A soul for tsing, p.15
A Soul for Tsing, page 15
“I’m sure you’ve all gotten the untarnished account of what happened to me tonight,” he began, fixing Benj with a knowing glare, “and I’m sure it was aptly embellished by Sergeant Benj, who was the only other person to actually see this homicidal trollop of ours.” A few smiles broke through at that, though most remained stone faced. “But since the good Sergeant was not there when the actual scuffle took place, I will fill in the details. Sergeant Voya, would you please come here for a painless demonstration.”
“Yes Sir, but I really don’t think you have to—”
“I’m not doing this for anyone’s entertainment, Sergeant!” he snapped, pointing at the floor in front of him. She snapped into position and stood at attention, his cold steel eyes boring into her like daggers. “I’m doing this so you all understand what we’re dealing with here, and so the next time we try to pinch this... person, one of you won’t make the same stupid-ass mistakes that nearly got me killed tonight! Now. Raise your hands to my shoulders.”
She did so immediately without a trace of mirth in her features. They all knew from his tone that what he was telling them now could very well be life saving in the future. He gripped her wrists in the identical manner he had held Katie’s, the same pressure, the same stance.
“Now, at this point I had separated our suspect from all chance of reaching a weapon, secured a firm grip on her, informed her who I was and that she was under arrest. She was about half a hand shorter than you, Sergeant, and slim, but very strong and very quick. I, on the other hand, had a belt knife, a blackjack, and manacles, not to mention out-weighing her by nearly double. Any questions so far?”
“Excuse me askin’, Sir,” one of the others interrupted, “but how’d ya know she couldn’t reach a weapon?”
“As it turned out, she had a dagger hidden in her dress,” he admitted, “but her dress was hanging on a peg about ten feet away. If it hadn’t been, she probably would have used it on me.”
“You mean she was naked, Sir?” the same sergeant asked dumbly.
“Yes, Sergeant, that’s exactly what I mean.” He was grateful that Voya’s face remained impassive through this. “If I had not separated her from the weapon, one or both of us may have been killed. It was my mistake of overconfidence that allowed her to escape.”
“But how could she escape from you like that?” another asked, pointing at the apparently helpless position in which Voya now stood.
“With remarkable ease, it seemed at the time. Let me demonstrate.” He fixed Voya with his eyes and nodded. “Sergeant, please follow along as I narrate. She tricked me into pushing her away,” he slowly shoved Voya’s arms, “at which point she twisted her wrists inward and downward.”
At his nod the slim sergeant complied, breaking his firm grip easily.
“I tried to regain my grip,” he reached out slowly, “but she used my motion to plant a side kick to my stomach.” Voya complied a bit clumsily, but managed to miss by a safe margin. “It was enough to double me over, which set me up nicely for a spinning back kick.” Voya turned slowly and lashed out with her foot, missing his nose by half a foot.
“Now let me tell you something that will probably be confirmed by a bruise tomorrow. This wisp of a girl can kick harder than any man I’ve fought could hit. I kept my feet, but was spun around by the impact,” he turned around slowly, ending up in a broad, steadying stance, “at which point she damn near castrated me with another kick.”
Voya executed a perfect forward snap kick, the arch of her foot stopping two inches from his groin. Jorren managed not to flinch, but it took all his will to do so. Every male member of the audience winced at the thought of the pain such a blow would bring.
“At this point I was lying on the floor almost unconscious—thank you Sergeant—but I thought if I could get a manacle around her ankle and my wrist, she might be slowed long enough for Sergeant Benj to arrive. She had retrieved her dress, and the dagger in it, and paused to cut loose my purse, at which point I clipped the cuff around her ankle.” He shook his head ruefully at the chance he had taken. “Luck for me, she jerked it out of my hand before I could secure it around my wrist. If she hadn’t, I’d probably be minus a hand. Oddly enough, however, she didn’t kill me when she had the chance.”
The sergeants began mumbling, probably thinking that they could have reacted quicker, or knocked the silly girl unconscious before she got in a single blow.
“But that does not mean she won’t kill,” Jorren cut in with another glare. They fell silent once again, and he continued. “As it was, she gave me a rather close shave and a warning not to chase her.” He fingered the baby smooth patch on his cheek.
“So, like, what do ya think we got here, Sir?” Voya ventured cautiously.
“We have a very desperate girl,” he said evenly, then raised an eyebrow, “with some very impressive training in close fighting. She is very quick and agile, not to mention in top condition. She paused to rob me, even when she knew more caps were on the way, which proves she needs money. Very likely, she’ll be right back out on the street tomorrow night, but probably in a new area. She knows we’ll be looking for her, and now she’s not just dodging an assault charge. She resisted arrest and assaulted a cap. She’s dangerous and she’s smart, but she’s also desperate, which is how we’ll get her. Any more questions?”
There weren’t any.
“Good. Those of you already working the case will get new assignments from Benj. Please see to your duties. Sergeant Benj, can I speak with you?”
“Aye, Sir.” He stood like a statue while the others filed out, keeping his expression neutral. When they all left, Jorren sat gingerly in his chair and pointed to the other one. Benj sat stiffly.
“I want you to do a little digging for this one, Benj,” Jorren sighed, working a brass key into his bottom drawer, taking out a bottle and two cups. “I’m afraid she’s going to kill someone before we’re done with this mess.” He poured two fingers of amber liquid in each cup and recorked the bottle, nodding for the sergeant to take one. “You’re off duty.”
“Aye, and thank ye, Sir.” Benj took the cup and sniffed the two-decade old whisky lovingly.
“I want her,” Jorren growled, knocking back half of the fiery liquor, “and I want her before she has the chance to stiffen any of my caps, so go down to the Downwinds and start digging.” He took another sip, savoring the flavor before he swallowed. “Oh, and show this around,” he said, tossing a scrap of green satin they had recovered from the window frame. “See if it jogs any memories about our fiery little wildcat.”
“Aye, Sir.” Benj gulped his drink and started to stand, but Jorren pointed back to his chair and reached for the bottle.
“Do it tomorrow, Sarge,” he said, pouring another measure of the fiery liquid. “It’s bad enough that I got my ass kicked tonight, let alone by a girl half my size. I’ll be damned if I’m going to drink alone.” He refilled his own cup and took a healthy jolt, letting it slowly burn away his aching head. “Besides, I told you that you were off duty.”
“Good enough for me, Sir, and don’t you worry about taking a lickin’ from that lass.” He sipped his own drink, propping his feet up on his commander’s desk for what would undoubtedly turn into a long night. “We’ll catch her and set you two up for a rematch. Why the ticket sales alone’ll make us rich, and I might even be able to get you odds.”
“Ohmmm, Tem’s bones Sarge, don’t make me laugh,” Jorren pleaded. “My ribs are killing’ me...”
Normally, picking the lock on the manacle would have been child’s play, but for some reason Katie could not keep her hands from shaking. Finally the pick caught the right tumbler and the iron circle clicked open. She removed it hastily, wrapped it in a rag and thrust it in her satchel. She sighed and reached for her cup, cursing as the cheap red wine slopped over the rim. She gulped it down, not really caring for the taste but knowing it would calm her frazzled nerves. Her hair’s-breadth escape had shaken her badly.
“Should have killed the arrogant bastard,” she snarled as she refilled her cup from the heavy ceramic bottle.
Deep inside, however, she knew that killing the chief constable would have only made things worse. His friend at the table had undoubtedly been a cap as well, so they had a description of her. No, killing him would have made things worse. Much worse.
“Well, at least I got this out of the deal,” she smiled, pulling the heavy purse from her pocket and plopping it on the table. When she opened the pouch, however, she was sorely disappointed, for there were only five more silvers in the tiny pocket sewn into the top. She up ended the pouch angrily, but the entire bulging lower part was sewn shut. A quick slash of her knife opened it, but she was even more disappointed; the bottom was filled with tin washers that only made the sound of jingling coins.
“That bastard!” she swore, downing another cup of wine and refilling it with newly shaking hands. To think that she had risked her life and that of her mother for a measly five silvers! Lucky for her he had been just as stupid and overconfident as every other man she had robbed. They thought that once they had their hands on you, you were helpless. Well, she had shown this one a thing or two.
In her heart, however, she knew that the chief constable hadn’t been that stupid. He’d managed to catch her totally off guard, and even had her naked and helpless for an moment. The memory of that moment, she realized, was what had her hands to shaking so terribly.
“That bastard,” she cried accusingly, fumbling with the bottle to refill her cup again. “How could he do that?” The tears rolling down her cheeks only made it worse. She had been tricked by a man she had thought would be no trouble whatsoever. And when he confronted her, naked and vulnerable, all she could do was plead and weep. Only luck had given her the opening she needed.
“Maybe Torghen’s right. Maybe I should lay low for a while until things smooth over.” After all, he could not find her if she stayed off the streets, could he? She promised herself to not go out again unless it was absolutely necessary. She would meet with Torghen before the week was out, surely. He would have a job ready for them, and then she’d have enough for the healer.
She recorked the jug and pushed herself to her feet, wobbling a bit from the strong drink before stumbling to the daybed. She thought sleep would come easily, but every time she closed her eyes she saw his face. The handsome, angular face with the dark growth of beard, blank of expression except for those sad eyes staring at her from a foot away. His words sounded over and over in her head, even when she opened her eyes and banished the vision. Those words—so polite, yet so incriminating...
“I’m sorry, Miss...” That little frown on his dark features, “I’m Chief Constable Jorren Arryx...” and those sad, mournful eyes... “I must place you under arrest...”
CHAPTER XVIII
The timid knock upon the door to Tynean Tsing III’s private chambers disturbed his breakfast far less than the guard who stomped to the door and wrenched it open with all the grace and subtlety of a bull moose. The Emperor glanced up from his meal to behold his chief chamberlain cowering in the arched portal. His wife and their daughter, a most comely young girl, accompanied him in his misery.
“Yes?” the sovereign said patiently, expecting some ugly little matter regarding the palace staff to thoroughly ruin his morning. “What is it, Chamberlain?”
“Begging Your Majesty’s most gracious pardon.” He bowed lower than his years should have allowed. “A matter of most grave import has come to my attention. A matter that may directly affect Your Majesty’s safety.”
“Our safety?” he scowled, wondering immediately if an assassin had been discovered infiltrating the staff. “Do enter, good Chamberlain, and bring your family with you if their presence pertains to the matter.”
“Indeed it does, Majesty,” he consented graciously, entering the airy antechamber with another bow. “My daughter Clairissa was the first to air concern regarding the subject, but I was loathe to bring it to your attention, Majesty. I was sure that, among all the wisest men in the realm whom you retain as your advisers, someone would warn you of the peril, but I fear you are still unaware of it.”
“Very well, Chamberlain, very well.” Tynean pushed his plate away and motioned for it to be removed. “You have captured Our concern, and your interruption of Our meal is forgiven. Please spare Us an early death from curiosity and inform Us from what quarter this peril approaches. You said your daughter discovered the danger. An assassin in the fold of the household staff, perhaps? A foul poisoner slipping nightshade into the royal tea?”
“Nothing of that sort, Majesty,” the slim man frowned, glancing at his daughter and then his wife. “It becomes difficult, Majesty, to inform of the discovery of something that may affect the safety of the Emperor, when one was not supposed to have learned of the matter of which one speaks.”
Tynean Tsing III shook his head sharply, trying to decode what his manservant had said. “Please, Chamberlain,” he said patiently, “fear not that it is some delicate matter. What is said in this room will never be brought to bear against you or yours.”
“Oh, thank you, Majesty,” he groveled with another deep bow. “You are most kind and generous.”
“Yes, yes, now please go on. We might have time for a late breakfast if you get right to the point.”
“Of course, Majesty,” the chamberlain said, standing straighter as he began his narrative. “It came to my daughter’s attention that a weapon of great power was to be forged for His Majesty’s sole use. Now this would usually have been of no concern, and in fact would not even have been heard by her ears, but when a certain name was mentioned in connection with the enchantments that were to be laid upon the weapon, well, my daughter became concerned.”
“And what name would that be?” the Emperor asked with a frown, his eyebrows knitting in annoyance.
“One of a certain paladin whose spirit was said to be melded with the weapon. Kershann von Keenan was his name. My daughter had heard that name from stories her mother and I told.” He glanced to his daughter worriedly. “It was well known within the palace that the paladin von Keenan was involved in a scandal that brought such shame to his name that the whole knighthood was shaken to its roots.”
“Really?” Tynean asked, his eyebrows arching with concern. His chair squeaked on the flagstones as he eased to his feet, his face a mask of consternation. If von Keenan were found unfit, the entire project would be set back months, if not years. The spell to accept the dead paladin’s soul was already in place. If the blademage was unable to use his soul, the weapon would be useless. “We searched von Keenan’s past with great care, Chamberlain. Are you sure he was the one involved in this scandal?”
“Unfortunately, I am, Your Majesty,” he admitted with another bow. “But it is not surprising that no record of the scandal may be found. It was decided that no word of it be spoken or recorded in order to preserve the honor of the Order of Paladin.”
“What are the facts of this scandal, Chamberlain?” the Emperor asked thoughtfully, pacing a priceless eastern rug into tatters under his slippered feet.
“He was known to have an affair with a commoner, Your Majesty.” The chamberlain looked as if he had just admitted to heresy.
The Emperor, however, stopped short, his jaw dropping open in astonishment. His mouth worked wordlessly as he gaped at the manservant. “An af-affair, you say?”
“Yes, Majesty,” the poor man admitted. “They would meet brazenly every day as the girl sold fruit in the palace courtyard. It was said that they would walk late at night along the river way, but when the trollop was caught trying to bribe a magistrate with carnal favors, von Keenan thrashed the man to within an inch of his life.”
“Which magistrate?” Tynean asked acidly, not believing the nonsense he was hearing. Did this pompous servant honestly think a simple fling with a fruit-selling maid was grounds for such harsh reprisal?
“His Honor Wellingford, I believe it was, Majesty.” The chamberlain shook his head sadly, oblivious to his Emperor’s mood on the subject. “The poor man was very nearly crippled by the violence of von Keenan’s attack.”
“We know His Honor Wellingford, Chamberlain,” the Emperor laughed, “and know him to be an ignoble, lecherous lout whose position was set up through his relationship with the previous Emperor’s nephew, Baron Volkass.” He glared at the chamberlain with a tone of ire infecting his humor. “We would wager that if some impropriety took place in this so-called scandal, it was His Honor Wellingford’s abuse of his power in an attempt to elicit favors from a girl whom Lord von Keenan had taken as mistress, but was unable to marry due to their difference in class!”
“B-but Majesty, if the paladin was indeed consorting with a common street vending—”
“Consorting with a commoner is not cause for Imperial sanction, Chamberlain!” he laughed, shaking his head at such high-minded ideals coming from a servant. “Lord von Keenan may indeed have been seeing this girl, and may even have beaten Magistrate Wellingford, but he also served this Empire for more than fourteen years, earning innumerable distinctions in battle. In addition, the man died a hero’s death defending a village of peasants from a horde of rampaging ogres. But you want to erase all this and label him a traitor simply because he fell in love with a girl who was under his station!”
The chamberlain and his family shrunk back several steps during the Emperor’s tirade, staring unbelievingly at his words. It was obvious to all three now that their judgment in this matter had been poor.
“We remember Our promise that none of what was to be said in this chamber would lead to punishment,” the sovereign fumed, “but We believe that the crux of this matter should be dealt with. Had not your daughter’s ears been attuned to matters not of her concern, none of this might have occurred. Agreed?”
“Yes, Majesty,” they all answered in unison, Clairissa’s voice cracking with fear.
