They’ve learned what they’re up against, and that this isn’t a game.
“You gotta eat, Wig.” Forbish began filling plates and passing them out.
“I said, I’m not hungry!” Wiggen turned away and resumed pacing.
Normally, the aroma of Forbish’s wonderful cooking would stimulate Lad’s appetite, but right now it held no delight. He knew he needed food, however, and dutifully began to eat. “Thank you, Forbish. You’re right. We do have to eat. We’ve got a lot to do, and we’ll need the energy.”
“What are we going to do?” Tika and Ponce asked together.
“Now, you two just keep quiet!” Josie scolded. “You shouldn’t even be here! You don’t need to be knowing about assassins and such. Just eat your suppers and mind your own business!”
“But this is our business.”
“Ever since those thugs showed up.”
“And if we have to fight more of those assassins, we’ll—”
“Enough talk about fighting,” Forbish interrupted, handing out more plates.
“You shouldn’t have to fight them again. The people who took Lissa have what they want, a means to control me. Next, they’ll send a messenger with demands. I need to—” Lad stopped, looking at the anxious faces around him. He knew what he wanted to do, but his decisions lately all seemed to turn bad. And though he wasn’t used to consulting anyone before acting, this was his family. They all loved Lissa, and deserved a say in the decisions to be made. He rephrased his thought. “The question is, do I wait for them to act, or do I take the initiative?”
“What do you mean, take the initiative?” Wiggen stopped pacing, her voice now tinged with worry.
“I mean, instead of waiting for them to send us their demands, do I go to them and find out what they want?”
“That sounds dangerous.” Forbish frowned and sat down, but he didn’t start eating. “It’d be safer to wait here.”
“Yes, it would be safer, but one thing I’ve learned from Mya is that when you negotiate with someone, you can’t let them think you’re afraid. If I sit here and wait, I’ll look afraid.”
“Do you even know where to find them?” Wiggen asked.
“The masters vary their meeting places. I’ll go where the last meeting was held. I’m sure the inn’s being watched, so if I make the trip slow and obvious, word will get back to them, and they’ll be waiting for me.”
“Walking into a lion’s den.” Forbish took a swallow of ale and shook his head.
“How can you even think of doing that?” Josie’s face went pale. “Those people are murderers!”
And so am I, Lad thought, grateful that only Wiggen and Forbish knew of his original role in the Assassins Guild. If Josie and the twins knew how many people he had killed... “It’s not as dangerous as it sounds. They don’t want to hurt me. They want something from me. I just have to find out what it is.”
“And give it to them.” Wiggen’s words were a declaration, not a question.
“That depends.”
“Depends on what? Don’t you think we should give them what they want to get Lissa back?”
“It depends on if I think they’re really going to give Lissa back.”
Wiggen blanched, and she reached back to steady herself on the mantel. “Do you think they won’t give her back?”
The question hung like a blade ready to fall. Every eye in the room turned to Lad.
I don’t know because I don’t think like they do! Lad steeled his face against his roiling emotions. He’d let his anger get the better of him when he attacked Mya, and he couldn’t let that happen again. It had been so much easier when his feelings had been magically suppressed: no fear, no anger, no guilt, no hate. But no love either, he reminded himself. And love was worth the pain of all the rest. For the sake of Wiggen and the rest of the family, he had to hide his misgivings. He had to show them he had a plan.
“They won’t want to give up control over me. I may have to take her back, but to do that, I have to find out where they’re keeping her, or get them to bring her to me. It won’t be easy.”
“And if they keep her to control you?”
“If they don’t give Lissa back, I’ll kill them all.” Josie put her hand over her mouth at Lad’s vow, but Wiggen just nodded, her look of rage cooling to resolve. “In fact, if they’re stupid enough bring Lissa to me just as proof that she’s alive, I may be able to take her back immediately. But the first step is to meet them on their own ground, and show that I’m not afraid of them.”
“So, what can we do to help?” Forbish asked.
“Stay here and be safe,” he said. “Close the inn for a few days, Forbish. Keep the doors and shutters barred unless one of you is outside doing chores, then Tika or Ponce should stand guard, one at the door, the other with whoever’s outside. Everyone should be armed. I’d tell you all to pack up and go somewhere safe, but there is nowhere safe from the guild.”
“We’re not going anywhere, Lad. This is our home.” Forbish took a draught from his tankard, and thumped it down on the table like a magistrate’s gavel. “Nobody runs us out of our home!”
The twins grinned at each other, and even Josie seemed to relax.
Wiggen stepped in front of Lad. “I’m going with you.”
Josie gasped, and Forbish started to protest, but Wiggen just looked steadily into her husband’s eyes.
Lad clenched his fists under the table as fear gripped his gut. “No, Wiggen. You’d be a distraction. They might decide to take you as a second hostage. It’s too dangerous.”
“Too dangerous? You just said it wasn't dangerous.”
“It’s not dangerous for me. If something happens, I can defend myself. They—”
“—can’t touch me.” Wiggen held up her left hand, the guildmaster’s ring glinting on her finger. “And if they try, I’ll kill them! I’ll kill every godsdamned assassin in Twailin to get Lissa back!”
“But they won’t know that they can’t attack you, Wiggen. And if they try, we’ll be forced to fight.” Not just fight, he thought. We’ll have to kill everyone in the room.
“They took my baby.” The razor edge of her voice brooked no argument. “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you! I’m going with you!”
Silence.
The twins looked nervous, and Josie looked scared, but Forbish looked at his daughter with eyes filled with cold, hard pride. There was no arguing with her, and Lad knew it. Besides, Wiggen was right; she was protected from attack, and had already proven that she could do what was necessary. If the masters were stupid enough to bring Lissa, he couldn’t protect her and fight at the same time, but Wiggen could. That might work.
“All right, Wiggen, you’re coming with me, but you’ve got to promise me not to do anything rash. We can’t appear weak, but we’ve got to make them believe that they have us under their control, that we’ll do whatever they want to get Lissa back.”
“Even if we decide otherwise?”
“Especially if we decide otherwise.”
“All right. I’ll do whatever I have to get her back, Lad.”
“I know. So will I.” He picked up a plate and handed it to her. “Eat something, Wiggen. We should leave soon.”
Wiggen took the plate and sat next to Lad. Together, they ate in silence. Though the food tasted like sawdust in Lad’s mouth, he meticulously cleaned his plate. If he had to kill someone tonight, he’d need his strength.
Accounting must have been invented by a sadistic devil.
Hensen blinked to clear his vision, blurry from poring over columns of numbers in his ledger. Guild income and expenditures were complex in the extreme—from professional children beggars and pick-pockets to high-profile lenders of money to financially strapped nobles, from buying information for a heist to fencing the stolen goods—and rife with opportunities for his numerous underlings to skim profits. He had certainly skimmed a small fortune while he was in the ranks. Consequently, Hensen trusted no one but himself
to do the final accounting. This was, without question, his least favorite aspect of his position.
He sneered at the irony of his life. He had learned bookkeeping early in his apprenticeship with the Thieves Guild, assuming that the numeric slog would end when he moved on to bigger and better things. The skills helped him pose as a moneylender for years, a wonderful cover for a thieving operative. But regardless of how high he rose or how interesting the projects, there were still books to be done. He would much rather be out fleecing the populace on a face-to-face basis. He’d especially enjoyed walking the streets, flanked by guards, click-clicking his black sword cane along the cobbles, watching people tip their hats and step out of his way.
So much better than this drudgery.
The knock at the door came as a welcome interruption. “Come in.”
Kiesha entered bearing a silver tray with a carafe and a single glass. The pale wine accented her golden gown and blonde hair perfectly, but her severe expression spoiled the image.
“Bad news?”
“It’s not my place to judge what’s good or bad, sir.” She put down the tray and poured wine into his glass. “The Assassins Guild has made their move, just as Sereth said they would. They’ve kidnapped Lad’s daughter.”
“Hmm.” Hensen accepted the glass from her and inhaled the wine’s delicate bouquet. “No demands yet?”
“No sir, but it only happened a few hours ago. They’ll probably let him sweat until morning.”
“Does the Master Hunter know what’s happened?” He sipped his wine and swished it across his tongue before swallowing. Oak and honey, a hint of fruit and a pleasant aftertaste of apple.
“Yes, sir. She came to the inn. They…” Her mouth pursed in a pensive moue, as if she was considering each word’s potential danger. “They had a disagreement.”
“A disagreement? Mya and Lad?”
“Yes, sir. It was raining hard, and I couldn’t hear it all. Most of it didn’t make much sense. I couldn’t see into the courtyard without exposing myself, but their voices were definitely raised and angry. It may have even come to blows.”
“They fought?” Hensen nearly dropped his wineglass.
“From what I heard, it could have been a fight, but Mya left with no sign of injury, so I must have been mistaken.” She shrugged and bit her lip.
“Hmm.” He put down the wine. “Well, write down all you can remember of their conversation. And contact Sereth to see if he knows where the child has been taken. Wherever that is, I want someone there. Surveillance only, but when this comes to a head, that child will be at the center of it. We have to be poised to keep Lad alive.”
“And the Master Hunter as well, sir?”
“Of course, but focus on Lad.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What news from our operative at the Golden Cockerel? I imagine the place is like a kicked anthill about now.”
“No news, sir. Our intermediary said she didn’t arrive for their scheduled rendezvous.”
“Didn’t arrive?” Hairs rose on the back of Hensen’s neck. “Where the hells is she?”
“We checked her apartment, and she’s not there. No sign of a fight or intrusion.”
Hensen frowned, then stopped himself. Wrinkles were so unsightly. “Any sign that she’s been discovered?”
“No, sir. If she was discovered, she had orders not to allow herself to be interrogated.”
“Yes, I do remember giving those orders.” He once again stopped himself from frowning, and instead picked up his wineglass, swirling the vintage to watch the legs flow down the fine crystal. “We need to find out where she’s gone, but we need to do so discreetly.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Anyone who works on this contract gets the same orders. Nobody’s to be taken prisoner by the Assassins Guild. We can’t let this come back to haunt us, my dear.”
“Of course, sir.”
The wagon creaked and clattered over the cobbles of the deserted streets as Lad flicked the reins to urge the cart horse along. The animal had balked at leaving its warm stall for the harness, and tried to turn into every stable yard they passed. Lad didn’t blame it. The rain kept most people indoors.
But not everyone.
Though his senses were impaired by the rain and the noise of the wagon, Lad knew they were being watched. He had counted on it. He just hoped that their progress from Eastmarket to the South Docks district had been slow enough and obvious enough to allow those who had kidnapped Lissa to assemble. He needed them all in one place.
Finally they pulled up outside the inconspicuous door of an inconspicuous warehouse in an inconspicuous neighborhood. Clasping Wiggen’s hand, Lad helped her down from the wagon and led her toward the door. He could feel her shivering, and wondered if it was due to the chill of damp clothes, or if fear had finally overwhelmed her anger. His own tremors were of a higher pitch, vibrations of singing nerves, artifacts of his heightened tension.
At least, that was what he tried to convince himself.
No fear…
The door opened as they approached, and together they stepped into the dimly lit warehouse. Two armed thugs remained by the door, while another two escorted them without a word to the office where the masters met. The scuff of boots, thuds of heartbeats, rustle of fabric and leather, and the clinks of metal told Lad that at least a dozen assassins lurked in the shadows, ready to pounce if things went awry. He struggled against the murderous impulses that raged beneath his calm façade. They took my child! Violence was not an option as long as the assassins still had Lissa. But if they could just get the baby into Wiggen’s arms, she would be safe. Then he’d be free to release the killer within him.
They stepped through the office door, and Lad assessed his adversaries.
Know your enemy’s capabilities, strengths and weaknesses. Remember!
All four masters were there, which didn’t really surprise him. Add in their bodyguards and the two thugs at the door. Ten against one. In the confined space of the office, where they would get in each other’s way, he could manage those odds, but that was not counting the assassins outside. If all Nine Hells broke loose, he’d have to kill them all quickly.
Neera first. Who knew what mayhem the alchemist could hurl with her potions and poisons. Best to rid himself of that unknown before he found out.
Then Horice. The Master Blade was highly skilled, and the sword at his hip, Lad knew, was enchanted, making him a candidate for quick elimination.
The enforcer or the inquisitor next? Brute force or cunning?
Lad decided on Patrice, not because she might be more dangerous than Youtrin, but because he believed the Master Enforcer to be more of a bully than a fighter. It wouldn’t surprise Lad if Youtrin tried to take Wiggen as a shield. Of course, if he did, then the surprise would be on Youtrin.
“Welcome, Lad.” Patrice rose and gracefully waved to the two empty chairs at the table. “How good of you to anticipate our desire to meet with you. And this must be your lovely wife. Both of you, please have a seat.”
Lad tensed. Neera usually took the lead at meetings. Though demanding and outspoken, she was generally straightforward. Patrice, on the other hand, excelled at verbal sparring, tricking people into revealing what they didn’t want to tell. Although Mya could hold her own against the Master Inquisitor, Lad felt ill at ease in this type of confrontation. He would have to be careful with every word.
Think like an assassin.
“We’ll stand.” He grasped Wiggen’s hand tightly, drawing her close. “We want to see Lissa. Now.”
“We need to discuss a few things first.”
“No.” Show no weakness, no fear.
“What?” Patrice looked at him as if he’d slapped her, then let her astonished gaze circuit the room. “What do you mean, ‘No’?”
Lad drew upon his memories of a thousand meetings he had attended with Mya, some dangerous and some not, and tried to emulate her confidence, her stern demeanor, the cold m
enace she was so skilled at projecting.
“I mean that if you don’t let us see our daughter this instant, I’ll kill each and every one of you, right here, right now.”
He watched them closely, and saw that his threat had the desired effect. Hints of fear rippled through them: Horice’s hand twitched toward his sword, Neera’s shoulder shifted as her hand settled beneath her robes, Youtrin’s scowl deepened, his knuckles cracking under the table. Their reactions weren’t surprising. The masters were unused to being threatened, and Lad knew that his reputation as a killer had preceded him. Only Patrice showed no response.
Wiggen squeezed his hand, the ring pressing his palm. She was ready. He squeezed her hand twice. Not yet. Be patient.
“You’re not that foolish,” Patrice countered. “Kill us, and your wife and child will die.”
“And you’ll be no less dead,” Lad said.
“Cocky bastard!” Horice growled with a glare as sharp as any blade. “Let him see the brat.”
“Very well.” Patrice gestured to the two thugs at the door, and they moved to a canvas-covered shape in the corner of the room. Lad had noticed it when he entered—it hadn’t been there during previous meetings—but didn’t know what it was.
They removed the canvas to reveal an ornate, oval mirror in a free-standing frame. Patrice stepped over to it and touched several spots around the rim. Her reflection swirled and melted like dripping wax, the image finally resolving onto another place, a bare room with wooden walls that could have been any one of thousands in the city.
Lad’s heart sank. Lissa wasn’t here. The masters had outwitted him, abolishing any chance of him rescuing his daughter before he submitted to their demands.
“Kellik! Move into the view of the mirror and show our guests your charge,” Patrice commanded.
A thickset woman clad in leathers moved into view, and in her arms she held a bundle of swaddling blankets. She smiled and tilted the bundle up.
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