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

by Chris A. Jackson

  Silence hung heavy in the room, and Hoseph measured their avarice against their fear. As he knew all too well from working with the Grandmaster, fear nearly always won, but their fear of Arbuckle evidently exceeded their fear of him. Not one person—magistrate or noble—met his eye.

  “You disappoint me.” Hoseph glowered at them, but even his wrath seemed inadequate to motivate them. Cowards and fools, all of them. “If we don’t succeed before the coronation, the task will be much more difficult. Perhaps when Arbuckle has replaced all of you with commoners, you’ll realize your error.”

  Chapter XIII

  Arbuckle stepped from his bedchamber into the sitting room as and immediately felt cramped by the press of people. Ten imperial guards and an armored knight snapped to attention. Ithross had insisted on the increased security, determined that the loss of the blademasters wouldn’t put his sovereign at risk. The captain had chosen the guards not only for their loyalty, but also for their lack of familial ties.

  “Loved ones can be used for coercion, Milord Prince,” Ithross had said in explaining his choices. “Even the most loyal guard might succumb when given the choice between their child’s life and yours.”

  Arbuckle appreciated the sentiment, but felt overwhelmed. As long as they keep me breathing…

  Unfortunately, more guards meant many disturbances—a sniffle here, the creak of armor there. The guards weren’t as unobtrusive as blademasters. Consequently, Arbuckle had begun using his bedchamber for meals and solitary work. It was the only place where Ithross allowed him to be alone.

  “What’s on the agenda this morning, Tennison?”

  “No audiences until after lunch, milord. Just these reports from Lord MalEnthal.” Tennison handed him a sheaf of papers. “His reviews of the cases you sent him.

  “Excellent! I’ll see to these first thing.” A pen scratched behind him, and Arbuckle turned to find Verul sitting with his ledger instead of Renquis. “Verul! I’m pleased to have you back, my good man! You’ve straightened out the archives then, have you?”

  “Pleased to be back, milord, and no, not quite yet. It’s a catastrophe, if you don’t mind my saying. It’ll take some time to straighten out properly, but we’re well on the way.”

  “As long as we’re making progress, I’m pleased.” Despite the potential embarrassment of his every word being recorded for posterity, Arbuckle wanted future scholars to be able to trust that the material they were reading was accurate.

  What will history make of my father? he wondered as he returned to his bedchamber. Forty years of lies in the archives, with no way to determine the veracity of any of it. A legacy of lies…

  I won’t be like him, Arbuckle vowed. If I survive long enough…

  Banishing his maudlin thoughts, Arbuckle settled down to his reading. The work progressed quickly. MalEnthal’s reviews were spot on. Without exception, their judgments concurred. Unlawful assembly, disorderly behavior, looting, and minor destruction of property comprised the majority of charges. He rubbed his eyes before starting in on the last case.

  “Arson?”

  That dispelled his fatigue. Any fire in a city like Tsing could be disastrous. Many of the nobles’ homes were stone-built, but most of the city was constructed of wooden buildings that would flare up like bonfires. Arbuckle didn’t even want to think of what might happen if the Wharf District or the shipyards caught fire. With the Night of Flame still painfully on his conscience, he flipped the page to read the case.

  There was a piece of paper inserted with a note.

  Milord Prince Arbuckle,

  May I beg that you see me before dealing with this case? I have information that may be pertinent to the outcome.

  Ever loyally yours,

  Lord Paladin MalEnthal

  “How odd.” Arbuckle flipped to the back, but found no review or further notations, simply the case of three commoners arrested for burning a noble’s home. “I wonder what he means by this.”

  Gathering up the case, he strode into the sitting room. “Tennison, we need to go see Lord MalEnthal.”

  “At once, milord.” Tennison gathered the clattering entourage of guards, and they accompanied Arbuckle to the residential wing.

  At the paladin’s door, he stopped, considering the cryptic note about the case. He turned to the knight in charge of his guard detail. “Wait here, Sir Yanli. There’s not room enough for everyone, and Lord MalEnthal is loyal to me.”

  “Very well, milord.” The knight stationed his guards along the hall.

  Tennison and Verul accompanied Arbuckle inside. They found Lord MalEnthal propped up in a chair by a window reading yet another case file.

  “Milord Prince Arbuckle. Welcome!” He nodded respectfully, which was all he could do without lower limbs. “Please, take a seat. I see you got my note.” MalEnthal’s expression darkened.

  “I did. What is it about this particular case that troubles you?”

  “Have you studied it yet?”

  “No. I know only that it’s arson.”

  “Baron Ledwig’s home was burned two days ago. The home was offset from its neighbors by a sufficient distance to allow the fire brigades and volunteers to keep other buildings from becoming involved. The home itself, however, was a complete loss.”

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  “There were only minor injuries.” The paladin’s frown deepened. “Three culprits were caught in the act and arrested. An entire squad of constables witnessed them set the fire, so there can be no question as to their guilt. They knew what they were doing, and the act wasn’t random.”

  Arbuckle cocked his head. “I don’t understand what the problem is.”

  “This detail troubled me.” MalEnthal flipped through several of the pages. “See here. The accused all have the same surname. I wondered how they were related, and what bearing it might have on this case, if any.”

  Tennison spoke up. “It’s not unknown for criminality to run in families.”

  “I know,” MalEnthal agreed. “I saw a lot of that when I was in the mountains hunting down bandits. Whole clans gone bad. But something nagged my gut on this one, so I sent Jamis here out to ask some questions. It turns out that they’re brothers, and have never before been in trouble. Their sister is a chambermaid in the baron’s home.”

  Arbuckle felt a chill. “And…”

  “And that’s all he could find out.” The paladin shrugged. “But I’ve still got a bad feeling about this. You see, Baron Ledwig used to be a knight. I served with him for several years.”

  “And what’s your opinion of the baron?”

  MalEnthal glowered from beneath bushy brows. “Far be it for me to denigrate a noble, but may I just say this: Sir Ledwig enjoyed working for your father. He was awarded his title and lands by the emperor for his deeds putting down an uprising in the south.”

  Arbuckle sat back in his chair. This didn’t bode well. MalEnthal was a veteran of countless campaigns, with a sharp mind and a sterling reputation. His opinion meant something. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Lord MalEnthal. I’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  “I hope so, milord. It stinks like rotten fish to me.”

  Arbuckle stood. “Tennison, summon the chief magistrate.”

  Arbuckle reviewed the case twice while he waited in a small audience chamber. When Graving arrived, he could tell by the man’s manner that he was annoyed at being summoned, but Arbuckle didn’t care.

  “Chief Magistrate Graving, thank you for coming. I’ve got a few questions about the arson case at Baron Ledwig’s home that I hope you can clear up.”

  “I’ll try my best, Milord Prince.”

  “These three brothers are relations of one of the baron’s servants, I believe.”

  Graving’s eyes narrowed before he assumed a thoughtful expression. “I believe you’re right. A chambermaid, milord.”

  “I’d like to speak to her. Have Chief Constable Dreyfus bring her in.”

  “I’m afra
id that’s not possible. She passed away recently.”

  “Passed away?” An alarm tolled in Arbuckle’s mind. “How did she die?”

  “I’m not sure, milord.” Graving’s lie shone clear on his face.

  Anger flared through Arbuckle’s veins. “Chief Magistrate Graving, I believe that this woman’s death has something to do with this case, and I intend to investigate thoroughly, starting with the accused, the constables who caught them in the act, anyone who interrogated them, and Baron Ledwig’s entire household. I will discover how this woman died, and if I learn that you knew and withheld that information from me, I will arrest you for withholding evidence. Do you understand?”

  Graving turned white, his triple chins quivering as he spoke. “I understand, milord. I was not withholding anything, as I am not sure exactly how the woman died. I was told the baron was displeased with her in some way. She supposedly died from…injuries resulting from her punishment.”

  “Her punishment?” Arbuckle felt sick. “What type of punishment?”

  “Flogging, milord.” Graving’s eyes remained fixed upon the table.

  “When did this happen?”

  “Some days ago, milord.” Still Graving averted his eyes.

  “How many days ago, Chief Magistrate?”

  “Three, milord.”

  “Before the arson. So why isn’t that case here? Why haven’t I reviewed the judgement against Baron Ledwig?”

  “No crime was committed, milord. It was simply a case of punishment that—”

  “No crime was committed?” Arbuckle surged to his feet, no longer able to restrain his rage. “A woman was beaten to death, and you say no crime was committed?”

  “Milord, this is not a case of—”

  “It’s murder, Chief Magistrate!”

  “Milord!” Graving’s voice quivered with anger. “She was a commoner. Her brothers are commoners. The law states that a commoner cannot charge a noble with a crime. Therefore, there was no crime. The law—”

  “The law is wrong, Chief Magistrate! When commoners feel they have to take matters into their own hands because they can’t trust the authorities to seek justice, there’s something wrong with the law! The common people of this empire have just as much a right to justice as any noble! Until it’s given to them, this entire city—this entire empire—is wrong! You are wrong!”

  Graving replied with tight lips and a furrowed brow. “No charges were filed, so this sad accident was not brought to my attention as an official matter. It’s not my responsibility. My duty is to execute the law, not moral whims.”

  The prince couldn’t believe his ears. How could Graving sleep at night if he regarded pursuing justice for murder as a whim?

  “No, I guess it’s not your responsibility, but it is mine. As this crime of arson must be answered for under the law, so must this crime of murder.” Arbuckle sat back down, still fuming, but at least able to think straight. “Tennison, summon Chief Constable Dreyfus and tell him to place Baron Ledwig under arrest. I’ll conduct a trial as soon as it can be arranged. Send word to all the senior nobles and magistrates in the city to attend. No excuses. Also, the baron’s family, his household staff, and any other witnesses to the beating of his servant and to the act of arson are ordered to present themselves at the trial as witnesses.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  “Milord Prince, I—”

  “Will attend the trial also, Chief Magistrate, or I’ll find you derelict of your duty and strip you of your office. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

  “Yes, milord.” Graving glared, whirled, and strode out, followed by a bustling Tennison.

  The door closed behind them, and the room fell silent, save for the creak of a boot as someone shifted, Arbuckle’s pounding heart, and the scratch of his scribe’s pen.

  “Did you get all that, Verul?”

  “Every word, milord.”

  “Good. Have it written on my headstone.” Arbuckle stood, and his guards closed in around him. “If they wanted me dead before, they’ll really want me dead after this.”

  Mya looked at the note in her hand—

  The Mug and Muffin. Two hours after highsun today. Alone.

  The Gnome

  —then up at the sign swinging in the afternoon breeze. This was the place.

  Situated near the top of the Long Stair, the Mug and Muffin catered to the longshoremen and shipwrights who made their way from the Dreggars Quarter to the shipyards and docks below the bluff every morning. Thankfully, the smell of wood dust and tar drifting up on the breeze didn’t overwhelm the aroma of strong blackbrew and fresh-baked pastries that wafted through the shop door as it opened. Mya’s stomach growled.

  The man exiting the shop tipped his hat to her. Mya ignored him; he was too tall to be the person she was here to meet.

  The note had been handed to her at the third tinker’s shop she revisited that morning. The shopkeeper denied knowing who had given it to him, and she hadn’t pressed the issue, afraid that undue curiosity might scare off the Gnome.

  Pausing at the door, she scanned the tiny café professionally, but neither saw nor heard anything that raised her suspicions. No turning back now, Mya. She walked in with one hand on the dagger secreted in the pocket of her dress.

  “Help ya, Miss?” The proprietor’s pearly teeth gleamed as he grinned at her.

  “Just a cup of blackbrew and a nibble, if you please.” She looked at the pastry case. “One of those sweet rolls will be perfect.”

  “Cream and sugar in your blackbrew?”

  “Just cream.”

  “Sit anywhere you like. With you in two shakes.”

  High-backed booths lined one wall, a long counter with stools the other. There were three other customers, one at the counter near the door, and two sharing the nearest booth. None were gnomes. The only other door was behind the counter. Mya picked the far booth and sat with her back to the corner and a view of both doors and the entire room.

  A moment later the shopkeeper stepped up with a tray. “There you are. Three pennies, if you please.”

  “Thank you. Here you go.” Mya placed four pennies in his outstretched hand.

  Pulling her guide book from her bag, she settled in as if stopping for a snack and a little reading. She sipped her blackbrew, piping hot and strong, and popped a bite of the sticky pastry into her mouth. It was delicious. Licking her fingers, she chased the bite with another swallow of blackbrew, and opened her book.

  “Ye must be new ta Tsing.”

  The voice startled Mya so badly she slopped blackbrew over the edge of her cup. In the corner of the booth across from her sat a diminutive fellow who seemed to have materialized out of thin air. He was so short that his chin barely cleared the edge of the table, so she could only see a nose big enough for someone thrice his size and a gray cap pulled low to shade large eyes.

  You let down your guard, Mya—for a sweet roll, no less—and you could’ve been killed.

  She wiped up the spilled blackbrew with a napkin and put her cup down. “Yes, I am new to the city. How did you know?”

  “One, yer readin’ a book what tells ye about the city, and two, ye tipped.” He reached across the table and nipped a bite of her pastry. “Where ye from?”

  “Why does that matter?”

  His dark eyes gleamed up at her. “I’m a mite choosey about who I work for, so if ye won’t be answerin’ me questions, I’ll just be leavin’…”

  “Twailin.” Giving a truthful answer went against Mya’s instincts, but she needed this information. Gimp had reported more flickering lights at Lady T’s last night. The conspirators had apparently convened another meeting. Mya couldn’t spend her life dangling from the mansion windowsill in hopes of catching them planning.

  “Long way ta come fer a visit.”

  “I’m not visiting. I’ll be staying.” She tried to appear calm, sipping her blackbrew and pinching off another bite of her pastry.

  “Why?”

 
; “I’ve secured a position here that may turn out to be beneficial, but I find myself in need of your services.”

  “So I understand.” He nipped another bite of pastry. “Wha’da ye need?”

  “I was told you know the layout of the palace.”

  His oversized eyes widened. “Why’d ye want ta know that?”

  “That’s my business.”

  “No. You hire me, it becomes me business.” His eyes narrowed and flicked over her, lingering here and there, then following her left hand as it moved from her plate to her mouth. “Yer ring. That what I think it is?”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “I think it means yer a killer. How’d ye get it?”

  “I killed someone.”

  “Yer a killer, and ye want me ta get ye inta the palace? Ye must be daft.” He started to move, but she held out a hand.

  “Wait. I already know how to get in. I just need to know the layout of the upper floors.”

  “Yer lyin’.”

  “No, I’m not. And I don’t need the layout so I can kill anyone. I need it to keep someone from being killed.”

  His eyes narrowed again. “Who?”

  Mya took a deep breath and prayed that he’d believe her. “Crown Prince Arbuckle.”

  “Horseshite!” The gnome made a face of disgust, derision, or disbelief, Mya couldn’t tell, but he didn’t’ get up and walk out. “Hold out yer hand.”

  With some trepidation, she complied. He reached out one finger to touch the Grandmaster’s ring, then snatched his hand back as if he had touched hot iron. He shook his head, muttering in a language Mya didn’t know.

  “I only know two rings anythin’ like that. One’s on the finger of a blueblood north of the river, but it ain’t quite so fancy. This one I ain’t seen in fifty years. Why is that?”