“There you are, Kit. That was quick.” Mya leaned down and took the pint bottle from the girl’s hand. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she asked, “What did you see?”
“Saw that old codger just as you described him: not fat and not skinny, near bald with some white hair around the sides and stickin’ out his ears, and a hook nose what looked like it had been broke a while back. Couldn’t see if he’d a gap ‘tween his front teeth ‘cause he wasn’t smilin’. He’s sittin’ at a table in the common room.”
“Anyone else around?”
“A few.” The girl rolled her eyes up as she thought. “A fat man at the desk where you come in. A old man and lady sittin’ in the room on that side.” She wiggled her right hand. “An’ then in the common room along with your fella, two more men at a table and a lady behind the bar flirtin’ with a dark-haired gent with a face ta make a maid swoon.”
Mya grinned at Kit’s description, so mature for a girl who couldn’t have been more than seven. “Perfect. Thank you, Kit.”
So, it sounded like Paxal was really there, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a trap. She had seen Hoseph transport a woman into Lady T’s sitting room, so he could have brought Pax to Tsing to use as bait to lure her in for the kill. She might be paranoid, but paranoia had kept her alive through years of danger.
Paranoia and Lad. She snapped her mind back to focus as Kit tugged her skirt.
“Do I get to keep the dress?” Kit twirled and the bright material billowed. “I like it.”
“That depends on if this works out, Kit. If this is a trap, and I’m dead in five minutes, then yes, you can keep the dress. Otherwise, no, because I’ll have to sell it back so we can all eat. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Kit’s lower lip stuck out and she fingered the ribbon at her waist, as if trying to equate how many meals she was wearing.
“Now, we need to go, okay?”
“Okay.”
Out on the street, Mya held Kit’s hand, hoping that nobody would expect an assassin to be dressed as a matron walking with a little girl. With her other hand, she fingered the dagger in her pocket. She had two more strapped to her thighs under her dress.
Over by the seawall, she spotted Digger, Twigs, and Nestor throwing stones into the river. Beyond the Prickly Pair, Nails and Gimp posed as beggars. The urchins had been keeping watch to make sure no obvious ambush awaited her. A couple of birds twittered from the alley behind the inn, Tiny and Knock signaling all clear.
She had given them all strict orders to stay out of the inn no matter what happened. Their job today was only to watch and whistle if they saw anything, hopefully giving Mya adequate warning.
Hopefully.
One last adjustment of her dress to make sure her weapons were in easy reach, and she let go of Kit’s hand. The girl stepped aside on the inn’s porch with her back to the wall, just like she’d been told to do. Mya nodded to her with a smile, then opened the door to the Prickly Pair.
As her eyes adjusted to the dim interior, she paused to listen. The chatter of unfamiliar voices, the clatter of pans in the kitchen, and the clink of plates in the common room all seemed innocuous. She heard no whisper of steel leaving a sheath, no unconscious scuff of boot leather on the floor as someone shifted an uncomfortable position.
The innkeeper no longer sat at his desk, but that wasn’t unusual. There was more to running an inn than waiting for new customers to walk through the door. Mya glanced into the small sitting room to her right. As Kit had told her, an older couple sat there, the woman knitting, the man shelling nuts. Neither looked spry enough to be assassins. Mya trod softly down the short hallway to her left toward the common room, halting just before the entrance. Leaning forward, she saw two unfamiliar men sitting at a table, then…
The breath caught in Mya’s throat. Paxal sat at a table in the far corner, cradling a mug between his veined hands.
Focus, Mya! Look for the trap!
She leaned farther to scan the rest of the room. The barmaid polished the counter of the stool-lined bar, but there was no sign of her paramour. Mya slipped her hidden dagger from her pocket. Hiding the blade behind her arm, she stepped into the room. Neither the barmaid nor the two men at the table even glanced at her.
Softly, she called, “Paxal?”
His eyes flicked to her and widened, his mouth splitting into a gap-toothed grin. “My—gods! Thank the Seven Heavens you’re all right!” He rose to his feet, but stopped when she raised a hand.
“Are you all right, Pax? Is everything okay?”
“Oh, right as rain now that you’re here!” He stepped around the table and no one else in the room seemed concerned.
One more glance behind her confirmed that no assassins had leapt from hiding, and no murderous priest had materialized to take her life.
There was no trap.
Relief unlike anything Mya had ever felt flooded through her. “Gods of Light, Pax!” Before she knew what she was doing, she was crushing the innkeeper in her arms. Laughter bubbled up unbidden. “Gods, you’re a sight for sore eyes!” She released him and put away her dagger, then wrinkled her brow. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Well, we’re here to help, of course! We never thought to find you so soon, but—”
“We?” Mya whirled at the scuff of footsteps behind her, damning herself for dropping her guard.
“Nice hat.” The slim, dark-haired man couldn’t have been more familiar.
“Dee!” She flung her arms around him and hugged him tight. Never had two faces been more welcome.
“I think she’s glad ta see ya.”
Paxal’s quip snapped Mya back to her senses, and she released her grip. “Sorry, I…” She straightened her dress
Dee staggered and gasped breath. “Any gladder and she’d have pinched me in half!”
A heavy thud brought Mya around with her dagger back in her hand, but it was only a scullery maid kicking open the kitchen door, her hands filled with a tray of clean mugs. Beyond her, a portly cook calmly stirred a pot on the stove with no assassins in sight. Finally, Mya’s sense of self-preservation reestablished control over her wayward emotions.
“Is this place really safe?”
“As far as I could determine.” Dee lowered his voice. “I might not be much of an assassin, but I know what one looks like.”
Mya grinned at Dee’s self-deprecating comment. “Maybe not, but you’re a hell of an assistant. Now, how—”
“Ahem. I think we have company.”
Mya followed Paxal’s gaze.
Peering around the door sill, a little girl with a blue ribbon in her hair bit her lip. “I know you said not to come in, but we wanted to know if you were dead.”
Mya didn’t know whether to admonish Kit or laugh out loud at the girl’s ill-concealed agenda. “No, Kit, I’m not dead, so you can’t keep the dress. I need the cash.”
“I think we can help with that.” Dee kicked a saddlebag under the table, wincing at the impact. “Sereth sent a parcel for you. I think you’ll be pleased.”
Pax nodded toward the little girl, looking dubious. “She’s with you?”
“I think we’ve all got a lot of explaining to do,” Mya said. “I know a safe place to talk, and there are some people I want you to meet.”
Hoseph ignored the pain behind his eyes and his pervasive fatigue; he didn’t have time for it. He considered the nobles and magistrates seated around Lady T’s sitting room. Their fear hung in the air like cheap cologne. Leaving Magistrate Ferrera in the Sphere of Shadow had caught their attention, and the death Baron Ledwig had them on edge. He had them just where he wanted them, backed into a corner. None had protested this hastily called meeting and, though they sipped their wine and cast glances at one another, but not a single eye rose to meet his.
Fear… Demia’s shadow, it’s sweet…
“Do you see now that I was right about Prince Arbuckle?” He let the question hang, watching, waiting.
Duche
ss Ingstrom looked up, her mouth set in a line so hard her lips shone white. “The man is a menace!”
“Why didn’t you kill him when you had the chance?” Duke Seoli downed his wine in a gulp. “You had the chance and you failed!”
Not enough fear in that one…
“We did not, in fact, fail, Milord Duke.” Lady T pursed her lips in an unpleasant moue. “We were thwarted. The two are entirely different.”
“What?” Seoli looked like he’d been slapped. “Who thwarted you?”
Hoseph could have smiled…but didn’t. He and Lady T had worked out this little lie beforehand, and she brought it into play with consummate timing.
“We don’t know exactly, but we believe Prince Arbuckle has agents working throughout the city.” Lady T put precisely the right amount of dread into her claim. “One of his operatives killed our man before he could deal the lethal stroke.”
“Gods and devils, he has people watching us?” Baron Grenger, an impressively wealthy lesser noble, downed his wine and smacked the glass down on the table too hard, snapping the stem. He glared at the piece left in his hand as if it had betrayed him. “I thought all this hush-hush was supposed to keep us safe!”
“We don’t think his spies know of our association,” Hoseph interjected. “We’ve been careful, but we don’t know where they might be looking. We must act before they learn of us. We need to devise a method to end this threat to our way of life. How long do you think it will be before each of you is forced into that evil device Arbuckle has constructed to have your head lopped off?”
“He can’t have us all executed. An emperor needs the noble class to support him.” Duke Seoli looked more affronted than frightened.
“You still don’t see it, do you?” Hoseph stared at the man, amazed that someone could ignore such clear threats to his own existence. “As emperor, Arbuckle can hand out titles like prizes at a country fair! He’ll replace you all with his commoner friends, and the empire will change forever. An anarchist state ruled by peasants! He must be removed!”
“Our argument has never been against his removal, Master Hoseph, but that’s supposed to be your task.” Duchess Ingstrom glanced sidelong at him. Of all the conspirators, she was the most level-headed and astute. “We are still not spies.”
“You’re asking one of us to put our neck under that dreadful blade.” Duke Seoli protested.
“Information is all we’re ask for,” Lady T said calmly. “Tell us what you know about what’s happening in the palace. Ask people who may know something about Arbuckle’s state of mind, his confidants, anything and everything. Seemingly inconsequential details could give us the edge we need. Duchess Ingstrom, Duke Seoli, you both attended the banquet last night for the arriving provincial dukes. What occurred there? Was anyone disgruntled enough to take matters into their own hands?”
Seoli barked a laugh. “Only every noble there! Ledwig’s execution didn’t sit well with any of them.”
“Not every noble there,” Duchess Ingstrom said with a frown. “There were some…”
“Oh, Arbuckle gave his rote speech about justice, and some of them seemed convinced that he’s right. They’re fools!”
The duchess pursed her lips. “Arbuckle dismissed the captain of the Imperial Guard some days ago, and in public, no less. I should think that he’s disgruntled, and he might have access to the palace through some of his former associates.”
“And there’s Toffey,” added Seoli. “Tynean Tsing’s former valet was let go out of hand. My valet tells me that Toffey was crushed by the implication that he was less than loyal to the throne. The poor man’s drinking himself to death.”
Lady T’s eyes narrowed with interest, but she maintained her casual tone. “This is good information, but perhaps you can think of someone who still has access to the palace and Arbuckle.”
“Tennison?” suggested Seoli.
The duchess waved as if flicking a pesky fly. “Phah! I thought he might be chafing under Arbuckle’s righteous arrogance, but when I tried to schedule tea to introduce Arbuckle to my daughter, he just smiled at me and said that the crown prince had more important things on his mind right now than courting. What’s more important than ensuring that the emperor has an heir?”
Hoseph gritted his teeth against his pounding headache and the frustration of dealing with these self-centered idiots. Not one had the foresight to consider what was needed here: access, opportunity, and ability. They were all caught up in their own tiny worlds of court politics.
Graving raised a finger, as if not to be outdone by the nobles. “I heard that Archmage Duveau was unhappy with the crown prince.”
Hoseph’s eyebrows arched with interest. “Duveau?”
The chief magistrate nodded, his chins jiggling. “Apparently, Arbuckle’s overworking the fellow dreadfully. Has him running around doing maintenance on the palace wards, interrogating menials, all kinds of nonsense. He won’t let Duveau delegate anything to the junior members of the retinue, insisting that the archmage do all the work himself.”
Archmage Duveau… In Hoseph’s years of service to the emperor, he had met Duveau numerous times. The man was arrogant and self-centered, but also clever and talented. As archmage, he had unquestioningly provided the emperor with many a potion and magical favor that would be considered dubious, if not outright illegal, on the open market. In return, Tynean Tsing had allowed the man to do as he pleased, sparing no expense to acquire whatever magical tome or implement the archmage desired. What pleased Duveau most was magical research, dabbling in whichever realm of arcane study struck his fancy. And I know just what will strike his fancy…
“I must meet with Archmage Duveau.” Hoseph’s statement met with blank stares except for Lady T, who shot him a sharp glance. “I need someone to deliver a message to him.”
“How did we go from giving information to delivering messages?” Seoli shook his head. “This risks not only the message bearer’s life, but the rest of ours, as well. Duveau can compel the truth with a wave of his hand!”
Hoseph knew that all too well.
“There would be little danger of discovery.” Lady T assumed the argument in her most persuasive manner. “The message would be worded carefully to be non-incriminating, and sealed before we give it to the message bearer. If Duveau refuses our offer, the deliverer of the message can truthfully disavow knowledge of its content and origin.”
Graving frowned. “Legally, that might not—”
“This is ridiculous.” Duchess Ingstrom put down her wine glass and surged up from her seat with an alacrity that belied her years. “I’ll deliver your message to Archmage Duveau, and to all Nine Hells with the consequences! Now take me home, Master Hoseph. I have an appointment with a glass of decent wine and a book of poetry that I simply cannot forego.” Scowling, she held out a hand to him.
“Very well, Duchess.” He gently grasped her hand, smiling in satisfaction. “Thank you for—”
“Thank me by making gods-damned sure that Duveau takes your offer, Master Hoseph. Otherwise, our heads will all roll into the same basket as Baron Ludwig’s.”
Hoseph nodded politely as he invoked Demia’s gift, already pondering the best way to convince Archmage Duveau to betray his master.
Dee peeled the last of the sweet pulp from an orange wedge and pitched the peel into the growing pile in the middle of the ring of grimy children. He considered the motley collection of street urchins sitting in the straw as they nibbled on their fruit, unexpected treats that they had accepted with a reverence more worthy of a priceless gem than a simple orange. He couldn’t believe the tales Mya told of them, how she’d trained them to spy for her, and how they’d saved the life of the crown prince.
“They thwarted a professional assassin?” He hadn’t thought it was possible.
“They did.” She grinned and tousled one boy’s hair. “Luck, more than skill, no doubt, but the prince’s heart beats today due to their heroism.”
The childre
n all beamed with pride.
Only a little less surprising was the pride in Mya’s voice when she spoke of their deeds. He’d expected her to be alive, maybe even in charge of the guild by now, but this… Leave it to Mya to build an army out of nothing.
Employing street children as spies was a stroke of genius. They could go anywhere without being noticed, and cost only food to fill their bellies. Mya had adapted the kids’ skills to meet her needs, and they had responded amazingly. She would make a fine Grandmaster…if the Tsing guildmaster would only accept her.
Dee sighed and wiped his hands on his trousers. A month ago he was living in a mansion, assistant to the Twailin guildmaster. Now he stood in a filthy, abandoned stable surrounded by filthy, abandoned children. Not exactly moving up in the world, are you?
“Does seem like you’re paddlin’ upstream until you can off this priest fella.” Paxal picked his teeth with a splinter he’d whittled into a toothpick. Next to him, a boy with a nail-studded stick—Nails, Mya had appropriately called him—picked up the knife Paxal had laid aside, and started whittling his own toothpick.
“Finding him’s the problem.” Mya flicked her finger and thumb, her nails ticking faintly.
Dee understood her problem, having seen Hoseph fade into mist in the blink of an eye, but thought she might be missing the real issue. “I hate to say it, but I don’t think it’s a matter of finding Hoseph as much as making sure that he doesn’t find you.”
“So far, I seem to have dodged him.” She shrugged. “Lady T promised to set him up for me, but I’m not sure yet if she’s on my side or his.”
Dee paced as he thought, until his foot encountered a noisome lump in the straw. Cringing, he scraped the bottom of his boot on a board. “The first order of business, Miss Mya, should be to find a better base of operations. If you want any hope of earning the respect of the guild, you shouldn’t be living in a third-class inn and conducting business in squalor.”
“They don’t know where I live or do business,” Mya protested. “That would be an invitation for Hoseph to kill me.”
Weapon of Fear Page 27