“I fail to see-”
I took out a knife, causing Roehm to blink and wonder where it had been stashed. I scraped at the lock on one random door. Years and years of age gave way before the blade, leaving shiny, silvery steel beneath. “Do you understand?”
Roehm did not understand, and was coming upon a very foul mood…but that was because he was becoming more and more convinced that there would be no flogging after all. But it was much later that things got worse.
That was when I approached Aelia and said, “I know who’s paid to have you killed.”
13
Misdirection
of the Law
Sweat flowed from my brow in steady streams. Well, that’s not true: It flowed from everywhere, it was just the brow that kept my eyes full of stinging droplets, so it was most noticeable. It was early, predawn, too early for most people which suited me just fine. I was making music. The straw packed hard mats were quiet underfoot, but not so quiet they completely muffled the percussion of my feet as I danced. Voices reached tongues from the Fog, tickling my internal ears with half remembered lessons.
The Phantom Angel was a lonely falsetto, singing in my hands as possessed by the souls of the elves that forged it. The burn in my muscles was a silent chorus that tried to drown out the fire of my humiliation. The symphony built and waned, climaxed to crashing crescendos and faded to deadly diminuendos. It was flawless, flawless but in vain. Still I pushed, harder and faster. Then, there it was, an opening in the defenses of my imaginary foe. A hunger blossomed inside and I leapt to the imagined kill. A final thrust vibrated in the air, the thunderous echoes of future violence fading from inside my mind.
I closed my eyes, hoping for clarity, for stillness, for an end to the yawning chasm inside. I got none of these things. It shouldn’t surprise me. I had wanted to be alone and I hadn’t gotten that either.
Gelia sighed, shattering the thread of concentration I had knotted to snare any fleeting serenity. I opened my eyes and there she was: Distant, matriarchal, disapproving. I sighed in response, careful to fill it with just the right amount of frustration. It is important to speak the same language, after all.
I gathered my sword belt, well: Belts, each laden down with a forest of sharpened steel, and slung them over my left shoulder. That was when she decided to hand me a thick, black leather vest while giving my sweat soaked white shirt an even more critical eye than she reserved for the rest of me. For the life of me I didn’t know where her obsessive need to make me cover up every inch of skin sprang from, but it wasn’t worth an argument. Well, it might have been but I was too tired to enjoy it. I put on the vest and then reshouldered my load. “I prefer to practice alone.”
“Every time I’m not there you start bleeding, Crow.”
To that, I couldn’t argue.
We left the practice room in the depths of the basement, very near the healer’s room in fact, and began the long climb back to the apartment. Gelia followed modestly in silence as I took the long way around to the room, and then a longer way, and then yet a longer way. I had gotten trapped in these hallways by the guards and as long as I had the cleric as cover I would memorize as many of the passages as possible. Given the chance, that’s the lie I would tell others, as well.
“Not in any hurry to get back, then?” She said, flaying my excuse bare to the truth.
I decided not to answer. Then I became determined not to answer. Then I absolutely refused to answer. Shortly thereafter the word “No.” escaped all on its own.
And that was all the opening any guard, inquisitor, or cleric needs, “Crow, she trusts him. They’ve been friends practically since she could walk. I personally used to watch them have grand adventures with imaginary unicorns, throw balls for the queen of faeries, and whisper secrets together on cold winter nights. I hope that explains her, somewhat.”
Explains a bit about him, as well. I didn’t say. To my chagrin what did come out was petulant and childish, “I am right, Gelia.”
“I know you think so, Crow, but-”
I darted into a alcove and pulled her after, drawing the curtains close to muffle our voices. I raised a fist in front of her face, which she stared at warily until one finger sprang out, “First, the Grand Sage is owned by his family. The assassins had every advantage because they were given information by him or his staff.”
Her face showed that she, like Aelia, was unconvinced.”Fine: The Captain was carrying money, obviously some kind of bribe? Or maybe a bonus. It was all locally minted coin.”
“But that just means the architect of this evil got his gold from a local moneychanger.“
I slipped a finger into my belt pouch and drew forth one bit of the offending gold and tossed it to her. “Do me the justice she did not and look at the thing, woman! It is pure gold, a nail weight, easily. What moneychanger in the city will have access to so much pure gold? And not just pure, but virgin, for it has never been circulated. Untarnished by skin, unscratched by time in a pouch next to harder coin. It is too much to believe anyone by the Grand Duke had access to so much fresh coin, coin carrying his bust, at hand.
Her eyes pierced me with thinly veiled hostility, her voice pitched too low to carry beyond out covert spot, “Then why use it at all?”
And it was at this moment that I realized she, like Aelia, did not want me to be right, didn’t see the things I took as obvious, did not understand how the path I showed them would lead out of the confusing forest. “Because, holy mother, he never expected us to get this far. You are looking for a magically grown plot set well in advance of our coming. Everything since we have arrived has been the scurrying of rats looking to murder our lady.”
She blinked, “Our Lady?”
My ears still rang with my words, but I shook them off, fighting off the irrational anger that rose unbidden, “Please, focus! He had the coin at hand, that’s what he used. Captain O’Loinsigh said his plan was to go to Riagáinhead. He expected to be welcomed when he got there. O’Riagáin-”
“His Grand Lordship, please-”
“Damn it, Gelia, he paid his own captain to distract the guards and gave the assassin the exact time, place, and seating so he would know where to be when, where to take the shot. I was there and” I flicked out another finger, “that assassin knew just where to be. He didn’t have to search for the right window, he knew it from memory. The captain just gave the order and skipped out, attempting to wait in the city as Horatio sent his men outside the walls to put a good show of searching.” A third finger, “O’Riagáin gets to look like he’s hunting down a traitor, and if things get too bad he can just produce a corpse, repocket the gold, and proclaim he has solved the question of his own betrayal. It was perfect!”
“Why not just have the assassin attack in her room?”
I felt like screaming, “They tried it, and I was ready. That’s where we got the master key.”
“Master key?”
“The key of the first assassin. She used it to get into the suite and could have used it to gain entry into Aelia’s room as well.”
“I don’t understand.” I dragged her from the alcove and we passed by dozens of doors along the length of corridors. I pointed at the aged locks, taking special care to note to her the identical dwarven runes that marked them. We found another niche and she hissed, “They are the finest locks money can buy.”
“Yes, and the key the assassin had opened every one of them I tried. They must be made so that every higher up servant in the castle may come and go, clean and service to the contentment of the nobles and merchant princes that stay here.”
“Crow, that is insane. There is no way the Grand Duke would hand over the keys of his castle to an assassin.”
Restraining my emotions flattened my voice and deadened my eyes, and for a minute I think she was honestly frightened of me as I said, “And that is why Roehm was supposed to notice that the fat bastard had replaced the locks to his room with a human made lock, making sure the dwarven maste
r key was useless to gain access to him.”
“But the cost of replacing-”
The intensity of emotion swelled inside me like a dragon, spreading its wings and casting her belief in shadow, “Gelia, if he wins the contract for Red Sky no cost would be too great.”
She left our hiding spot and I chased after. Tears peeked out from under her eyelids and she discreetly daubed them with her cuff as she murmured, “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
I dodged past Gelia and stood in her path. “I know. You have to get her to listen to me. I know how to end this.”
But Gelia’s eyes said that she believed me, but didn’t want to. Mostly she didn’t want to because it meant the only way to end this would be to kill Horatio. Dry up the money and the flow of assassins would be cut off. It would save her life, but at the cost of what everyone still wanted to believe was a dear family friend. All my convincing words were so much wind against the heavy stones of memories like those. It would be a lie to say that this was anything other than a lost cause.
But as I watched, a miracle occurred. Gelia, the woman who hated me most and trusted me least, looked at me with eyes full of emotions I found strange and alien. She reached out and touched the side of my face in a manner that could only be called tender. She nodded at me and wiped at her tears again. “I will talk to her.”
I can’t remember if anyone ever told me that when someone reverses their position you get them to make good on this decision as soon as possible, but it seemed like a good idea. I steered her down The stairs and over to the wing where our suite was located. We made it to the master entryway of the Grand Sage before we even saw anyone else. Dawn was just around the corner and the army of servants were beginning to stir.
I admit it, I was hurrying and not watching all the dark corners. I acknowledge that my plate had been pretty full for the last day, and I may have let things slip. I concede that I didn’t see coming what happened next.
“ASSASSIN!”
But I should have. Gelia did exactly the wrong thing: She froze and looked for the source of the voice, meaning I couldn’t leave without leaving her. That means I had to turn and face the disheveled Lieutenant Palmer.
Fine, I beat him and three of his men badly in front of the Great and the Good. I had taken one of his men’s eyes, and broke and another’s knee, and made him look like a coward, and gotten off with a spanking. Next I humiliated him, dominated him, and got him to show me his beloved Captains quarters, only to impugn said corpse’s honor with entirely accurate accusations, and return the next day with said Captain’s head. Still, doing this now, in public, seemed a touch showy.
“Assassin, I have you now.” Well, to tell the truth, what he actually said was, “Ashashin, I ha’ you now.” but you get the point. He was waving a sealed letter festooned with ribbons and seals and big, fancy writing. My stomach turned as he half staggered and half sauntered down the staircase, brandishing it at me.
The Fog was screaming danger, an my palms itched for a hilt, any hilt. I compromised by lazily stepping between the cleric and the soldier, slinging the belts of death from my shoulder and holding them low where one hand could snatch out some steel fast enough to cut a blinking eye in half. I nodded at the flourished parchment, “What is that Palmer, a warrant?”
There is a certain quality in the voice that tells a perceptive man that the words would normally be crisp and proper, if wine had not totally demolished that talent. The Lieutenant was, indeed, far gone as his sword slurred from its sheath, “Of a sort. It is permission to challenge you to a duel.”
And again, he said, “Of a short. It ish permishion…” But you get the idea, and it is far less cute and folksy when the man doing it has an arm length of cold steel deployed. I reached back with my free hand and pushed at Gelia, but she only retreated to the base of the stairs as I kept the drunken bastard busy, “Have a sense of fair play, man. You are drunk. If I lose, I die. If I win, I’ve killed a drunkard and that’s hardly a feat one boasts about. Go to bed. If you want to commit suicide, at least have the decency to do it sober.”
The pressure of the words built up inside him until it burst forth, reddened cheeked and popped veins, “DO NOT MOCK ME!”
For the record: That was clear enough, “Dueling has been outlawed since the war.”
I watched as he directed music only he could hear with his sword and paper batons, “Dispensation. From his Grand Lordship”
I glanced over my shoulder, a risk I took because I could not afford to be disobeyed this time, “Go get her.”
Gelia had no doubt to whom I spoke, or to whom I referred. But before I could see her go, my ears picked up boots being set on marble with distinct purpose. I spun back to my opponent, who had struck a stance that is highly effective if you happen to have a shield and are fighting with a dozen other men, and will get you killed if you are fighting alone. He screamed, “I will have you, scullion!” and half lunged as his sword made a high arc toward my head.
The Beast wanted out, needed out. It rattled the bars of its cage, but I kept it captured in my chest. Killing this guy should be easy, but the death of the Lieutenant would greatly complicate things. Not killing him would take a bit of my skill and completely ignoring every one of my instincts.
I slid the Phantom Angel from its sheath and batted his blow aside, then followed up with a boot to the fork in his legs. The most difficult part of it was getting out of his way as he dutifully collapsed on his face, sliding forward to a stop against one pristine white wall. I don’t care how drunk the man slinging the steel is, steel is still steel. To that end, I needed this to be over so I bounced toward him, lashing out with one, booted foot to the side of the head. He lurched upward unexpectedly, and his sword stuttered uncertainly in the air. The wild but weak strike sliced a piece of leather from the side of my boot and forced me to retreat.
Have you ever wondered why a cat toys with its food before it kills? It’s because even mice have teeth, and nobody likes to be bitten. He gave a few tentative swipes as he stood, and I batted them aside with ease. An unexpected lunge came less than a fingerlength from my nose, and without even thinking about it I struck back in earnest. I swatted his blade upward, out of my way enough to slip the blackened tip of the Angel under his guard and stick his leg. Most importantly, I avoided his wild counter-swing as he slapped one hand over the wound, rivulets of blood oozing between his fingers.
“I don’t suppose that license to duel is only to first blood?” Sometimes I don’t know what my mouth is thinking. The slight jab lit off his temper again, and he redoubled his efforts. He cried out something incoherent that echoed against walls and ceiling. I looked around desperately, I swear for the first time in my life, for anyone wearing a uniform to come intervene. No luck. Instead, showing how sheltered a life they led, servants were appearing at doorways and staircases.
I skillfully retreated and parried, watching as Palmer’s swings devolved into a tired, predictable pattern. I waited until he was staggering, wheezing, and then the Angel flew forth again, drawing a long red line along his right bicep. He screamed, one hand holding onto the wound while the other was ever so slowly losing its grip on his weapon.
I took a deep breath, desperately trying to ignore the chorus of opportunities singing for me to kill him. Instead I concentrated on keeping my voice calm, reasonable, “It’s over, Palmer. Put down your sword and we can get you to the healer.”
But everything I said caused his smoking pride to burst from coals to fire. He raised the sword to a sloppy guard, “You louse ridden dog, I shall end you on this blade!”
The Beast roared. The Angel came out of nowhere, ringing against his sword and sending it fluttering loudly down the entryway. Everyone watched it fly in shock. Only once silence returned did I say, “I apologize, were you not ready to kill me?”
Palmer’s mouth made a perfect ‘O,’ his eyes wide and skin pale- though that could be from the blood that now painted every step he took an
d fell from his elbow in a trickle. I shouldered the belts of weapons again and backed away one step, then two. The Lieutenant’s face fell, then he bowed his head, shaking with some alcohol fueled grief for reasons beyond my knowing or caring. Then he almost fell, staggered forward, staggered again on the bad leg, instincts that had been telling me to kill him for minutes now screamed like a chorus of burning cats. That’s when he lunged, dagger in hand.
I dropped it all; Angel, belts, attitude, mercy. They hit the floor faster than drops of rain in the wind as I took his wrists in my hands and brought the blade out of line with my tender flesh. We wrestled for half a second until the dagger was trapped between our faces, ineffective for the moment. Of course he was bleeding badly, so all I needed was hold him until his limbs weakened and I could yank the damn thing away from him and-
Palmer came close, the smell of the unaged corn whiskey on his breath watering my eyes as he hissed, “I know what you are, killer. I have seen your mark.”
“My mark? What are you sloshing on about, fool?” The words were dismissive, loud, brave. Inside, rats made of ice awakened and cavorted as they chewed at pieces of my stomach.
“Wrestling, assassin. Wrestling you to the ground, I saw it.” His strength was fading, his grip unsure. I could hear the tromping of a dozen booted feet as men descended upon the sounds of battle. Gelia had long since raced up the stairs. Though every sign was that I was winning, every word that left Palmer’s lips said I was going to lose. “It watches you, slave. It sees you. “
And everyone saw as he gave a titanic lunge. I cried out in dismay as his blade slewed left, right, then back across my face, gouging my chin along the left side. I kneed him in the guts, expelling air from his lungs and causing him to crumple on his feet. Finally the dagger came free into my hands. It flashed for a second in the early morning light before twirling in a wide circle up and under Palmer’s ribs and into his vitals with all the mercy of a hungry viper. The force of the blow straightened him and pulled him into a deadly embrace with me. I felt the meat part grudgingly, fibers cut deep and set free from bone.
I Know Not: The Legacy of Fox Crow Page 19
