Weapon of Fear (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy II Book 1)

by Chris A. Jackson

  This is it.

  “Enter,” called a lady’s voice from within. The Enforcer pushed both doors open and stepped back, waving Mya in with a smile.

  Mya hesitated, her well-developed sense of paranoia staying her progress. For five years she had relied on Lad to warn her of danger, but Lad was gone; she had to rely on herself now. Heightening her senses, she heard the scuff of boots behind the doors, then the whisper of metal on leather as blades were drawn. That didn’t worry Mya; no assassin could harm her. But if Hoseph lurked behind one of those doors, ready to kill her with a touch… She’d have to rely on her speed. Steeling her nerves, Mya took one step forward, stopping in the doorway. “Good morning, milady.”

  Lady T stood behind an ornate desk, garbed only in a simple dressing gown. Smiling, she raised a small crossbow and aimed it at Mya’s heart. “Goodbye, Mrs. Addington.”

  To any normal person, the guildmaster would seem to be standing stock still, but Mya saw her finger twitch as she tried and failed to pull the trigger. The woman’s jaw clenched, the tension deforming the smug curve of her lips. In the silence, Mya heard the steady cadence of the woman’s heart begin to race. Four more heartbeats pounded from behind the two open doors.

  “That’s not a very polite way to greet a guest.” Mya held up her hand and wiggled her ring finger, then glanced left and right. “How about some privacy so we can talk?”

  Lady T dropped the crossbow onto her desk and waved a hand. “Everyone out! Now!”

  Two assassins emerged from behind each door, three sheathing swords and daggers, one hefting a crossbow. No Hoseph. Stepping past them without concern, Mya scanned the rest of the room. Still no Hoseph. She breathed easier. The assassins hurried out, and the doors closed.

  Lady T stared at her. “How did you do it?”

  “By it, I assume you mean kill the Grandmaster, and the answer is, I didn’t. Lad did.” She smiled. “I just killed four of His Majesty’s blademasters.”

  “Which again begs the question: how? Lad was constrained by his guildmaster’s ring.” Lady T sat down at her desk, scrutinizing Mya with a raised eyebrow. “And I simply can’t believe that you killed four blademasters.”

  “Then don’t. That doesn’t make them any less dead, but,” she wiggled her finger again, the ring glinting in the sunlight streaming through the window, “to the victor go the spoils.”

  “I thought you said that Lad killed the Grandmaster.”

  Mya shrugged. “He did. Then I killed him. I deserved this promotion more than he did.” This was the story they had agreed on this before Lad left Tsing. It was Mya’s gift to him: only if the guild thought him dead could he hope to live a normal life.

  “You can’t be serious.” Lady T looked incredulous. “You honestly think putting that ring on your finger makes you Grandmaster?”

  Mya smiled wryly and dropped into the chair in front of the desk. “I am serious, but I’m not so naïve that I think I can do it alone. That’s why I need your help.”

  “Yes, you would need my help.” Lady T settled back, still wary but her belligerence waning. “But what makes you think I’ll give it?”

  “Simple. You’ll help me or you’ll die.”

  Mya heard Lady T’s heart skip a beat, though the guildmaster’s face remained composed. Not for the first time Mya felt the loss of Lad. He was much better at interpreting people’s tells, those unconscious tics and reactions that revealed a person’s true thoughts and feelings. He had read Mya’s for years without her knowing.

  Lady T shifted in her seat. “You just admitted that you need me. I’m too valuable to you to just throw away.”

  “You’re valuable if you help me. With your backing, assuming control of the guild will be straightforward. Without it…” Mya shrugged, “…it will be more difficult. I’m sure one of your faction masters has sufficient ambition to step up and cooperate. If they’re so loyal as to rebel at your side, well, the guild exists in many other cities. Who says the Grandmaster has to rule from Tsing? The point is: if you’re not an asset, you’re a liability. Eliminating liabilities is just good business.”

  Muscles knotted beneath the satin skin of Lady T’s jaw. “What kind of business do you expect to run? Without the emperor—”

  “We’ll all be better off!” Mya slapped her hand on the desk, and Lady T jerked. “Admit it! You were terrified of the Grandmaster.” She leaned back. “You’ll find me a much more lenient boss than that sadistic pig. Besides, he was just using the guild to further his own cause.”

  “The system worked for forty years.”

  “It worked well for the emperor, but not so well for the guild.”

  Lady T’s eyes widened as she spread her hands, encompassing the luxurious surroundings. “Not so well? I beg to differ.”

  “Under your imperial Grandmaster, the guild stagnated. When was the last time you exploited new territory or started a new operation? You don’t know what to do beyond what you’ve always done! As it is, you’re scraping the bottom of the barrel by only operating south of the river. The real wealth of Tsing is north of the river, but the emperor forbade fleecing his precious aristocracy because he wanted them fat, dumb, and happy.”

  Lady T recoiled as if she’d been slapped.

  “Don’t take that title of yours too seriously, Lady!” Mya laughed. “It’s a bought thing, no more part of you than a pair of shoes or a fancy gown.”

  “Not that I’d expect a commoner from Twailin to understand, but the Assassins Guild isn’t just about profit. We have power. We control the empire.”

  Mya shook her head. “You’re just parroting the Grandmaster’s lie. Power doesn’t come from flogging the mule. Eventually the mule is going to balk. True power is coaxing the mule so skillfully that it doesn’t even realize it’s the one doing all the work. Are you familiar with what we’ve done in Twailin?”

  “Vaguely.” The noblewoman’s lip curled in derision. “A beneficent guild.”

  “Not quite, but we treat the common people as our customers, not our chattel, and we’re hiring out blades and enforcers as security services to the likes of you, rich nobles and aristocrats who fear for their safety…from the likes of us.” Mya smirked at the glimmer of interest in Lady T’s eyes. “You’ve been milking the poor and letting the rich off the hook at the behest of your Imperial Grandmaster, not because it was good for the guild, but because it was good for his regime! In Twailin, we’re making far more gold milking the rich and charging the poor fair rates for honest services.”

  “Honest?” Lady T laughed a single sharp note. “We’re the Assassins Guild, my dear.”

  “And what makes you think we should be dishonest assassins? We perform numerous services, one of which is killing people. It works better than the system you’ve got.”

  “So you came here to kill the Grandmaster and usurp his position so you can put your better system into place?”

  “Is that really what you think?” Mya knew that Lady T was no fool; one didn’t get to be guildmaster by being stupid. So why is she fighting me on this? Does she want the Grandmaster position for herself? But Mya knew that every negotiation required give as well as take. “We didn’t come here intending to kill anyone, but we also weren’t going to just lie down and die at the Grandmaster’s command. When push came to shove…we shoved back.”

  “Then you shoved Lad.”

  “That relationship was…complicated.” Mya wasn’t about to give the woman details. “Lad was never truly a part of the Assassins Guild. He had signed no blood contract. He was too dangerous. It was best to get rid of him. But none of that matters. Are you with me, or do I stick that crossbow bolt through your heart?”

  Lady T considered for a moment. “You give me little choice, and you make it sound…almost interesting.”

  “Then you’ll work with me?” Mya took care to say ‘with’, not ‘for.’

  “It’s not that simple.” Lady T drummed her fingers on the desk. “There’s still Hoseph to
consider. If I oppose him, I’m just as dead as if you kill me right here and now.”

  I wondered when he would enter the conversation. “Yes, there is Hoseph. I need to talk with him about all this, too. I don’t suppose you know where he is, do you?”

  “No, but he’s not likely to listen to anything you have to say.” Lady T’s lips pursed, as if she was considering how much to say, or how to lie. “He came by briefly to inform me of what happened, then left to contact the provincial guildmasters. He’s martialing the guild to hunt you down.”

  So much for recruiting him. Now I’ve got to kill him before he kills me. Mya hid her disappointment with a cold smile. “He’s martialing the guild? The Grandmaster said that Hoseph wasn’t a member of the Assassins Guild. How does he come out on top of this? Is he giving you orders now?”

  Lady T’s nostrils flared and her tone became indignant. “He doesn’t give me orders! He’s…making suggestions.”

  “He’s been the emperor’s weapon too long. He thinks he’s in charge.” Mya leaned on the desk, riveting the woman with her gaze. “Set him up so I can kill him, and he’ll never give you another order.”

  “No, but you will.”

  “The difference is, I’m actually a blood-contracted member of the Assassins Guild, and I wear the Grandmaster’s ring. That brings us back to your two options. You can profit by our arrangement, or die. Your choice.” Mya stood, pulled a folded parchment out of a pocket, and dropped it on the desk. “These are the changes I want made to guild operations. See that you implement them. I’ll be in touch.”

  Ignoring the lady’s glare, Mya left the office without another word. The meeting could have gone more smoothly, but all in all, she was pleased with her first encounter. One assassin down, only about another thousand to win over.

  Chapter V

  “Milord, Tennison is here to see you.” Baris’ tentative announcement stirred Arbuckle from his worried musing, but he couldn’t answer, couldn’t tear his gaze from the smoke trailing up into the sky.

  “I don’t want to talk to anyone.” My fault...my city…why…I don’t understand…

  Captain Ithross had informed him of the unrest shortly after dinner. Arbuckle had watched from his balcony throughout most of the night and into the morning, his astonishment transforming to horror as fire after fire—eighteen so far—blossomed in the Midtown and Heights districts. He felt sick. Though all had been contained, there was no denying that the impetus for the riots had been his fault. Why would the promise of justice precipitate such acts of destruction?

  “He’s insistent, milord.” Baris sounded miserable. “And your breakfast has gone cold.”

  “I’m not hungry.” Arbuckle signed and rubbed his aching eyes. I’ve got to face this. “All right, Baris. Let him in.” He strode into his sitting room, the cold breakfast on the table roiling his stomach.

  “Milord Prince.” Tennison entered the room looking nervous and bowed. “I apologize for disturbing you so early, but several of the senior nobles and magistrates insist on meeting with you as soon as possible.”

  “No doubt.” They probably want to lynch me. He dreaded facing them, but there was no putting them off. They deserved to know what was being done. “Tennison, tell the nobles I’ll meet with them immediately. Baris, my clothes.”

  “Milord Prince, if I may be so bold to suggest…” Tennison took a hesitant step forward, urgency transforming his face.

  “Yes, of course. I need someone to tell me when I’m making mistakes.”

  “Milord, this meeting is crucial. You mustn’t rush into it without forethought.” Tennison gestured toward the uneaten breakfast. “Gather your thoughts. Eat something.”

  “If as you say this meeting is crucial, keeping the nobles waiting will only...” Tennison was already shaking his head. “What?”

  “If you indulge them by rushing to their demand for an audience, you set a bad precedent. You show that you can be manipulated. Make them wait an hour, collect your thoughts, and arrive looking rested and alert. Thus, you show them that you’re in control. An emperor must demand respect.”

  “I’m not emperor yet.”

  “No, but in time, milord. Your father was feared, but you are…kinder. The nobles will try to take advantage of that.”

  Arbuckle looked at Tennison with a new appreciation. The man had a point. He knew the deadly dance of court politics far better than his prince. “An hour it is. And Tennison, never hesitate to give me your opinion.”

  “Milord Prince.” The secretary smiled, bowed, and left.

  “Clothes and a quick shave, Baris. I’ll eat and review Captain Ithross’ reports.” He sat at the table and a hovering footman poured blackbrew into a dainty porcelain cup.

  An hour later, Arbuckle strode into the audience chamber, dressed, groomed, and reasonably alert. A score of nobles clustered there, looking impatient and a not a little disheveled. Damned if Tennison wasn’t right. Just by appearing calm and in control, Arbuckle gained the upper hand.

  He spotted Duke Tessifus, his nearest cousin and next in line for the throne. If rule went to the most qualified, Tessifus would win hands down. He was twenty years Arbuckle’s senior and much better versed in government. Arbuckle, however, was crown prince. The line of inheritance was clear.

  To one side stood a cluster of black-robed magistrates, Arbuckle’s judges and legal advisors. Somber men and women all, they didn’t mingle with the nobles. For forty years they’d been meting out Tynean Tsing II’s justice. No wonder they’re grim.

  At the herald’s announcement, the room fell silent and everyone bowed. Mounting the low dais, Arbuckle lowered himself onto the cushioned chair. He’d never sat there before, and found it less comfortable than it looked. I had better get used to it.

  “Lords and ladies, we have much to discuss.” He gestured to the nobles. “Please, proceed.”

  Duke Tessifus stepped forward. “Milord Prince Arbuckle. On behalf of the nobles of Tsing, I offer you our sincere condolences on the death of your father. His loss is a grave blow to us all.”

  Arbuckle now noticed that black mourning bands encircled every right arm but his own. Baris had offered him one, but he had refused. He would not mourn a monster. “Thank you for your condolences. Now, we have serious matters to discuss, namely this city’s safety and security."

  Several of the nobles looked concerned, others shocked at his abrupt dismissal of the emperor’s demise, but Tessifus merely nodded respectfully and took a short step forward.

  “Milord, we request that you implement martial law immediately. This uprising must be put down by force.”

  “The incidents of last night were isolated and have been contained, cousin. Martial law is not necessary and would only escalate the unrest.”

  “Witnesses say that the violence originated at the Imperial Plaza. The perpetrators were shouting ‘Down with the nobles,’ and ‘Justice for all’. They seem to be referring to your…um…speech.”

  “You think that I incited these acts of violence?” Arbuckle asked incredulously.

  “Not deliberately, milord, but it’s rumored that you suggested equality between nobles and commoners.” Tessifus glowered. “How can that be?”

  Arbuckle leaned forward. “Equal justice, cousin. The law must apply to everyone alike or you risk rebellion. Not a single kingdom or empire that ruled through oppression and fear has survived. Revolt is inevitable. An empire is built not only on the blood and sweat of the common people, but on their loyalty. Loyalty can’t be beaten into them with a lash, it must be encouraged with hope, and peace, and justice. My ancestors knew that, all the way down to my father’s father. It was Tynean Tsing II who perverted the relationship between commoner and noble. I intend to rectify that!”

  “You suggest that we kowtow to the unwashed mobs of the Downwind Quarter?” Tessifus asked incredulously. The nobles flanking him looked disgusted. “Perhaps hand over the treasury so that a charwoman can dress in silk and satin?”


  “Of course not.” Arbuckle clenched his teeth at the sarcastic question. “But the same charwoman should not be flogged for dropping a lump of coal on a noble’s carpet.”

  “Milord Prince, our safety is at risk!” Count Vetres lurched forward, his jowls jiggling with the emotion of his outburst. “All it takes is a single commoner with a torch and a skin of oil to set a fire. There are nearly a quarter of a million of them in this city. We must have martial law!”

  “Force is not the answer, Count Vetres.” Arbuckle compelled his voice to remain calm. “Our resident forces include twenty-thousand constables, knights, squires, imperial guards, and soldiers within the walls of the city. Another ten thousand may be summoned within the span of a few days. They will be used only to maintain order and round up troublemakers, not to institute widespread oppression.”

  “Pardon me, Milord Prince.” Duchess Vainbridge stepped forward, a lace handkerchief pressed to her powdered brow. “Is there a shortage of rope in the empire that we cannot hang the perpetrators of this violence?”

  “That’s right, put the rabble down!” another noble demanded.

  “Stick a few heads on pikes, and the rest will fall in line!”

  “I’ll secure my own safety with hired guards!”

  “That kind of thinking is what put us in this situation!” Standing, Arbuckle spread his hands for calm. “Lords and ladies, we have control of this situation. Treating disgruntled people like rabid animals is not the answer. Of course you have the right to hire whatever security you deem necessary, but the common folk must have rights, too. I will not condone acts of brutality. They deserve the right to fair judgment and freedom from summary abuse.”

  Vetres huffed, “Rights? How can I maintain discipline among my servants if I have to consider their rights?”

  “By treating them like human beings, not animals!” Arbuckle sat back down, trying to forcibly slow his pounding heart. “If I had you flogged daily for impudence, how would you react?”