Weapon of mercy, p.17
Weapon of Mercy, page 17
part #6 of Weapon of Flesh Series
“We’re all fine, Miss.” The girl proffered a wrinkled and folded piece of paper. “We got a new place with the money Dee gave. I come to leave a note like he said to, but—” She looked past Mya at the towering Jolee. “Where is he?”
The knife of guilt twisted in Mya’s gut, and she saw Gimp’s startled reaction to her anguished expression. She knew what she had to do, but telling her urchins that Dee was gone loomed up before her like an unassailable fortress. Face it, Mya, her damning inner voice insisted. Dee would want his friends to know what happened.
She stood and took the girl’s hand. “Take me to Paxal, Gimp. Jolee, pay the reckoning and come along.”
The emperor frowned as he looked at the note they had found in Otar’s room. “Well, this is certainly damning, Captain.”
Ithross bowed shortly. “Exactly my thought, Majesty.”
Don’t say it, Benj pleaded inwardly. Don’t...please...
“It seems We have no recourse but to arrest Chief Constable Dreyfus on charges of conspiracy to commit regicide.”
Benj’s stomach flipped. He’d held his tongue so far for fear of getting tossed into the dungeon for insubordination, but now he had no choice. He couldn’t let them arrest Dreyfus on such flimsy evidence. “Um...Your Majesty...can I put in a word or three here?”
“Of course, Sergeant. You were the one to bring this situation to Our attention in the first place, but you must admit,” he waved the letter, “this doesn’t look good.”
“Thank you, Majesty.” Benj cleared his throat. “With all due respect to Your Majesty and Captain Ithross, this so-called evidence is just too easy for me to buy on credit.”
“Too easy?” Ithross looked stunned. “There was nothing easy—”
“Please, Captain, We would hear what Sergeant Benjamin has to say. He is, after all, a career investigator. Sergeant, what do your instincts tell you?”
In for a penny, in for a crown! His favorite mantra seemed particularly apropos, considering who he was talking to. “Well, first, Majesty, that little pouch of gold ain’t enough to buy Chief Dreyfus.”
“It might not have been the first,” Ithross argued.
“I don’t care if it was ten times that much. It ain’t enough to risk facin’ the gallows...or that head-loppin’ contraption that Your Majesty prefers.”
“It’s called a guillotine, Sergeant, and your point is well made, but the note clearly states that the gold was payment for information.”
“But to who?” the sergeant protested. “The chief wasn’t named, and their ‘friend in the constabulary’ could mean anyone.”
“Majesty please! Sergeant Benjamin suggested restraint before, and look where it got us!” Ithross glared openly at Benj. “This all fits! Dreyfus gives information to Otar, who passes it on to Hoseph, who uses it to attempt to kill Your Majesty. Then Otar dies of drink before he can get the final payment to Dreyfus.”
“Exactly! Too godsdamned easy! Majesty, please listen.” Benj was warming to the subject now, his suspicious instincts kicking in. “I’d bet a year’s pay that your archmage don’t find enough alcohol in Otar to kill him. And if he doesn’t, then Hoseph killed him. And if that’s the case, this so-called evidence is a frame job! Why else would anyone leave a note? Why not just tell Otar to thank Dreyfus when he handed over the gold? No, he left that pouch under Otar’s mattress for us to find, I’d wager. If Dreyfus was on their payroll, and Hoseph wanted to keep him as an informant, but get rid of Otar, he’d scoop up anything that could implicate the chief and leave Otar’s corpse to tell no tales. This whole thing stinks like my granny’s shit bucket!”
The emperor blinked and leaned back on his throne. Ithross’ mouth dropped open, and he glared daggers at two guards trying unsuccessfully to stifle smirks.
“Pardon the language, Majesty, but think on it!” Benj knew he was right; he could feel it. Dreyfus was a dupe in this. “Otar was bein’ paid by Hoseph for information. That I get. He was madder than a wet tomcat at bein’ dismissed, and was out for revenge. Not to mention that the gold helped him pay for his booze and trollops. But Dreyfus...” Benj shook his head. “He’s got no axe to grind, nothing to gain but a bit of gold, and everything to lose, including his life. He may not like these New Accords of yours, but he’s no rebel, and he’s no traitor! Otar may have been milkin’ him like a dun cow, but conspiracy? I don’t buy it for a second.”
Silence fell on the audience chamber.
“You suggest this is an attempt to implicate Dreyfus?”
“I do, Your Majesty.”
“Why would they want that?”
“No bloody idea, Majesty. I can see how they did it, but not why. Unless...” Benj scratched his head and considered the last few days. “Unless they’re just out to make general trouble. We got new cases of arson sproutin’ up like daisies on a dung heap since you announced your Accords. The constabulary’s spread thin checkin’ them out and tryin’ to prevent new ones. If you arrest the Chief Constable now...well, what kind of message does that send to the common folk?”
“Message?” Tynean Tsing said, his brows arching.
“They’ll think they can’t trust the constabulary, that we’re for sale, traitors. Think that’ll help in keepin’ the city quiet? You arrest him, and you’ll kill morale in the constabulary, cause chaos in the ranks, and sow distrust on the streets. Not a good thing when we got trouble flarin’ up.”
The emperor tugged his beard, and Ithross looked taken aback. Finally, the emperor spoke. “Your assessment of this, Captain Ithross?”
“It...could make sense if Hoseph and his...associates are trying to foster general unrest, Majesty.”
Tynean Tsing nodded. “Agreed. And if they’re successful, We’ll have nobles and commoners alike beating down Our doors demanding action. We need the constabulary to show the people that we’re all on the same side.” The emperor looked to Benj again. “Any suggestions, Sergeant?”
“Bolster the constabulary with soldiers, Majesty. The more boots on the ground, the better. It might not stop more violence, but it’ll show people you’re tryin’.”
“And what about Dreyfus?” Ithross asked accusatively.
What about Dreyfus? Benj was putting his head on the block here. He’d already screwed up once. If Dreyfus did turn up guilty, Ithross would come down on Benj so hard he’d never get up again. “Let me put a tail on him.”
“Won’t he recognize his own constables?” the emperor asked.
Benj grinned. “Not the ones I’m thinkin’ of, Majesty. They could follow a tomcat through a henhouse without ’em knowin’.”
“Very well, Sergeant. Keep Captain Ithross up to date on developments. Captain, send word to Commander Dask of the First Army to assign a company of infantry and a phalanx of cavalry to Chief Constable Dreyfus for additional patrols.” The emperor’s brow furrowed, his eyes stern. “And both of you; any information on the identities of these the arsonists or anyone associated with Hoseph is to be brought to Our attention immediately, day or night. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” chimed both men.
Benj looked at Ithross, and the two shared a nod of understanding. He thought the captain too tight-laced for his own or anyone else’s good, and Ithross undoubtedly considered Benj an undisciplined lout. Fair enough. They were both on the same side, even if they didn’t agree on tactics.
Chapter XII
Shadow coalesced into flesh in the darkest corner of the sultan’s audience chamber. Staggered by pain, Hoseph leaned against the wall and dabbed his diminishing vial of elixir onto his tongue. The agony behind his eyes eased...but didn’t quite vanish. He took a couple more drops. So much travel through the Sphere of Shadow in one day while transporting others was taking its toll, but there was yet work to be done.
The audience chamber was blissfully empty at this late hour; the palace slept, save for a few guards standing their posts or patrolling the hallways. Hoseph crept past the dais onto the wide balcony and peered over the balustrade.
The sleeping city of Tolnyek spread out below him, fetid and reeking in its decay. Beyond loomed the black mass of jungle, a ceaseless, verdant predator fighting to claim the city. Just as ceaselessly, the Morrgrey people fought back, a testament to their strength and stubbornness. It was a fight they would eventually lose. However, like a great wounded beast, the kingdom was yet dangerous, and Hoseph needed it to fight one last battle before it died.
The priest leaned back on the balustrade and looked up at the massive tiered pyramid of the palace. A gilded crest gleamed in the moonlight, four colorful spires at the cardinal points thrusting like lances toward the heavens. Somewhere in this vast structure slept the sultan. Unfortunately, all Hoseph had been able to tease out of the ambassador was that the royal family occupied an entire upper floor. Of course, that family included the sultan’s ten wives and a multitude of children.
Like looking for a needle in a haystack...blindfolded. But where to start looking?
Hoseph climbed up onto the balustrade, clinging to the awning’s corner post, and leaned out for a better view. The sultan’s personal bedchamber would undoubtedly sport a balcony, and would command a view. Start from the top... Picking the highest balcony he could clearly see, he invoked his talisman and slipped through the Sphere of Shadow. Blinding pain assaulted his skull and he staggered against the balustrade. A quick dose of elixir quelled the distress, but warmth tickled his upper lip, and his hand came away bloody.
Blast! Pressing a kerchief to his nose, he considered another dose of elixir, but when he held the vial up to the moonlight, it shone only a quarter full. Best ration it. Hoseph tucked the vial away and crept forward. Beyond the fluttering drapes were only the low divans, chairs, and tables of a sitting room, none sufficient to accommodate the sultan’s bulk. There was nothing to do but keep searching.
Six balconies and six transitions through the Sphere of Shadow later, Hoseph collapsed to hands and knees, pressing his forehead against the cool stone while blood trickled from his nose. He had once cut a crossbow bolt from his hipbone, but never had he experienced agony like this. Sweet Keeper of the Slain! With trembling hands, he dabbed the elixir on his tongue, fighting the urge to upend the vial over his mouth and quaff the whole thing. Pain, nausea, and weakness ebbed slowly, and he sat back on his heels, wiping up the puddle of blood and tears from the stone before him.
I can’t do this much more... Demia, sustain me. Give me strength. Aid your humble servant’s quest.
As if in answer to his prayer, a guttural snort sounded from beyond the gossamer drapes. Hoseph stood and edged toward the opening, peering cautiously into the chamber. A lazy breeze billowed the gauzy drapes, bringing the scent of sweet incense and a sound like a creaky bellows. The sultan lay atop a massive bed beneath a canopy of fine mosquito netting. The bed could have accommodated six —and probably had, given the tales of the sovereign’s unbridled youth. Despite being propped up on a mound of pillows, the sovereign’s breath came in labored gasps.
If he lay flat, he’d probably choke to death on his own fat.
Thankfully, there were no guards present, though they were undoubtedly posted outside the door. Hoseph trod quietly toward the bed and gently parted the mosquito netting. The sultan lay in the exact center of the expansive bed, well out of reach. Unfortunately, to delve the man’s dreams, Hoseph had to look directly into his sleeping face.
Demia, please let him be a heavy sleeper.
With his talisman in one hand, Hoseph knelt gingerly on the bed and inched forward. The sultan snorted and grunted in his sleep. The priest froze, poised to flee into the Sphere of Shadow, but the sovereign didn’t wake.
Closer...closer...closer he crept until, finally, he peered down into the face of the sultan. Sweat sheened the ruler’s thick jowls, its acrid scent overpowering the sweet incense.
Hoseph closed his eyes and reached out with that secret sense bestowed upon Demia’s favored, the gift of delving dreams. Dream... Dream, and show me your soul...
Hoseph saw visions of youth, the sea, women, and power, the sultan’s deepest longings. Into these dreams Hoseph delicately wove images of his own: Krakengul Keep glowing with magical runes, arcane wonders, riches beyond compare, exotic women. He constructed a picture of the sultan in his youth, standing on the prow of a huge Morrgrey war galley gleaming with the runes he’d seen on Corillian’s keep, an emperor warrior, long ebony hair streaming in the sea breeze.
Dream of power...dream of vitality, prowess, immortality...
Finally, he added an image of the sultan riding at the van of his army, the walls of Twailin falling to Morrgrey forces, the duke’s palace opening to its new master, and Mir’s head on a pike.
Take it...take what is rightfully yours...take Twailin...
Lad crouched on a rooftop, drinking in the essence of Tsing.
Look, listen, breathe in the night, feel it in your veins... Remember!
The warm breeze bore a million scents, the sultry air a thousand sounds, the very tiles beneath his feet trembled with the heartbeat of the city. Countless lights shone in the night, each as sharp in his sight as a sliver of glass. He knew he was being seduced, but couldn’t resist the temptation. He loved his family, cherished his daughter, but this... This was what he was made to do.
Rising, he dashed silently across the roof and leapt, sailing over the quiet street below like a feather in the wind to land on the next building. After a brief pause to listen, he scampered across the tiles. Crouching again, he crept to the edge and peered over to spot his quarry.
Chief Constable Dreyfus strode down the street with a slight wobble in his gait from the drink he’d taken with his supper, but steady and aware enough to greet a passing squad of constables and soldiers. They outnumbered the civilians at this time of night. The soldiers were new, and although Mya wasn’t sure why the emperor had ordered them to bolster the constabulary, her spies had told her that they were asking a lot of questions about the recent fires.
Mya had accepted the news of Otar’s death with anger and frustration, but no blame. She assigned Lad to watch over the chief constable, reasoning that if Hoseph killed Otar to cut out the middle man, he might intend to work directly with Dreyfus from now on.
The chief constable rounded another corner, and Lad raced across the block of buildings to a new vantage. Dreyfus crossed the street, walked halfway down the block, mounted the steps to his townhouse, and worked the key in the latch.
The guild had a startlingly complete file on the man, a career constable with a reputation as a harsh disciplinarian and a bad man to cross. He’d lived alone for the last several years, since his wife and children left him, employing only a single manservant. He ate his breakfasts in, his dinners out, and slept on the second floor in a room with one window facing the street. He enjoyed alcohol, but rarely to excess and never while working. Perhaps most telling, the guild had failed to bribe or coerce him despite numerous attempts. In Lad’s mind, that made the note they’d found under Otar’s mattress even less likely to be genuine.
Little of this mattered to Lad. His job wasn’t to judge the man, but to watch and hopefully discover what link, if any, there might be between Dreyfus and Hoseph. Having failed to even detect Hoseph’s deadly visit to Otar, much less intervene, he’d resolved to keep a closer watch on the chief constable. That, however, wouldn’t be easy.
Situated in the center of the block, the townhouse shared walls with two adjoining neighbors. The front of the home was well lit by street lamps and in direct view of passersby. That made getting in through the door or any of the three windows difficult and dangerous. Also, the roof wasn’t gabled, so it sported no handy attic vents that might provide access.
The back, then.
Working his way to the corner of the block where the streetlights were dimmer, Lad paused to gauge the distance, then backed up and took a running leap. The roofs of the townhouses were shallow-pitched, slate-shingled, and coated with slimy black mold, but Lad landed like a spider on a pane of glass. After pausing again to listen, he crabbed along the slick surface to the chief constable’s roof and pressed his ear to the slate. Beyond the scrabbling of a few mice in the attic, he picked out a couple of voices far below, barely audible.
“...tonight, Vetri. I’ll just...with some tea and a book.”
“Very good...kettle on and...for the night.”
The faint tremors of footfalls traversed to the back of the house, and Lad followed. He would wait until the servant left, then slip in. A pump squeaked and something clanked. Lad leaned over the eaves just far enough to view the back door. The latch clicked, and the door opened, spilling light into the dim alley.
“Good night, sir,” the servant said. “Sleep well.”
“Goodnight, Vetri,” Dreyfus replied, his voice faint from the front of the house.
Lad watched Vetri step out of the back door. The servant snugged a cap on his head, locked the door, pocketed the key, and strode up the alley.
Now for a closer look. Lad lined himself up with a small second-story window, gripped the moldy slate eaves, and flipped over the edge. He swung once, twisted and let go. One foot landed on the narrow lower windowsill, and he grasped the upper with his fingertips. Crouching there, his body splayed to keep his center of weight close to the wall, he checked the window. It was secured with a simple turn latch. He’d have to break or remove a pane to get in this way, leaving a trace he couldn’t hide. That wouldn’t do. Leaning out, Lad spied a window opening into the ground-floor kitchen, but it, too, was secured with a latch.
The back door then, he decided, but just before he released his grip, the sharp rap of brass on brass announced someone at the front door.
A caller at this hour? Mya hadn’t mentioned that Dreyfus had any nocturnal visitors, but she had told him Dee’s supposition that Hoseph needed to see a location before he could magically transport himself there. If this was the priest’s first visit to Dreyfus, perhaps Lad would get the opportunity he’d been waiting for. There are things in this world that need killing.
