Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy)

by Jackson, Chris A.

  At least nobody died.

  A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He answered it and admitted two white-clad servants with heavy trays. Scents of food and blackbrew swirled after the man and woman as they entered.

  “At table, sir, or in the bedroom?”

  “The table, please.”

  The bedroom door opened and Mya emerged, her dress loosely laced, her hair damp and slicked down. “That smells wonderful!”

  While the man arranged a white linen tablecloth and arrayed napkins, utensils, and a tiny crystal vase with two yellow roses, the woman stood aside, eyes fixed upon the floor, her arm trembling beneath the heavily laden tray.

  “Can I take that for you?” Lad asked.

  She gaped at him in terror. “No! Please, sir. We could never allow a guest to help us. It would be an unforgivable breech of etiquette.” She swallowed and looked down again. “I mean no offense, sir, but we’re forbidden.”

  “No offense was taken.” Lad backed away, exchanging a glance with Mya as the waiter unloaded the tray.

  Mya just shrugged and waited patiently as the waiter poured fresh juice and blackbrew, removed the domed silver covers from their plates, and positioned the cream, sugar, and marmalade just so.

  Finished, the waiter bowed. “Anything else, sir?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, sir.” He turned to Mya and bowed again. “Ma’am.”

  When the door closed behind the servants, Mya said, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that stiff propriety.” She took her seat and quaffed a third of her cup of steaming blackbrew, sighing in bliss.

  “It’s the fear that bothers me.” Lad sat and sipped the piping hot brew more carefully. Mya’s magical runes evidently also blocked the pain of a burned tongue. “I’ve almost gotten used to Dee waiting on me, but…being guildmaster… I don’t like people to fear me. It makes me feel…”

  “Like a monster?” Mya put her cup down too hard, the fine porcelain rattling in the saucer.

  “A little, I guess.” He’d never thought of himself as a monster. A murderer, yes, but not really a monster. “At least Dee doesn’t seem to fear me anymore. He knows I need his help, and tells me what I need to hear.”

  “Dee’s surprised me. He seems to be very good at whatever he does, except killing.” Mya cut a piece of egg and perched it on a slice of toast. “But if we can convince the Grandmaster to give me your ring, you won’t have to deal with Dee or being guildmaster anymore.”

  “No, you will.” Lad ate a piece of sausage, thinking about their pending meeting with the Grandmaster. Could they really convince him that Lad had taken the ring by mistake? Could he be free of the Assassins Guild? His stomach flipped at the thought—to be with Lissa…to be a father again... But if the Grandmaster ever found out that Mya had freed Lad, there would undoubtedly be repercussions. Nobody ever left the Assassins Guild. “And you’ll probably have to deal with—”

  The knock on the door startled them both. There was enough foot traffic up and down the halls that neither of them paid much attention to it. They hadn’t summoned another servant, and an interruption by the inn’s staff seemed unlikely. Lad looked questioningly at Mya.

  “The only person we’re expecting…” The color drained from Mya’s face, and she swallowed hard.

  Lad knew perfectly well who they were expecting: the Grandmaster’s representative. He also knew that Mya dreaded the encounter, but he wasn’t sure why. The Grandmaster would be a fool to kill Mya for something as trivial as burning his letter, and one did not rise to the head of the Assassins Guild by being foolish.

  Lad downed his blackbrew, and stood. “I’ll get it.”

  When Lad opened the door, he found himself staring at a fine lady. Middle-aged, yet still handsome, she was clothed in high fashion, her jet-black hair arranged in a complex coif topped with a lace-veiled hat. Calm eyes scrutinized him from beneath the veil. Decades of training, however, revealed to Lad the truth: she was no fine lady. Tiny scars on her hands bespoke years wielding a blade. The dress fit well, but Lad detected an imbalance in the voluminous folds that denoted heavier objects hidden within. Then he recognized one of the rings on her fingers. It matched his perfectly.

  Lad stepped back. “Come in please.”

  Her eyes assessed him as he had assessed her, and she smiled. “You must be Laurance Addington.” She swept into the room with an easy, relaxed air. “And you’re Mya Addington.”

  Mya stood and smoothed her dress. “Yes.”

  Lad closed the door. “And you are?”

  “Lady Tara Monjhi.” She nodded and smiled pleasantly. “You may call me Lady T. Everyone does. I’m your Tsing counterpart, Lad. The Grandmaster sent me to welcome you to the city. But I’ve been informed that you’ve already been exploring, including the Dreggars Quarter.”

  Lad walked to Mya’s side, considering how to reply. It wasn’t surprising that word of their conflict with the Enforcers reached the local guildmaster.

  “I was curious.” Gesturing to their quickly cooling breakfasts, he asked, “Can I offer you something? Blackbrew, a scone? The mango juice is delicious.”

  “No, thank you.” She strolled around the room, casually swinging the parasol that dangled from her wrist. It reminded Lad of Jingles’ cane, and he wondered if there was a blade in it. “I wish you wouldn’t have gone out on your own. I could have arranged a tour to satisfy your curiosity.”

  “My apologies for injuring your people.” Lad poured blackbrew into his cup and lightened it with cream. Mya, he noted, still stood like a statue, her pulse pounding at her throat. “They wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  “Oh, that’s no matter.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “They learned a valuable lesson.”

  “Then I’m happy we could educate them for you.” He picked up a scone and took a small bite. “I’m interested in how you do business here. Your Enforcer said you pay off the constables to do business south of the river, but not north. How does that work?”

  “It works quite well.” Her eyes narrowed. “My business practices are not up for discussion. I don’t think they would be of use to you in Twailin anyway.”

  “Just curious.” Lad shrugged. She certainly wasn’t as forthcoming as he’d hoped. “So, you’re really a noble? You have a title?”

  “Yes, I really have a title.” Her cheeks flushed, betraying either embarrassment or ire. “Purchased by the guild, of course. It opens many doors here in Tsing.”

  “I imagine it does.” He washed the bite down with blackbrew. “Tsing is very different than Twailin. I’m sure you understand my curiosity.”

  “Of course I do.” She regarded him again, and Lad had difficulty reading her expression. Disdain? Smug superiority, maybe? “Aside from a warm welcome, I’m here to inform you about your appointment to meet the Grandmaster.” She turned away, staring out the window at the distant bay. “I will arrive here precisely at six tonight and personally escort you to your meeting.”

  “Of course you will.” She glanced at him, irritation plain on her face. Lad maintained a neutral mien. If this was Lady T’s idea of a warm welcome, she needed a lesson in manners. Mya’s heartbeat increased its cadence. “Only guildmasters and,” Lad indicated Mya with a tip of his cup, “people of special interest know the Grandmaster’s identity. He wasn’t likely to send a journeyman to escort us.”

  “Quite right.” Lady T’s ingratiating smile didn’t reach her eyes. She strolled to the door, her steps and carriage as smooth as the lines of her elegant dress. Resting a hand on the doorknob, she turned to them and said, “Six o’clock sharp, and don’t wear any weapons.”

  “Why not?” It seemed an odd request. “It’s not like either of us could hurt the Grandmaster.”

  “Because I said no weapons.” Lady T’s gaze swept them from hair to toes, and her upper lip curled to show perfect teeth. “And try not to dress like…commoners.”

  “We’ll try to measure up to your
exemplary standards, Lady T.” Lad’s smile was no more genuine than his visitor’s.

  Her short laugh sounded like the bark of a small dog. “Good luck with that.” Lad listened to her footsteps recede down the hall.

  “Were you trying to make her angry?” Mya’s whisper barely rose above her heartbeat, the terror in her eyes shining like twin points of ice.

  “No. I was treating her exactly as she treated me.” He went back to his breakfast. “I’m not her servant, and I’m not afraid of her.”

  “No, but you can bet that she’s the Grandmaster’s favorite guildmaster.” Mya crossed her arms as if hugging herself, her shoulders hunched with tension. “Pissing her off is just asking for trouble! If you want to have any hope of convincing the Grandmaster to give me your ring, you’ve got to play up to him.”

  “Him, yes. Her, no.” Lad ate a sausage. “What do you think about her title?”

  “Knowing what we do about how Tsing works, I’d be surprised if the guild hadn’t bought her a title.” Mya paced, ignoring her breakfast. “They’re not hard to come by. There are enough penniless nobles, and you can’t eat a title. Hell, you could buy one if you wanted.”

  “I don’t.” The thought of money buying nobility nauseated him.

  Lad felt strangely calm. The time of their meeting was set, and they had a plan. Soon he could get back to his investigation, find Kiesha, and maybe even get his old life back. He glanced up at Mya. She had begun biting her nails.

  “Mya. Are you all right?”

  “No.” She glanced at him, her eyes flinty. “No, I’m not all right. Masters don’t meet the Grandmaster unless it’s serious, Lad. He could…he probably called me here to execute me for disobeying him. To make an example of me.”

  “No.” Lad stood and faced her. The affable, wise-cracking Mya of the past couple of weeks was nowhere to be found here, and Lad felt sorry for her fear. She’d helped him, and he owed her. Lad had been a wreck, but she had persisted despite his rebuffs, and helped him sleep, given him focus, even hope. He had to try to help her overcome her fear. “He won’t kill you, Mya. You’re too valuable. He wanted you to be guildmaster. He won’t throw you away just to make a point.”

  “The Grandfather threw people away all the time!”

  “Have you heard anything to make you think the Grandmaster is like Saliez?”

  “No.” She let her breath out slowly, and the tension in her shoulders eased a trifle. “Ruthless and cunning is all I’ve ever heard.”

  “Then don’t worry so much. We have a plan. Sit down and eat something.”

  “I’m not hungry.” Mya went into the bedroom, not quite slamming the door.

  Lad sat, but his food had lost its appeal. From behind the door, he could hear Mya pacing, back and forth, back and forth across the bedroom. He hadn’t helped her very much.

  Norwood’s drooping eyes shot wide when the door finally opened and Commander Ithross clattered back into the room. The surprise on the guardsman’s face brought Norwood to his feet, his back stabbing him from so long in the uncomfortable chair.

  The commander was accompanied by a slim fellow wearing dress doublet, breeches and hose, and carrying a ledger under his arm. Behind them came a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed like a cross between a high lord and a court jester. His clothes were beyond flamboyant—yellow tunic, lavender hose, bright red shoes, even a peacock feather tucked behind one ear. The riot of color strangely complemented his ebony skin.

  “Captain Norwood,” said Ithross, gesturing to his companions, “this is Master Tennison, the emperor’s secretary, and Master Keyfur, of the Imperial Retinue of Wizards.”

  Norwood nodded politely, wondering if he had just been introduced to the spy. Both the secretary and the mage would be well placed to intercept messages, and likely possessed the means to contract a magical assassin to do his dirty work.

  The little ferret of a secretary looked at him dubiously and said, “For some unfathomable reason, His Majesty has granted you a brief audience. The emperor’s schedule is very full, but there is a gap in approximately ten minutes, assuming his current appointment doesn’t run overtime.”

  “Excellent!” Norwood tugged his wrinkled jacket straight, eager to complete his mission. “Let’s go.”

  “Not quite yet, Captain. Before I escort you into the imperial presence, you must submit to a simple security measure.”

  “Very well. What measure is that, Master Tennison?”

  “A magical measure.” Tennison gestured to the wizard. “Master Keyfur, would you please tell the captain what’s involved?”

  “Certainly.” The wizard’s voice rumbled low, as melodious as an opera singer’s. Plucking the feather from behind his ear, he waved it in a lazy circle. “A simple spell, really, to ensure that you are who you say you are, and that you’re not here under false pretenses.”

  “A truth spell?” Norwood tried to remain calm. He would rather pet a crocodile than allow Keyfur to cast a spell on him.

  “Yes. Are you familiar with them?”

  “Yes. I’ve seen Duke Mir’s mage, Master Woefler, use them.” There were two types that Norwood knew of, one that compelled the person to speak the truth, and the other that simply informed the wizard if the person was lying. “I can’t allow a compulsion spell to be cast upon me. The news I have is for the emperor’s ears only.”

  “Not to worry, Captain. This spell will be of the less-invasive variety.” Keyfur waved the feather in an elaborate pattern. “I simply cast the spell and ask a few questions. If you lie, I’ll know.”

  “Fine. Cast it.” There was no alternative. He had to submit or he would never see the emperor.

  “I already have, Captain.” Keyfur grinned.

  Norwood swallowed uneasily. He hadn’t felt a thing. “Then ask your questions.”

  “Have you told the truth about the reason you seek an audience with the emperor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you plan any violence or subterfuge here in the palace?”

  “No.”

  “Are you in any way armed?”

  “I have no weapons, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Very good.” Keyfur turned to Tamir. “And you, Sergeant, do you plan any violence or subterfuge here in the Palace.”

  “Not unless someone tries to harm my captain, sir.”

  Keyfur smiled. “A fair answer, and true enough. Do you bear any weapons?”

  “Well, I got this here contraption that has a corkscrew, a pair of scissors, a toothpick, a nail file, a fish scaler, and a little thingy that’ll trim your nose hairs. But it ain’t got no blade, so it’s not rightly a weapon. If you don’t count this, then no, I’ve got nothing but my fists.”

  Norwood nearly burst out laughing at the tiny folding tool that Tamir had picked up in his search for the maker of the black darts, but his sergeant looked serious, as did the guard commander.

  “Let’s see that,” Commander Ithross ordered, and Tamir handed the little device over. After a brief examination, the commander snorted a laugh and handed it back. “It’s nothing.”

  Keyfur smiled, tucked the feather back behind his ear, and turned to Tennison. “They speak the truth.”

  “Good.” Tennison nodded to Norwood. “You and your sergeant will come with me, Captain.”

  “Very good.” Norwood’s stomach clenched; it wasn’t every day that one met the emperor face to face. “Lead on.”

  To the captain’s surprise, no guards followed as he and Tamir trailed the secretary through another labyrinth of hallways. He wondered about the lack of security until they turned a corner. This corridor, much wider and higher than any they’d seen, was hung with crystal chandeliers and papered resplendently in blue and gold. Coats of arms hung at regular intervals on both walls, and beneath each stood an imperial guard, rigidly at attention, eyes fixed straight ahead. There must have been fifty of them. Certainly such an expenditure of manpower could ensure the safety of one man. Was Norwood b
eing ridiculous to assume a spy could get anywhere near the emperor?

  No, he realized with a jolt. The spy must be someone above suspicion. Someone who could walk right past these guards.

  The secretary’s shoes clicked on the polished marble as he led them down the corridor…right past the guards.

  Norwood glanced at Tennison. Maybe…

  Tamir tugged at his captain’s sleeve, darted his eyes toward the secretary, and raised an eyebrow. Norwood shrugged, reassured that they both had the same suspicion.

  The emperor’s secretary stopped before a pair of heavy double doors. Turning to Norwood and Tamir, he instructed, “You will remain at least five strides from His Majesty. You will bow from the waist and remain bowed until called upon to speak. You will not speak out of turn. When so ordered, you will answer questions succinctly, and not deviate or expound.” His nose rose in the air, and his lips thinned. “These few minutes of the emperor’s time are more valuable than the both of you, so you will keep your answers short! Is that clear?”

  “Perfectly clear.” Norwood stared into Tennison’s eyes, searching for some hint of treason, but saw only pompous indignation and duty.

  “Wait here.” The secretary twisted the door’s golden handle and slipped through the gap with the stealth of a burglar.

  Voices rose from behind the closed door, but Norwood couldn’t make out any words. He tucked his hands behind his back and tried to calm his nerves.

  “You think it’s him, sir?” Tamir whispered.

  “I…don’t think so,” he whispered back, wary of the guards only twenty feet to each side. “Keep your wits sharp, Sergeant. While I say speak with the emperor, I want you watching for reactions from his retainers. If something strikes you as suspicious, sing out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They didn’t have long to wait. The door opened, and Master Tennison beckoned them in.

  Norwood was surprised at the austerity of the room’s décor. Walls of muted hues of blue and gold were broken only by two doors in the room’s back corners. Overhead, a simple chandelier supported bright-burning lamps. Upon a low dais rested a simple upholstered armchair, the imperial sovereign upon its cushioned seat.