Weapon of mercy, p.18
Weapon of Mercy, page 18
part #6 of Weapon of Flesh Series
Lad sprang up to grip the eaves, flipped over, and scrambled back across the roof to the street side. Creeping to the edge, he peered over and frowned in disappointment.
A woman stood on the landing. She wore a hat, so Lad couldn’t see her face, but he scrutinized the rest of her. Her clothes were high quality, simple and elegant, her shoulders perfectly square, and her back straight. Her hands were those of a woman of middle years, well-groomed and clean with gleaming lacquered nails and two gold rings.
The door opened and the chief constable’s voice, weary but curious, asked, “Can I help you, madam?”
“No, Chief Constable, you cannot, but I can help you.” The woman’s speech was cultured and articulate, with the barest hint of a quaver. She was nervous or afraid and trying not to show it. “We have a mutual acquaintance who recently met with a...mishap.”
“Who are you and what are you talking about? Nobody I know has—”
“Please, Chief Dreyfus!” She looked up and down the street, her head jerking birdlike. “What I have to say is not something to be discussed on your stoop.”
“I’m not about to let a stranger into my home!” Dreyfus sounded annoyed now. “It’s late, and—”
“Please! This can’t wait! If they find me here...” Her voice now shook noticeably. “My name is Rose. The acquaintance I speak of was formerly the captain of the Imperial Guard. He’s been murdered!”
“What?” Dreyfus sounded genuinely shocked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but... Come in.”
The woman stepped inside, and the door closed.
She’s talking about Otar. Lad had to hear this conversation, but their voices were low and indistinct. Scrambling back across the roof, he glanced to make sure the alley was empty, then leapt. Rebounding off a windowsill across the alley, he landed by the chief constable’s back door with two slim lockpicks already in hand. He worked his picks in the lock, felt the tumblers, and applied just the right amount of twist to elicit a soft telltale click. Gently pressing the latch, he slipped inside and silently closed the door behind him. He crouched in a hallway that stretched from the back of the townhouse to the front, the woman’s voice now clear from the sitting room.
“...can’t tell you my sources, Chief Constable.”
“You’ll forgive my skepticism, Miss Rose, but I think if Captain Otar was murdered, I would have heard of it. He was formerly head of the Imperial Guard.”
“And yet, murdered he was, I assure you.” Her hard shoes clacked on the floor, and Lad slipped into the entry to the kitchen in case she stepped into the hall. “Perhaps you weren’t told because of your association with the man.”
“Otar and I were only acquaintances.”
“You should be aware, Chief Constable, that others are convinced you had a more, shall we say, profitable relationship with the late captain.”
“Excuse me?” Dreyfus sounded irritated again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The woman’s voice had shed its fearful timbre and taken on a confidential tone. “Evidence was found in Captain Otar’s room that implicates you in a treasonous conspiracy against the crown!”
How does she know about that? Lad wondered. Ithross said he’d take the evidence to the emperor, but Lad couldn’t imagine a leak from there. Would Sergeant Benj warn his boss? Unlikely, since that would put him in trouble with the palace. Corporal Arryx seemed too straitlaced to disobey orders. Who is she?
“Treason? Does someone accuse me of participating in the assassination attempt on—”
“Shhh! Don’t say any more names! There’s magic afoot that keys upon a spoken name, and we’re dealing with those who employ the best wizards in the empire. We don’t want your enemies to know that you’ve been warned.”
“Enemies? But...but I’ve done nothing wrong!” A heavier tread clomped across the floor; Dreyfus had begun pacing. “What’s this so-called evidence?”
“Gold and an incriminating note that implied you were being paid for information.”
“This is ridiculous! I only ever had a few drinks with Otar! This is completely fabricated!”
“Exactly! Which is why my patron insisted that you be warned. If you don’t take care, you’ll end up in the palace dungeons or share poor Captain Otar’s fate.”
Patron? Lad furrowed his brow. Was there a third party involved in this? Then it struck him; there was one other who would know of the evidence—the person who planted it. It’s got to be Hoseph! The prostitute had also been in Otar’s room that night, but to Lad’s thinking, it was more likely that Hoseph had popped in, killed Otar, and planted the evidence.
“Who do you work for?” Dreyfus demanded.
“It’s too dangerous to give you a name!” Miss Rose sounded panicked again. “Suffice it to say that I work for people who want to keep you alive and doing your job.” Her hard shoed clacked across the floor again. “Forgive me my impropriety, Chief Constable, but my nerves are an absolute wreck. Might I trouble you for a spot of sherry?”
“Your nerves?” The chief constable stopped pacing and glass clinked. “I could use a dram myself. Gods, I never thought...”
“None of us do until our necks rest upon the emperor’s guillotine.”
Glass clinked again. “Who are these enemies you speak of?”
“Look to the palace,” she whispered. “Who benefitted most by Otar’s dismissal? Who might want him dead for fear of his reinstatement? Who has failed utterly to find those who threaten the life of our sovereign and would want a scapegoat?”
“Ith—” Dreyfus checked himself.
Ithross? Lad smiled, finally understanding. She’s lying to him.
“This is monstrous! I’ll go to the crown with this! I’ll have him—”
“Chief Constable, think please. Will the crown accept your word over the captain of the Imperial Guard?”
Dreyfus merely grunted.
Lad had dealt with enough Inquisitors to recognize their subtle techniques and manipulations. The fabricated evidence hadn’t gotten the chief constable arrested, so Lakshmi sent this woman to plant doubt and distrust between Dreyfus and Ithross. But why? What benefit would they reap from a fight between the constabulary and the Imperial Guard?
The click-pop of the kettle heating on the stove caught Lad’s ear. It would soon boil and whistle. Time to leave. He crept to the back door and was about to slip out when the woman’s voice brought him up short.
“Heed my warning, Chief Constable.” Skirts rustled and her hard shoes clicked on the wooden floor. “Thank you for the sherry. I’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you for the warning, Miss Rose. You’ve given me much to consider.”
Lad slipped through the door and relocked it. He’d intended to spend the night hidden in the house in case Hoseph showed up, but this visitor warranted a change of plan. If she was an Inquisitor, she might lead him right to Lakshmi. He swarmed up the back wall of the townhouse, from window frame to window frame, then leapt to the eaves and flipped up to the roof again. Dashing to the front, he looked down to the street. Dreyfus’ visitor was already half a block east, walking briskly. Lad started to follow, but froze as movement in the shadows across the street caught his eye.
A tall man in a longshoreman’s jacket and hat stepped out from the cover of an alley and started after the woman. He moved quickly and with reasonable stealth, keeping well back. The hat hid his face, but Lad caught his reflection in a shop window as he passed near a lamppost.
Corporal Arryx. He wondered how long the constable had been watching Dreyfus, chagrinned that he hadn’t noticed him earlier. The corporal couldn’t have overheard the conversation inside, but he, too, had obviously decided that this late-night visitor was worth following.
Lad stalked them both, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, a ghost in the night. A few blocks away from the chief constable’s house, the woman waved down a solitary passing hackney. She boarded, the driver applied the whip, and the coach clattered off toward the Heights District.
“Damn it!” Corporal Arryx cursed, looking helplessly after the carriage.
Lad leapt overhead in high-speed pursuit, leaving his fellow stalker far behind. Corporal Arryx was good, but he wasn’t made for this.
Chapter XIII
Despite the misgivings of some of my viziers,” the sultan of Morrgrey scowled at his two eldest sons, “I’ve decided to accept your proposal. My armies will march on the morrow. We will be in Twailin province in days and spearhead for the city.”
Hoseph smiled and bowed low. “Thank you, Your Majesty!” And thank you, blessed Demia. Though the night’s exertions had left him utterly spent, the exertion and pain had been worth it. He had his war.
“However...” the sultan held up a hand, “the success of this operation will depend on information—Twailin’s fortifications and preparedness, the deployment of imperial troops from Tsing, their marching order and estimated time of arrival. My son Galak will lead my army in the field, and has drawn up a list of what is needed and a schedule for when the information must be provided. If you don’t provide it, I will order my armies to withdraw, and personally beg the emperor’s forgiveness, naming you both as seditionists.”
Galak, with a grim mien and one hand gripping his jeweled scimitar, stepped down from the dais and proffered a scroll.
Hoseph glanced at the list and grimaced. Sweet Shadow of Death, does he want me to hold his hand during the attack? The information on Twailin would have been simple to obtain if he’d had the cooperation of the guild there, but the cowards had gone into hiding. Which means I’ll have to do it myself. This was turning into more time and effort than he’d planned on, but there was no recourse. They couldn’t proceed without Morrgrey’s help.
“I’ll deliver the information on schedule, Your Highness.” He bowed stiffly.
Graving shot Hoseph a nervous glance, then bowed also. “We will of course provide everything you require, Mighty Sultan. The Empire of Tsing is in your debt. We won’t forget our greatest ally.”
“Then our business is concluded.” The sultan waved a hand in dismissal.
They backed out of the royal presence.
Ambassador Kovak paced anxiously in the entry hall. “Well?”
“Everything is proceeding perfectly, Ambassador,” Graving said with a satisfied smile.
Hoseph flicked the skull talisman into one hand and held out the other. “Shall we return to Tsing now?”
“Yes, at once.” Graving took his hand and gripped Kovak’s with his other.
Even as the mists consumed them, Hoseph cringed inwardly in anticipation of the pain that awaited him on the other side of the Sphere of Shadow. Briefly, he considered stranding his companions in here to ease his agony, but decided against it. He still needed Graving, and the sudden disappearance of the ambassador on the eve of a Morrgrey invasion would cause an investigation.
As the blissfully benign Sphere of Shadow solidified into the chief magistrate’s study, pain and nausea drove Hoseph to his knees. He gagged, retched, then emptied his stomach onto Graving’s luxurious rug. His ears rang as if demons howled inside his head, and his head felt like they were clawing to get out. Someone gripped his shoulder, and Graving and the ambassador expressed their distress and concern in muted voices that seemed to come from afar.
Hoseph ignored them, fumbling for the vial of elixir at his belt. He pulled it free and popped the tiny stopper. One drop and the pain and illness would vanish. With a trembling hand, he raised the vial and tilted it into his mouth. Nothing. Hoseph shook the vial, pleading silently for the sweet relief, the minty wash of respite, but still felt nothing. Blinking away tears, he stared at the vial.
The elixir was gone.
Tap, tap, tap.
Sounds in the darkness... Wet tunnels... Crawling... Things biting in the dark... The stink of blood... Squeaking rats, or was that Kittal’s skinning machine... Glowing runes and writhing strips of flesh...
My flesh...
Tap, tap, tap. “Mya?”
Mya tried to move, but something—sticky, clammy—bound her arms and legs. Panting, her heart racing, she fought to free herself. Eyes flying open, she looked wildly around. Not bound, but tangled in a sweat-dampened nightgown. Not in the dungeon, but in a room in Embree’s headquarters. The air bore a scent of the river, not the sewers. With an exasperated sigh, she sat up and flung off the clammy sheet.
“You okay, Miss Mya?”
“Wha—” Her eyes snapped to the two diminutive shapes hunkered under her window. Nestor and Knock met her shocked gaze with wide, concerned eyes. Mya had forgotten that she’d recruited her urchins to watch over her again. Jolee had to sleep sometime, and Mya didn’t yet completely trust any of her other assassins. “Yes, I’m fine.”
Someone tapped on the door. “Mya, are you awake?”
“Lad?” She banished her nightmares and climbed out of bed. It must have been the tapping at the door that invaded her dreams.
Nestor trained his crossbow on the door, and Knock smacked her axe handle into her palm, baring her short tusk.
“It’s okay.” She gestured for the urchins to lower their weapons, then said loudly, “Come in.”
The door opened, and Lad entered. Enticing aromas wafted from the pot and covered dish on the tray he bore. “Blackbrew and breakfast?”
“Gods, yes.” She turned and pointed to the tiny table near the window. “Delivering breakfast? I guess you really are an innkeeper now.” When Lad didn’t reply, she turned back to find him staring at the urchins.
“You’re recruiting children, Mya?” Tendons bunched at Lad’s neck.
“This is Nestor and Knock. They’re...friends of mine.”
“They’re armed bodyguards.” Lad strode to the table and put the tray down heavily, rattling the dishes, his eyes never leaving the urchins.
“Who’s he?” Nestor still held his crossbow, but it was pointed at the floor.
“Knock!”
“A friend.” Mya gestured to the door. “You two head home. Tell Pax to send Gimp and Sticks tonight.”
“Yes, Miss Mya.” Nestor unloaded the crossbow and propped it against the wall, then followed Knock out.
Mya shut the door and turned back toward the table, trying to avoid Lad’s mica-hued eyes, blazing with anger and pinning her like a bug under a cup.
“Children, Mya? You’re using children for guild work?”
“Yes, I am!” she snapped back, her temper piqued. “After you left me here alone, I needed help, and used whatever resources I could find.”
“But you’re putting children in danger!”
Guilt tightened her gut. He’s right, whispered the voice in the back of her mind, but she thrust it aside.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Mya stomped to the table and tried to pour a cup of blackbrew, but her hands were shaking so badly she spilled it. Putting the cup down, she rounded on Lad. “They were starving in the street when I found them. I gave them food, clothes, a roof over their heads! They lived in danger every day before they met me. Yes, protecting me is dangerous. Hoseph murdered one of them trying to get to me, and I have to live with that, but there’s no telling how many would have died on the street if I hadn’t taken them in.”
Lad took a breath, seeming to force calm. “But you don’t need them anymore. You have assassins at your command now. Let them go.”
Mya barked a laugh. “Let them go where? Back to starving to death on the street, stealing and mugging people for money?” She clenched her fists on her hips and stared him down.
Lad didn’t say a word, but his jaw muscles clenched and unclenched rhythmically.
“They don’t want to go back to what they were. With me, they have a purpose. Did you see that girl, Knock? She saved the emperor’s life, though nobody will ever know it! What kind of life do you think she had on the streets? Yet when she met Jolee yesterday, her eyes lit up as bright as the sun. She saw that someone like her could be someone, have decent clothes and a life worth living. She’d never have found that on the street. They wouldn’t leave if I told them to. Ask Paxal if you don’t believe me.”
Lad’s eyes flicked up and down as if assessing her. “I believe you, Mya, but I don’t like it. It’s dangerous.”
“You don’t have to like it. It’s my call. You’re not in the guild anymore, remember?”
“Neither are those children.”
She gave him a cold smile. “They’re tougher than you think, and street smart in ways that even Embree’s Hunters can’t match.”
You’re pushing away one of the only friends you have, her conscience nagged.
Mya swallowed her anger. She didn’t want to fight with Lad. He was a father who had lived through his own child in danger. His concern was understandable. “Besides, I only use them as spies, mostly, watching and reporting what they see. They don’t work with anyone but me, and they don’t know enough about guild business to be in any danger that way. They don’t even know this is guild headquarters. When they’re older, I’ll let them choose for themselves the life they want. But for now, just leave it be.”
Lad stared at her for a moment longer, then nodded. “Fine.”
Mya dropped into a chair beside the table, poured cream in her blackbrew, and downed a gulp. The steaming brew burnt her tongue, but helped to clear her fatigue. “How did your night go?”
“Better than yours, I think.” Lad sat down and poured himself a cup of blackbrew. “I see you’re still not sleeping well.”
Mya squinted at him. “How the hell do you know that?”
“Your hair’s all over the place, you’ve got dark circles under your eyes, and your face is pale and puffy.” He cocked his head at her glare. “You asked. Don’t kill the messenger. I’m on your side, remember? And I brought you blackbrew.”
Mya finger-combed her hair and sighed. “You’re right. I’m a mess. I think not having my wrappings is part of it; I’m not used to the heat. And when I do get to sleep, I have nightmares.”
