Weapon of mercy, p.25
Weapon of Mercy, page 25
part #6 of Weapon of Flesh Series
“You’re going to dump us here?” Hysteria honed Mya’s tone.
“Moirin.” Lad put a hand on her knee. “We can do this without Master Keyfur, but we can’t delay. We know where she is at this moment. If we wait, we could lose her.”
“That’s not the plan!” she insisted. “We’ve got a dozen other locations mapped. We’ve got to hit them all at once to prevent Hoseph from just blinking them away like he did before. I have to assign team leaders, position people, arrange backup contingencies.” Her nails clicked incessantly. “We know the device works, so once Master Keyfur has resolved his problem with the emperor, we’ll track her down again and—”
“No.” Lad pulled his hand away. “I can’t wait. The war won’t wait. Either we do this now, or you do it without me.”
Her teeth chirped as she ground them together. “I...suppose, but we can’t just jump out of the carriage in broad daylight! They probably have people watching.”
“Oh, I can fix that!” Keyfur pulled the feather from behind his ear. “Now, it’s best if you clasp hands. Once you’re invisible, you won’t be able to see each other...obviously.”
“Invisible?” Mya’s eyes widened, but she did nothing to stop Keyfur as he swept the feather in a glittering arc, lightly touching them both.
Lad grasped Mya’s hand as she started to fade from sight. “Thank you, Master Keyfur! We’ll be in touch!” He opened the carriage door and pulled Mya out onto the street. The door slammed, and the carriage rumbled off.
“Fantastic!” Mya hissed in his ear, her breath faintly scented with wine. “Now what?”
“Now we go in and finish this. We’ll use the secret entrance through the wine cellar.” Lad tugged her in the direction of the social club, deftly dodging passersby.
“Alone? Are you mad? The place is full of assassins!” She tugged him to a stop.
“Alchemists and Inquisitors, not Blades and Enforcers.” He pulled her to the side of the street to avoid a noisy group of well-bred young ladies strolling by, then continued on.
“But they’re still assassins! We don’t know how many there are.”
“No, but you’ve already put a dent in their numbers and, as you said, they’re scattered over a dozen hideouts.” He squeezed her sweaty hand reassuringly, guiding her into the alley behind the social club. “We’re invisible, Mya! We’ll take out their guards before they even know we’re there. This is the chance you’ve been waiting for!”
“But I’m not what I was, Lad. I’m not invulnerable anymore!”
Even without seeing Mya’s face, Lad sensed her fear through the quaver in her voice and the tremble of her grasp. If they were to succeed here, he had to help her focus...and he knew how to do that.
He stopped and pulled her close. “You never were invulnerable, Mya. You can die. I can die. Lakshmi can die...and she’s here. She’s yours for the taking, but you’ve got to do it! You might never have a second chance!”
Mya’s clenched his hand hard, and Lad knew he’d hit the mark. Nothing worked so well to banish Mya’s fear as anger.
“Lakshmi and Kittal will die...” Her voice was so low that normal ears wouldn’t have heard her.
“No fear, Mya.”
“No fear,” she agreed, her voice steadier, stronger now. “No pain. No mercy.”
No mercy. Lad steeled himself. He didn’t want to kill anyone, but if that was what he had to do to get home to Lissa and make her safe, so be it.
He pulled her onward, and they stopped at the back door. The clatter of pots and pans sounded from within. “Now all we need do is get through a barred door and past—”
Something banged on the other side of the door, and it opened. A man wearing an apron and holding several empty baskets stepped out.
“See you on the morrow, Mrs. Vexford,” he called to the thin woman holding the door open.
“Bright and early this time, Mr. Smythe.” She waved a ladle at his back. “And don’t you forget my parsnips! I’ll not answer if you...”
Lad tugged Mya’s hand, and the two assassins slipped past the nagging cook. Good thing she’s skinny! He pulled Mya into the scullery, their footfalls a whisper. They flattened themselves against the wall to evade a maid headed for the kitchen with a bag of flour, then the way was clear. Down the stone stairs he crept, Mya on his heels. The door to the wine cellar wasn’t locked, and they eased inside.
“Well, that was easier than I dreamed possible,” Mya whispered.
“Yes.” Lad guided her through the wine racks to the one that concealed the hidden passage. “Now for the hard part.”
Chapter XVIII
Hoseph held the vials Kittal had given him in the wedge of light slanting through the gap in the carriage drapes and shook them, watching the liquid slosh about inside. His future—the future of the empire—resided inside these small vessels. He placed them carefully on the seat beside him and sighed. Patience... The wait was wearing on him.
The rattle of wheels on cobbles drew his attention, and he peered out. His carriage was parked beside the main thoroughfare to the palace, a good place to hide in plain sight, amongst the dozens of other carriages carrying gentry to the pinnacle of the Heights District. A nondescript carriage rumbled by, straight for the closed palace gates.
Don’t bother, he thought. Several carriages had already pulled up and been sent away. Usually open during the day, the gates had been shut soon after the arrival of a constable on horseback riding hells-for-leather.
This carriage stopped so quickly that the horses pawed and snorted. Curiously, instead of ordering the driver away, the guard gestured, and the gates opened. The carriage lurched forward, and the portal closed behind.
So they’re not closed to everyone. Hoseph had no idea who the privileged passenger was, but it was reassuring that someone had been allowed to pass; his plan depended on it.
Trumpets blared, startling him, and he peered carefully out the window.
The palace gates were flung wide, and Captain Ithross rode forth atop a pale warhorse. Behind him followed two mounted standard bearers, their banners fluttering in the breeze, and rank upon rank of mounted imperial guards, all fully armed and armored, their horses stepping high.
Yes! Hoseph couldn’t suppress a grin of satisfaction.
The contingent passed through the gate at a trot, drawing stares from nobles and passersby. Hoseph counted the ranks until the last one cleared the gate. Ithross raised a hand, and they broke into a thunderous canter, the crash of hooves reverberating from the surrounding buildings.
Finally! Lakshmi’s plan had worked. The emperor’s security forces now numbered dozens rather than hundreds, pitifully few for such a vast building.
Now it’s my turn.
Hoseph leaned down. At his feet lay a thin boy, unconscious and snoring, a street urchin, abducted, drugged, cleaned, and dressed in finery. The priest popped the stopper from the red vial and poured the contents into the boy’s mouth. Even before it ran empty, the young flesh began to flow like melting wax, resolidifying into a new shape. Duke Tessifus’ youngest son now lay on the carriage floorboards...or so it seemed.
“Kittal seems to be as skilled as he is arrogant.” Hoseph popped the cork on the blue vial and downed it without hesitation.
His gut wrenched, and he choked back a cry. Damn Kittal! He didn’t warn me that the transformation would hurt! Beneath his liquid skin, muscles writhed like snakes. His bones shrank and twisted, his hips realigning with a pop into a new shape. He doubled over as his groin split open to swallow his testicles and penis, the organs altering inside him. Panting for breath through clenched teeth, he refused to scream. Finally, the pain eased, the transformation complete.
Thank Demia! Drawing a deep breath, Hoseph quickly shed the clothes that now hung loosely on his smaller frame. One hour... Though he had no time to waste, he marveled at this new flesh he wore: smooth pale skin, taut breasts, and a wisp of red hair between shapely legs. Not my legs...Mya’s.
The potion, concocted from a bit of Mya’s flesh excised from Lakshmi, had transformed him into the woman he loathed most in the world. Smiling grimly at the irony, Hoseph grabbed the clothes Lakshmi had given him, chosen for their similarity to those Mya wore when she’d been captured. The subtle caress of silk felt strange as he pulled on the scanties and camisole. He hurriedly donned the snug trousers, dark blousy shirt, belt, and soft boots. Lastly, he tucked his skull talisman into the shirt sleeve, and his vial of elixir into a handy pocket.
Ready, he thumped the roof of the carriage. “Drive on!” Hearing Mya’s voice startled him and drove home the elegance of Kittal’s potion; Hoseph didn’t just look like Mya, he was Mya. Now all I have to do is act like her. That, he hoped, wouldn’t be difficult.
The carriage surged into motion and approached the gate. Two guards crossed halberds, and a third strode up to the carriage door.
“I’m sorry, but no one is allowed into—”
“Not even the Heroine of the Coronation?” Hoseph fought to control his derision at the grandiose title—If they only knew the truth about her—and peered out at the guard.
“Miss Moirin?” The man swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s been trouble, and I was told—”
“You were told to admit no one. A reasonable precaution with riots in Midtown, but I daresay the emperor will want to see me.” He leaned back so the guard could see the unconscious child. “I bring the son of Duke Tessifus at his bidding!”
“Tessifus?” The guard’s eyes widened in surprise. “So that’s—”
Hoseph tensed at the guard’s surprise. Mya must have brought the other boys to the palace, but the gate guards evidently didn’t know all the details. Reasonable, but problematic. Bluster would get him through here. “If the boy expires for lack of care on the palace doorstep, you’ll be in a lot more trouble than if you disobey orders that obviously shouldn’t refer to me!”
“Of...course, Miss Moirin!” The guard backed up and waved the halberd bearers aside. “Messenger! Inform Lieutenant Tanse that Miss Moirin’s here bearing the son of Duke Tessifus!” A page dashed off. “To the postern door, driver. You’ll be met.”
“Thank you.” Hoseph sat back and tried not to smirk.
The carriage rumbled through the outer court, the second gate, and finally the inner court. Hoseph gazed longingly at the vast flagstone-paved courtyard, the broad stairs that led up to the palace itself, the embodiment of the greatest empire in the world. It seemed an eternity since he’d seen it.
Soon enough, I’ll be back for good.
The carriage proceeded to the postern door and jerked to a halt. A squad of imperial guards stood at attention, hands on weapons as their lieutenant approached and opened the door with a smile.
“Miss Moirin, you’re making visits a regular habit! I’m told you’ve good news.”
The officer’s familiarity jarred Hoseph—So like Mya to ingratiate herself with the menials—but it worked to his advantage. “Indeed I do!” Smiling back, he stepped down and lifted the boy out of the carriage, wishing that the potion had also imparted Mya’s enhanced strength. “But there’s no time to waste. The boy’s not well.”
“Yes! At once!” The lieutenant snapped orders, directing two of her squad to escort him to an audience chamber, and sending messengers to summon Master Corvecosi, Duke Tessifus, and the emperor.
Hoseph hid a smile of relief. They’d counted on Arbuckle being summoned. At least he didn’t have to argue to see the emperor.
He followed the guards through the familiar halls and up several flights of stairs, straining to appear as if the weight of the unconscious boy didn’t tax him. They emerged into the Hall of Arms, a resplendent corridor hung with the coats of arms of every noble house of Tsing. Usually manned by no fewer than fifty guards, the long passage now sported only six.
Excellent!
He was ushered into an audience chamber and directed to place the boy on a divan.
“This way, please, Miss Moirin.” The guard opened another door and waved Hoseph through. “You can await the emperor in the adjoining chamber while Master Corvecosi sees to the boy. It won’t be long, but we’ve had some trouble and are short-handed.”
“I don’t mind.” Hoseph stepped forward, but the guard blocked the door, looking expectantly at him. His smile faltered. “Something wrong?”
“The search?” The woman gave him a curious look. “For weapons?”
“Oh, of course.” Hoseph raised his arms as the woman performed a cursory inspection. So, their trust in Mya isn’t absolute. He’d never in his life undergone a search other than Mistress Jeffreys’ magical frisk. Now, of course, they had no wizard to spare. “Please inform the emperor that I need to speak to him directly. There are other issues at stake here, matters he doesn’t know of yet.”
“I’ll see he gets the message.” The guard waved to a divan. “Please be comfortable. I’ll have a servant bring refreshment.”
“Thank you.” Hoseph sat, girding his nerves, smiling amiably at the guards who took station at the doors. Patience... Any minute now, our plans will come to fruition. He was in the palace, and Arbuckle was on his way. Nothing can save that useless weakling this time.
The sounds of rioting greeted the constables well before they rounded the last corner.
“Hold up!” Dreyfus barked, breathing heavily from their jog from the constabulary.
Benj was winded, but not panting. It had been years since Dreyfus walked a beat.
“Heights squads with Tobas down Holly Street. Benj, reinforce the Wharf squads with yours on Wall Street. I’ll take Midtown squads down the middle on Redway.” Dreyfus sounded like a general on the battlefield. “Let’s push this rabble back over the river!”
“Let’s go!” Benj led his squad of grim constables one block west and around the corner. Ahead, a thin line of caps stood against a shouting mob. “Straight ahead, double time! Fill in the line. They’re probably gettin’ a little tired by now.”
As they advanced, Benj thought about Dreyfus. Despite his reaction at headquarters, he seemed to have settled down to his old self. A tussle will probably do him good.
The street looked like a battlefield: broken windows, smoldering wagons, and a couple of bodies, either dead or beaten unconscious.
“Varne, back in formation,” he called to a cap who stopped to check on a man lying still in the street, “We’re here to stop a riot, not repair the damage.”
Ahead, the mass of angry rioters saw them coming. They’d been held in check in the narrow streets, but the force of constables opposing them hadn’t been able to push them back toward the river. That was about to change, and the miscreants knew it. A new rain of cobbles, bricks, and debris flew at the harried constables. The rabble shifted uncertainly, ready to bolt, looking for a way around the line of caps.
“It’s about damn time!” Sergeant Keeson bellowed as Benj tucked in beside him. “Five more minutes and they’d have swarmed into Midtown over our dead bodies!”
“Nothin’ like gratitude...” Benj ducked a brick and surveyed their opponents.
At first glance, the motley clothing, dirty faces, and primitive weapons—pitchforks, clubs, and axes, with the occasional spiked board—pegged them as wretches from the city’s poorest quarters, but Benj had been a cap far too long to be fooled. Their arms and legs were too well-muscled, their chests too thick, overall too well-fed for Downwinders. And their faces were grim rather than desperate, their grins derisive rather than defiant. Then he saw a few daggers tucked into boot sheaths, and knew something was very wrong.
“Downwinders, my arse,” Benj muttered.
“They even look too beefy for Dreggars,” Jorren agreed.
“Downwinders?” Keeson dodged a thrown cobble and glared at Benj. “Who the hells told you they were Downwinders?”
“Corporal Blendell.” Benj kept his eyes on the surly mob as a burning torch flew with amazing accuracy. Fortunately, a quick cap knocked it down with a sword stroke.
“Blendell! Who sent him? Those are hired muscle, or I’m a two-crown trollop! I sent Clomferd! Didn’t he get there?”
“Didn’t see him.” This was no place to figure out how they’d gotten the wrong information. “We’ll sort it out later.”
“Flamer!” Jorren shouted as a bottle with a burning rag at its neck arced toward them. It hit and burst into oily flames, sending nearby constables dancing aside and shouting epithets.
“Forward! Brace up!” Benj shouted as the mob surged toward the gap. “They’re trying to break out!”
The constables responded with cool professionalism, leaping the flames and closing ranks, swords and daggers at the ready. With a howl, the mob came at them, weapons raised high. The two forces clashed hard. Though clubs and daggers were no match against yard-long steel wielded with coordinated skill, the rioters were surprisingly organized, stabbing with pitchforks and makeshift spears from the second rank. One cap was skewered before his comrades could knock aside the thrust.
“Cover him!” Jorren lunged over the fallen man to skewer the attacker in the throat.
“Forward!” Benj took a glancing blow from a club on the quillons of his dagger and drove his sword into his attacker’s thigh. The man screamed and went down to one knee. A boot under the chin sent him sprawling. The constables fought forward, pressing the rioters back.
The cobbles trembled faintly beneath his feet, heralding the clatter of hoofbeats. Benj risked a glance over his shoulder. A couple of blocks away, mounted warriors wearing imperial colors rode straight toward them.
What the hell? Then he realized what he was seeing. Imperial guards?
“Split up! Let the chargers through!” The constables split left and right. The rioters stumbled back, eyes wide at the armored horsemen. Several turned and ran.
Without missing a beat, the Imperial Guard rode through the gap five abreast. The chargers, lathered from their dash through the city, advanced stirrup to stirrup. The riders, eyes grim beneath their helms, swords and shields at the ready, pushed the throng before them.
