Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy)

by Jackson, Chris A.

  “Don’t trust him, Master.” Hatred honed Sereth’s words.

  “I don’t,” Lad assured the Blade. “That’s why Master Hensen will be staying with us for a while. At least until we find Kiesha. And I’m going to bring Enola in to help. I’m sure she’s got some kind of potion to make sure he’s not lying to us.”

  Sereth frowned, but nodded. “Yes, Master.”

  “If I’m to stay here, I hope you can provide better accommodations than this.” Hensen’s cool exterior was back, like a film of ice over a raging river. Lad longed to shatter that façade, but didn’t dare risk their fragile agreement. Inconceivably, he needed Hensen.

  “I’ll arrange something more comfortable after we free Sereth’s wife. Where is she?”

  “There is a tailor’s shop on the corner of East Dunley Street and Bellhaven Avenue. The proprietor’s name is Rolf Emurry. Two of my people are watching over her in the loft above the shop. Tell them my package is to be delivered today, and you’re to take charge of it. They’ll ask you to pay in advance, and you’ll give them a single silver penny. Only then will they release Sereth’s dear Jinny into your hands.”

  “If you’re lying—”

  “I would have to be monumentally stupid to lie to you,” Hensen said with an indignant look. “You’d give me to Sereth, and he’d start cutting off pieces of my very cherished anatomy.”

  “That you can count on, Master Hensen. Dee!”

  “Yes sir?” His assistant was through the door and down the stairs in an instant. “I’ve sent runners to Mya and Bemrin. Did you need something else?”

  “Yes. Send a runner to Jingles. Have him send two Enforcers to watch over our guest. Send another to Enola. I need her to tell me if someone’s lying. Keep Hensen company until we get back. Sereth, let’s go get your wife.”

  “Yes, sir!” Sereth sheathed his dagger and, for the first time since Lad had known the Blade, he smiled.

  “What a lovely neighborhood.” Bemrin squeezed Mya’s arm as they passed yet another well-heeled passerby. They’d been walking for fifteen minutes, and the blithe smile had not left his face. “Right at the corner and halfway up the block, my dear.”

  “I’m not ‘your dear’, Bemrin.” Mya maintained her mien of insipid contentment. “Just because I put on a dress doesn’t mean I can’t break you in half.”

  “I don’t doubt that for an instant, my dear.” He gave her a wink.

  Mya gritted her teeth and kept smiling. Bemrin’s obvious enjoyment of the situation annoyed her even more than the ridiculous frippery she’d donned for this excursion. Dressing to walk Barleycorn Heights was one thing, passing herself off as Hightown gentry was another.

  She knew that her fretting about her clothes and Bemrin’s pomposity resulted from a deeper distress. A pre-dawn surprise mission from the guildmaster was bad enough. Scouring the city for Kiesha had put her on edge, and the deeper implications of Dee’s note were unsettling.

  Sereth… With every Inquisitor and Hunter in the guild searching for Wiggen’s killer, how had a Blade stumbled upon her? What did a minor noble have to do with anything, and how did the Thieves Guild fit in? And would taking the head of the rival guild as a prisoner precipitate a war? Because that’s all we need…

  But it was the language of the note that had made Mya’s skin crawl. She knew Dee, and when he used terms like “extracted information” there was no doubt in her mind what he meant. She remembered Hensen from years ago, when she enlisted his help in the search for Lad, and knew the Master Thief wouldn’t give up information without payment…or inducement.

  Lad won’t go there! her conscience insisted. Then she thought about his murder of Yance, and the devil’s advocate at the back of her mind whispered, This isn’t the Lad you loved. If he had crossed the line into torture, he was truly lost.

  Mya tried to distract herself by admiring the scenery. Baron Patino lived in one of the richest sections of Hightown. Marble façades and polished brass carriage lamps shone in the mid-morning sun, just as the people they passed glowed in their silk and satin finery.

  Bemrin leaned close. “You really should see a proper tailor about your gown, by the way. That’s more than three years out of style and doesn’t quite fit.”

  “That’s because its five years old, and I haven’t worn it in that long.” It was also the only one she owned with a high neck and long sleeves to cover her tattoos. In fact, the last time she’d worn this gown, she’d been casing nobles for Lad to murder. She had been a different person then, terrified in the shadow of the Grandfather.

  And now I’m terrified in the shadow of Lad.

  “You’ve been Master Hunter for five years, and you haven’t bought a new gown?” Bemrin sounded incredulous.

  “I’ve had no reason to. I have others to do my spying for me.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” He squeezed her arm again and beamed. “Just relax, and do try to remember that we’re on the same side.”

  “Right. I keep forgetting that part.”

  Truth be told, if the Inquisitor didn’t annoy her so much, she would have congratulated him on the speed with which his people had unearthed the location of Baron Patino’s townhouse, as well as details about his estates, title, money, and social life. His Inquisitors were still out canvassing the city, digging up information on Patino, while her Hunters tracked down Kiesha. The two masters had reserved Baron Patino for themselves. Posing as a moneyed couple out strolling among their rich neighbors, they intended to scout the neighborhood, listen to the gossip, give Patino’s home a careful look, and perhaps pick up his trail. If the baron himself came strolling out today, Mya would stick to him like a tick on a dog. Who knows: he might even lead her to Kiesha. Lad hadn’t given orders to snatch Patino, but then, a missing noble would precipitate a man-hunt by the Royal Guard, not so a missing thief.

  Rounding the corner, Mya stopped short. Two Royal Guard carriages were parked in front of the baron’s townhouse. Across the street, a small crowd of well-bred spectators stared at the spectacle and talked amongst themselves.

  “Don’t stop!” Bemrin hissed, tugging her into motion. “And wipe that ‘I’m guilty’ look off your face.”

  “I do not look guilty!” She followed his lead, and they resumed their staid pace. Her face burned with embarrassment at her gaff. Master Hunter, and she had gaped like a virgin in a brothel. Damn, I’m out of practice!

  “My dear, if you looked any guiltier, you’d have a noose around your neck. Let’s try for mildly curious, shall we?” The Inquisitor patted her hand. “And do try to walk a little more like a lady instead of a stalking panther, won’t you?”

  “Fine.” Mya cursed him for it, but he was right. Smiling again, she adjusted her gait, shortening her step and swaying her hips.

  Bemrin squeezed her arm again. “And please, let me ask the questions. Finesse is my forte, after all. When we need to break someone in half, I’ll leave it all to you.”

  “Pompous twit,” she murmured just loud enough for him to hear. Damned if he wasn’t right about that, too. Hunters excelled at finding people, tracking them down and bringing them back dead or alive. Inquisitors weren’t just interrogators, they were the guild’s spies, invisible and everywhere.

  “Why of course I’m a pompous twit, my dear.” Bemrin laughed easily and smiled at her, then lowered his voice. “And we’re walking through a sea of like-minded people, so I should fit right in, no?”

  Mya focused on the low conversations as they approached the crowd. Her stomach soured at the tidbits she overheard: “tragedy…” “terrible…” “so young.”

  “Pardon me.” Bemrin nodded politely to a passing woman. Richly dressed, she dabbed her nose with an embroidered handkerchief. “What seems to have drawn the attention of the Royal Guard to this quiet neighborhood?”

  The woman looked at him with tearful eyes. “It’s the good Baron Patino. He’s passed away. Such a lovely man, too, and so young.”

  Mya struggled
to maintain her composure. Dead?

  Thankfully, Bemrin’s expression showed only appropriately feigned sadness. He tsked and shook his head. “Passed away, you say. Was he ill?”

  “Not that I noticed, and I saw him just yesterday at the market. I’ve lived next to him for three years now, and never met a kinder man.”

  “But what could it have been? His heart?”

  Yeah, with a poisoned dart in it! Mya had harbored doubts about the involvement of a noble in Wiggen’s death when she first read Dee’s note, but for Patino to die the very same day they received orders to investigate him pretty much cinched it. Mya didn’t believe in coincidence.

  “They don’t know the cause,” the woman said. “His valet found him this morning lying in his study, and sent one of the kitchen boys to fetch the guard. The baron’s maid spoke with my maid, who told my butler, who told… Well, you know how word gets around.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Some are suggesting poison…”

  “Who would dare such a thing?”

  “Well…” the woman bent closer, a glint of scandal shining through her distress, “…he did have lady friends, but Lady Patino knew he kept other company. Such an odd relationship…”

  “The Nine Hells have no wrath like a woman scorned, it’s true.” Bemrin shook his head sagely. “Such a shame.” He squeezed Mya’s arm. “Shall we continue our stroll, my dear?”

  “Of course.” She had to admit, Bemrin was smooth.

  As they walked on, Mya’s mind raced far, far ahead. When they were a block away, she gauged that they were sufficiently alone to speak. “Lad will want details, and fast.”

  “How to get them is the question.” Bemrin actually sounded worried. “I have no eyes in the Royal Guard, and this is out of the City Guard’s jurisdiction. But perhaps…” The Master Inquisitor cocked his head in thought, then nodded. “…I’ll send in a distraught young lady. Tears and a low-cut gown often yield results. If Patino was known as a lady’s man, one more attractive mourner asking for details shouldn’t invite undue attention.”

  “Not a bad idea.” Mya gazed at Bemrin with budding respect. He might be a pompous ass, but one did not rise to the position of Master Inquisitor without knowing how to get information.

  “Right then! I’ll delve the Royal Guard for details, and you go tell the guildmaster that Patino’s dead.”

  “Thanks a lot!” Lad would be furious at the news. She swallowed her fear and resolved to think positively. Their last conversation had ended well. Why worry? Just because he may have tortured Hensen to get information, only to find out that the object of his interest is dead? Oh, yeah, he’ll take that well.

  Bemrin raised a hand to hail a passing hackney, and the coach jerked to a halt. “Tell our master that I’ll report as soon as I can. And do be careful.”

  “Thanks.” Mya didn’t believe his false concern for a second. She allowed him to hand her up into the carriage and managed to keep from smacking him as he bent to kiss her gloved hand. Backing off with a smile, Bemrin closed the door and called up to the driver, “Greensleeves Way. And hurry.”

  “As you wish, milord!”

  Mya fought for a deep breath as the whip cracked and the coach rumbled off toward Lad. She felt stifled by the encumbering dress, the enclosed carriage, and the mission Bemrin had coerced her into. Biting her lip, she dreaded what she might find at her destination.

  “Not a mark, you say?” Norwood crouched beside the body.

  Aside from his grayish pallor, Baron Patino looked asleep. But a dead noble without an obvious cause of death warrants a visit from the Royal Guard. Norwood sighed—All part of the job—and resigned himself to a boring investigation that would undoubtedly reveal some malady or hidden illness. Strange as it might seem, sometimes young men died. At least the captain hadn’t had to travel far; his office was only ten blocks away.

  “Nothing, sir.” The corporal in charge of the investigation shrugged. “No bruises, no look of pain on his face like you see when a man’s had a heart attack, no vomit or sign of intoxication, and no blood.”

  “And he’s not been ill, and didn’t go out for dinner, by the word of his valet,” another guardsman added. “His man went to bed around ten last night, and the baron was reading here in the study.” He gestured to a book beside a comfortable chair.

  Norwood stood and went to the lamp beside the chair. He laid a hand on the glass chimney; it was cool. “Any lamps on when you got here, corporal?”

  “Just that one beside the door.” He pointed.

  The lamp was out now, since there was enough light streaming through the high windows to illuminate the room. Norwood went to it and felt the chimney, detecting slight warmth. The other lamp had been put out long before this one.

  “So, he got up from his reading, put out his reading lamp, took two steps and dropped dead without making a sound.” That sounded strange to Norwood, but there were no signs of violence or foul play. “And the valet said the exterior doors were locked when he got up this morning?”

  “Tight as a drum, sir. The wife’s hysterical.”

  “I want to talk to her.” Hysteria could be faked, and she wouldn’t be the first noble wife to kill a husband. If the house hadn’t been broken into, and this did turn out to be a wrongful death, the list of suspects narrowed considerably.

  The familiarity of the situation pricked his memory. A locked home and a dead body…

  “Check all the windows and the attic for signs of forced entry, and send a carriage for Master Woefler. Ask him to check all the baron’s decanters for poison, and the baron himself while he’s at it. Oh, and ask the baroness and servants if anything has gone missing, even something seemingly unimportant.”

  “Already checked for signs of a break-in, sir. Not so much as a scratch on a casement. The butler and valet reported that nothing’s missing.”

  Nothing missing, and no sign that anyone broke in… Norwood considered again the similarities to something he’d seen. Something recent…something…Woefler…magic… He snapped his fingers when finally he remembered. Vonlith! Similar circumstances, except for the dagger wound in the brain.

  Norwood looked down at the dead baron again. Patino was a score of years younger than the guard captain and looked to be in good health. “Damned strange…” Norwood didn’t like it when nobles dropped dead in his city, and liked it even less when there was no apparent explanation why they were dead.

  Maybe I’m just getting paranoid. He swept his eyes around the room one more time. Not a single thing out of place. Not a dropped glass, not a book off the shelf, not a single sign that anyone came or went. He felt a chill down his spine.

  Captain Norwood turned to the corporal in charge. “Once we take the body, send a messenger to the Royal Physicker. I want a reason why this man’s dead, even if we have to cut him open to find it.”

  The corporal swallowed and jotted down a note. “Yes sir.”

  Chapter XI

  Waiting…

  Lad paced back and forth across the polished wood floor of his dining room. A lifetime of self-reliance had ill-prepared him for the guildmaster’s position. He issued orders, then had to wait while other people carried them out, wait for information, wait on results... Wait for someone else to find Wiggen’s killer.

  In contrast, Hensen sat comfortably at the table, sipping tea and nibbling scones, seeming to revel in his status as guest, rather than prisoner. Convincing the Thieves Guild that their master was here voluntarily hadn’t been easy, but they’d done so. Neither of them wanted a guild war. The two Enforcers looming at the thief’s shoulders belied his guest status, but Hensen ignored them. Not being tied to a chair and threatened with torture had done wonders for the man’s calm.

  Lad’s, however, was in tatters.

  The recovery of Sereth’s wife had gone as easily as Hensen said it would. Lad had been afraid that the Master Blade might retaliate against those who held her, but he’d just gathered the confused woman into his a
rms and walked out. They were together now in the next room, getting reacquainted while Sereth worked with an artist to produce accurate sketches of Kiesha. He could hear their whispers through the closed door, though he tried not to listen. They had two years of catching up to do, and didn’t need anyone eavesdropping.

  “You really should learn to relax and enjoy your position, Lad.” Hensen chased the last bite of his scone with the dregs of his third cup of tea.

  Lad shot him a smoldering look. “Your daughter murdered my wife, and I’m still not convinced you didn’t have a part in it. I’ll relax when I know who ordered Kiesha to kill Wiggen.”

  “I have just as much at stake in this as you do, yet I’m relaxed and calm, while you pace and fret.” Hensen sipped his tea and sighed. “Worrying only transforms minutes to hours, and gives you indigestion. You must learn to be like a swan: serene and calm on the surface, paddling like hell under the water, and always on the lookout for alligators.”

  “I’m not interested in your philosophy, Hensen, I’m interested in—”

  Dee pushed through the door from the kitchen carrying a tray with fresh pots of blackbrew and tea, and another plate of scones. Lad eyed the blackbrew, but decided against another cup. His nerves were already jangling. Waiting was killing him, and nothing he tried helped. Concentration, meditation, even his daily exercises had gone by the wayside, all useless to ease his pain or order his thoughts. He’d thought that a lead would make him feel better, but he didn’t. He felt like a rat in a trap, gnawing at his own foot to escape.

  “Master.”

  Dee’s voice brought Lad’s eyes up, and he followed his assistant’s gaze out the front windows. A well-dressed lady had just disembarked from a hackney outside his house. Only when she turned toward his front door did Lad realize it was Mya. He barely recognized her in the get-up. The frills and lace made her look incongruously…female.

  “Finally!”

  Her arrival, however, set him teetering between relief and anxiety. Lad needed her keen mind to help him with the puzzle, but—he glanced at Hensen—he couldn’t let her in the same room with the master thief. Hensen might blurt out something about the contract to protect them. From there, she would make the connection to the Grandmaster’s potential involvement in Wiggen’s death. Lad had to keep her and the other masters in the dark on that score, or risk rebellion.