by Mark Eller
She raised her voice. "My given name is Kimberly Elise Clack. This man is my father. When I was a child he placed my sisters and myself into the tender care of the Assassin's Guild. My sisters are dead, but I have survived. For their deaths I lay claim on this man's life."
Clack's face turned pale, but his expression remained furious. "She lies. This woman is marked as a guild cast-out. Everyone knows the guild kills those it marks that way."
"I was cast out and soon to die," Kim admitted,"and then Aaron Turner saved me. I challenge you, Father. Choose your weapon."
After briefly conferring with several others, Declare announced,"Her claim is recognized. "
Clack cursed, and then he glared at her. "I know they taught you the sword. I'm not as good nor as fast as Johnston, but I'm good enough to kill you. I choose pistols, and there's no need to wait. Turner's wife has one, and I have one of my own. " He raised his voice. "This woman is a liar, but I accept her challenge. We fight with revolvers."
Kim smiled.
Clack smiled back. "You should have died sooner. It would've saved me the trouble of killing you."
Kim ignored him. Spinning on her heels, she stalked over to Melna and held out her hand. "Your pistol."
Melna appeared reluctant as she pulled her pistol free. "Safety's off, so be careful. Do you know how to use it?"
"No," Kim answered, wishing she had found Clack before the time of the duel. Matters would have been simpler if she had slipped a powder into his drink or a knife in his ribs. No matter. Her search had failed, so she now had this to do.
"Point it at him," Melna said. "This lever is called the trigger. When you squeeze it, the gun will fire. Don't jerk the trigger. Squeeze. The slightest jerk will pull your aim off, probably toward the left. There will be a loud noise, and the gun will jump in your hand. Don't let it fall. The gun will fire several times before it's empty. Remember, squeeze the trigger."
"I understand."
Melna looked as if she wanted to say a thousand other things. Kim understood. Aaron's wife thought she spoke to Kim for the last time. That could be. Kim knew she might die, but she would damn well kill her father before she did so. At the least, she would wound him, and then Aaron would have a better chance.
She took the gun, turned, and went back to Declare where her father calmly waited.
"Don't bother going through the preliminaries," she told Declare. "This will not be stopped."
"Do you understand how this is to be done?" Declare asked.
"Tell me."
"You will stand with your backs to each other. Since Miss Clack doesn't have a holster, I order you hold your weapons down at your side with fully extended arms. I'll start counting. With each count you will take a step. After ten counts you will stop. I will say the word draw. You will then turn and fire. People with crossbows will ensure you both follow the rules."
"I understand," Kim hungrily eyed her father. "Now?"
Clack laughed. "By the Gods, she has nerve enough to be my daughter. I almost hate killing her."
"Stand," Declare ordered,"facing east and west."
Taking her position, Kim felt Clack's shoulders press against hers. It made her feel strange, knowing she would soon kill her father. It made her feel even stranger to have so many conflicting thoughts and emotions. She had lived so many years feeling nothing she had doubted she had anything left. Then came Aaron who began opening her emotional doors. Missy Bayne and her unsettling Talent added to Kim's troubles, but the worst had been when Turner's shaman, Heralda, placed those God sent hands on her. Kim had thought she had no wounds to heal, but she had been wrong. Something shattered had rejoined. Later, a small animal, the remnant of Aaron's pet, reformed itself in her hands. Through the beast, she had bonded to the touch of the One God within it. Zisst, Heralda had called it. All three of the new animals were a continuation of the original. None were less Zisst than the others. Where Zisst had been one, it was now three.
"One!"
Enough of such matters. These emotions ruined her edge. They threw off her concentration. She had a man to kill--a father to destroy.
"Two!"
The revolver was a steady weight at the end of her arm. She had never used one before, but she was trained for weapons. All she needed to do was level, point, and squeeze.
"Three!"
The vultures watched. She did not see Aaron, but she saw Melna and Hal Linley out of the corner of her right eye. Melna appeared fierce and worried.
"Four!"
Melna worried? Worried for her? Kim found the idea to be another strange thought. When had somebody truly cared for her?
"Five!. . .Six!. . .Seven!"
Squeeze. Do not jerk. Kim caressed the trigger with her finger. The weapon felt awkward, but the noise would not bother her. Its thunder had been her salvation back in Nefra.
"Eight!"
Remember the kick. Don't let it throw you.
"Nine!"
Squeeze. Don't pull.
"Ten!"
Breathing easy, she stopped, feeling not one trace of fear. Her life had been hell. The bastard responsible for that hell stood twenty paces away.
"Ready!"
Fucking bastard.
"Draw!"
Kim spun. Her gun rose, and she stared at Clack over its barrel.
Clack's pistol spat flame. Kim staggered as something twisted her to the side. Her vision wavered, but training controlled pain, controlled injury. She lined the gun up with the middle of him once more.
One arm folded behind his back, Clack fired again.
"Ooomph. " She folded, dropped to her knees as her legs gave way.
Thunder roared again. Dust spat in her face. She could not breathe. Dust in her eyes. Her gun lay in the grass. Reaching out, Kim picked it up with her left hand. Her father's face remained calm as his barrel lined up on her head.
"You should have died in Nefra," he said.
Kim rolled as fire shot from his barrel. Somebody screamed, and she heard Aaron shout. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aaron struggling with a large woman who held a knife. Anger flashed through her. By the Gods, if Aaron Turner got himself killed after she went and died for him she would--
Her gun came around once more. She could not steady it. Her body did not respond correctly. Her nerves did not answer her call. Clack wavered before her.
Again, Clack fired.
The son-of-a-bitch missed. Kim did not know where Clack's bullet went. She did not have time to figure it out. All she had time for was to jerk on the trigger and the pistol leaped from her hand. Clack's gun went flying. Her father spun around with a surprised cry, and the light was dimming but not so much Kim did not see Melna leaning over her, and then Aaron was there with blood on his body. The two of them cried over her. She did not know why. She had killed her father and now everything would be okay, only she hurt. She could not figure out how to breathe, and the clouds grew gray.
Chapter 30
No doubt there were worse things a person could do than to sit on a hard bunk inside the city jail. If so, David Flintlow couldn't think of one. He had not enjoyed the experience when he was seventeen. He did not enjoy it now.
Having Inspector Hanson on the other side of the bars did not improve the experience.
"Things would be better for everyone if you just confessed," Hanson said. "You don't have a leg to stand on. First, there's the extra set of books your first wife gave us. Then there are the legitimate records showing the Turner account existed, and how somebody who was not Turner took the money out of his account."
David settled his butt on the torture device they called a bed. He studied Hanson carefully. Two days ago the inspector had been fully in his pocket. When the Flintlow ship began sinking, Hanson turned rat and fled.
"I had little to do with the bank for last several years," David said. "Amel handled that end. Look into her accounts. You'll see why she killed herself."
"An' how about the fact your boy was seen fleeing the scene when the
Turner girl was found. Then there are all the dead people left behind and two bottles of wine matching lot numbers from some still in your cellar."
"Even more easily explained," David told him. "Jerry was his own man, but he was close to his sister. I suspect they were in on the kidnapping together. Inspector, I'm only guilty of not keeping a close eye on my grown children. A reasonable jury will find I've done no wrong. Now then, since I have the right of representation, this conversation ends until my lawyer arrives. Please send for Miss Seaford."
"Already let her know you need her," Hanson said. "She said she'll be available right after she finalizes the sale of your bank."
"What!"
Grasping two bars, Hanson leaned forward. "It's already been through the judiciary. A man has to pay for his own defense if he has the money. Once the court paid off your servants and debtors, nothing was left for your defense, so the court ordered the sale of your bank to raise funds."
David snorted. "There's nobody to buy it."
"Dawn Rayson, who owns the Galesward Bank and Trust, has taken an interest. Her place isn't big enough to handle all the business she's been getting lately."
"I want my lawyer," David repeated, and his anger rose. Gods, not the Rayson woman. She was a joke. The woman always gave the sucker a break.
"Your bank is hers as soon as she arranges the financing. " Hanson pressed his face to the bars. "You might squeeze out of these charges since you keep so many layers between you and the dirty work. Hell, I was one of those layers."
"A disloyal one," David pointed out, but his statement was ignored.
Hanson's voice oozed contempt. "That Emily of yours, she sure looked tempting up there on the wagon the other day. My Scott, he took himself some interest in the show. Course, Scott's only twelve so I can understand his interest. What I can't understand is how a man can use his own daughter that way. I don't understand how that kind of man can live with himself. Makes me sick. Makes me want to puke."
David watched him, smiling inside. Hanson was one of the small people. A limited man with limited understanding, he was right in one thing. David Flintlow would be cleared of these charges. There would be scandal. He might be jailed for a time, but David knew too much this town's politically corrupt did not want made public.
"Makes me want to puke," Hanson repeated. Pulling away from the bars, he spat on the floor and fingered the cell keys on his belt. "Hell with it. We both know you'll be let go."
Unbelieving, David watched Hanson pull the keys loose and unlock the cell door.
"Sick enough to puke," Hanson said once again. "Got to go see a man about a horse. None of my never mind what you do with yourself while I'm gone."
Leaving the keys dangling from the lock, he walked into the front office. David heard the front door open and shuffling feet. The door closed, but he still heard shuffling feet.
They came out of the office, and there were a lot of them. Several women. Two men. Susan. David's heart thudded.
Throwing himself at the cell door, he reached for the keys. Almost, he made it, but gripping fingers caught his hand, and then a woman jerked the cell door open. A large man grabbed David's throat.
"Name's Grebfax," the man said. "You tried to do dirty to our boss. We don't like it. We was ready to kill you, but this young lady talked us out of it."
Grebfax shoved David into waiting hands. Those hands jerked him around, twisted his arms. A fist struck his kidney. David gasped, tried to pull away, but was trapped.
"I'll fucking kill you all," he shouted.
Grebfax. He would remember the name.
His hair was grabbed. His head twisted, and he looked into Susan's flat, dead eyes. She held a knife.
"Gods damn it Susan! Get help."
"I asked them not to kill you," she said, so quiet he could barely hear.
"They don't understand," he gasped. "They don't know how we feel about each other."
"I told them I needed to do it."
Without changing expression, Susan shoved the knife into his groin. David's knees folded, but the hands holding him did not let him fall.
"Susan!"
Again, she stabbed him. Her lips thinned while the knife quivered in his belly. Without changing expression, she pulled it free.
"Susan," he tried, hoping she would listen, hoping she could understand, but his voice was less than a gasp, too low for her to hear.
Eyes wooden and face expressionless, Susan pulled the knife free and shoved it into him again and again and again, her hand moving so fast it made solid thuds when it beat into his body. His blood sprayed over her.
Knees sagging, David tried to fall away, but unyielding hands held him. "Why?" he whimpered, wanting to understand but his mind was a fog. "Why?"
And then David Flintlow died.
* * *
Grebfax looked at the child. Blood covered her arms, her face, and her clothes. On the floor, Flintlow's groin and belly were shredded. Susan's knife remained inside. Only half the handle showed.
"Do you feel better?" Miss Tremont asked the girl.
Susan's eyes made Grebfax shudder. Even now they remained dead.
"No," Susan finally answered. Her fingers wiped at her blood smeared face, but the task was hopeless. Giving up, she looked at her father's body. "Nothing's changed."
Somebody took off their shirt and passed it to Miss Tremont. She used it to wipe the girl down.
"Will you live with your mothers?" Miss Tremont asked.
"They knew," Susan answered. "Gwen knew. I don't know what I'll do."
"You'll live with me. I have a daughter. Her name is Julia. She'll be happy to have you with us."
Grebfax saw a glimmer of hope in the girl's eyes. She studied Miss Tremont's face with such intensity Grebfax imagined she glimpsed the woman's soul.
Susan's voice remained flat "You'd trust me around your daughter? After what I just did, you would trust me?"
"I will love you," Tremont said simply. She wiped away more blood. "I will love you like you should have always been loved, and yes, Susan, I will trust you."
A noise bubbled from the girl. A strange noise Grebfax had never heard before. It came forth again. Tremont grabbed the girl, held her tight. Clenching her arms around the woman's neck, Susan left streaks of blood on Tremont's neck and hair.
And then Susan screamed. She lifted her head to the ceiling and shrieked so loud and so long it had to tear her throat. Tears burst free, poured down, and Grebfax nodded. This night had been necessary. He had thought no good could come from it, but he had been wrong. Something once broken was now on the mend.
From a horrible job, something good had come.
Chapter 31
"The great Monarchy of Jutland votes yes," a woman's voice called out proudly.
"Iram?"
"No."
"Spindoza?"
Another woman rose. Her face was set in conviction and purpose. "The unified Republic of Spindoza finds insufficient cause at this time to endorse this proposal. We suggest the matter be shelved until the political climate is more conducive to peace and cooperation. We vote no."
"That's it," Missy said to Aaron. "Your league is finished. Too few will give up part of their sovereignty."
Aaron watched while other delegates rose from their seats and voted yes or no. Missy was correct. There were too many no's for the proposal to pass. Delegates who previously leaned toward a yes now voted differently. Helmet Klein was dead. With his death their fear of the Chin Empire was lost.
Disappointed, but not greatly so, the league wasn't his idea. That dream belonged to a Helmet Klein who saw no other way to gain financial and political support. Helmet had not possessed Aaron's international and financial strength.
Watching the vote, Aaron frowned, but he wasn't unhappy. Instead, he felt filled with purpose, driven by a sense of rightness inspired by Godly approval. His personal dreams were dead, but those dreams had been shallow and selfish. He had been a drunk and a coward whe
n the One God called for him to be so much more.
"Helmet never truly believed it would pass," Aybarra said. "He hoped, but he never believed."
"It's over," Aaron agreed. "Let's go."
Rising, he headed for the exit. He wasn't alone. Dozens of others did the same.
"Will you take Autumn's Stone away," Missy asked as they worked their way toward the main aisle.
"Not yet," Aaron answered. "Her Talent is sketchy, but having a hint of the future will be a help."
After leaving the conference center, they made their way across the grounds. Already, tents were being pulled down and wagons loaded. People shouted; oxen protested. The chaos seemed purposeful instead of chaotic.
"I have a small problem," Missy said. She brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. The movement was somehow winsome. Aaron remembered how her arms felt when wrapped around him. He remembered her kiss and the sight of her body. Sometimes, when he allowed his guard to fall, his desire rose. Missy looked at him then, knowing what he felt, knowing he wanted her. Aaron knew if he asked she would say yes, but he would not ask. The One God had cleansed him. Part of the cleansing had already been worn away, and he was a married man. Even so, when he caught Missy laughing or saw her smile, it was damn hard to remember his vow.
"What's your problem," Aaron asked.
"Harvest is going to ask your permission to marry me," she said.
Aaron smiled. "Congratulations."
"Not congratulations. " Missy's tone was emphatic. "I like being single. I like being able to kiss a man if I feel like kissing him or even doing more. Refuse his request so I don't have to hurt him."
"But you love him. " Aaron studied her, confused.
Missy shook her head. "I do love him. I don't love him enough to spend the rest of my life with him. We'd be miserable inside of five years."
"I don't have the right to tell him no."
"He thinks you do."
Aaron mulled the matter over while they finished their walk to the Chin encampment. He supposed he could do or say something to Patton, but he had no idea what. Maybe Kim could help once she got back on her feet.
