“Oh, Tennison, no. That’s my father’s carriage.”
“No, Milord Prince, it’s the emperor’s carriage.” He regarded the prince solemnly. “You may not yet have the title, but you will. Today you’ll show yourself to be a true leader of the people—all the people.”
With a sigh of contrition, Arbuckle mounted the carriage and settled back into the plush seat. He understood Tennison’s point, but wanted to protest. What kind of message does it send that I ride in a carriage more valuable than the yearly wages of a thousand commoners?
Mya felt a curious sense of familiarity as the crown prince’s entourage pulled into the Imperial Plaza. Hopefully this event wouldn’t end as badly as the last. Of course, this had the potential to end much worse. If she didn’t manage to stop Lady T’s assassin, the ensuing conflagration would make the Night of Flame look like a campfire.
Mya blew an errant strand of hair out of her eyes and turned her gaze upward. She had stationed her spies atop the three northernmost buildings. When she asked the urchins if they could manage to get to the rooftops, they’d laughed.
“Ain’t nowhere we can’t go,” Digger had told her proudly. “’Cept maybe the palace.”
She picked them out one by one amid the crowds lining the buildings’ rooftops. Good; all in position.
Mya stood equidistant between the eastern and western buildings, fairly close to the platform. She’d dressed herself as a young man once again. The disguise was both for safety—the Assassins Guild knew her as a woman—and utility—pants were easier to maneuver in than a dress. She had also slathered her borrowed jacket with manure, hoping the smell would give her a bit more room to work. No such luck. People were packed into the plaza like herring in a barrel.
Mya dug in her heels to hold her place as the crowd surged forward, and checked the most likely windows once again. She’d been surveying the best vantage points for an hour, scrutinizing movements, memorizing faces and attire. She’d seen no one so far whom she could tag as an assassin. That was the crux of the problem: what did an assassin look like?
Mya could generally pick out that certain something that identified someone as a professional killer, but it took years of practice. She considered the diversity just in the Twailin guild: the little old woman who could put a knitting needle in your eye before you blinked, the beefy thug who could tear your arms from their sockets bare handed, the dandy with the poisoned sword cane, the whore with needles in her garters... Assassins didn’t generally look like assassins, but their actions often gave them away.
“Look for people doing things that don’t look right,” she’d told her urchins. “Look for someone out of place, not smiling, or smiling too much, someone with a broom or shovel in their hand who doesn’t look like a maid or a workman, someone alone in a window when every other window has two or three people...”
She watched as the procession of cavalry, infantry, and carriages came to a halt behind the raised platform. The lancers positioned themselves on either side of the structure, their weapons gleaming in the sun as their horses snorted and fidgeted. A contingent of resplendently uniformed imperial guards mounted the platform and formed ranks right and left. Next came the four accused escorted by more guards. It wasn’t hard to pick out the baron in his fine clothes.
Lastly, Crown Prince Arbuckle mounted the platform surrounded by a tight group of knights and more guards. Though his dress was regal, he walked stiffly. Mya wondered if he wore chainmail, and thought he might not be as foolish as she’d guessed, although, surrounded by enough steel to deter a dragon, personal armor seemed redundant.
The guards shifted, looking this way and that, but didn’t survey their surroundings as systematically as blademasters would have done. Prince Arbuckle looked like he missed their constant presence.
Like I miss Lad’s.
“He’s like a god come down from the heavens!” a nearby woman cried out.
“Don’t look like no god to me,” another groused. “Just some rich bugger what thinks he’s better than all the rest of us.”
“No, he’s not like that!”
Mya ignored the argument, watching her windows and listening to the bird calls that sweetened the air of the plaza. That’s Gimp, she thought. And that’s Digger. Nails. Kit. Mya interpreted their tweeting messages as “All clear.” So far, so good.
The crowd’s shouts and murmurs died away when a tall man in imperial livery banged an even taller staff on the platform. His voice carried impressively.
“Crown Prince Arbuckle, Heir to the Throne and the Empire of Tsing!”
Cheers rang out as the prince stepped forward. A pair of armored knights bearing broad shields stepped up beside him, with two more behind. It made for good show, but Mya doubted that they could react quickly enough to intercept a poisoned dart or arrow.
Where are you? She inspected the surrounding buildings again, checking the most-likely windows. Hundreds of onlookers leaned out all around the plaza. It seemed as if some people had turned the event into a party, everyone crowding to see, pushing and jostling for the best view.
“People of Tsing!” Arbuckle’s voice carried almost as well as his herald’s, booming over the crowd’s sudden silence. “The last time I was here, I told you that justice would be served under my reign. Today, I will show you that I spoke the truth.”
The few catcalls were quickly shushed.
“I bring you justice, but I tell you, justice must be impartial. Three of the convicted prisoners that I have brought before you today are commoners who took vengeance into their own hands. Vengeance is not justice! Only the law can bring justice, and therefore these three men must answer for their crimes.”
The prince’s words caught Mya’s attention, and she glanced to the platform to see the three commoners brought forth, the chains on their wrists and ankles rattling. She listened for bird calls and watched the windows as the prince spoke.
“Raul Walls,” intoned the prince. One of the men stepped forward, looking nervous. “You are convicted of arson, a crime that you admitted to of your own free will. I hereby sentence you to five years imprisonment.”
The man’s eyes widened with surprise, and a murmur swept through the crowd. Five years in prison for arson was lenient compared to the swift hanging that would have been his punishment only a month ago.
“Vance Walls.” The next man stepped forward. “Like your brother, you freely admitted to committing arson. I hereby sentence you to five years imprisonment.”
The prince paused as more murmurs swept through the crowd. Mya checked the windows again and noticed a woman with a broom in her hand she hadn’t seen before, but then two other maids also joined the crowded space. She heard a whistle of all clear.
“Torance Walls.” The third man stepped up. “You are convicted of arson, assault of a constable, and resisting lawful arrest. Like your brothers, you admitted freely to your crimes. Therefore, I hereby sentence you to seven years imprisonment.”
Though the man’s jaw was set in a hard line, his eyes shone with unshed tears.
Watch the damn windows, Mya, not the spectacle! She swept her eyes around the plaza, but saw nothing untoward. Was she wrong? Had she scared the assassins off simply by scouting the scene last night?
“What about the noble?” someone shouted
“Yeah! What about his sentence?” another cried. A roar went up from the crowd, and Ledwig’s upper lip curled with derision.
Prince Arbuckle raised his hands high, and silence fell. “Uldric Ledwig.”
Mya’s brows arched. They stripped him of his title? That would be punishment enough for some of the nobles.
Unlike his fellow prisoners, the former baron refused to step up, and had to be thrust forward by his guards.
Prince Arbuckle’s expression remained impassive, but she could hear the distaste in his voice as he called out, “You are convicted of the murder of Macie Walls, a maid in your household.”
“Justice!” someone cri
ed, and the demand rang from the crowd until it echoed off the walls of the surrounding buildings. Only when Crown Prince Arbuckle raised his hands again did the cries subside.
Mya listened and watched the windows, but heard no whistles. She hoped her urchins were watching what she told them to watch.
“There will be justice,” the prince assured them, his repressed rage clearly audible. “Uldric Ledwig, the title of Baron has been struck from your name, and your name will be struck from the Imperial Register of Nobles. Your family will wear black for the span of one year in shame for their tacit support of your actions. A blood price will be garnished from your fortune and provided to the family of Macie Walls, though no coin can ever replace a beloved daughter and sister.” The prince paused. “And lastly, your head will be struck from your body, and you will be buried in an unmarked grave.”
“Justice!” the crowd roared.
Well, I’ll be damned. Mya thought that she just might like this new ruler, and she now understood why Hoseph and his conspiracy of nobles and magistrates were trying to get rid of him. Woe to the status quo when this prince was crowned emperor. If he can stay alive that long…
At the prince’s nod, two imperial guards pulled on the ropes that secured the cover to the mysterious structure on the stage, and the canvas fell aside. The base of the frame looked like an unfinished set of stocks, a rack with only a single hole to hold someone’s head, topped by a tall rectangular frame. At the peak of the frame hung a great steel blade, held in place by a latch hook. One tug on the attached cord would open the hook, and the blade would plummet.
Though Mya was no stranger to violent death, her stomach quivered at the sight of such a brutally efficient implement of execution.
“Know that if you deliberately take someone’s life, you’ll pay with your own,” Prince Arbuckle said to the hushed crowd. “But when the ultimate justice is required, this new device will assure that punishment is swift and precise. No longer will anyone suffer a slow, torturous death on the gallows or whipping post.” He turned to the doomed former baron. “Uldric Ledwig, may the Gods of Light have mercy on your soul.”
The sneer on Ledwig’s face dissolved into disbelief, then fear, and he began to struggle in earnest as his guard dragged him to the apparatus.
An owl hooted once…twice…thrice, and Mya dragged her gaze from the spectacle on the platform to the rooftops. The call meant they’d spotted something. Other calls rang out in as if all the birds in the city had converged on the plaza.
What? Where? Mya caught sight of Nestor atop the westernmost building, hooting away at the top of his lungs. To the east, Digger did the same. The urchins chirped and whistled, and they all pointed at the building to the north, the building directly behind the platform…and the prince.
Mya’s heart leapt as she scanned the windows. There! On the fourth floor, in the fifth window from the right, an old man in a red shirt had sat alone for an hour. He was gone. Now there stood a tall man in plain workman’s clothing. There was nothing remarkable about him except that he wasn’t leaning out the window. He was standing back about three feet. Slowly, he raised a long, narrow rod.
Gods damn it all to the Nine Hells! He was going to shoot while everyone’s attention was on the execution.
Mya might have reached an assassin in the eastern or western buildings before they could carry out their lethal task, but the northern buildings were blocked by a solid wall of soldiers, guards and constables. She had only one hope to prevent the attack.
“Assassin!” she screamed, pointing at the window. A few people nearby stared at her curiously, but her warning was drowned out by the roar of the crowd as Ledwig was locked into the contraption.
Damn! She looked back to the assassin, and movement caught her eye. Just above the assassin’s window, Knock peered down from the rooftop. Her oversized teeth prevented the girl from whistling as the other urchins did, but she understood the twittering language. She waved to her friends, turned, and pushed her way through the rooftop crowd and out of Mya’s sight.
Oh, no! Mya’s intention had been to use the urchins as spies, never for them to actually confront anyone. As good as Knock was with her club, she was no match for a professional assassin.
She cried out, “Assassin! In the window! Look for the gods’ sake!” but no guard looked. They scanned the crowd, but not the windows behind the stage.
The prince stood with one hand uplifted. The crowd pressed in around Mya, cheering madly, bloodlust in their cries. Shoving aside a portly man to her right, she raised one arm to wave wildly.
“Assassin! In the window!”
One of the imperial guards on the platform looked at Mya and turned where she frantically pointed.
Prince Arbuckle slashed down with his hand, signaling the knight to pull on the restraining cord. The gleaming blade fell.
In the window, the assassin heaved a deep breath and put the rod to his lips…and blew. Mya watched the dart fly, incapable of changing its trajectory.
Movement on the stage. Mya watched the guard she had alerted throw himself at the prince. The dart struck him in the neck. Crown Prince Arbuckle stumbled, but retained his feet, turning to stare at the guard who fell writhing to the platform.
Four armored knights tackled the crown prince.
Mya glanced up and saw the assassin grimace at his fouled shot and load another dart. He drew a deep breath and took aim, but then jerked around toward something in the apartment behind him.
Oh, no… Knock! Mya’s heart leapt into her throat.
Suddenly, the assassin hurtled backward out the window, arms windmilling. The platform blocked Mya’s view, but she heard something that sounded like a melon smashing on the cobblestones. When she looked back up to the window, there was no one there.
Knock?
The crowd’s collective gasp drew Mya’s gaze back to the platform. She didn’t know if the crowd’s reaction had been due to the falling assassin, or the Ledwig’s head being struck from his shoulders. She could see little except the crowd of knights and guards hustling the prince down the stairs and into the waiting carriage. At least he was alive.
With a sigh of relief mixed with trepidation, Mya turned and started weaving her way through the crowd. Her plan hadn’t worked out the way she’d expected, but it had worked nonetheless. Now she had to find out if all her urchins were still alive.
Arbuckle grunted as the knights slammed into him, dragging him down behind a ring of tall shields. He couldn’t see, but he heard shrieks and cries shrilling from the crowd. He’d seen the guard fall after knocking him aside, but didn’t understand what had happened. He’d been looking at Ledwig when the blade fell.
Close by, Ithross shouted orders. “To the carriage! Shields up! Guard the prince!”
“What’s going on?” Arbuckle struggled to keep his feet as the knights hauled him bodily from the platform, down the steps, and toward his waiting carriage. “What happened?”
“An assassin, milord,” replied one of the knights grimly. “Rebley’s down. I think he saved your life.”
“Gods of Light.” Arbuckle’s knees felt weak as they thrust him up into the carriage.
Verul came in next, propelled by Captain Ithross. The scribe landed on the floor and stayed there, scratching madly in his ledger. Two imperial guards trundled in next, planting themselves on either side of Arbuckle. A knight was the last to enter, sitting on the opposite seat and slamming shut the door. With a crack of the whip and the clash of hooves on cobbles, the carriage surged into motion.
As they passed the platform, Arbuckle peered out the carriage window at Ludwig’s headless corpse lying behind the guillotine. A little farther on, he saw a man lying on the street, his head misshapen and drenched with blood. One of the guards grabbed Arbuckle’s shoulder and thrust him gently back against the seat while the other drew the curtain.
“Best not show yourself, milord. There might be another assassin.”
Arbuckle swallowed
hard. “Gods…” He blinked and swallowed again, bile burning the back of his throat. “Do they hate me so?”
“Not the commoners, milord.” Verul looked up from his ledger. “You just won the heart of every commoner in Tsing. They’ll love you as they’ve not loved an emperor in generations.”
“They’ll love me for killing a man.” Arbuckle closed his eyes, but all he could see was Ledwig’s head as it toppled into the waiting basket. Ledwig might have been a murderous fool, but that didn’t change the fact that he had just died at Arbuckle’s command.
“They’ll love you for bringing them justice, milord. It was long overdue.”
“I don’t understand how anyone gets used to seeing someone die, even if they deserved it.” He swallowed hard. “I feel like I’m going to be sick.”
“Comes with practice, milord.” It was the knight who spoke, low and sad. “You get used to seeing death. Guilty, innocent, rich, poor…it doesn’t matter. Death is death.”
Arbuckle hoped he would never become inured to seeing such things. If he did, he might think there was nothing wrong with lopping off a man’s head. He mused as they rode in silence back to the palace. This was the second attempt on his life, and his second stroke of luck. He tried to ignore the old adage that kept whispering in his head.
Third time’s the charm.
Chapter XVI
Mya checked to make sure she hadn’t picked up a shadow on her way back to the Dreggars Quarter. Satisfied, she ducked into the stable, muttering a silent prayer to no god in particular that she would find all her urchins safe and sound. She’s seen none of them during her way back across the river, but the streets were pretty crowded. After recovering her stashed clothes and changing back into a drab dress, she’d stopped at several shops to pick up something special to celebrate their success.
Weapon of Fear (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy II Book 1) Page 25
