“I wish you wouldn’t do that, Benj,” she heard the corporal mutter in a tone intended not to be overheard.
“And I wish you’d get loosen up and get laid.” The sergeant hawked and spat into the river. “You don’t get some female company soon, you’re gonna end up a bitter old man like me.”
“You’re not that old,” the corporal countered, and the other constables snorted in laughter.
Though their attention grated on her nerves, their familiarity had an advantage. This morning the constables had simply waved her past, having seen her twice yesterday going back and forth.
Mya stopped in at the Tin Dulcimer to use the chamber pot—she’d imbibed far too many cups of blackbrew during her morning café hopping—and change clothes. She’d spent half the night altering her drabbest travelling dress into a working woman’s outfit to better fit in with the less-affluent neighborhoods of the Dreggars Quarter. The rest of the night she’d once again spent with her back in the corner, her daggers at the ready.
It took her some time to find the pub where she and Lad had been waylaid by a team of Enforcers their first night in Tsing. Only four days ago? It seemed like years. The poor thugs were probably still tending their wounds. Mya stood at the corner across from the pub watching passersby: working people, mothers with children, and the occasional vagrant. Half a lifetime in the Assassins Guild had taught her exactly what to look for, and eventually she spotted it.
Two Enforcers strolled down the street, too burly and cocky to be simple laborers or dock workers. Swords were illegal for commoners in the city, but they sported daggers and short clubs. Having decided on a straightforward approach, Mya walked up to the pair without pause, which was enough to take them off guard.
“You work for Borlic?”
“Who wants to know?” One man’s hand drifted toward the dagger at his waist.
“Mya from Twailin.”
The Enforcers’ eyes widened and they subtly shifted their stances. The hand moved away from the dagger.
At least they seem to know who I am now.
Mya raised her hands palms out in a gesture of harmlessness, and to make sure they got a good look at the ring on her finger. “I’m not here for trouble. I just need to speak with Borlic. If you would be so kind as to point me in the right direction…”
The Enforcers shared a dubious glance, and the one who had spoken pointed up the street. “Two blocks up, there’s a cobbler’s shop. Bull-Leather Soles. Ask for him there.”
“Thanks.” As Mya walked away, she cocked an ear to listen.
“If she kills Borlic, it’s on your head.”
“What was I supposed to do? They said if we see her to just report. If she’s going to Borlic, then he’ll report, too.”
Their words told her little, but she might get more from Borlic. Mya pushed through the door to the cobbler’s shop and told the woman behind the work table, “I’m here to see Borlic.”
The cobbler glanced up with a frown from the boot she was repairing. “Who’s that?”
“I’m sure you know him.” Mya wasn’t about to blurt out guild business. Most likely the woman knew what was going on in her shop, but one never knew. “He’s probably wearing a sling on his arm.”
The woman’s frown deepened. “Up the stairs there. First door on the left.”
“Thank you.”
“You’d best knock. He’s been in a mood lately.”
Mya climbed the steps, wondering if Borlic’s mood had to do with more than the shoulder Lad had dislocated. Something like being told he had a new Grandmaster, maybe? Heeding the cobbler’s advice, she knocked on the door and waited. The door opened, and a huge figure filled it.
“What do you want?” The woman in the doorway showed some interesting heritage, with shoulders barely narrower than the portal, a flat face, jutting jaw, and pronounced lower canines that flashed when she spoke.
“I’m Mya. I need to speak with Borlic.”
Again, subtle recognition and caution. The mountainous woman stepped aside and waved her in.
Mya immediately felt claustrophobic. The room wasn’t large, which was no surprise, since Borlic was only a journeyman. Aside from the small desk, there was barely enough room to accommodate the three Enforcers already there. They gazed at her as if deciding whether she’d would taste better roasted or raw. Mya would have felt threatened if any of them could have harmed her in the slightest.
“What can I…” Borlic’s question trailed off as he recognized her. He stood from behind his desk, his good hand near the dagger at his belt. The other arm, as Mya had suspected, hung in a sling. “What do you want?”
“How’s the arm?”
“It hurts. Now what do you want?”
“Information. Where do I find the Master Enforcer?”
“Why should I tell you? You’re not my boss.”
So that’s how it is. Lady T had obviously not told the rank and file that Mya was Grandmaster. She raised her hand to show him the ring girding her finger. “Actually, I’m your boss’ boss’ boss.”
His eyes widened, then narrowed. “That’s not what I’ve been told.”
“What have you been told?” she asked with a cold smile.
“That you’re not my boss.” The muscles at Borlic’s jaw bunched and relaxed rhythmically. “Look, I’m not giving you an excuse to break my other arm. You got a beef with the guild, you talk to the masters. The Master Enforcer’s name is Clemson. She’s got an office on the bluff overlooking the shipyards.” Borlic sat back down. “You want someone to take you there?”
“That would be perfect.”
“Jolee, take her to Clemson.”
“Thank you, Borlic. You’ve been very helpful.” Mya thought that Borlic would have agreed to anything to get her out of his office.
The walk across the Dreggars Quarter took about a quarter hour. Hackneys didn’t venture this far south of the river, and Mya doubted that her escort would have fit into one even if she’d chosen to ride. Mya pondered the huge woman’s heritage as she hurried to keep up. She’d seen crossbreeds before, but the offspring of humans and other distantly related cousin-races were rare in Twailin. They seemed a bit more common in Tsing, though treated as second-class citizens even by the commoners. Though they certainly make good Enforcers…
Clemson’s headquarters were housed in a chandlery. The scents of wax, oil, and herbs smelled like a perfumery compared to vile industrial odors that smothered the rest of the quarter, and, indeed, most of the city. It discomforted Mya to realize that the stench of tannery sludge, offal, and open sewage hadn’t bothered her as much the past couple of days.
Jolee escorted her through the main work room. Workers stirred huge bubbling vats of beeswax, tallow, and whale oil, dipped lengths of cotton twine into the molten wax, and hung the drying candles by their wicks on multi-tiered racks. Men and women alike were stripped down to near indecency against the stifling heat, but Mya’s enchanted wrappings kept her cool.
At the top of a long stair in the back of the building, Jolee knocked on a door with surprising gentleness. The door opened, and an Enforcer equal to Jolee in height and girth met them with a narrow-eyed stare.
“What?”
“Borlic sent her to see Clemson.” Jolee hooked a thick thumb at Mya.
The new Enforcer frowned, looked Mya over, and nodded, beckoning them inside.
This is too easy, Mya considered. She hoped she wasn’t being set up. She listened, but detected no scuffling or sounds of weapons being drawn.
A far cry from Borlic’s office, this room was positively palatial. The red-leather upholstery, wood-paneled walls, gleaming brass lanterns and fixtures, and a rug woven in the pattern of a compass rose all gave the place a nautical motif. The west wall sported large windows of leaded glass that commanded an impressive view of the shipyard below the bluff, the bay, and the sea beyond. The afternoon sun haloed a tall, slim woman looking out the window, a single long braid of blonde hair hanging do
wn her back to well below her waist.
“Who is it?” The woman turned, and Mya stifled her surprise. She was truly beautiful, with high cheekbones and exotic almond-shaped eyes, and upturned ears attesting to some degree of elven blood. Her blousy white shirt, in which she could have hidden a half-dozen daggers, was tucked into a low-slung pair of snug black pants that could have hidden none. Her soft leather boots with turned-down cuffs definitely hid steel. She was, to Mya’s mind, the very image of a pirate captain of tall tales.
“Borlic sent her to see you, Master Clemson.” Jolee stepped aside, indicating Mya with a wave of one massive hand. “He called her Mya.”
One of Clemson’s incongruously dark eyebrows twitched. “Very well.” Waving her Enforcers out of the room, Clemson stepped closer, eyes the color of honey raking Mya from head to toe. “Master Hunter Mya… You and your guildmaster beat up several of my people a few nights ago. I’m surprised that you’d show your face here again.”
“I was Master Hunter Mya. Now it’s Grandmaster Mya.” Mya wiggled her ring finger.
“So I had heard.” Clemson leaned on the corner of her broad desk. “A little young to be Grandmaster, aren’t you?”
Mya smiled thinly. “I didn’t realize that there was an age requirement.” She looked Clemson up and down again. “A little skinny to be a Master Enforcer, aren’t you?”
Clemson’s flawless lips twitched, her long fingers brushing nonexistent wrinkles from her trousers. “I prefer the term ‘slim’. You’ll forgive me, I’m sure, if I test your claim.”
“Feel free.”
The woman drew a throwing dagger from her blousy sleeve and raised it. Her hand hung in the air, trembling with the effort to throw the blade into Mya’s eye. Finally she relented and tucked the dagger away. “Well, it seems that is the Grandmaster’s ring after all.”
“I’m not likely to lie about it.” Mya considered how to phrase her first question. “Borlic said he’d been told I wasn’t his boss. What have you been told?”
“Lady T sent word that the Grandmaster had been killed. She failed to mention that his successor had been selected.” Turning to a broad sideboard, the Master Enforcer pulled a stopper from a crystal decanter. “Thirsty?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Clemson poured into two tumblers and offered one to Mya.
“I wasn’t selected, but I’m taking his position.” Mya accepted it and inhaled the fragrant aroma of spiced rum. She sipped, and the liquor caressed her throat like velvet fire, stoking her resolve. “I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Ask all you wish, but you must understand my position.” Clemson downed her drink in one long swallow and set her tumbler down on her desk. “The guild has a strict hierarchy, and I can’t accept you as my Grandmaster until my guildmaster tells me you are.”
“And you must understand my position.” Mya finished her rum and tossed the tumbler to the Master Enforcer, who snatched it deftly out of the air. “I’ll get my answers, or I’ll have a new Master Enforcer by tomorrow morning.”
The Enforcer stared at her for a time, her face expressionless. Mya simply stared back. No one could hurt her here. She held all the cards in this game, and Clemson knew it. Finally, the Enforcer put Mya’s glass beside hers and waved at one of the velvet-upholstered chairs.
“Have a seat and ask your questions.” She took a seat behind the desk.
“First, I’d like to know what orders you’ve received recently from Lady T.” She sat and crossed her legs, trying to appear casual and confident, though she didn’t feel either.
“You’re asking me to betray my master.”
“No, I’m asking you to tell me if my orders to your master have been passed on to you. If they haven’t, I need to make my orders clearer.”
Clemson considered this for a while, then shrugged and answered. “I’ve been told to expand our operations to north of the river once the unrest settles down.”
That’s encouraging. “What kind of operations?”
“Everything. Protection and extortion rackets, prostitution...everything.”
“What about new strategies? Anything different?”
Clemson wrinkled her brow. “No. New…like what?”
Mya’s brow furrowed in confusion. Was Lady T following her instructions or not? I need more information. “Never mind. Give me the names and addresses of the other masters. I’ll be paying them visits, too.”
“Nice to know I’m not special.” Clemson’s lip curled, but she broke away from Mya’s stare. “The nearest is Master Blade Noncey. His office is here in the Dreggars Quarter, in the back of a gambling house in the basement of the Yellow Briar pub on Tannery Row. Next is ‘Twist’ Umberlin, the Master Hunter…”
Mya committed the names and addresses to memory and bid the Master Enforcer good day. Curious stares followed her through the chandlery on her way out, but no one tailed her. She checked her map and headed to meet Master Noncey. She hoped interviewing the masters would shed some more light on what was going on in the guild, but wouldn’t bet her life on it.
Hoseph scuffed along the quiet street, the throb of a swelling blister on his heel plaguing his concentration. He wasn’t familiar enough with this particular Heights neighborhood to travel using his talisman, and though high priests might ride in carriages, acolytes walked. He cursed the necessity for this charade. The disastrous trip to Twailin hadn’t improved his mood, but he would deal with those traitors later. He had bigger fish to fry.
He approached an imposing house—great stone blocks girded by a high wrought-iron fence—that seemed more like a fortress than a private residence. Of course, when you were the official responsible for the punishment and imprisonment of a significant portion of the populace, safeguards were essential. Meting out the emperor’s justice had not endeared Chief Magistrate Graving to the common folk.
Hoseph recited his calming mantra as he approached the constables manning the gate. He knew the constabulary was searching for him, but doubted he would be recognized. The stern-faced, richly dressed high priest whose likeness adorned wanted posters throughout the city bore little likeness to the lowly, contrite acolyte who stood before them. He drew back the cowl of his robe and painted on a bright, oblivious smile.
“Good constables, I hope the day finds you well. I am Brother Tomari, acolyte of our most beneficent goddess Demia, Keeper of The Slain.” He bowed deeply. “I beg an audience with Chief Magistrate Graving in a matter of vital importance to my order.”
The two constables shared a glance, and Hoseph tried to maintain a pleasant expression. Did they recognize him, or did they think he was bluffing his way in to ask for a donation?
“And what might this matter be?” the older constable asked, his tone as hard as the iron cap that crowned his head.
“I was charged with delivering a message to Chief Magistrate Graving personally. All I can tell you that it has to do with a wayward member of our order—High Priest Hoseph.”
“If this is information about the investigation, why not take it to the Chief Constable?”
Hoseph shrugged. “I’m simply following orders, sir. I was sent here. I would hate to have to report that I was rejected before delivering the message…”
“Very well.” The constable opened the gate. “Take the brother in, Maris.”
“Yes, sir.” Maris ushered Hoseph through the gate to the door, past two more constables stationed there, and rapped the brass clapper three times. Yet another constable answered the door. “Visitor for the magistrate. Brother Tomari from Demia’s temple with news about the traitor priest.”
Traitor? Incongruously, it bothered Hoseph more to be named a traitor than a murderer. He hid his displeasure and stepped into the magistrate’s lavish home. Hoseph’s feet sank deep into the plush rug, and he regarded the luxurious décor. The chief magistrate had done well for himself. If only half of what Hoseph had heard about the tension between Arbuckle and Graving was true, the man must certainly
fear losing the position that had bestowed upon him such an abundance of power and riches. That boded well for their meeting.
“This way.” A butler motioned for Hoseph to follow, leading him down a long corridor toward the back of the house.
The butler’s rap on the thick oaken door at the end of the hall heralded an impatient call from within. “Yes! What now?”
The butler opened the door and bowed low. “Brother Tomari, acolyte of Demia, to see you, Chief Magistrate. He bears news about the traitor priest.”
“What?” The magistrate looked up from a desk littered with papers.
Hoseph tensed as Graving’s eyes fixed upon him, but he saw no recognition. Though both had attended palace functions, they’d never been formally introduced.
Graving looked annoyed. “Why bring it to me? If you know where he is, tell the chief constable to have him arrested.”
“Chief Magistrate, I was instructed to relate this information to your ear only.” Hoseph cast a sidelong glance at the butler.
“Oh, very well. Come in. Bentley, get out.”
“Yes, Chief Magistrate.” The butler bowed and left.
Two leather-upholstered chairs fronted the magistrate’s desk, but Graving made no offer. Instead, he jammed his pen in his inkwell and leaned back in his chair, ink-stained fingers nesting upon his formidable belly. “Well, what’s so important that it couldn’t wait until I was in my office tomorrow?”
Hoseph took a steadying breath before speaking. He would have to play this carefully until he was sure of Graving’s allegiance. “There are those, Chief Magistrate, who are concerned about the direction in which Crown Prince Arbuckle is taking this empire.”
“Direction! There is no direction! It’s utter chaos! He’ll be serving the bloody commoners our heads on silver platters if he keeps it up!” Graving narrowed his eyes. “What does this have to do with the traitor priest?”
Hoseph struggled not to smile. Now that he knew Graving and he were of the same mind, he made his opening move. “First, let me assure you that High Priest Hoseph is no traitor to the empire. He served our emperor dutifully, though his tasks were necessarily not as publically acclaimed as your own. He had nothing to do with the emperor’s death, but was privy to many of Tynean Tsing’s confidences. He was forced to flee rather than be compelled to divulge the emperor’s secrets.”
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