“There are lots of tinkers’ wagons in Twailin, Sergeant.”
“Yep, there are, sir, but something about runes and fancy wagons and mages is tryin’ to work its way out of my skull. I can’t quite get a handle on it.”
“Well, let me know if you do. If there’s one thing we need in this case, it’s a handle. Anything more?”
“Nothing on my end.” Tamir stifled a yawn as he stood. “I’ll let you know if I find anything inside the wizard’s skull. Maybe that’s bigger on the inside, too.”
Woefler chuckled. “I, too, will let you know what I find anything incriminating or warranting further investigation among Vonlith’s things. There is a lot to look through. I’ll also ask my guild associates about his relationships. He might have made a powerful enemy that we don’t know about.”
“Don’t draw attention to yourself,” Norwood warned. “A dagger in the brain puts a serious cramp in anyone’s style, and the duke will have my head if anything happens to you while you’re working on one of my cases.”
“Thank you for your concern, Captain.” Woefler stood and gave him an unassuming smile. “Rest assured, I’ll be the portrait of discretion.”
“Good. And let me know if you remember anything about that wagon, Tam.”
“Yes, sir.” Tamir saluted wearily as he followed the wizard out. Before the door could close, a girl wearing a bright green tabard slipped in, a scroll case in one hand.
“What is it?” The last thing Norwood wanted was another delay; he was already hours late for lunch.
“Message from Duke Mir, sir.” The page handed over the scroll case and snapped into a textbook at-ease position, her hands clasped behind her back, her posture stiff as a board. Water dripped from her nose, eyelashes, and hair. It was obviously pouring rain out, which quashed his plan to run out for a quick bite to eat.
Norwood stifled a smile at the messenger’s rigid propriety as she tried to hide her heaving breath. She’d undoubtedly run all the way from the palace. The young ones always took their duties so seriously. She’ll relax after a few years.
Glowering at the scroll case in his hand, he popped free the leather cap. A red silk ribbon, the duke’s trademark, bound the note inside. One glance confirmed his suspicion; he was summoned to the palace. There goes lunch. He’d hoped to have more time to analyze the evidence of Vonlith’s death before reporting to the duke, but rumors among the courtiers flew faster than falcons on the hunt, and a murder north of the river was sure to attract the attention of Twailin’s ruler.
“Reply, sir?” the page asked, bristling with pent-up energy. On a sadistic whim, Norwood decided to indulge that enthusiasm.
“Yes.” Snatching up a pen, he scrawled an unnecessary reply on the bottom of the note. He sanded it to dry the ink, rolled it tight, and slipped the ribbon back over it. “Take this to the duke as quickly as you can. No lollygagging.”
“No, sir! Er…yes, sir, I mean!” She snatched the case and dashed from the room, her neck flushing scarlet under her flying ponytail.
Norwood sat back down and sighed. “Oh, for the days of youth…” Memories of his own exuberance, long gone, fluttered through his mind. He’d been far too long without that kind of enthusiasm, plodding through life with grim resignation. He considered stopping for lunch before attending the duke’s summons, but reconsidered. Meeting with Duke Mir always seemed to upset his stomach.
“Norwood! Thank you for coming so quickly. Have a seat.” Duke Mir stood from behind his expansive desk and gestured to the leather-upholstered chair across from it. “Can I send for something? A drink? A bite to eat, perhaps?”
“Nothing for me, thank you, milord.”
Norwood’s stomach roiled at his lord’s show of hospitality. This did not bode well. Mir was generally a direct and forthright man, straight to the point and clear in his instructions, which was one reason Norwood enjoyed working for him. The duke’s overt cordiality meant that he was about to ask Norwood to do something that he expected the captain would not like. Waiting until the duke had seated himself once again, he decided to face the matter head on.
“The investigation into Master Vonlith’s murder has only just begun, milord. We’re still collecting evidence. The circumstances of his death suggest a professional assassination. As far as we know, theft does not seem to be the motive, but we can’t yet rule it out. Master Woefler is helping us to identify and compile an inventory of the wizard’s various magical items, and acting as our liaison with the Wizards’ Guild. I’ll provide you with updates as they come in.”
Norwood felt a twinge of satisfaction as Duke Mir simply stared open-mouthed at him for a moment.
“I hadn’t expected you to have solved it already, Norwood. I only heard about it two hours ago!”
“Of course not, milord. I just wanted to tell you up front what we’ve learned so far.”
“Professional you say?”
“Yes, milord, we believe so.”
Duke Mir’s face turned as white as the parchments scattered across his desk. “What makes you think so?”
“The method indicated both skill and precision. In fact, more skill and precision than was probably necessary. The killing may have been meant to serve as a warning or a message.”
The duke sat upright. “There was a message?”
“No, milord!” Norwood leaned forward and waved his hand. He knew exactly where the duke’s thoughts had flown to. His own had done the same. “This showed no similarities to…those other killings. The method was different, the murder weapon was not left behind, the victim wasn’t a noble, and there was no note or any indication that the killing was politically motivated.”
“So, what type of message did you mean?”
“There are two types of professional killings, milord. One is meant to look like an accident or something other than a professional killing, the other is meant to tell everyone that it was professional as a warning or statement of some kind. This was the latter.”
Mir heaved a sigh and pushed himself to his feet. Striding over to his sideboard, he poured a glass of pale wine from one of the artfully arranged crystal decanters and drank down half in one gulp. Norwood wished he hadn’t declined the duke’s offer of refreshment. His mouth was dry, and he would have welcomed a glass of wine, even on his empty stomach, but he wasn’t about to ask for one now.
“The reason I summoned you, Norwood, isn’t just about the Vonlith murder, though it has provided the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.” Mir topped off his glass and turned to regard the captain. “I know it’s not your jurisdiction, but you undoubtedly have knowledge of the escalating violence south of the river: beatings, arson, some killings.”
Norwood nodded cautiously, his guard up. “You mean the increasing gang violence, milord?” Mir nodded. “I’m aware of it, and in my opinion, the sooner these criminals kill each other off, the better. The more they fight each other, the less time they have to bother honest citizens.”
“That is also the opinion of the captain of the City Guard and, while I understand that philosophy, Norwood, there is one problem with it.”
“And what is that, milord?”
“Powerful members of my court who live north of the river have business interests south of the river. Violence hurts business, and not only is the violence escalating, but it now seems to have jumped the river into their own neighborhoods with this recent murder. They had already been complaining. Now they are beating down my door with demands to resolve this fiasco. The City Guard can’t seem to prevent the violence or find the perpetrators, which makes it seem as if I do not have control of the situation.”
“That’s because you don’t, milord.”
“What?” Mir’s hand shook, and the wine sloshed over the rim of his glass. “How dare you suggest that I don’t have control of this city, Captain!”
“Milord, please. No insult was intended, but you, of all people, should understand that true control is impossible without an
absolute police state. Not even the emperor has the funds to support that kind of oppression, and if he tried, the people would burn his shiny palace to the ground. He knows this, so he lets the lower classes continue to kill, maim, buy, sell and rob one another with minor supervision to ensure that his true supporters, the nobles, are not unduly affected.” Norwood shrugged. “Besides, there’s absolutely nothing to suggest that this murder has anything to do with the violence south of the river.”
“Whether it does or does not isn’t the issue here, Captain Norwood.” Mir quaffed the remainder of his wine and glared. “The issue is perception. I need to be seen as trying to rectify this problem by assigning the Royal Guard to the investigation. What I need you to do is keep this situation from escalating.”
Norwood didn’t relish the prospect; the Royal Guard wasn’t welcome south of the river. He couldn’t expect much help from the City Guard. Still, there was one stipulation he had to get clear before he started treading on toes.
“What am I to keep from escalating, milord? The violence, or the worry of the nobles?”
It was a legitimate question, but Norwood immediately regretted his flippant tone as the duke’s face flushed face and his eyes bulged. To stave off a tirade, the captain raised his hand in a gesture of calming.
“Please, milord, I ask that question because the two require very different amounts of effort and time. The murder investigation has barely begun, and it will take considerable time for all leads to be tracked down, especially if I must now split my efforts. Curbing the violence south of the river, if it can be done at all, will require a huge amount of manpower. However, quelling the worry of the nobles can be accomplished with much less effort.”
“What do you suggest, then, Captain?” Mir’s tone dripped sarcasm, but Norwood ignored it.
“That we continue working to solve Vonlith’s murder, but in the meantime, round up a few thugs from south of the river, string them up, and tell your court that the problem is being dealt with, even though the violence will probably continue.”
“You’d hang innocent men to quiet this situation down?”
“Innocent men? No, milord, but there are plenty of thugs out there who deserve hanging, and I’ll happily put them on the gallows to keep this city under your governance. And if we pick the right thugs to hang, we might even send a message to the ones who are really behind all the violence.” He regarded Duke Mir, keeping his face set in serious consternation. “I don’t suggest you tell your moralistic court of my methods, milord, but I do get the job done. I thought that was why you hired me.”
Muscles clenched in the duke’s jaw. “Norwood, you are an insolent, overbearing, pain in the ass!”
“Yes, milord.”
“Unfortunately, you are also right. That is exactly why I hired you.” Mir put his glass back down on the sideboard and returned to his desk. “What will you need from me to get this done?”
Norwood considered a moment. “A copy of your orders sent to the captain of the City Guard. I want to make sure that everyone down there knows that this comes directly from you, milord. Also, I need a warrant giving me the authority to investigate the Wizards Guild. I’ve already asked Woefler to make some discreet inquiries, but I’d like to do some sniffing around myself. I’d like to review this wizard’s activities, see what he’s been up to lately, if he’s perhaps made some enemies among his fellow wizards.”
“That will cost me several favors, Captain. The Wizards Guild wields considerable power.” Duke Mir raised his eyebrows in thought. “But I think I know which arms to twist. I’ll have the documents delivered to your office within the hour.”
“Thank you, milord.”
The duke leaned heavily over his desk. “But be polite when you visit the Wizards Guild. I can’t afford to aggravate them. They can disapprove contracts made by any guild wizard, and I don’t relish doing without Master Woefler’s services.”
“Nor do I,” Norwood admitted. He didn’t want to consider investigating a wizard’s death without the court mage’s assistance. “I’ll be cautious, milord.”
“Just shut up and get to work.”
“Yes, milord.”
Norwood left the duke’s palace vacillating between moods foul and fair. On the foul side, he had just been assigned a virtually impossible, and certainly thankless, task. On the other side, his favorite eatery was only a block away. He could enjoy a delicious lunch, and still get back to his office in time to hear Tamir’s report on the inside of Vonlith’s skull.
Chapter VIII
The scent of impending rain hung heavy in the air, and pedestrians scurried about like rats on a sinking ship. Lad and Mya were returning from a meeting in the Barleycorn Heights district, still a dozen blocks from the Cockerel, when the skies opened up, and the daily deluge began. It wasn’t quite noon yet, but they had been trekking about the city for hours already, so he was grateful when she gestured toward a street-side eatery.
“We’ll grab a bite and wait this out.” She squinted up at the leaden sky and shook the water from her hair. “Maybe it’ll pass.”
Lad nodded, even though he didn’t think it likely. In the shoulder-to-shoulder press of people, all with the same thought for getting out of the rain, he suddenly had much more than the weather to occupy his mind. As Mya ordered their lunch, Lad scanned the damp, jostling crowd, but felt his vigilance impaired. His back still ached from Ponce’s kick the previous day, the hiss of the rain on the street cobbles dulled his hearing, and the smoke from the grill stung his eyes and masked any scents. A midday attack in such an open venue wasn’t likely, but he couldn’t discount an intrepid assassin trying to slip something lethal into Mya’s food, or a knife into her back.
“Here.” Mya handed him a hot wrap stuffed with steaming lamb, onions, peppers and dripping cheese, and followed as Lad opened a path through the crowd.
Claiming a spot well away from the busy counter, Lad bit into his lunch, and his eyes welled with tears as the hot peppers lit his mouth on fire. Blinking to clear his vision, he felt Mya nudge him to make room for others, and stepped back until he stood at the edge of the waterfall cascading off the eatery’s colorful awning. A laughing couple dashed in from the rain, and Mya bumped into him again, her shoulder pressed against his. Lad shifted anxiously. The rain, smoke, chatter of voices, and food were distracting enough; he didn’t need Mya standing so close he could feel her heartbeat.
“Don’t you ever relax, Lad?”
“What?” The question caught him off guard.
“You’re as tense as a stallion with a mare in his sights.” Mya poked him with her elbow, which only agitated him.
“I’m merely being vigilant.”
“Vigilant is one thing, but you’re wound up like a watch spring.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Frankly, you’re stiff as a board, and you’re starting to draw attention. Loosen up!”
Rain pattered on his shoulder as he edged away from her. She knew he could hear her even if she whispered. Why did she insist on standing so close that the scent of the soap on her skin competed with that of the food?
“Sorry.” Lad tried to relax while maintaining his vigilance and eating his lunch, but found it difficult under Mya’s scrutiny. “What? Am I not loose enough?”
“What’s bothering you, Lad? You’ve always been a bit twitchy, but lately you jump at every shadow.”
“It’s my job to jump at shadows, Mya. The last shadow I jumped at was trying to cut off your head.” He didn’t recognize the expression on her face, and he couldn’t tell if she was serious or not. Even though he provided her ample opportunity for jests with his continued semblance of naïveté, he didn’t appreciate her making fun of him for her own entertainment.
“Yes, and you performed perfectly, but lately…” She took another bite of her sandwich and chewed, never taking her eye off of him. “I think being a father has made you edgy.”
“Why would being a father make me edgy?” He didn’t gener
ally discuss his family with Mya or anyone else in the Assassins Guild. He knew she had Hunters watching the inn, so it was no surprise that she knew about Lissa. But he knew Mya did nothing without intent, which made him wonder about her motivation for discussing his home life.
“Oh, come on, Lad!” She laughed and nudged him again. “A crying baby in the middle of the night, and a nursing mother with post-birth doldrums. It can’t be easy.”
“Things have…changed a little, but…” He was hesitant to elaborate. What does she want?
“Relax, Lad. I won’t tattle. After so many years together, don’t you think you can trust me?”
“I trust you, Mya.” That wasn’t completely a lie. He trusted her not to slip a knife between his ribs, or turn him over to the Royal Guard. Neither would benefit her, and both would be dangerous. But trust her with his family? No, he didn’t trust her or anyone else with that. He shifted away from her again, trying to be casual, but apparently not trying hard enough.
“Gods, is it me you’re nervous about?” Mya barked a short laugh. “I don’t bite, Lad.”
Said the viper to the rat, he thought. Suddenly he realized that it was her making him edgy. She was acting strangely; this casual conversation about his family, her nudges and curious body language, made him nervous. What is she up to? The only way to find out was to play along. He purposefully relaxed his stance, muscle by muscle, and sidled out of the rain. Once again they were pressed against one another, Mya’s shoulder brushing his chest, the scent of her damp hair right under his nose.
“That’s better.” She grinned and took another bite of her lunch, wiping the meat juice from her chin with her sleeve. “Has motherhood changed Wiggen, too?”
Another shiver of apprehension thrilled up his spine at her mention of Wiggen, but he forced it down. The twinkle in her eyes and wry smile, however, told him that she’d felt his reaction.
“So that’s it!”
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