“Sir!” A bright-eyed private descended the steps in a rush. “Sir, we’ve found how they got out!”
“About bloody, damn time! Show me!”
He followed the man back up the stairs, but instead of turning left into the main hall, the guard led him into the storeroom. It was obvious enough where they’d gone. The flagstone over the bolt-hole had been pried up, and the trap door was still open.
“Blast! How in the Nine Unholy Hells did they know about this?” No one thought to answer the rhetorical question as he knelt and glared down the dark hole. “It hasn’t been used since the old walls were torn down! I’ve never even seen it opened!”
“Yes, Sir. Most of us didn’t even know it was here.” The private peered down the hole dubiously. “What’s it for, if you don’t mind my askin’, Sir?”
“It’s a bolt-hole, Private.” He scratched his chin and stood. “Every keep has one, just in case the walls are breached and the royal family has to scoot. This used to be part of the original fortress, before the new palace was built up on the bluff. It won’t do any good, but we better have a look down there.”
He looked around at his guardsmen; they all shrank back like beaten curs.
“Sergeant Fursk, take two men and have a look. Don’t you go too far, but if there are signs someone’s gone through there, I want them followed. We might have to hire a tracker, but I want to know where this bolt-hole ends up. Got it?”
“Yes, Sir!” The sergeant’s voice was steady, at least. He picked two men and started laying out supplies of torches and rope.
Norwood turned and stalked out of the room, clenching his fists at his sides as the shrouded litter bearing one of his guardsmen was maneuvered up the stairs from the holding cells. Instead of following it, he turned down the steps. His feet took him to the open cell that had held their one and only lead in this whole messed-up investigation.
“Why take her?” he asked himself, smacking his fist into his palm as he examined the empty cell. There were no signs of struggle: no blood, no torn clothing. Nothing. He sighed deeply, and a faint scent in the air provoked an image of meat roasting on a spit in his mind. He shook the ridiculous thought out of his mind. There was no sign of fire in the cell and nothing to burn. It was just his over-tired mind playing tricks on him. “Private!”
“Yes, Sir!” The man was standing at his elbow in an instant.
“Tell Sergeant Tamir that we’re going to have another talk with that innkeeper, Forbish.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And tell him to bring enough men to tear that inn apart. There’s got to be something we’re missing, but I’ll be damned to all Nine Hells if I can think what it is.”
“I’ll tell him, Sir.”
The guard left, leaving him alone to ponder the empty cell. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and took a deep breath, trying to calm his murderous thoughts. That smell… cooking meat, or… ridiculous! Whoever this girl was, she was important enough to be the only person this assassin had taken the trouble to abduct instead of simply kill. There had to be a connection, and the only person who might know something was an innkeeper who had already made it very plain that he wasn’t going to talk.
“Captain?” He turned to see Sergeant Tamir standing just outside the cell door. Either the man was unnaturally quiet, or Norwood had been so deeply engrossed in his own morbid thoughts that he hadn’t heard him arrive.
“You got my message, Sergeant?”
“Yes, Sir, I did. Did you get mine?”
“No.” He turned to face the man, knowing what the message must be. Tamir had been charged with protecting the two nobles scheduled for assassination this night. “Tell me.”
“They’re fine, Sir,” he said, his mouth trying to smile while his face tried not to.
“Fine?” Norwood’s bushy eyebrows shot up. He advanced on the man, demanding clarification. “What do you mean, fine? Did you kill the bastard?”
“No Sir. I mean they’re fine because nobody tried to kill them.” He gestured down the hall where two maintenance workers were scrubbing the blood stains from the floor. “All this must have distracted him.”
“Well, I’ll be damned!” He looked back at the cell, wondering. “Maybe she...” He let the thought remain unsaid. It was best not to question such a fateful event, lest the Gods reverse their judgment.
“I’ve got four squads ready, Sir,” Tamir said, interrupting him yet again.
“Oh, yes. Well, let’s be at it then. I want to find out everything that innkeeper knows, Tamir, but I don’t want him hurt.” He headed for the stairs, grateful for the comforting presence of the sergeant behind him. “We’ll take that inn apart if we have to, and we’ll leave as big a force as necessary behind to ensure that he doesn’t disappear too.”
“You’re not going to arrest him?”
“I don’t think so, Sergeant. It didn’t protect his daughter; that’s evident, and it might put more pressure on him to let him stew. Now that she’s vanished, the truth is the only thing that’s going to help us find her.”
“Whatever you say, Sir,” the sergeant said in a tone that clearly stated that Tamir wasn’t happy with the captain’s plan. Norwood didn’t particularly care if his sergeants were happy; all he cared about was that they followed his orders.
Mya knew something was wrong long before she rounded the corner onto Old Fort Street. There was more than the usual number of guards making their presence known in the quarter. When she made the turn onto the street, she almost stopped in her tracks and went back home. She hadn’t seen this many constables and Royal Guard since the Duke’s most recent wedding! They were milling around the front of the barracks like bees before a hive, and at the center of the throng stood an undertaker’s wagon. For her to walk right into their midst, disguise or no, took as much courage as she could muster.
She steeled her nerves, checked her disguise and walked into the proverbial lion’s den.
“You there, Lass! What’s your business here?”
“Why, I’m just headin’ home, Captain, Sir,” she said to the corporal she’d been counting on to stop her. She stumbled a bit, making sure her words weren’t entirely crisp, trying for half-drunk and tired.
“This time of the morning?” He took in her unsteady stance, her slightly disheveled appearance and the low cut of her dress. His eyes lingered in all the places she intended. “A little early for the likes of you on this side of the river, isn’t it?”
She smiled the girlish smile that always worked on men like this and traced a finger down the guard’s armored chest. “I had a bit of a late night at the Magistrate’s party, but I don’t mind helpin’ you greet the day right, if you can break away from your duties, Captain.”
“Not this morning, I’m afraid. We’ve got some dire business here and you’ll have to be off.”
“Dire business?” She looked at the crowd of guardsmen and constables all talking and bustling about. “Somebody die in their sleep?”
“That’s no business of yours, Lass,” he said, grabbing her arm and steering her away from the crowd.
“It could be my business, Captain, if you’d just let it be.” She turned in his grasp until her plunging neckline was pressed against his chest. “The news hawkers pay good money for the latest bits of who died and who did the killin’.”
“This is an affair of the Royal Guard, and not for you.” He pushed her away, but she felt his hand linger where no lady would let it. It was as much of an invitation as she needed.
“Oh, come now, Captain. Someone’s gonna find out sooner or later.” She pressed against him again, letting her hands wander. “You might as well be the one who profits by it.”
“I’m on duty!” he said, lowering his voice and pushing her back again.
“Well, when do you get off duty?” She grabbed the hand he used to push her, clutching it to her bosom. She used the distraction to glance past him at the group of guards and saw a number of draped litters being ca
rried from the door to the wagon. She counted five before he commanded her full attention.
“Mid-morning,” he said, not withdrawing his hand. He glanced at the lightening sky. The sun would be fully up in less than an hour. “Four glasses or so.”
“Oh, the news will be out by then, Captain,” she said, pulling away from him and taking a step back. She fiddled with the lacings of her bodice and watched his eyes. “But if you tell me what happened, I promise I’ll be back at the end of your shift.”
“And I should trust you?”
She pouted at his incredulous tone. “You’d trust me with more than a little information, I think.” She let her hand slip down to indicate exactly what she meant.
“Here! Stop that!” He pushed her hand aside, glancing over his shoulder. “You’re gonna get me in trouble!”
“Come on, then. Give me a little something I can sell to the news hawkers, and I won’t cause you any more trouble.” She smiled mischievously. “Then maybe later you can cause me some trouble.”
“Fine then.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. “The same dark wraith that’s been killin’ nobles for the last few nights finally got ’round to payin’ us a visit here. We were holdin’ a girl, supposed to be some sort of witness or somethin’, and last night, in he came. Killed one short of a dozen guards slick as you please and took her out of here without a trace.”
“Took her?”
“Yep. Snatched her up like a trinket and vanished.”
“Why not just kill her?”
“Don’t know. And ever’body’s been askin’ that very question.” He shrugged, and then grinned. “That little tidbit should be worth somethin’.”
“When did you say you’re off duty?” She didn’t want to spoil the ruse quite yet.
“Mid-morning. I’ll just wait down at the corner café.”
“They rent rooms over that café, don’t they?”
“They just might.”
“I’ll see you around mid-morning then, Captain.”
“See you.”
Not likely, she thought, giving him one more smile and turning on her heel. It never failed to amaze her how easily men were swayed by a bit of flesh.
Well, most men.
She quickened her pace as soon as she was around the corner.
A shaft of morning sunlight crept across Wiggen’s face. She squinted in her sleep when it finally reached her eyes, and sleep dissolved into wakefulness. She rolled over on the hard floor, struggling to get comfortable, and her eyes fluttered open long enough to bring her fully awake in a heartbeat.
Lad sat there in the position he’d called ‘Lotus,’ legs crossed, each foot upon the thigh of the other leg, his hands upturned on each knee, forefinger and thumb touching in two perfect circles. His eyes were closed, his face serene. He was meditating, his mind and body relaxed and at peace.
She sat up slowly. Trying not to disturb him, she wrapped her blanket around herself and watched him. His breathing was rhythmic, the faint pulse at his neck slow and even. He wore only his black silk trousers, and again she looked at the rows of blistered symbols raised on his skin. She longed to ease the pain those wounds must be causing him, the wounds he had earned in gaining his freedom, the wounds her love had carved into his flesh.
“Love hurts,” she whispered under her breath, remembering the words that had almost seemed funny at the time. Her hand unconsciously rose to her face, her fingertips tracing the scar that ran from her temple to her chin. It was so familiar, such a part of her now, that she really didn’t mind it so much. The pain of it had left her, finally.
She wondered if the other pain would ever leave her.
She closed her eyes as tears welled into them with the memory of what they had done to her, of what they had done to Tam. The memories hurt much less now, and never invaded her sleep or her conscious thoughts as they had before Lad taught her to calm her mind. Now she remembered only when she wanted to, and now the pain was bearable, like the cleansing of a wound so it would heal properly. She wondered if she was really beginning to heal all that had been done to her.
“Love hurts, and love heals.” She truly didn’t know where the thought had come from, or why she had said it aloud. She opened her eyes, hoping that she hadn’t disturbed Lad’s meditation, and was instantly delighted to see him smiling at her.
“Good morning,” he said, reaching out to brush her damp cheek with the back of his fingers. “I did not mean to wake you, and I certainly did not mean to make you cry.”
“You have changed,” she said, leaning into his caress. His smile had given his words a certain humor, something she would never have expected of him before last night. “There are good tears and bad tears. These are good tears. Healing tears.”
“You were injured?” His smile vanished like a snowflake on a hot skillet, his hand dropping away from her face. “I didn’t see --”
“No, Lad. The old hurt; the one you helped me with before, when you taught me how to meditate. I’m still healing. Sometimes tears help.”
“How?” he asked, his alarm melting into that honest, open curiosity she’d fallen in love with.
“How do tears help?” At his nod she shrugged. “I don’t really know. It’s like some of the bad feelings escape with the tears. When you cry, you release some of the pain, and after, sometimes, you feel better.”
“Can you teach me?”
Now it was her turn to look curiously at him. “Teach you how to cry?”
“Teach me how to heal,” he said, and she could hear the pain in his words. His gaze dropped to his lap, his features sagging, adding years he had not lived. “You were right, Wiggen. About me, I mean. You were right about why I was made.”
“I know.” His eyes rose to meet hers, and the pain in his words was mirrored there. “All the nobles who were killed. We thought it was you.”
“I killed them.”
“I know, Lad,” she said, reaching out to grasp his hand, pleased that he did not shy from her touch as he had so many times before. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t want to kill those people.”
“It was the magic, Wiggen. I don’t know...” He took a deep breath, and she could see him reining in the anguish. “I was made to kill, Wiggen. The magic, the training, the things they made me not feel, it was all just so they could tell me to kill people and I would do it.”
“I know.”
“And I know now, how you feel.” The anguish in his eyes gripped her heart in talons of steel. “Memories plague my thoughts every moment, Wiggen. It is hard to meditate, and harder to sleep.” His eyes closed as he took another deep calming breath, grasping for control, but she knew that kind of control was just an illusion. “I see their faces every time I close my eyes.”
“Then let it out, Lad.” She squeezed his hand harder, commanding his attention. “Let yourself grieve, not for what you’ve done, but for those poor people your master killed!”
“My master?”
“Yes, Lad. Your master killed those people, not you. Like you told me, you were made to be a weapon, and a weapon you were. Is a sword to blame if an evil hand takes it up and kills an innocent person?”
“But I...” He tried again to hold his feelings in with a deep breath, but she grabbed his other hand and jerked both of them hard.
“No! Stop it! Don’t do that! Don’t hold it in!” She didn’t know how to make him understand that if he didn’t let his feelings out, they would drive him mad. She watched his face transform from incomprehension to recognition. Then, in one horrible rush, the terrible anguish surfaced.
“I killed them, Wiggen!” he cried, his face contorting with pain. “Every one of them! I killed them all! They were afraid, and they died by my hand, and their blood is never going to wash away! All their friends and families, everyone who loved them will hate me. They’ll want me dead, and they’ll be right to want me dead.”
“No, Lad,” she said, pulling him closer, forcing him to look
at her. “You were just the weapon. It wasn’t you!”
“I’m not a weapon, Wiggen,” he wailed, his voice cracking, his grip painful and urgent, “I’m a murderer!”
“No, Lad! You’re not!” She pulled him close, wrapping him in a protective embrace, wanting only to take his pain away. “It wasn’t you! It wasn’t!”
“How could they make me do those things, Wiggen? How could they?” She felt his shoulders shudder with a wracking sob, and felt his arms envelop her.
“I don’t know, Lad. I don’t know.”
He cried into the blanket wrapping her shoulders, his tears wetting the nape of her neck, one wracking sob after another, until he finally calmed. His arms slackened their embrace and his head ducked away. She let him go, wanting nothing more than to keep holding him close a little longer.
“I’m sorry, Wiggen,” he said, sniffing back the tears. “All these feelings...”
“Don’t be. It’s all new for you. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling.”
“I’m scared.” He met her eyes once more, and she could see the truth in them. “I’m scared for you, and for Forbish, and for myself. I’ve never felt this way before, and I don’t like it. I don’t know how I’m going to do anything feeling like this.” He laughed shortly and pointed to a bundle propped against the bin. “I could barely get us new clothes and some food.”
“But you did!” She grasped his chin and forced his eyes to meet hers. “You were afraid, but you did it. That’s courage.”
“Courage?”
His eyes told her that this was a word he had never heard before. At first, she was stunned by the irony—a warrior, an assassin, unfamiliar with the concept of courage—until she realized that Lad was unfamiliar with it simply because he had never needed it.
“Yes, courage,” she said, grasping his hands once again. “Courage is when you overcome something that scares you because you know what you’re doing is right. It’s what brought us through that sewer, whether you know it or not. You have more courage than you know, Lad.”
“Courage...” he said, as if trying on the word for the first time. “How do you get more of it?”
Weapon of Flesh Page 28
