Weapon of Pain (Weapon of Flesh Series Book 5)

by Chris A. Jackson

  “Maybe.” Mya rested her hands on the sides of the tub and cocked her head. Dee could almost hear the wheels of her mind turning. “And maybe not.”

  “Why wouldn’t they run away?”

  She looked at him. “Are you leaving?”

  “No! Of course not.”

  “Why not, if there’s no blood contract keeping you here?”

  Dee hesitated. “Because…” I’m falling in love with you! Of course, he couldn’t say that. Besides, it ran deeper than that. “Because I believe in loyalty. I take pride in what I do.”

  “Exactly.”

  Mya dunked her head underwater and scrubbed at her hair, came up sputtering. Rising, she climbed from the bath, picked up her bloody wrappings, and dumped them in. The blood-tinged water turned deep red.

  Dee tried to ignore the way the water sheened her rune-etched skin, and held out a towel.

  “Thanks.” Mya took it and toweled dry as she spoke. “I did a lot of thinking on the way back from Clemson’s and I don’t think the guild will fall apart entirely. There’ll be some dissent, some abandonment, and maybe even some revenge violence, but I think most assassins have the same kind of core loyalty you have.”

  “Maybe, but there had to have been some reason for the protection clauses in the blood contracts and the protection spells on the rings. We are assassins, after all, and the quickest way to advancement is by killing your superior.”

  “Oh, absolutely.” Mya toweled her hair, leaving it a spiky tangle. “There’ll always be those who want a quick way to power, but I think most people take pride in their jobs. Even us assassins.” She winked at him as she dropped the towel and walked past him toward the bedroom.

  Dee mused on her assessment and nodded his agreement. “Respect instills more loyalty than fear. That certainly worked for you in Twailin. Your Hunters were fiercely loyal. And when Lad took over, the rank and file assassins of all the factions seemed to respect their new masters more than they feared them.”

  “They feared Lad…” Mya grabbed her robe and flung it on. “We all did.”

  “But that was an…unusual situation. He didn’t like using fear as a motivator. Living with him during the time he was guildmaster, it was obvious.”

  “He didn’t like much of anything during those weeks, including himself.” She looked sad for a moment, then shook her head hard, tiny droplets of water flying from her hair. “What about here? I know you haven’t spent much time with the Blades and Enforcers yet, but what’s your opinion? Do you think they’ll rebel against Clemson and Noncey or leave?”

  “Some might leave, but not everyone. Those who stay out of loyalty…” He blinked as he thought about it. “…might be better assassins than those who stayed simply out of fear.”

  “Exactly!” Mya punctuated her agreement by jabbing his shoulder with a finger as she strode past again, this time toward the kitchen. “If the guild survives this war, it’ll end up stronger than it was. Fear’s a crappy motivator. The old Grandmaster learned that the hard way when he picked a fight with Lad.”

  As Dee followed her, realization struck him like a thunderbolt. “The attack at the orphanage!”

  “Was undoubtedly guild.” Mya smiled ruefully as she pulled a bottle and two cups down from the cabinet. “We were lucky to survive.”

  Dee’s stomach flipped queasily as he considered how close he’d come to dying. He fingered the scab where the assassin’s crossbow bolt had creased his side. “Lucky indeed.”

  Mya wrenched the cork from the bottle and poured spiced rum into one of the cups. Despite her bravado, her hand trembled. Quaffing half, she topped off her cup, then held out the bottle.

  “Want some?”

  “Sure.” Dee sat at the table, and she brought over the bottle and the other cup.

  Mya sat across from him, poured a hefty shot into his cup and pushed it toward him, then gulped from her own.

  “So…” Dee sipped the rum—sweet, spicy, and strong—watching as Mya finished hers then poured more. “Do you want me to draft letters to the guildmasters throughout the empire? Warn them that Hoseph has destroyed the blood contracts? That alone will show them how crazy he is.”

  “Excellent idea!” She downed another big swallow and smiled at him. “What would I do without you, Dee?”

  Mya’s smile warmed his heart, but he silently wondered if it was the drink talking. He had never known her to drink much, but she was now pouring her third cup of rum.

  “You’re planning to get roaring drunk tonight, aren’t you?”

  “Damn right.” Mya quaffed half her cup and hiccupped, then held up finger and thumb about an inch apart. “This is how close I came to dying tonight, Dee. I deserve to get drunk.”

  “Okay.” He pushed his cup away. “I’ll put you to bed when you pass out.”

  “Oh no, you don’t.” She pushed the cup back toward him. “I hate to drink alone.”

  “You always drank alone at the Golden Cockerel.”

  “Which is why I never drank much.” Mya downed her cup, then blinked as if to clear her eyes.

  “Mya!” Dee reached for the bottle, but she was faster by far. “It was a close call, but you’ve had them before. You’re okay.”

  “I know.” She poured another shot into her cup and put the bottle down on the table a bit too hard. “I don’t know why I’m so rattled. I guess I’m just feeling vulnerable. I can’t rely on the protection of the ring anymore,” she wiggled her finger, “and I don’t have Lad watching my back.” She drank some and hiccupped again.

  Dee’s stomach clenched like he’d been kicked in the gut. And all you’ve got is me.

  Mya nudged his cup toward him. “Drink.”

  “Sure.” Dee sipped minutely.

  Mya didn’t even notice, but just sat and watched her cup. When she drained it, he refilled it for her.

  Not an hour later, when Mya’s head lolled onto her shoulder and her eyes seemed too bright in the lamplight, Dee guided her to bed and tucked her in. Back in the kitchen, he finished cleaning her bloody clothes, feeling a strange kinship to the crimson wastewater as it swirled down the drain.

  Chapter X

  Sleep… Relax… Don’t think…

  Mya stared at the ceiling, her eyes tracing the hypnotic swirls in the stucco. The technique worked sometimes…but not tonight. Some malign portion of her mind transformed the patterns in the plaster into the winding streets of Tsing. No wonder, really; for days she’d been studying city maps with Clemson and Noncey. Clemson had one that covered an entire wall, each street named, a pin inserted for each of the dozens of known businesses, abodes, hideouts, and fortifications of all the Assassins Guild factions. Somewhere out there, three young boys were being held captive, and Mya had promised the emperor she’d get them back. Her Enforcers and Blades had been searching and watching for any hint of where the Tessifus boys were being held. So far, they’d come up empty.

  Needle in a haystack… Can’t search everywhere… Can’t follow everyone…

  The only good news had been how little the destruction of the blood contracts had affected the guild. There had been a few squabbles, mostly old animosities flaring up between senior and junior journeymen. All had been dealt with quickly and decisively. The most notable had been when one of Noncey’s Blades had tried to put a dagger in the master’s back. The man had died by his own weapon, and his peers just shook their heads. Mya thought at first that the man might be another assassin wooed by the opposing guild factions, but the consensus was no. He’d simply been a foolish malcontent.

  To Mya’s delight, few Enforcers or Blades had fled the guild. She had no way to know how many may have left the other three factions. If she was lucky, Mya would have a stronger and intact guild when she finally resolved this mess. Of course, for that to happen, she had to rescue the boys, kill Hoseph, reconcile the warring factions…

  Sleep… Relax… Don’t think…

  It still wasn’t working.

  She thought ab
out Lad’s dance of death. He’d used the exercises to overcome his insomnia; perhaps they would help her sleep, too. But here in Tsing, she had no privacy, and the dance was an intensely private ritual. Besides, it would only remind me of Lad.

  Distant thunder rumbled. Another one? She hadn’t thought it possible, but the weather turned even hotter as summer deepened, the air still and sultry with daily torrential rains. The urchins will be out in this, getting soaked. Maybe she should send them home. Maybe she should send all the Blades and Enforcers home, too. It wasn’t like their efforts had done any good. Maybe…maybe…

  Stop obsessing!

  It was still early, not even midnight, and she should be asleep. She’d been out every night, checking the surveillance, watching for spies, and visiting the distillery to consult with her two masters. She tried to sleep during the day, but she’d never been able to sleep in a lit room, and it was too stuffy with the curtains drawn. She caught a few hours of sleep in the evenings and early mornings, often after Dee relaxed her as only he could. He’d performed admirably only an hour ago, but still, her mind refused to settle down.

  Dee snorted in his sleep, and she turned on her side, propping her head on her hand to watch him. He slept deeply, his chest rising and falling, eyes moving beneath his lids. He lay with only a sheet draped over one leg, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his skin.

  Poor, exhausted Dee… she mused, recalling their recent tumble with a wry smile. She was afraid she might hurt him, but he never complained.

  So why can’t I sleep?

  Mya considered waking him, coaxing him into taking her mind off of her troubles again. He would, of course. He was always willing, though the last few days he’d been rather subdued. The heat, she assumed. She reached toward him, but stopped before her fingers brushed his skin. He was resting so peacefully, she hated to disturb him. There was only one other thing to do with her excess energy.

  I need to hunt.

  She slipped out of bed slowly and carefully so as not to wake Dee. With one more glance at his sweat-glistened body, she suppressed a tingle of carnal desire, grabbed her wrappings and clothes, and tiptoed out to the living room. Maybe she would wake him when she got back.

  Dressing silently in shirt, trousers, and a dark stocking cap to hide her lightened hair, Mya tucked her daggers into belt and boot sheaths. She looked longingly at the blackbrew pot on the stove, but rattling around in the kitchen would surely wake Dee.

  Maneuvering carefully past the wind chime they’d hung on the door as an alarm, she turned the bolt and eased the handle down. She opened the door gingerly and slipped through, then relocked it. She descended the stairs, avoiding the squeaky ones, and stopped at the bottom to listen. Hearing nothing but faint city night noises and another distant rumble of thunder, she leaned out to scan the street, windows, and rooftops.

  All quiet.

  Starting up the street, Mya kept to the shadows, as silent and invisible as she could be. Since the discovery of the destroyed blood contracts, she’d been walking on eggs, and with good reason.

  They can touch me… Any assassin in Tsing can put a blade in my heart.

  After a few blocks, the tense muscles of her neck and shoulders eased. The familiar rhythm of the night worked almost as well as Dee for easing her stress. These streets were now fairly familiar; she was finally learning Tsing well enough that it felt like home.

  It was still early enough that a few eateries and taverns were open. Even the blue-bloods of the Heights District enjoyed a night on the town, though the establishments were less bawdy than those in Midtown and the Wharf District.

  The familiar clank and stomp of an approaching patrol of constables stopped Mya in her tracks. She suppressed the urge to confront them and introduce herself as Moirin just to see their response. Bad idea… She didn’t need their notice or their recognition. She was more comfortable in the shadows. Besides, after Sergeant Benjamin’s advice to Dee and the masters’ warning that Lakshmi had informants in the constabulary, she couldn’t safely expose herself to their scrutiny. Slipping into an alley, she rounded the block to let them pass before continuing on her way.

  A flash of lightning cast razor-edged shadows, followed seconds later by a rumble of thunder. Mya smelled rain.

  Damn… A hiss like bacon on a skillet heralded the coming deluge, a curtain of water racing down the hill toward her. Mya ducked under an awning and backed into a shadowed corner as it hit.

  In Twailin, spring was the rainy season, with gray skies and showers that lasted for days. Here in Tsing, summer squalls raked the city on a daily basis. Moving fast and passing quickly, they dumped enormous amounts of rain in a short time. This one promised to be a real frog-drowner, as Pax called them.

  Garrote weather. That was what assassins called it. Rain dulled the senses. masking noise, washing away scents, obscuring vision… A skilled killer could sneak close enough to an intended victim to use a garrote or dagger without detection. Even Mya’s enhanced senses couldn’t penetrate the driving rain as it pounded on the awning overhead and cascaded off the edge in a curtain before her. Lad used to complain about the rain when he was her bodyguard, and about Mya’s disregard for his concerns. Now that she had no one guarding her back, she had to be doubly cautious.

  As if calling attention to her vulnerability, a man ran by, cloak held over his head in a futile effort to stay dry, passing within arm’s reach of Mya’s refuge.

  He didn’t see me, she assured herself, but shivered because she hadn’t even heard him coming.

  She tried to relax, watching the torrent of water and trash as the filth of the city flowed downhill. No wonder the rich live on high ground, Mya thought with a curled lip. The locals, at least those who didn’t inhabit the lowest-lying neighborhoods, welcomed the summer storms. The city smelled better after the rain, cisterns filled, the aqueducts that supplied the wells ran clear, and the river flowed stronger and cleaner.

  Finally the storm passed, and the water lapping at the toes of Mya’s boots receded to a trickle in the gutter. Mya listened cautiously and peered into the shadows that edged the night-bound city street, consoled by the thought that the weather would also hamper any would-be follower. Deeming it safe, she continued on her way.

  Mya neared the elaborate Heights District bathhouse where she had first met the Master Inquisitor. Though Lakshmi had abandoned it as her headquarters, the business was too profitable to close down despite a guild war. It was also Mya’s greatest hope of tracking down the master.

  “Follow the money,” had been Clemson’s suggestion.

  Someone would have to deliver a percentage of the earnings to the Master Inquisitor. Unfortunately, Mya’s people had yet to pinpoint that someone. The watchers—both urchin and assassin—now knew every bath attendant, masseuse, host, and cleaning worker who came and went from the establishment. Each had been followed and confirmed as a bona fide employee. Wealthy men and women indulged themselves daily in the services offered, and most of these had also been vetted. Mya considered that a wealthy noble or aristocrat might be working for the guild—Hoseph had used a noble in Twailin, after all—picking up payments during their appointments. Some of Noncey’s hired bodyguards worked for regular patrons, but none had heard anything suggesting guild connections.

  Mya first checked to see if anyone was watching her watchers, slowly circling the block twice in narrowing circles. Spying no one, she edged around to the alley behind the building. During the day, both front and back doors were watched, but no one used the front door after the bathhouse closed, so she set watches on only the back door at night. Flitting through the shadows, she ducked into the shrubberies several doors down from the bathhouse, squatting beside the child huddled there. “Hey, Kit. Anything new?”

  “No, Miss Mya. The same folks left after they closed up, the last one just a little while ago. No sign of anyone since.”

  “Okay.” Mya noticed Kit shivering and put a hand on the girl’s cold, skinny arm. Tho
ugh the rain had stopped, fat drops hung from the shrubbery leaves. “You’re soaked, Kit, and shivering. Go home and get someone to take over.”

  “I’m okay, Miss Mya.” The girl wiped her nose with a grimy sleeve. “I still got more time on my shift.”

  “I wasn’t asking.” If the urchins had a fault, it was with following orders. “Go.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Kit wiggled out from under the shrub, a scowl on her face. “But I’m not that cold.”

  “Yes, you are. Don’t dawdle, and don’t let anyone see you.”

  Kit skulked off, looking like any one of the hundreds of urchins that roamed the streets of Tsing. They were resourceful and they knew how to avoid trouble. Any who couldn’t, didn’t survive long.

  Mya slipped between two buildings across the alley from the bathhouse. The close was narrow enough for her to touch the walls of both buildings at the same time. Fingers and toes finding easy purchase on the bricks of the opposing walls, she ascended with little difficulty. At the top, she grabbed the eaves and hoisted herself onto the low, sloped roof, then crouched and listened: dripping water, distant echoing thunder, and the faint scuff of leather on tile as someone shifted their weight.

  Inching up to the crest and peering over, she spotted the black-clad Blade prone at the roof edge, positioned to see the back door of the bathhouse without being observed by someone looking up from the street.

  “Whetstone,” Mya whispered, just loud enough for the assassin to hear.

  The figure twitched and its head turned slowly. Dark eyes stared through a slit in the cloth that wrapped the person’s face. “Razor,” a woman’s voice replied.

  Mya inched closer, noted that the Blade’s eyes were wide. Fear? Excitement? “Anything new?”

  “Maybe.”

  Mya thrilled with anticipation. “What?”

  “The last of the regular workers just left, but something was…different. One of them was carrying a load of dirty towels under his arm.”