Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy)

by Jackson, Chris A.

  “I’ll talk to her in the parlor, Dee. Keep our guest company.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Lad strode into the entry hall and opened the door before Mya could knock. She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand. “Not in front of Hensen.” He kept his voice low and conspiratorial. “In the parlor.”

  As Mya stepped inside, her gaze flicked curiously toward the dining room and Hensen sitting there eating scones. Her eyes widened in surprise, then the corner of her mouth twitched.

  Lad reached past her and slid closed the door to the dining room. “In the parlor. Now!”

  “Yes, I’m just…” She nodded and bit her lip. “Yes, Master.”

  He followed her into the parlor and closed that door, too. “What have you found out?”

  Mya clenched her hands in front of her and took a deep breath. “Patino’s dead.”

  “Dead?” Lad’s head pounded, his pulse suddenly racing. He stepped up to Mya, straining to keep from grabbing and shaking the details out of her. “Patino was our only lead! How?”

  “We don’t know yet.” She swallowed hard, her face pale, but she stood her ground. “Two Royal Guard coaches were parked outside his house. We couldn’t get any details other than that his valet found him this morning, dead in his study. A neighbor said that Patino had affairs with other women, so Bemrin’s sending someone to the Royal Guard to pose as a bereaved mistress, hoping to get more details.”

  “Kiesha!” Lad glared at the closed door. “She killed Patino to cover her tracks.”

  Mya nodded. “It’s a cinch he didn’t just coincidentally drop dead.”

  “Yes.” His mind spun. Kiesha was the key to everything. Only she could confirm who was truly behind Wiggen’s murder. “I need you back on the street, Mya. I want Hunters at every gate in and out of the city, anywhere someone might slip through. If Kiesha’s running, she may leave Twailin.”

  “What about Hensen? He might know where she would hide.”

  “I’m working on that. He’s cooperating.”

  “Why?”

  “We made a deal.” Lad struggled with himself, and made a decision. Mya needed to know this much, anyway. He needed her mind on the job as much as he needed her on the street. “He told us that Kiesha’s his daughter.”

  “His what?” Her jaw dropped. “You think that’s the truth?”

  “I…” Lad recalled the look on Hensen’s face and nodded. “I do. He insisted that Kiesha had no motive to kill Wiggen, which makes sense. Someone ordered the hit. I agreed not to kill her if she told me who gave her the order. Since then, he’s been…helpful. I’ll send information to you at the Cockerel as soon as I get it. The sketches of Kiesha should be done soon.”

  She glanced in the direction of the dining room. “You want me to talk to him?”

  “No, Mya. He trusts me, and Sereth scares him. Between the two of us, it’s working.”

  “How did Sereth find all this out?”

  Was that jealousy or just curiosity? “It’s a long story. Dumb luck. He was tailing Kiesha for another reason, and found the crafter she’d murdered. Then he searched and found the darts. But that doesn’t matter. I need you to do your job, Mya.”

  Tightening her lips, she nodded. “Yes, Master.”

  Lad could see her mind at work, processing the information he had given her. He would have to be very careful around Mya, but then, he’d always known that. She never stopped looking out for herself.

  He showed her out, thinking as he watched her trundle down the steps and made her way up the street. She looked back over her shoulder, then away when she saw his eyes still on her.

  Back to work.

  Lad strode through the dining room and opened the door to the adjoining sitting room. By the window, the artist was finishing up a sketch of Kiesha. Sheets of parchment strewn across the low table showed a dozen different likeness: Kiesha as a well-bred lady, Kiesha as a maid, Kiesha as a trollop.

  On the other side of the room, Sereth and Jinny huddled close on a divan. Jinny was so petite that she seemed fragile beside Sereth. The adoration in her face as she gazed up at her husband took Lad aback. Suddenly it was Wiggen gazing up at him with love in her eyes.

  Wiggen…

  “Master?”

  Lad snapped out of his trance. Sereth and Jinny stood before him, barely a step away, and he hadn’t even noticed them move. Not again! Not now!

  “We’ve got news. I need you in here.” He was about to tell Jinny to stay put when he saw how tightly they clutched each other’s hands. Separating them seemed…wrong. She already knew so much about guild business that excluding her now would accomplish nothing. He nodded them both through, and motioned the artist to continue her work.

  As they passed, Jinny tugged her husband to a stop, and looked up to Lad. “Sir. With all that’s happened, I never got to thank you properly.”

  “You don’t have to thank me.”

  “But I’d like to.” Jinny released Sereth’s hand and reached out tentatively, laying her slim fingers on his shoulder. “Sereth told me about your wife. After such a loss, for you to bring us back together… Well, I thank you, and I’m sorry for your pain.”

  “I…” What was he supposed to say? Freeing Jinny had been part of his agreement with Sereth. Lad hadn’t done it out of sentimentality. But seeing her freed, seeing the two of them together, did something to him; for just a moment, he felt good. He had done something right. Finally. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Her hand left his shoulder and reclaimed her husband’s. The couple entered the dining room and took seats as far from Hensen as they could.

  Hensen cast a dismissive glance at them before addressing Lad. “And what news did your Master Hunter bring?”

  “Patino’s dead.” Lad fixed the master thief with a hard stare. “And it doesn’t take much imagination to figure out who killed him.”

  “Kiesha.” Sereth nodded knowingly. “Covering her tracks.”

  “Possibly.” Hensen didn’t sound convinced. “She is thorough. How did he die?”

  “We don’t know yet. Bemrin’s looking into it.”

  Hensen brightened. “Well, then, let’s think about this. If she was going to kill him, she’d use her favored method, yet her weapon is at the house.”

  “She slit the gnome toymaker’s throat,” Sereth pointed out.

  “Maybe she’s changing her method,” Lad suggested. “If she knows we’re hunting her, she might have deliberately left the darts at the house and used a different weapon to make it less likely to connect her to the killing.”

  “But if she’s gone to all that trouble, why not get rid of her weapon and the darts? That would be the easiest way to hide her association to the killings.” Hensen frowned and shook his head in denial. “Kiesha may have played me false, but she is intelligent and thorough. She would not have gone to the trouble to kill the gnome, yet neglect to dispose of her blowgun and darts.”

  Lad had to admit that Hensen’s logic seemed solid. “We need to know how Patino died.”

  “Even if the baron’s throat was slit, it still doesn’t mean Kiesha did it. I admit, it seems likely, but…”

  “It’s more than likely,” Sereth growled.

  “We’re looking into Patino’s associations, too. There has to be a connection either to me or the guild.”

  “As I said before, it must have something to do with the guildmaster’s ring.” Hensen nodded to the band of obsidian and gold on Lad’s finger. “Wiggen wore it.”

  “But nobody knew she wore it until the fight in the courtyard,” Lad countered.

  “The other masters thought Mya wore the ring. One of them might have recruited Kiesha before they took Lad’s daughter.” Sereth shrugged. It didn’t seem likely, but it was possible. “Maybe they contracted Kiesha to kill the wearer, thinking it was Mya, and Kiesha fulfilled the letter of the agreement by killing Wiggen.”

  “But the masters were already dead when she killed
Wiggen.” Lad shook his head.

  “And we were contracted by Patino to protect Mya!” Hensen endured Sereth’s glare without flinching. “And she did! Her report was precise. She arrived just as the fight started, and killed five assassins that night.”

  “That’s true.” Lad wasn’t about to tell them where he learned that. “We’ve got too many questions and not enough answers. I need to know more about Patino. He’s known to have mistresses, so Bemrin’s sending an Inquisitor posing as one to Royal Guard headquarters to see what she can find out.”

  “You should tell him to be careful,” Hensen warned. “Our investigations found that Patino had two mistresses, and his wife knew about them. If she should see yours, there’ll be questions.”

  Lad nodded to Dee. “Send a runner to Bemrin with that. Tell him that I want his report before sunset tonight.”

  “Yes, Master.” He ducked out of the room.

  Lad sighed. It was back to waiting again. “Sereth, take Jinny home. If you think of anything else that might help us find Kiesha, report to me immediately.”

  “There was one thing, sir. She often met me dressed like a prostitute, so you might check the brothels. And…” Sereth looked nervously to his wife, then to Hensen. “Twice, she tried to seduce me. It was probably on his orders, just another way to manipulate me, but—”

  “I did not order Kiesha to seduce you,” Hensen blustered. “I considered having someone do so, but it wouldn’t have been Kiesha.”

  “Then why would she?” Sereth countered.

  “She was lonely.” Jinny’s slight voice drew every eye in the room. “We spoke some. I told her how much I missed you, Sereth, trying to talk her into letting me go. It didn’t work, of course, but she told me to count myself lucky that I’d had you in the first place. She said…” Her gaze slid over to Hensen, then down. “She said she had never had anyone to love.”

  Hensen’s face flushed. “Ridiculous!” He lifted his cup of tea and sipped.

  Lad saw a ripple atop the dark liquid in the cup. Was love—or the lack of it—motivation enough for Kiesha to double cross her own father?

  “Murder? You’re sure?” Norwood gaped at the duke’s wizard as if the man had just told him his pension had been canceled. For once, he wished his intuition had been wrong. The murder of a noble commanded precedence over all other investigations. He looked to the intricate diagram on his wall. The Fiveway Fountain killings would take a back seat to finding Patino’s killer.

  “Without a doubt, Captain.” Woefler’s boyish enthusiasm remained undaunted. “And it was lucky that you called on me immediately. There was very little residual magic left when I arrived. Undoubtedly, it’s completely gone now.”

  “Magic? I called you there to look for poison.”

  “And I did. Finding none, I indulged my curiosity, poked about for magic, and found it!” The wizard grinned in triumph.

  “Damn!”

  This didn’t bode well at all. Assassination was bad enough. Magical assassination was exceedingly rare, and usually meant sophistication, money, influence, and power. In most cases, this would rule out a simple matter of marital strife turned lethal. Jealous wives rarely hired magical assassins to murder their husbands when a drop of deadly nightshade in his brandy would do. Baroness Patino, however, certainly had the financial means, so he would have to consider the possibility.

  “And there wasn’t a mark on him. What magic can kill like that?”

  Woefler wagged a long finger. “I asked myself that very question, Captain.”

  “And?”

  “Well…” Woefler’s face lit up with pleasure, and Norwood stifled a sigh of despair. The wizard enjoyed nothing more than explaining his craft. “…there are a number of spells that disrupt the human body. Different spells leave different signatures. Very few leave none.”

  “Signatures?”

  “Visible evidence. Things like burns, frostbite, or necrotized tissue. There are less-destructive spells. For example…” Woefler plucked what looked like a desiccated chicken foot from the depths of his robe and muttered a few arcane syllables. A phantasmal clawed hand detached from the foot and wafted over Norwood’s desk. It closed around the lamp and lifted it several inches. “I could use this spell to reach into your chest and grasp your heart, which would undoubtedly kill you.”

  “So?” Norwood eyed the phantasmal claw and refused to be terrified.

  “So, Captain, while the spell would leave no marks on your body, it would cause you considerable pain. You would probably die clutching your chest, your face contorted.”

  “Neither of which we saw on Baron Patino.”

  “Precisely.” The ghostly hand lowered the lamp to the table and vanished. Woefler tucked the dried chicken foot away with a satisfied smile. “The magic that killed Baron Patino did so without external injury or causing him any apparent pain. I only know of one spell that can kill painlessly. I believe his soul was harvested.”

  Norwood stared at the wizard. “Harvested? What does that mean?”

  “Simply put, it’s the act of separating the soul from the body. The technique was first discovered eons ago, when necromancy was still in its infancy.” Woefler shifted uncomfortably. “Of course, necromancers harvested souls for use in their magic…or to extend their own lives. That’s been outlawed here in the Empire, but other disciplines have mimicked the effect as a form of painless execution.”

  “Execution? I’ve never heard of any such method of—”

  “Captain, please let me explain. You wouldn’t have heard of this, because it’s under the purview of wizards. The Wizards Guild polices itself. We have our own laws, and our own executioners. When needed, they use a soul-harvesting spell.”

  “You’re suggesting that Patino was murdered by such magic?”

  “Exactly.” Woefler smiled. “No other spell could have killed him without leaving some type of signature.”

  “And who might be capable of casting such a spell?”

  “Oh, I could perform it with a bit of research, and a few of my more proficient guild brethren might be able to do the same, but the aura I detected in Baron Patino had an odd…flavor.”

  “Aura?”

  “Magic leaves trace auras. Any wizard can sense them. This aura, however, originated not from an arcane spell, but a divine one.”

  “A divine…you mean a priest?” Norwood flopped back in his chair, utterly flummoxed.

  “Or priestess, yes.” Woefler grinned. “You find that surprising, Captain?”

  “I find that astounding! In thirty years of investigating violent crime, I don’t think I’ve seen a single murder committed by a member of the clergy.”

  “I don’t mean to offend, Captain, but how would you know if you had?” One of the wizard’s eyebrows lifted. “You said yourself that Baron Patino’s death appeared to be completely natural. Any number of people could have been likewise murdered, with no one the wiser.”

  Woefler had a point. The captain had always considered members of the clergy to be healers of body and soul, not assassins. “Can you tell me which god this priest or priestess worships? It would narrow the search.”

  “I’m afraid not, Captain. There was just enough aura remaining for me to distinguish it as divine magic, nothing more.”

  “Well, it could explain why we didn’t find any sign of forced entry to Patino’s house. If the assassin could kill with a wave of his hand, he could have murdered Patino from across the street.”

  “Um…no, Captain. Soul harvesting, whether arcane or divine in origin, requires a touch. The murderer was in that room.”

  “All right…” Norwood tried not be upset that Woefler had transformed a simple case of a dead baron into a nightmare murder investigation. He had asked for the wizard’s help, and Woefler had provided valuable information. Where to go with that information was the problem. Norwood was accustomed to dealing with criminal organizations, not churches. This case would take some thinking.

  �
��Thank you, Master Woefler. I appreciate your help.”

  “Happy to oblige, Captain.” The wizard stood and straightened his robes. “I’m going back to the palace. Do you wish me to inform Duke Mir?”

  “No, no. I’ll do that.” Another thought came to him. “Oh, and please keep this quiet for now. I don’t need rumors of murder flying around Hightown, especially if a homicidal priest might be listening. As far as anyone else is concerned, Baron Patino died of heart failure.”

  “Oh, which reminds me; since I discovered the cause of death, I rescinded your order for an autopsy. I didn’t think the baron’s family would appreciate him being cut open without reason.”

  “Oh, yes! Thank you!”

  “And you needn’t worry about rumors, Captain. My lips are sealed!” Woefler’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he nodded farewell and opened the office door.

  A cacophony of raised voices from the outer office shook the room, some screeching obscenities, others wailing in angst, and several more pleading for calm.

  The wizard looked back with a pained expression. “Unfortunately, not all lips are sealed.”

  “What in the name of…” Norwood rounded his desk, stalked to the door, and gaped at the scene.

  His guardsmen were attempting to restrain four raving young ladies and a fuming baroness with only marginal success. All five were casting everything from poisonous glares, to harsh words, to the contents of their handbags at one another. Baron Patino’s widow, clad in appropriate mourning, flapped and fluttered like a great black vulture, trying to get past the two guardsmen who had bravely interposed themselves between her and the others. Royal Guards were trained in dealing with squabbles between nobles, and though they dare not lay hands on the baroness, they formed a wall between her and her foes. The other four, dressed in various shades and degrees of finery, enjoyed no such immunity, and struggled in the grasp of guardsmen, fighting to get at each other’s throats.