If they’re all alive.
Digger met her just inside, his face split in a grimy grin. “We did good, didn’t we?” His eyes gleamed as he took the parcels and handed them over to the others. “You brought us a right feast!”
Feast was a relative term: a bottle of cheap wine, a loaf of bread, a dried sausage, and a wedge of sharp cheese. Mya scanned the faces as they started dividing up the food. They were all there, all alive, and all grinning as if they’d just saved the entire empire of Tsing. Who could know? Maybe they had.
With the weight of concern lifting from her stomach, she fixed them with a stern look. “Well, you didn’t exactly follow the plan…”
The fallen smiles and wide, worried eyes twisted Mya’s gut. A flash of memory surfaced: a sharp rebuke, not pretty enough, not fast enough, not smart enough… Her urchins didn’t deserve that from her.
“…but you did save Prince Arbuckle’s life, so yes, you did well. In fact, you probably saved the whole city. You know better than anyone what would have happened if the prince died.”
Their renewed grins seems to light up the entire stable, and they resumed divvying up the food. Nails drew the cork from the bottle with his teeth, and they laughed at the rich pop.
“That’s why we saved him, ain’t it?” Nestor happily stuffed bread and cheese into his mouth and spoke as he chewed. “Don’t give a fart for them rich types, but he’s a good’n, ain’t he?”
“I hope so.” Mya honestly didn’t know much about the prince, aside from seeing him during his two appearances in the plaza.
“He lopped off that baron’s head right enough!” Nails took a swig from the bottle and passed it to eager hands. “Kept his promise to bring justice.”
“That he did.” Mya cared less about the prince’s promises for justice than she did about making Assassins Guild into the organization she wanted it to be. To do that, she needed the city not burned down. And to keep it from burning, she needed the prince alive. That, of course, begged the question of how her urchins had managed to accomplish that feat.
“How did you spot the assassin?” Eyes flicked up to her as they continued to gorge themselves. “And for that matter, how did you tell Knock what to do? I didn’t quite follow your whistles.”
Digger shrugged. “We did what you told us. We looked for people who weren’t doin’ what they should be doin’. That old man in the window was watchin’, then he just disappeared, like he fell off his chair or somethin’. Then another man was there, but he didn’t look right. He wasn’t smilin’, stood back from the window instead of leanin’ out like everyone else, and he had that stick in his hand.”
Gimp took up the tale. “So Digger whistled at us, an’ we whistled to each other. Knock was right near the bloke, so she went after him.”
“Knock! Knock!” The half-breed girl leapt up, hunched her shoulder, and pantomimed giving a great shove. The twisted smile on her face no longer seemed gruesome to Mya. She supposed she had become accustomed to it.
“You could have gotten hurt,” Mya argued. “He was bigger than you.”
Digger grinned and shrugged. “We’re used to everyone bein’ bigger than us.”
Mya had to admit that he had a point. Survival on the streets meant constant danger. Growing up homeless, poor, and starving, the urchins had probably seen more evil than most people did their entire lives. Still, that didn’t mean she wanted to put them in even more danger. That they would throw themselves at assassins, risking their lives in return for a few pitiful meals, made her feel cold for recruiting them in the first place.
You’ve got a good heart… She wondered if Lad’s claim had been just wishful thinking.
“Here.” Tiny held a slice of sausage and hunk of bread out to her, a smile on his grimy face. “You have some, too.”
Startled, Mya stared at him, at all the children. They had so little—only what she brought them—yet they were willing to share with her. They might not have homes in the proper sense, but they all cared for one another. They were a family, not of blood, but of necessity, and they considered her a part of that family.
“No.” Mya cleared her throat and stood. “No, the feast is yours for a job well done. Good job today, all of you. Now, eat hearty and get some rest. I’ll see whoever’s on night watch at the back door of the Dulcimer after sunset.”
“Yes, Miss Mya,” they chimed, grinning and munching happily.
Mya stalked the Dreggars Quarter, intending to get a feel for how the commoners were responding to Ledwig’s execution, but she couldn’t get the children off her mind. Don’t get too attached. Caring for someone will only get you hurt. That had been true her entire life: her mother…the guild…Lad... Why should now be any different? Gradually, she calmed her thoughts and put her mind to her task. You have a job to do, Mya. Stop being maudlin and do it!
The Dreggars Quarter buzzed like a kicked bee hive. Rumors of Ledwig’s execution had spread like wildfire, and the mood varied from disbelief to awe to outright revelry. Even those skeptical of Arbuckle’s promises of justice and rights for commoners couldn’t deny that he’d kept his word. Many couldn’t believe a noble had actually been executed for murdering a commoner, having never seen the like. Those old enough to remember the time before the reign of Tynean Tsing II had known justice once, when commoners were treated like people, not livestock. The populace had gotten a true taste of justice, and weren’t about to revert to the way things were.
Before Mya knew it, the afternoon had passed to evening. Dusk washed the sky with color, incongruously beautiful above the shabby neighborhoods. She arrived back at the Tin Dulcimer as evening deepened to night. As usual, she stopped at the door to survey the posterboard for news of the day. The announcement of the sentencing was gone, probably taken as a souvenir. It had been replaced by the announcement of Ledwig’s execution. She scanned the other news, and was about to go in when her eyes settled on a new flier, a simple personal notice with a most curious headline.
Golden Cockerel Lost
Seeking experienced Hunter to recover this valuable creature.
Must be familiar with Golden Cockerels.
See Paxal at the Prickly Pair Inn
“Paxal?” Mya’s heart hammered.
It couldn’t be a coincidence. But it could be a trap. Who in Tsing could possibly know of her affiliation with the Golden Cockerel and Paxal? Hoseph? Her blood chilled. The priest could have wafted off to Twailin, discovered where she lived, and learned of her relationship with the old innkeeper. Her Hunters would never talk to a stranger, but the whole neighborhood knew her, and they knew she cared for Pax.
If he’s harmed Pax, I’ll…
You’ll what? Kill him? That task had already proven more difficult than she’d thought.
“Think, Mya…” Biting bit her lip, she stepped into the Tin Dulcimer. Something about this wasn’t right, and she quickly realized what it was. The Prickly Pair… Of all the inns in Tsing, what was the chance that someone would set up a trap there? The only person who knew she’d stayed there was Lad, and he was still on the road somewhere…wasn’t he?
Mya considered going to the Prickly Pair immediately, but restrained her curiosity. Going off half-cocked was a good way to get killed. She’d think about it tonight and deal with it in the morning when she was well rested. Besides, she didn’t have to do this alone. She had her little spies, and today had given her an entirely new appreciation of their capabilities. If this was a trap, her urchins would be able to smoke it out.
Arbuckle ran his fingers over the device that had nearly ended his life. The long tube was disguised as a walking stick, hollow and fitted with a cap on the bottom and a concealed mouthpiece at the top. Three slim darts lay beside it. The tips of two were smudged with green, the third with dried blood.
Rebley’s blood.
The brave imperial guard had given his life for his prince. Ithross insisted that the man was only doing his duty and would have been proud of his sacrifice. That
didn’t make him any less dead. Arbuckle sighed at the cost of his continued beating heart.
“The assassin also had these.” Ithross placed two daggers on the table then held up a garrote. “This he used to murder the man who lived in the apartment.”
Yet another death on my conscience.
“Professional, milord, without a doubt.” Chief Constable Dreyfus picked up one of the darts. “Poisoned, of course, and the toxin is—”
“Put that down, if you please, Chief Constable.” Captain Ithross’ knuckles whitened on his sword hilt, and Arbuckle’s guards stepped between Dreyfus and the prince. “The prince’s life is my responsibility, and I’m feeling a little twitchy right now. None but imperial guards and knights may possess weapons in his presence.”
Dreyfus reddened and clenched his jaw, but put down the dart. “As I was saying, the toxin is deadly in even a tiny dose, and the tips of the darts are hollow and thin enough to pierce chainmail. This fellow had resources. Nobody we’ve talked to recognized him. Of course, his face was…um…distorted from the fall.”
“I don’t think a professional assassin would be clumsy enough to fall,” Ithross said. “He either jumped or was pushed.”
“Jumped?”
Dreyfus shrugged. “A possibility, milord. He might’ve jumped to avoid capture and questioning.”
Arbuckle grimaced as he remembered the blood from the man’s shattered skull staining the cobbles. Then there was his wine steward, dead by his own hand. What kind of loyalty or fear could provoke suicide? “If someone did push him, maybe they’ll come forward. Should we offer a reward? Fifty gold crowns might prompt someone to—”
Dreyfus’ harsh bark of laughter grated on the prince’s nerves. “Pardon, milord, but if you offer a reward, you’ll have every dung-kicking roustabout in the city on the palace stoop swearing they saved your life. They’ll lie, cheat, and steal for a single silver crown, much less fifty gold. We got one vague description of a short, ugly fellow running out of the building after the incident. Maybe a dwarf. We’re still questioning people, but most were watching the…um…the execution.” Dreyfus swallowed, looking decidedly uncomfortable.
“Keep asking questions, Chief Constable. If someone did save my life today, I’d like to thank them.” Arbuckle gestured to the door. “You’re dismissed.”
“Thank you, milord.” Dreyfus bowed and left the room, obviously relieved to vacate the royal presence.
Arbuckle turned to Ithross. “Captain, what’s your opinion of Chief Constable Dreyfus?”
The captain’s eyes widened. “My opinion, milord?”
“Do you think he’ll pursue this investigation to the fullest extent of his capabilities? I must admit, he doesn’t impress me. His opinion of commoners is barbaric.”
“He is on the crude side, milord, but he does his job.”
“Don’t you think that you and your own people might do a better job investigating this?”
“No, milord.” He shook his head emphatically. “My investigation of the first assassination attempt was logical. My people know the palace intimately and are familiar with the staff. But Dreyfus and his constables know the city high and low: the streets and alleys, who makes trouble, who’s an informer. They’re experienced canvassing the neighborhoods. The skills of an imperial guard are not those of a city constable.”
Arbuckle rubbed his eyes. It hadn’t been a physically strenuous day, but his nerves were stretched tighter than a harp’s strings. He felt as if someone plucked a note, he’d snap. “I don’t mean to disparage Dreyfus, Captain, but he and I are just…very dissimilar. I have few people I can trust implicitly, Captain Ithross. I’m sure you understand that.”
“I understand perfectly, milord.”
“Good. Now, back to this would-be assassination. Tennison and I drew up a list of those who would benefit most from my death or have been most displeased with my leadership. It’s reads like the Imperial Register. What do you think about arranging private interviews with each of the senior nobles and magistrates with Archmage Duveau present to verify the truth of their statements?”
“I think we can do that, milord. Who would you like to see first?”
“Respectfully, milord, I would like to suggest you rethink that strategy.” Tennison stepped forward, looking distraught. “It would be dangerous in the extreme.”
Arbuckle laughed shortly. “More dangerous than the assassins already trying to kill me?”
“Perhaps not physically, but politically, to both you and the empire. An emperor cannot see to every detail of his empire. You must rely on your nobles to enforce your laws and carry out your will. If they so choose, they can stonewall you and undermine your authority at every turn. To be successful, you must engage them, not estrange them with interrogations.”
Arbuckle shook his head and crooked a wry smile. “Of course, you’re right, Tennison. Fear and paranoia seem to be getting the better of me. I’m not thinking clearly.”
The secretary nodded sympathetically. “You have every right to be worried, milord.”
“Perhaps it would be wise for you to refrain from public appearances in the near future.” Despite his polite tone, Ithross didn’t look like he was making a suggestion. “The palace is safe, at least.”
“And look like a coward?” Arbuckle clenched his jaw.
“Captain Ithross has a point, milord,” said Tennison. “You have no public events scheduled, and it’s well known that we’re busy planning the coronation. No one expects you to be out and about the city.”
Ithross nodded gratefully to the secretary. “Milord, you can still make appearances in the safety of the palace where we can control the situation. You have a dinner scheduled this very evening. I suggest you make an appearance and show everyone you’re safe and unafraid. We can’t disregard the fact that attempts have been made on your life, but we needn’t keep you locked in your chambers.”
Arbuckle nodded reluctantly. Right now, being locked in his chambers had a certain appeal. He waved at the weapons on the table. “Get these out of here.” The last thing he needed was a reminder that someone wanted him dead.
“You missed again!” Hoseph paced Lady T’s sitting room, livid at the lost opportunity. “You complain that we can’t kill Arbuckle because we have no one in the palace, but when he shows himself in public in front of thousands of people, your assassin still failed. What kind of incompetents do you hire?”
Lady T sipped a glass of pale wine, her poise intact. “Foirin was the best shot in the guild. He could shoot a sparrow out of the air. You know nothing of the difficulties of pulling off a proper assassination. A crowd of thousands makes a job more difficult, not easier.”
“Then what went wrong?”
“His shot was true, but an imperial guard stepped in front of Arbuckle at the last moment, intercepting the dart.”
“So, his failure was not in marksmanship, but in his inability to remain unobserved?”
Lady T shook her head. “He shouldn’t have been observed. I had people posted throughout the plaza. The guard was looking forward until someone in the crowd yelled something that drew his attention to the windows. Apparently, the guard looked right at Foirin before diving into the path of the dart.”
“So, why didn’t he take a second shot?”
“He…” The guildmaster paused, pursing her lips. “…fell.”
Hoseph stared at her, openmouthed. “He fell out of the window?”
“It seems more likely that he was pushed, but my people saw no one.” Lady T threw back the rest of her wine in a very unladylike manner and slammed the glass down on the table.
“How could anyone have even known he was there? Who could have pushed him?”
“I don’t know.” She turned away to stare out her window at the city.
“What about your people in the crowd? Couldn’t they have acted?”
“That was not the plan.”
“Well, the plan obviously didn’t work. Couldn’t t
hey improvise?”
Lady T rounded on him, her carefully cultivated patience gone. “You weren’t there! You’re not an assassin! If you think we’re so incompetent, then why not do it yourself? You could have popped in behind Arbuckle and killed him before any of his guards could react.”
“And get myself skewered in the process?”
“Ahhh!” Lady T raised an eyebrow. “So, it finally comes out. You value your own skin over the guild. I thought as much.”
“I don’t see you putting yourself out there.”
“It’s not my job to put myself out there! I have people for that, and I lost one of my best today!”
They faced off, two predators regarding each other with narrowed eyes.
Hoseph breathed deep. Blessed shadow of death, soothe me. “Regardless of blame, the failure remains.”
Lady T shook her head. “I don’t think it was a failure, actually. I think we were thwarted.”
“What?”
“Someone spotted Foirin and pushed him. There were only so many windows from which he could get a clear shot. I had a Hunter scout the plaza out last night, and he reported seeing someone else there on a rooftop. I think someone figured out where we would place our marksman and stationed their own assassin in the building.”
“Who?”
The lady looked scathingly at Hoseph. “Who do we know who has a vested interest in thwarting the guild right now?”
There was only one possible answer. “Mya?” Hoseph was confused. “Why should she care about Arbuckle?”
The lady shrugged. “She wants control of the guild. Until she does, she may simply choose to oppose us at every turn. Since you’ve failed to kill her…”
Hoseph flushed at the implication. “I can’t find her, and you refuse to have her followed. If she’s actively opposing us in this, then she’s gone far beyond being a mere nuisance.”
“You know,” Lady T arched an eyebrow, “though the assassination was foiled, we may yet salvage something from the day’s events.”
Weapon of Fear (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy II Book 1) Page 26
