warn her of dangerous magic, but could it detect a simple explosive? She concentrated, but felt nothing untoward. “Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but I think I’ll open this in the tub.”

  “The tub?” Dee cocked an eyebrow skeptically.

  “Yes. If this explodes, the tub should contain the blast…to a certain degree, at least.”

  “I suppose, but it might still catch the ceiling on fire.”

  “But not me.” She strode toward the bathroom. “If it explodes, get out of the apartment. I’ll get myself out.”

  “Right.” Dee had gone pale. “Be careful.”

  “Always.” Mya flashed him an encouraging grin, wishing she felt as confident as she tried to look. She wouldn’t put anything past the guild. Crouching low beside the heavy copper tub, she reached her left arm inside and popped the cap off the end of the scroll tube with her thumb.

  No explosion.

  Better paranoid and alive than careless and dead, she thought with relief. Standing, Mya pulled the rolled vellum from the tube and read the note.

  Miss Moirin,

  His Majesty, Emperor Tynean Tsing III, hopes you are in good health, and presents his condolences on the death of your employer, the most respected Baroness Tara Monjhi. You are hereby summoned for an audience with His Majesty. Please present yourself at the Imperial Palace at your earliest convenience.

  With most respectful regards,

  Tennison Umalshi, Imperial Secretary

  It was signed with a flourish and embossed with the imperial seal. A foreboding chill tickled up Mya’s spine.

  “Are you all right?” Dee peeked around the corner into the bathroom.

  “Yes, I…I’m fine.” She handed him the note and sat down on the edge of the tub. “He wants to see me.”

  “He?” Dee scanned the letter and swallowed audibly. “Why in the Nine Hells does he want to see you?”

  “I have no idea.” Mya started to bite a nail and stopped herself. “But I can’t afford to lose the emperor’s good will. They’ll be expecting me soon.”

  “You’re going?” Dee sounded horrified.

  “It’s not an invitation, Dee, it’s a summons. I don’t think I can refuse, do you?”

  “Not really.” He threw up his hands. “Damn! There’s no time!”

  “Time? Time for what?”

  He looked at her as if she were dimwitted. “To get your dress ready, of course! You can’t attend an imperial audience wearing that!” He flung a hand out to indicate her comfortable pants and blouse.

  Mya barked a laugh, trying to suppress a grin.

  “What?” He looked at her with a perplexed expression.

  “If what I’m going to wear is your biggest concern, we’re on completely different pages here. I was thinking about how to get there without being murdered!”

  “We could ask Clemson or Noncey to supply a carriage with one of their people as driver.”

  “No.” Mya shook her head. “I’d like to go right from the apartment to the carriage, but I don’t want to reveal our location to anyone yet.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll just hire a hackney and make sure that you’re disguised well enough not to be recognized on the sidewalk.” He stepped over and fingered her short and now very blonde hair. “I’ll put a rush on your dress, and we’ll have to figure out what to do with your hair.”

  “You never cease to amaze me, Dee.” Mya brushed his hand away, failing to suppress a grin. “What would I do without you?”

  Chapter VII

  Demia cares not for the machinations of kings or empires, Your Majesty.” The high priest of Demia’s Temple, resplendent in his crimson robes, stared back with maddening tranquility. “The temple will not harbor a fugitive, but neither will we take overt action against one who has devoted his life to the Keeper of the Slain.”

  Arbuckle stared coldly at the priest. “This is…disappointing, High Priest Averen. We are not pleased.”

  “I am sorry that you are not pleased, Majesty, but I cannot excommunicate High Priest Hoseph without either enlightenment from Demia or evidence to corroborate his crimes.” He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I am powerless.”

  “Very well.” Signaling dismissal, Arbuckle rose and nodded politely. “When your recalcitrant priest’s head falls into a basket, We daresay Demia will decide what is to be done about his behavior.”

  “Precisely, Majesty.” Averen bowed formally, a serene smile on his sanctimonious lips.

  The emperor turned on his heel and strode from the audience chamber, biting back the tirade that he knew would only buy him grief. Emperor though he may be, alienating high clergy was perilous. There was nothing he could do to force Averen to excommunicate Hoseph.

  “Not that it would have done a fat lot of good anyway,” he muttered.

  “Majesty?” Verul asked, his pen poised. “I didn’t catch that.”

  “Nothing. We were just talking to Ourself. Ourselves? Whichever! We’re already sick of speaking in this manner.”

  “It’s traditional,” murmured Tennison.

  “You and Baris with your traditions! Perhaps We should start Our own traditions, some that make more sense.”

  The encircling squad of imperial guards and knights said nothing, but he sensed an uncomfortable shifting in their ranks. He would have to learn to curb his tongue and be more…imperial.

  “Is everything prepared for the audience with Duke Tessifus?”

  “Yes, Majesty,” Tennison replied, checking his ledger. “Master Keyfur is already in place.”

  “Good. Maybe We’ll get to the bottom of this conspiracy.” Arbuckle jerked his jacket straight and twisted his head from side to side in an attempt to relax the knotted muscles of his neck. Even the thin circlet he now wore had started to feel heavy. How naïve he had been to think that things would be easier once he was crowned emperor. Instead, the responsibilities smothered him like a pall.

  They continued through the back passages of the palace, away from the larger, impersonal public chambers and toward the more intimate meeting rooms. Arbuckle breathed deep to calm his nerves, trying to put the unpleasant encounter with Demia’s high priest behind him. He wanted to put the duke at ease. It wouldn’t do to come on too strong or accusatory. T
essifus might simply clam up and claim ignorance. By law, the emperor could not compel a high noble to answer if they refused.

  Captain Ithross met them at the door to the chamber, bowing stiffly. “Your Majesty, is there nothing I can do to persuade you not to go through with this? If, indeed, the duke is involved, this only provides them with the opportunity for another assassination attempt. There are safer ways to get information about this conspiracy. I can bring the alleged conspirators in for questioning—”

  “No, Captain.” Arbuckle held up a hand for silence. “Even if we had sufficient evidence, bringing them in will just tip our hand. We need to know why Duke Tessifus’ name is not on that list.”

  “Yes, Majesty.” Ithross bowed again, though his expression looked dubious.

  Arbuckle looked around at his cadre. “Verul, Tennison, and Sir Draegen only. The rest of you stay here.”

  “Your Majesty, if I may—”

  Arbuckle cut off Ithross’ protest with a hearty laugh and a shake of his head. “Ithross, you’re killing me here!”

  “Majesty, I fail to see anything amusing in this situation.” The captain looked a little stunned.

  “What’s amusing is that you’re following Our orders by speaking out, and We find it ironic. Nobody would have spoken out to my father like you or even Tennison have, and that arrogance, if nothing else, is probably what killed him.” He clapped the captain on his armored shoulder. “Thank you for your concern, but We’ll be fine, Captain.”

  “Very well, Majesty.” Ithross bowed and stepped away from the door, his face a mask of resignation.

  Tennison opened the door and swept through, announcing, “His Majesty Tynean Tsing III.”

  “Your Majesty!” Duke Tessifus stood from an upholstered chair and bowed low. “My apologies for my delay in answering your summons, but I was out of the city attending to my estates.”