Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy)

by Jackson, Chris A.

  For the last two days they had traversed long valleys between rolling hills, each the same as the next, a seemingly endless progression of cultivated land. The farther west they progressed, the more the countryside seemed…wrong, almost industrial. All the land was either cultivated or pastured, the few wooded areas nothing but unnatural rows of planted trees.

  The carriage leveled out as they crested the hill. They were supposed to arrive in Tsing today, but thus far, Lad had seen no evidence of the city. He glanced out the window, and the vista ahead struck his mind like a bolt of lightning.

  “Stop!” Lad banged the roof with the head of his walking stick. “Stop the carriage!”

  “What?” Mya jerked up from a half slumber as they lurched to a halt.

  Lad ignored her. He flung open the door and stepped out, wide eyed and slack jawed at what lay before him.

  “Finally,” Mya said as she stepped up beside him. “The sea.”

  In the distance, the ocean stretched to infinity, sparkling blue and never ending, fading into a distance so misty that he couldn’t tell where the water stopped and the sky began. But it wasn’t the sea that struck Lad so profoundly.

  “Tsing…” Lad whispered, trying to take it all in. “Impossible…”

  “I guess the book really doesn’t do it justice.”

  Mya’s voice seemed flat. Lad couldn’t conceive how she could be so blasé. It was as if all the maps from the book had been laid out before him, and life breathed into them. The jumbled spires and lofty edifices of Temple Hill, built of multi-hued stone and gilded with precious metals, gleamed like gemstones. Farther west, the Heights District shone like a hill of white marble above middle-class Midtown and the poorer Dreggars Quarter. The brown smudge to the south must be the confusion of dilapidated warehouses, tenements and shanties, that made up the Downwinds District. Most beautiful of all, the Imperial Palace thrust up from atop the high bluff like a glistening white mountain. The afternoon sun reflected from the gleaming walls and towers like a beacon. This ivory icon of the empire alone occupied more space than any single Twailin district. The entire city was girded by a high, crenellated wall embellished with lofty towers, the whole bristling with siege weaponry. And the bay beyond sprouted a forest of masts, ships from all corners of the world come to trade in this grandest of ports.

  Lad simply couldn’t wrap his mind around a city so vast.

  “Bit of a shock, isn’t it, Master?” the Enforcer holding the reins asked.

  “Yes.” Lad tried to imagine learning such a city. “It would take years…”

  “What would take years?”

  He looked at Mya and only then realized he’d spoken aloud. “To know this place.” He shook his head, wondering if anyone could ever truly know this city as he knew Twailin.

  “Why would you want to?”

  Her derision took him aback. Was she serious or being sarcastic? Since they had started exercising together, Mya’s unease around Lad had subsided, and she’d slipped back into her familiar cynicism. Her words now were sharper, and he realized that she had been grimly silent all morning. He supposed she was nervous about their meeting with the Grandmaster, but how could she look at such a wonder with a jaded eye? Lad longed to explore the city, learn about the people, immerse himself in the essence of this immense metropolis.

  “It’s just a city. A big, dirty, dangerous city.”

  “No…” Lad didn’t know how to explain the city’s appeal. “It’s a living, breathing creature. Now that I see it, I wish we had more time to experience it.”

  “I don’t.” Without another glance, Mya reboarded the carriage.

  “Best move on, Master,” the driver called down. “Don’t want to be late for supper.”

  “Right.” Lad climbed back aboard, and they jostled into motion, descending the long incline to the city of Tsing, heart and soul of the empire.

  Lad pored over maps again, tracing the route to their inn. They would enter through the River Gate, one of fourteen that pierced the wall. The carriage slowed, and he looked out to find a steady stream of carts, wagons, coaches, and people afoot and ahorse slowing their progress. Thankfully, at this time of day, most of the traffic was going the other way.

  The gate itself was wide enough to accommodate four wagons abreast. Their carriage lined up behind others like it, while the heavily laden wagons and carts queued to their right. Each vehicle was being stopped and inspected by constables. Lad remembered from the book that all goods brought into the city were valued and taxed.

  Finally, they arrived at the gate, and a dour-faced guardsman with the imperial crest on his iron cap knocked on the carriage door. Lad, wearing the bored expression of the well-to-do that he’d long practiced, leaned forward into the vehicle’s open window.

  “Yes?”

  “Names please?”

  “Laurance and Mya Addington. We’re from Twailin.”

  “No title?”

  “No.”

  “Your purpose for visiting Tsing, sir?”

  “Business.”

  “What type of business?”

  “Various imports. I have contracts with several guilds to be signed and ratified by a magistrate.”

  “Not bringing in any goods now, are you?” The guardsman looked into the carriage, his eyes lingering on Mya much longer than they had on Lad.

  “No.”

  “And how long will you be staying?”

  “No more than a few days, I should think.”

  A cry rose up from the wagon parked beside their coach, and several guards moved in to surround it. From a hidden nook beneath the wagon, a constable dragged a skinny girl with a heavy iron collar around her neck. A burly man jumped down from the wagon seat, but three swords were drawn and in his face before he could intervene. The constable speaking with Lad glanced over, but the matter was already under control. In moments they had the wagon driver in manacles, the girl in custody, and the wagon pulled out of the way. Constables began systematically dismantling it, bundle by bundle.

  “Smuggling slaves?” Lad’s eyes were drawn to the poor wretches the constables were dragging from the additional hidden nooks within the cargo. He knew slavery was legal, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

  “Not your business, sir.” The constable scowled and continued in a bored monotone. “By city ordinance, only constables, military, and nobility may wear blades longer than three hands in public. All others must be stowed away until you leave the city. It’s also illegal to carry readied bows or crossbows. They must be unstrung or dismantled and stowed. Do you or your men carry any prohibited weapons?”

  “No, sir. I read about the laws, and we already have them packed away.” The ordinance seemed strange, but meant nothing to Lad, since he never carried a weapon anyway. His Enforcers weren’t happy about it, but could manage with daggers and fists if there was trouble.

  The constable nodded to the cane in Lad’s hand. “That’s not a sword, is it?”

  “No. Just a walking stick.”

  “Let’s have a look.” Lad handed over the stick without hesitation and, after prodding and twisting the brass head to no avail, the constable handed it back.

  “You have lodgings arranged?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re familiar with the city?”

  “No, but my driver is.”

  “Fine.” The constable stepped back and pitched his voice up to the driver. “I’d advise you to get north of the river and stay there, you hear?”

  “Aye, constable.”

  “Very well, then. Move on.”

  The carriage clattered forward.

  “They’re certainly efficient.” Mya’s tone sounded less than appreciative, if not quite cynical.

  “Yes, they are.” Lad watched out the window. “And numerous.”

  At the first major intersection beyond the gate, two more constables directed traffic, and as they turned right onto a broad bridge over the river that divided the city, Lad saw
four more posted at each end.

  North of the river, constables patrolled the streets in squads of four. The people’s reaction to them was far from easy. Citizens went out of their way to avoid the squads, passing with quick steps and downcast eyes. Even so, Lad noted more than one instance of constables stopping passersby for questioning, and the worry and fear in the eyes of those being questioned.

  A squad of six horsemen clattered past, fully armed and armored, the imperial crest gleaming on barding and tabards. The rider in the fore wore plate armor and a rippling cape of blue and gold. A knight? Commoners fairly fled from their path, their haunted gazes following the riders until they were out of sight, and even then they hurried on with worried glances over their shoulders.

  “Something’s different here.” Lad glanced at Mya, then back out the window. “They’re all afraid.”

  “They’re commoners.” Mya said the term like it explained everything. When Lad just stared at her, she sighed and elaborated. “They’re always afraid.”

  “Not like this.” He knew what she meant. He’d worked for the Assassins Guild long enough to know the common folks’ fear of those against whom they couldn’t defend, but this was different. “Look at them.”

  She did, and after a while she shrugged. “I suppose it is different. In Twailin they’re afraid of us. Here they seem to be afraid of constables.”

  “Yes, but it’s a lot worse.” Even Twailin at the height of the recent guild war and the Royal Guard crackdown hadn’t felt this oppressive. “This isn’t like Twailin at all. Just look at their eyes.”

  Mya looked, and just shrugged again. “They just look like commoners to me.”

  Perhaps Mya had been at the top of that food chain for too long to notice, but Lad had been around his family, had seen the suppressed fear they lived with every day of their lives. This was worse. Lad lapsed into silence, but continued watching as they progressed deeper into Midtown.

  The air became close, thick with the odors of a quarter-million people living in close proximity. The few times they glimpsed the river, he saw that the further west they progressed, the thicker it ran with filth. At times the stench of tanneries or abattoirs wafted in from across the river to the south, where the air hung low and yellow-gray with smoke. It grew warmer, and the breeze lessened. Lad began to sweat. He loosened his collar and glanced at Mya. Despite her thick layers of feminine finery, she appeared to be fresh and unaffected.

  “Don’t you ever sweat?”

  Mya gaped at him for a moment, then laughed shortly. “That’s not something you ask a lady, Lad. And, no.” She pulled up the cuff of her sleeve to show him the edge of her black wrappings. “I’m perfectly comfortable. Remember?”

  “Right.” He recalled that her enchanted wrappings kept her cool or warm regardless of temperature. She’d suggested he purchase something similar, but Lad wasn’t used to such luxuries.

  Looking out the window again, he reflected on how alike and different he and Mya were. Like Twailin and Tsing, he thought. She was more worldly, wilier, and cynical. And like Tsing, she was steeped in fear.

  The coach jerked to a stop. Up ahead, a well-dressed couple crossed the street, flanked fore and aft by bodyguards who parted the throngs of commoners with piercing glares. The man wore an ornate rapier in a gilded scabbard proudly at his hip. A noble. Lad watched the crowd, their furtive glances and downcast eyes. Men touched their caps and ducked, their shoulders slumped like beaten curs skirting a pack of wolves. The women curtsied and turned their faces away.

  “Fear…” Curiosity roiled his gut. “Why are they all so afraid?”

  “I don’t know,” Mya replied, staring through narrowed eyes at the spectacle, “but you’re right. Everyone’s terrified.”

  “They’re afraid of the constables, the military, and the nobles. Why would they be?”

  “I don’t know.” She cocked one eyebrow. “We could find out.”

  Excitement welled up in him. To go exploring in such a vast city… Then the ring seemed to tighten on his finger and he frowned. “We aren’t here to poke into local problems. We’re here to meet the Grandmaster and look into Patino’s associations.”

  “Of course.” She looked away.

  Still, Lad’s curiosity nudged him. Why would commoners here, in the heart of the empire, be afraid of the very people—constables, nobles, and knights—who were their sworn defenders? Commoners in Twailin didn’t fear the City Guard, or even the Royal Guard, unless they were doing something illegal. And why fear nobles? He’d seen plenty of resentment between the classes in Twailin, but fear?

  Even from the outside, Mya could tell that the Drake and Lion was the finest inn they’d seen in two weeks. In fact, it might be the finest she’d ever seen. The thought of staying in such luxury lightened her dark mood another bit. The pending meeting with the Grandmaster still had her worried, but the strangeness of the city and the curious behavior of the locals distracted her from her fears.

  Deep in the Heights District, the inn stood in the company of upscale shops and multi-story townhouses. It reminded Mya of the finest neighborhoods of Hightown in Twailin, except that this was nowhere near the height of luxury in Tsing. Uphill, the townhouses evolved into palatial homes, and the shops to exclusive clubs and eateries. Downhill from the inn, the neighborhoods were as nice as Barleycorn Heights. Below that, Midtown spread out in a jumble of tile and slate roofs, reminding her of West Crescent, though immensely more vast.

  So many people… She wondered how the Assassins Guild operated here. How were they organized? What kind of scams and rackets did they run? Did they even operate in the rarified air of the Heights District?

  The carriage door opened and an attendant extended a white-gloved hand to assist her. Smiling at him, she accepted his help in stepping out of the carriage. “Thank you.”

  The fellow’s eyes flicked up to hers for an instant, surprise plain in his face before he looked down. “Milady.” He released her hand, bowed to Lad as he stepped from the carriage, and gestured to the foyer. “Milord. I’ll see to your baggage immediately.”

  Did I say something wrong? Mya wondered, thinking about the look he’d given her. All she had said was thank you. She’d spent enough time in Hightown practicing her fine-lady persona to know that even nobles generally thanked people for their services. It was a matter of decorum. Had he not expected to be thanked? Maybe not, considering what they’d seen between the commoners and nobles. Strange…

  Lad stood staring out over the city, apparently mesmerized by the sight.

  “Are you ready, dear?” she asked.

  He didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge her question. Mya chilled with dread. Lad had done this several times during their trip to Tsing, losing himself so deeply in thought that he was nearly insensible.

  Casually, she sidled up to him, careful not to touch him. She had made that mistake only once, barely dodging his lightning-fast strike. They couldn’t risk that happening in public.

  “Come along, dearest! You can look at the scenery from our room.”

  Lad looked at her as if she’d appeared from nowhere. “Right. Sorry, I must be tired from the trip.” He extended his arm, and she put her hand on it.

  “A bath and a nap will perk you right up.” She breathed easier, disaster averted.

  They strolled up the inn steps while the attendant ordered a team of porters to collect their baggage. A uniformed doorman swept open the wide door—teak and brass that looked newly polished—and bowed from the waist as he greeted them.

  “Welcome to the Drake and Lion, milord and lady.”

  The lobby was resplendent with more gleaming wood, bright brass, marble columns, crystal chandeliers, and brilliant red carpeting. On the wall behind the front desk, a serpentine drake battled a roaring lion—the elaborate golden crest of the inn. Elegant men and women moved gracefully across the floor, as much in their element as fish in the sea. One woman wearing a brilliant yellow gown with matching purse air-
kissed a companion, then abruptly turned into the path of a passing servant. The collision was slight, but the woman’s purse fell, the contents scattering across the carpet.

  To Mya’s astonishment, the woman’s face contorted into a mask of rage. Her discordant shriek shattered the lobby’s soothing ambiance as she lashed out her frilled parasol with rabid ferocity.

  “How dare you! I’ll see you in the stocks for this and whipped as you deserve! I’ve never seen such incompetence!” The parasol cracked against the man’s head as he scrabbled to collect the fallen bits and bobs. “Fifty lashes, I swear by the Gods of Light! You’re utterly useless!”

  The servant fumbled the contents back into the purse, muttering apologies. A particularly vicious blow sent the purse flying from his grasp, scattering the contents a second time. Mya expected a manager or inn employee to step in and stop the violence, but no one else seemed to be paying the scene the least bit of attention. No, that wasn’t quite right. Elegant guests walked past with smug expressions, while other employees hurried by, averting their eyes. Lad stopped cold, but Mya tugged on his arm, urging him into motion. The last thing they wanted was to look out of place.

  “Come on,” she whispered so quietly that only Lad would hear. “Ignore it.”

  She felt his tension as they walked past the dreadful scene to the broad front desk. A woman gowned in black and white greeted them with a broad smile, acting as if she didn’t hear the woman’s screeching voice reverberating off the marble walls.

  “Welcome to the Drake and Lion, milord and lady. I trust you have a room reserved?” She looked expectantly at Lad as she opened a thick leather-bound book.

  “Yes, we have. Laurance Addington,” Lad said.

  The shrill shrieks finally abating, Mya stole a surreptitious glance. The woman in yellow had stopped flailing her parasol, but the improvised weapon had done damage. The man was trying to staunch blood flowing from a cut on his forehead as he gathered the scattered items. Still no one paid the slightest notice.