Weapon of Blood

by Chris A. Jackson

  “The intended method of delivery was rather mundane, just a grooved needle, but quite sufficient when combined with the high potency of the stonefish toxin.” Woefler withdrew from a pocket the dart Norwood had extracted from the dead woman’s neck. “Then we have this little toy!”

  “Careful with that! I didn’t know you’d taken it out of the jar!”

  “Relax, Sergeant. It’s been cleaned.” The mage turned back to Norwood. “The toxin in this was not so rare, but still very potent. The mechanism of this dart, however, is astounding. Look!”

  Woefler held the lethal little projectile beneath Norwood’s nose and twisted it between his fingers. Something clicked, and a tiny port opened in the side of the dart’s shaft. “The poison is loaded here, and the click you heard was a spring being cocked back.” He withdrew another little vial from a pocket and used a tiny glass pipette to transfer several drops of green liquid into the port. “Don’t worry, this is just colored water. Now you twist it back, the port closes, and the dart is ready.”

  Woefler tossed the little black dart in a high arc.

  “Hey! Watch it!” Tamir stumbled back, his eyes fixed on the tiny missile.

  The dart’s fletching righted the projectile as it fell to the captain’s desk. The beveled needle stuck into the polished wood with a thud and a faint click. Green liquid squirted out of the needle, staining the papers that littered the desk’s surface.

  “Oh, sorry.” Woefler drew a kerchief from yet another pocket and dabbed up the spill. “But you can see how effective it is at delivering a lethal dose of venom. Much more effective than the simple coating of a grooved needle. The dart was filled with white scorpion venom, a potent neurotoxin that is deadly at a mere one one-hundredth of the dose that was injected into the woman you found. Whoever used it wanted to make sure that the target died instantly.”

  “Good gods.” Norwood was getting the picture; great expense had been taken both in the woman’s attempt to kill someone, and in the second assassin’s strike.

  “Obviously professionals, sir, both of ’em,” Tamir said.

  “I see that.” The captain rubbed his eyes; the wizard’s enthusiasm was not infectious enough to overcome his fatigue. Sleep had been as elusive as Vonlith’s killer since his late-night visit from the assassin. All the security in the world would not protect him from someone like that, and worrying about it had ruined his ability to relax. That, in turn, impaired his ability to think. Twailin seemed suddenly full of assassins, and all of his efforts felt futile. “Any chance of tracking down who sold any of these items?”

  “I can work on the dart and the ring, sir,” Tamir offered. “I know a few crafters. There’s an old gnome on Ironmonger Street who makes clocks and such, intricate kinds of stuff. He might recognize the work.”

  “An excellent idea!” Woefler looked at Tamir as if the man had just surprised him with his investigative prowess. “I, of course, will look into the origin of the venoms.”

  “Good. Concentrate on the rare items, the maker of the dart and the supplier of the stonefish poison. We want to know who these items were sold to.”

  “People who sell poisons and spring-loaded darts aren’t likely to want to talk, sir. It’s more likely they’ll just clam up.

  “Give them some inducement to be forthcoming, then.”

  Tamir grinned. “I can do that.”

  “Without breaking any bones, Sergeant. Mention that the duke himself has an interest in the activity of professional assassins in the city, and anyone helping us discover who is behind these killings will receive a reward.”

  “There’s a reward?”

  “No, but a carrot might work where a stick won’t.”

  “I agree, Captain. Threatening an alchemist is unlikely to produce the desired cooperation.”

  Norwood nodded respectfully, as if he cared what the wizard thought of his tactics. Tamir simply rolled his eyes again.

  “Any theories as to what exactly happened in that alley, Sergeant?” Norwood had his own theories, but he wanted Tamir’s opinion. The sergeant might be thinking more clearly than he was at this point, and had a good mind for things like this. He was the one who discovered the significance of Vonlith’s wagon, after all.

  “The dead woman was dressed like a trollop, and the ring on her finger was already poisoned. Just wearing that ring would be dangerous, so she was ready to kill someone.” Tamir rubbed his jaw. “Don’t know why she’d been beat up though. Maybe whoever killed her tried to knock the truth out of her before they shot her, but that’d be dangerous, too.”

  “What if someone interrupted the attempted assassination with another assassination?” Woefler asked.

  “What?” Norwood looked at him as if he’d made a bad joke. “What do you mean?”

  “The dart was shot from a distance, correct?”

  “That’s true, sir.” Tamir looked at the wizard and cocked an eyebrow. “We figured that the angle, assuming she was sitting up or standing, would have put the shooter on the rooftop.”

  “So, perhaps the dead woman was going to kill someone, and whoever shot her did so to prevent the killing.” Woefler looked pleased with his inference.

  “That seems reasonable.” Norwood looked to his sergeant. “Tam?”

  “Yep, that works. And we’ve already know that both were professional killers.”

  “Guild war.” Norwood had wondered how much of what the assassin had told him was the truth. His assessment of the violence, it seemed, was spot on, though he had called it squabbling between the factions. It meant the same regardless of the exact words.

  “Seems like it, sir.”

  “Well, sergeant, see if you can find out who made that dart, and who they sold it to.”

  “Yes, sir.” Tamir saluted and left the office.

  “And I’ll investigate the poisons,” Woefler offered, grinning like a kid with a new toy.

  “Do that. And be careful. You might walk into the wrong apothecary and find yourself in the company of assassins.”

  “Ah, but they will find themselves in the company of an accomplished worker of magic!” He pulled a pinch of something from his pocket and snapped his fingers. A shimmer of sparkling motes drifted down, and a dark space opened in the air. “I’ll be in touch, Captain.” Woefler stepped into the dark space and the shimmer vanished, taking the wizard with it.

  “Son of a…” Norwood blinked and stared at the spot where the wizard had disappeared. “Marvelous! Now I’m going to have an even harder time getting to sleep tonight.”

  Chapter XVI

  This day is going from bad to worse, thought Mya as she entered the dingy office. She’d never liked this room. The bare wooden walls and drab stick furnishings seemed to suck all the color out of the bright sunny day outside. Lamps on the walls barely lit the space to the brightness of a rainy day. Of course, it was inside a warehouse, and Youtrin’s warehouse to boot, so she didn’t expect elegance. In fact, the gloom matched her mood, which wasn’t made any better by Neera’s attempt at congeniality.

  “You’re dressed festively today, Mya.”

  “It’s a beautiful spring day outside, Neera.” She took a seat at the table. “If I wore anything less festive, I’d stick out like a sore thumb.”

  After last night’s soul-crushing misery, she had hoped a bright color might lighten her mood, but with Lad’s ultimatum, the beautiful spring day only seemed to mock her. She could feel his solid presence behind her, the heat that radiated from his body warming her back like the summer sun. How cold it would feel when he was gone…

  He’s leaving me!

  Mya forced her panic aside, struggling through the rising maelstrom of emotions that threatened to pull her down into darkness. If the other masters detected her mood, they would think she feared them, and fear to an assassin was like blood to a shark. They would eat her alive.

  Focus! Here and now are all that matter!

  Forcing her voice into a calm, bantering tone, she smiled
at Neera. “In this neighborhood that gown of yours is like an invitation to get robbed. Don’t you ever find that it draws unwanted attention?”

  “When people look at me, Mya, they see a rich, successful woman, which is precisely the image I want to project. What image are you trying to project?” Neera smiled back, but something poisonous lurked beneath the superficial pleasantry.

  Strange, Mya thought. Neera’s usually the least abrasive of the other masters.

  “Well, we’re all here, so let’s begin. Gentlemen, if you please.”

  Horice and Youtrin, who had been talking quietly in the corner, approached. The Master Blade claimed the seat across from Mya. Youtrin scowled and cracked his huge knuckles, then took the only empty seat, to Mya’s right. Patrice, silent and beautiful, sat between Neera and Horice.

  Neera looked each of her fellow masters in the eye before beginning. “The Twailin Assassins Guild is at a crossroads. All of us, or nearly all,” she glanced sidelong at Mya, her rheumy eyes sharp as daggers, “received quite a dressing down from the Grandmaster’s representative last quarter about fallen revenues. Personally, I never want to experience such a humiliation again. But revenues continue to fall. We must change how we operate. I see two paths we can take: we must either cooperate, or elect a guildmaster.”

  A surge of adrenalin ignited Mya’s nerves. Her skin tingled as if her tattoos were writhing. Once again, the specter of the Grandfather loomed over her, his blades parting her flesh as he laughed at her pain.

  Never again.

  It had been barely a week since she’d received the Grandmaster’s letter. Since then, she had deliberately refused to deal with the issue. She knew that eventually she would have to decide what to do, but not yet. Even if she had sent an immediate response, it wouldn’t have reached Tsing yet, so he couldn’t be disappointed by her silence. She still had time. But now this…

  “Cooperation isn’t working.” Horice’s hard, angry voice wrenched her attention back to the present, stretching her nerves so taut she thought they might snap.

  The bastard who just sent people to kill me has the gall to say that cooperation isn’t working? Mya fantasized about putting a dagger between his eyes to quell his scowl. Do it! the voice of her temper screamed in her mind. He deserves it! You could do it! You could kill them all before any of them could stop you! Then you’d be safe! Then it wouldn’t matter if Lad left you. You’d be safe!

  Mya’s fingers twitched, itching for her dagger. She clenched her fist in frustration. It wasn’t true. She could kill them, but it wouldn’t make her safe. As the only surviving master, it would only precipitate her promotion to guildmaster. And it wouldn’t make up for losing Lad.

  “It’s no mystery why we don’t cooperate,” Patrice said. “None of us has all the resources we need to function properly, we don’t trust each other, and we won’t share power.”

  “When Saliez was guildmaster, we exchanged expertise much more readily.” Neera shot a significant glance at Mya that raised the Master Hunter’s hackles.

  Feigning indifference, she shrugged. “I’ve always been willing to cooperate. If you remember, I was the one who suggested we could function without a guildmaster. My Hunters are always available to you, if you just agree to my terms…”

  “Your terms!” Youtrin sneered. “How are my people supposed to enforce compliance without violence? All your crap about public opinion!”

  He deserves a knife in the brain, too.

  “We need a new leader!”

  Horice’s pronouncement caught Mya’s attention quicker than the sound of a sword being drawn would have. Panic threatened again, and she turned an incredulous gaze on her peers.

  “Does any one of you really want to work under another Saliez? The man was a nightmare!”

  “He made you Master Hunter!” Patrice shot back, her full lips set in a tight pucker.

  “Right after he allowed Master Targus to be killed when he could have prevented his death with a single word! He murdered him on a whim! He killed his own valet right in front of me, for the gods’ sake!”

  “He had…strange predilections, but—”

  “The man was a sadistic freak! Did any of you see the torture chamber beneath that keep of his? I did. I felt his blades part my flesh for no reason other than to lay me out as bait for a trap!”

  The masters stared at her in shock. They undoubtedly had knowledge of Saliez’s perversions, but apparently no personal experience. Lucky you, she thought as she looked around from face to face. Mya caught a spasm of sympathy on the face of Horice’s bodyguard. She thought it curious until she remembered that Sereth, too, had worked directly with Saliez. He knows…

  “None of us is Saliez,” Neera countered.

  “Power can change people, Neera.” Gods know it’s changed me. Mya could easily see how the woman could become another Saliez. Her elixirs had made her aged yet ageless, as Saliez’s runic tattoos had done, and cruelty aplenty lurked behind the woman’s ancient eyes. “I don’t relish the thought of calling you Grandmother.”

  “I did not suggest that I take the Grandfather’s place, Mya, I merely—”

  “Neera, Mya, please.” Patrice’s calm tone snapped Neera’s ire like a shorn thread, which caught Mya off guard. The Master Alchemist did not usually back down so readily. “This bickering is getting us nowhere, and is the exact reason why cooperation is an unviable strategy. We lack leadership. We need a guildmaster, but who it will be is academic until we forge a new ring. I move that we use combined funds to do so at our earliest convenience.”

  “Seconded,” Youtrin said triumphantly.

  A warm hand gripped Mya’s shoulder, and Lad’s breath brushed her ear. “I need to speak to you! Now!”

  Mya tensed at his touch, then immediately became wary. Why would Lad interrupt in the middle of this catastrophe? Some threat to her life? She scanned the room and saw nothing. Four masters, each with a bodyguard, so eight people who could oppose them. Not a problem; she and Lad could kill them all in a heartbeat. Wary of hidden assailants outside the room, she cocked her head to listen. No creaking boards, shuffling feet, sounds of breathing, creaking leather… Nothing…

  “Be quiet, Lad. We’ll talk later.”

  His grip tightened on her shoulder. “It’s important, Mya!”

  “I said later! Now shut up!” As he took his hand away, she felt a tremble…his or hers, she couldn’t tell. A chill fell over her that wasn’t entirely due to this new insistence on a guildmaster. What could frighten Lad? She couldn’t deal with that right now; larger issues were in play.

  Adopting a conciliatory tone, she turned to the others. “Forging a new ring is an unnecessary expense if we choose to remain our own masters.”

  “A motion has been put forth and seconded. A vote is called for.”

  “Not without discussion!” Mya looked at the hard faces staring at her. Any one of them could become like Saliez, and she would be at their mercy. She could not allow them to make her a slave.

  Never again!

  But how could she persuade them?

  Cooperation... This was Lad’s fault. He had pushed her to make the guild less violent, which had led to her falling out with the other masters. From there the situation had spiraled ever downwards. Cold anger replaced hot panic as she forcefully ordered her thoughts. With Lad leaving, I can do as I damned well please. To hell with a less brutal Assassins Guild. To hell with Lad and his high ideals. To hell with everything that doesn’t get me what I want! With new resolve and a controlled voice, she put forth her proposal.

  “Our problem stems not from a lack of leadership, but from a lack of cooperation. I agree that much of it is my fault. My Hunters have more diverse skills, so I’ve enjoyed relative success, and haven’t fully recognized the adverse impact on the rest of you.”

  Eyebrows raised around the table. This was a Mya they had never met. But she wasn’t done yet.

  “To show my willingness to cooperate, I’ll offer eac
h of you the services of one of my senior journeymen and all those under them to use as you see fit, with no preconditions and no cost.”

  “Even if I use them to enforce my protection racket?” Youtrin asked, his expression disbelieving. “What about your terms?”

  “Forget my terms. Use them however you wish! Dress them up as doxies and parade them into the Duke’s Palace for all I care.”

  “What do you want for this new-found cooperation?” Horice’s suspicion was thick enough to spread on toast.

  “What do I want?” Mya gave him a short, hard laugh. “I’ve already told you. It’s not what I want, it’s what I don’t want, and that is someone leering over my shoulder and dictating my every move. We were slaves under Saliez. We’re free now. Do you want to forge your own gold and obsidian shackles and hand them over to a new master? I don’t!”

  “We’re all subservient to the Grandmaster,” Patrice reminded her, biting her lip in consternation.

  “But he’s not here!” Mya punctuated her statement with a finger to the table top, hitting it harder than she intended. “He doesn’t meddle in our day-to-day affairs like a guildmaster would.”

  Silence reigned for a long moment, and Mya was encouraged by the considered looks on the masters’ faces. This can work! she exulted as she realized that the plan might solve more than one problem. I can write to the Grandmaster that there’s no need for a new guildmaster, that with our new approach to cooperation, we’ll be even more profitable than we were under Saliez.

  “Would you change your mind if we promised to support your bid for guildmaster?”

  “What?” Mya stared at Patrice in shock. Where the hells did that come from?

  “I said, would you change your mind if we promised to back you for guildmaster?” The Master Inquisitor glanced around the table. “You’re the most successful among us. You must be doing something right.”

  Mya’s eyes raked the room as dread surged up from her gut. Not one of the other masters met Patrice’s suggestion with the scorn she’d expected. They’ve tried to kill me! Why would they now support me? But there it was, the chance to take the power for herself…