Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy)

by Jackson, Chris A.

  “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know. You must believe me!”

  “He’s lying,” Sereth said with a sneer.

  Only one way to find out...

  “Sereth, I’m leaving, and Hensen’s coming with me. Call in your people and search this place thoroughly. Be careful. I don’t want any of his staff harmed, but I want them secured.”

  “Master, let me go with you!” Sereth cast a malignant glance at Hensen. “I can help question—”

  Lad held up a hand. “Sereth! I need you here. Kiesha may be hiding in the house, and only you can identify her. Once you’re done, come to my home to report your findings.”

  “But Jinny—”

  “Don’t worry. We’re going to ask Master Hensen a few questions, then you and I will go get your wife.”

  Sereth heaved a sigh, but nodded and backed down. “Very good, Master.”

  “You’re assuming that I’m going to tell you where she’s being kept,” Hensen said indignantly. “I see no reason to give up my only bargaining chip.”

  “I assume nothing, and I can think of twenty-one reasons—” Lad looked the master thief up and down. “Make that twenty-three reasons why you’ll tell me where she is. But we need to go someplace where no one will hear your screams before I start removing those reasons.”

  “Before you what?”

  Lad knew many ways to render someone unconscious. He picked the one least likely to break the thief’s neck, and caught the falling body on his shoulder. Lifting the weight easily, he looked to Sereth. “Fetch the carriage.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Chapter X

  Lad breathed in the earthy aroma of oak and stone that permeated the wine cellar beneath his house. The smell of fear soured the pleasanter scents, and the coppery odor of blood would soon join the mix.

  Amidst the racks of bottles and neat rows of casks, Master Hensen sat bound to one of Lad’s ornate dining room chairs. A pained squeak escaped his gag as Lad tightened the last knot. The thief stared wide-eyed into Lad’s blank expression, then looked away. By the sweat on his upper lip, the pulse pounding at his throat, and the reek of fear, Lad could tell that the man knew what was coming.

  I have to do this. There’s no other way.

  The idea of torture sickened him, but he saw no alternative. He would do anything to discover who was responsible for Wiggen’s death. Even this.

  Lad walked behind the chair, reached out for Hensen’s neck. The thief tensed in expectation of the violence he knew would soon come, then relaxed when Lad untied the gag. Hensen spat out the wad of cloth that had ensured his silence during the short carriage ride. His first words were predictable.

  “You’re making a mistake.”

  Before Lad could answer, a metallic clatter from the stairs drew their attention. Dee came down bearing the same silver tray he used to serve Lad’s breakfast, now heaped with kitchen implements. He put the tray down on a small folding table beside Hensen’s chair. The thief’s eyes widened at the pile of knives, forks, spoons, garlic presses, corkscrews, and other assorted culinary tools.

  “Sorry, sir, this is all I could find. I could call for an Inquisitor if you wish.” Dee’s calm voice contradicted the clenched jaw and stiff posture. Dee apparently didn’t care for the gruesome task his master was about to perform.

  “These are fine, Dee.” Lad picked a nutcracker out of the tangle of metal. The thought of applying it to Hensen’s fingers, the pending crunch of bone beneath the serrated jaws, nauseated him. I have to do this. “I can make do. Go upstairs and wait for Sereth.”

  “Very good, sir.” He nodded and left, closing the cellar door behind him.

  “Don’t do this!” Hensen’s voice was raw with desperation.

  Lad examined the cluttered tray of steel and remembered all the horrible devices he’d seen in the Grandfather’s subterranean torture chamber. He remembered how he had hated that place. Swallowing bile, he looked around at his benign surroundings. Had the Grandfather’s torture chamber once been a cellar with casks of wine and ale? Had Saliez once tied a captive to a chair and reluctantly applied crude tools to elicit information? In doing so, had he developed his taste for torture? Would Lad?

  I have to do this. There’s no other way.

  He told himself it was for Wiggen, but in his heart he knew that was a lie. The vengeance was for him. But even more than vengeance, he needed to know why.

  “You don’t need to do this, Lad!”

  “Don’t I?” He examined the nutcracker in his hand, imagining too easily the places it could be applied, and dropped it back onto the silver tray. “Then you better start telling me the truth, Master Hensen.”

  “I’ve told you the truth.” He swallowed hard, sweat breaking out anew on his forehead. “We can discuss this like civilized men.”

  Lad scrutinized Hensen, watching for signs of deception. The man might be able to maintain a stony façade, but few could control their involuntary responses, and after five years with Mya, Lad was a master at reading them. “Let’s discuss, then. You said you didn’t order Kiesha to murder my wife.”

  “That’s correct. We had a contract to protect you and Mya for one month.”

  “Who contracted you to protect us?”

  “Baron Patino, a local noble.”

  Patino… A noble… Lad didn’t recognize the name, and he didn’t know any nobles. “Why did Patino want us protected?”

  “He didn’t give a reason, just paid half our fee in advance to keep you and Mya alive for a month. We looked into his background, but found no connections to the Assassins Guild or any other illegal organization. We knew from Sereth that there was trouble brewing within your guild, and we knew from a spy at the Golden Cockerel that Mya had received orders from the Grandmaster of Assassins to craft a new guildmaster’s ring and assume the position.”

  “Moirin was yours?”

  “Yes, but she vanished without a trace.” Hensen frowned. “We assumed she’d been discovered and you disposed of her.”

  “She was discovered, but took poison before we could take her.”

  “A pity.” Hensen sounded about as upset as if he’d just broken a favored teacup.

  “Pity?” Hensen’s blasé attitude ignited Lad’s temper once again. His lip curled back in an involuntary sneer. “You better pity your assistant, Master Hensen. She murdered my wife! I’m going to find her and kill her for it. And if you don’t want me to remove your fingernails with a paring knife and pliers, you’re going to help me! Is that clear?”

  Hensen’s features hardened. “Perfectly clear, but if you kill me, Sereth’s wife perishes. Kill me, and I’ll be unable to answer any more of your questions. Kill me, and the Thieves Guild will wage open war on the Assassins Guild. Every building you own, every business you run will burn, and the streets and alleys of Twailin will flow with blood. Kiesha told me that your wife’s death was an accident! She had no reason to lie.”

  The cellar door thumped, and Sereth came down the stairs. “Master, we searched the house from rafters to cellar, but didn’t find Kiesha.” The Blade’s eyes roved over Hensen. “We secured the household staff, and I left a squad of Blades to watch over them. We probably have until sunrise before someone comes calling.”

  “Which is when my guild will learn that you’ve taken me captive, and horrible things will start to happen.” Hensen looked to Lad, his eyes imploring. “Things that don’t need to happen.”

  “Don’t believe a word he says, sir.” Sereth radiated loathing for the man like heat from a kiln. “He’ll say anything to save his own skin.”

  And yet he’s not just telling me what I want to hear. It didn’t make sense that Hensen stuck with his story of an accident. His concern for his guards hadn’t shown such devotion, so why wouldn’t he just give up his assistant? Why risk torture to convince Lad that Wiggen’s death was a mistake? Frustration stoked Lad’s rage.

  “Kiesha murdered my wife, and it wasn’t an acciden
t. The fight was over. Nobody could have mistaken Wiggen for an assassin.”

  Hensen shook his head stubbornly. “Kiesha had no motivation to kill her. Our only orders were to protect you.”

  “Your orders…” Lad’s mind shifted gears. Even if Hensen wouldn’t answer his questions, he had given him another place to look. “Patino...”

  “Patino?” Sereth stepped forward, his brow furrowed. “Baron Patino?”

  “What do you know about Patino?” Lad asked.

  “Kiesha met with him yesterday at the Westmarket bazaar.”

  “Ridiculous!” Hensen’s outburst seemed too spontaneous to be faked, but he’d already proven himself a smooth liar. “She doesn’t know him. She must have been merely spying on him. Gathering more information to—”

  “No.” Sereth was adamant. “They had a conversation, strolling arm and arm like old chums.”

  Lad snatched up a corkscrew and held it in front of his captive’s eye, seething. “What did I say about telling me the truth?”

  Hensen didn’t respond, just kept shaking his head. “Why would she lie to me?”

  “Hensen!” Lad longed to jam the spiral of steel into the man’s hand to get his attention, but held back. Even if the thief was playing him for a fool, once Lad crossed that line, there was no going back. He would become just like Saliez, the man who had made him a killer. “You said you investigated Baron Patino. Tell me what you found out, everything you found out.”

  “Nothing.” Hensen shifted minutely in his seat. Lad noted the movement; was it discomfort or a tell? Was Hensen lying? “We looked into his family, his associations, even his mistresses. He’s nothing but a low-ranking noble, albeit a wealthy one.”

  “And who conducted this investigation?”

  Hensen seemed to wither in his seat. “Kiesha.”

  “So, you still think Kiesha had no reason to lie to you? That her killing of Wiggen was an accident? Because either Kiesha lied to you, or you’re lying to me right now.” Lad’s grinding teeth chirped like distant crickets in the ensuing silence. He longed to lash out, to take that step that would make him that much closer to Saliez.

  Wiggen…

  “I’m not lying. If it truly wasn’t an accident, as you insist, then someone else must have ordered the kill.”

  “And that someone might be Patino.” Lad turned to shout up the stairs, “Dee!”

  Dee trundled down. His eyes scanned the scene, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Yes, sir.”

  “Send runners to Bemrin and Mya with instructions to investigate one Baron Patino. They’re to pull in all the resources they need. I want to know what he eats, who he sleeps with, where he is every hour of the day, and I want it now!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We have the name of Wiggen’s killer. Kiesha. Have Mya’s start the hunt for her. Sereth will give a detailed description and all her disguises later, and we’ll have an artist make sketches. For now, she’s slim, blonde, pretty, and works as Master Hensen’s assistant. And Dee, make sure Mya knows that she’s dangerous, and that I want her alive.”

  “Yes, sir.” Dee hurried out.

  Lad paced the confines of the cellar, feeling like a wild animal in a cage. He tried to organize his thoughts, but nothing made sense. What role did Patino play in all this? Lad’s only interactions with Twailin’s nobility occurred five years ago, when he murdered nobles on Saliez’s orders. Could one have been a relation of Patino’s, and Wiggen’s death the baron’s revenge? He shook his head. The possibility seemed remote. Then Lad remembered Mya’s supposition about who might be protecting him. A connection between the Grandmaster and a minor noble seemed even less likely.

  “That’s it!” Hensen’s eyes widened again, but this time they shone with the light of discovery instead of fear. And they were focused on Lad, or more precisely, Lad’s left hand. “The guildmaster’s ring. Your wife wore it.”

  “How did you…” What other presumably secret information did Hensen know? It didn’t matter; he needed answers. “Yes.”

  “And she could never take it off, isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Mya received orders to have a new ring forged and declare herself guildmaster.”

  Lad stiffened. He knew where this line of reasoning was headed, and it wouldn’t do to have Hensen blurting out information that Lad would rather keep quiet. Sereth didn’t know about Mya’s theory that the Grandmaster might have sent someone to protect him, or Lad’s notion of the Grandmaster’s potential involvement in Wiggen’s death.

  And it’s going to stay that way.

  “Implicating one of my own people isn’t going to get you out of that chair!”

  “I wasn’t implying that. I was just pointing out—”

  “He’s playing you, Master!” Sereth brandished a dagger. “He’ll spin any tale he can think of to get out of this. Give me ten minutes with him, and I’ll find out where they’re keeping Jinny.”

  “Jinny?” Lad’s mind stumbled over the name.

  “My wife, sir.”

  “Yes.” Lad had been so caught up in the puzzle of Patino and Kiesha, he’d forgotten about Jinny. Once Hensen’s abduction was discovered, Sereth’s wife would suffer. Lad’s gut twisted. He was making progress in his interrogation of Hensen, but… He looked at Sereth. The Master Blade regarded him respectfully, but desperation haunted his eyes.

  Wiggen is dead, and Jinny is still alive…for now. Lad turned his attention back to Hensen. “Sereth’s wife.”

  “She’s quite safe,” said Hensen.

  “But she won’t stay that way for long. You said—”

  “I lied, dear boy!” Hensen’s bark of laughter hedged toward hysteria. “She’s fine until I give the word otherwise. If I should die, however...”

  “He’s still lying.” Sereth step forward menacingly. “Let me question him.”

  “As I said,” Hensen began, looking nervously at the blade in Sereth’s hand, “Sereth’s wife is my only remaining bargaining chip.” His eyes flicked back to Lad. “So let’s bargain.”

  “Jinny is not a bargaining chip!” Sereth’s dagger moved, but Lad’s hand closed on his wrist before the tip pierced the back of Hansen’s hand.

  “No, Sereth!” His reaction had been visceral, the decision made without thought. Lad could neither stand by while a bound man was tortured, nor do the job himself. He would not become another Saliez. He drew a deep, cleansing breath, and the revulsion at what he had almost done ebbed away. “If we hurt him, we start a war. If we kill him, your wife suffers.” He released his grip on Sereth’s wrist and looked at the master thief. “But I’m not going to release you in exchange for Sereth’s wife.”

  “No, I didn’t think you’d agree to that.” Hensen twisted his lips wistfully. “And frankly, you need my help to discover who was truly responsible for your wife’s murder.”

  “Your help?” Now it was Lad’s turn to look skeptical. “Now you want to help?”

  “I’ve been helpful from the very start! And trust me, dear boy, I want to know who’s behind this as much as you do. More, perhaps.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve been betrayed by one of my closest people, and you ask me that? Someone used Kiesha to set up the Thieves Guild to take the blame for your wife’s murder. Whoever it is might even be trying to start a war between our guilds. I want to find out who that is, and you want to find out who ordered Kiesha to kill your wife. We’re looking for the same person!”

  Who ordered Kiesha… If she was acting under orders, did she really deserve Lad’s vengeance? He, too, had killed on orders. Only because I couldn’t disobey. To find out the truth, they had to find Kiesha. Maybe Hensen was right. Lad needed all the help he could get.

  “What do you want in exchange for this help?”

  Hensen lifted his chin and took a deep breath. There was relief there, surely, but something else, too. Resolve, perhaps? “I would like an agreement from you, Lad, that you won’t k
ill Kiesha for what she’s done.”

  “You what?”

  “I’ve told you the truth about what she said to me. Since she had no motivation of her own to kill your wife, and I didn’t tell her to do it, she must have been following someone else’s orders.” Hensen looked up imploringly. “She was nothing but a weapon, Lad. Surely you can understand that.”

  Lad understood that better than Hensen knew, but he still didn’t trust the master thief. “Why do you care so much about Kiesha? You weren’t so concerned about your guards, or Moirin, or even your bed partner for that matter.”

  Hensen opened his mouth, paused, glanced at Sereth, and said, “I care about her because I created her.”

  “Created her? You mean you trained her?”

  “I saw to her training, yes, but I mean created.” Hensen sighed and closed his eyes. His face seemed to age in that instant, sagging with defeat. “She’s my daughter.”

  “That’s ridiculous! You undressed her right in front of me!” Sereth looked to Lad. “He’s lying through his teeth!”

  “I’m not lying. Not about this.” Hensen looked up at the Blade with reinforced resolve in his eyes. “I went to great lengths to hide her identity, Sereth. If anyone knew, they would have used her to get to me.”

  “Just as the other masters used Lissa to manipulate me,” Lad said.

  “And just as you’re using Jinny,” Sereth hissed through clenched teeth.

  “Exactly.” Hensen smirked at the Blade. “We’re thieves and murderers, Sereth, not saints.”

  A chill invaded Lad’s bones. Could he believe Hensen? If Kiesha was indeed his daughter, then he couldn’t blame the man for trying to protect her. But if Lad agreed not to kill her, and it turned out that Kiesha had been acting on her own initiative… His vengeance was being thwarted at every turn.

  “Tell us where Sereth’s wife is being held, and I’ll agree not to kill your daughter, but only if she tells me who gave her the order to kill Wiggen.”

  “Very well.”

  “And you’ll help me find her.”

  “I’ll do everything I can in that regard. You have my word.”