“Pardon, milady.”
Mya stepped back to avoid the dust of a street sweeper as he worked his heavy broom along the gutter. She hurried along, trying to remember if she’d ever seen anyone sweeping in Westmarket. Generally, the poorer classes just hoped for rain to wash the offal and dirt down to the river. Mya didn’t visit Barleycorn Heights often, but she was getting to know the neighborhood better. Lad’s new home stood less than a block ahead, one of a row of stately graystone townhouses. As she approached, three carriages pulled up in front of the house, right on time.
A wry smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she guessed which carriage belonged to which Assassins Guild master. The gaudy gold filigree had to be Bemrin, the new Master Inquisitor. The flashy bastard dressed like a court dandy and strutted like a cock of the walk. The plain black carriage with polished brass lanterns could only be Master Alchemist Enola. For some unfathomable reason, Enola had begun wearing all black.
Could she actually be mourning Neera? Mya shuddered with the memory of the bestial form Neera had assumed during their final battle. At least Enola seemed to be saner than her predecessor.
The last of the three, a common hackney that wouldn’t have drawn a second glance anywhere in the city, would be Jingles. He, at least, knew the value of discretion. Fortunately, carriages of all types rattled around the streets here, so none drew more than a passing glance.
Deathtraps. Mya chose to walk, despite the dress and uncomfortable shoes she wore to blend in with the gentry. Her gifts blocked fatigue and pain, and Lad had taught her to shun carriages. Old habits died hard.
Movement drew her eye—Sereth, striding out of the nearby side street. He, too, had chosen to walk. Spotting her, he nodded in recognition and altered course.
Mya analyzed him as he approached. Like most successful assassins, Sereth wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. Of average height and build, his jet-black hair and olive skin indicated Morrgrey ancestry, which was common enough in Twailin. He wore nondescript clothing, neat and well-made. A rapier hung from his hip with professional ease, as befitted an up-and-coming fencing master. A passerby would never detect the daggers secreted in his boots and sleeves, though Mya had no problem. She, too, carried blades ingeniously secreted in her clothing.
“No bodyguard?” she asked as they fell into step. “After working so long for Horice, I thought you’d want someone watching your back.”
“I don’t have any enemies.”
Was that irony or a joke? Sereth wasn’t naïve enough to think they didn’t all have enemies aplenty. She noticed that he didn’t ask why she didn’t have protection of her own. Of course, he’d seen her rise from a death-stroke and join Lad in the slaughter near Fiveway Fountain. That he walked beside her now without flinching either spoke well of his courage or branded him a fool.
She tilted her head toward the other masters mounting the townhouse steps, each accompanied by a bodyguard. “Evidently, you and I are the only ones who don’t.”
“Evidently.” Sereth nodded absently. “Any progress?”
“Some.” She fingered the vial in her pocket and considered what Crumly had told her.
“Did you get Jingles’ note?”
“Yes.” The news of Lad’s execution of Yance had struck Mya like a blow. The Lad she knew would never have murdered someone like that. But then, this wasn’t the Lad she knew. “Lad’s…in a dangerous state of mind.”
Sereth’s harsh bark of laughter caught her off guard. She glanced at him, but he just shook his head. “You have a gift for understatement.”
“Nice of you to notice.”
“Right.”
When they reached the steps, Sereth gestured for Mya to precede him.
Gallant or paranoid? she wondered. Regardless, she climbed the steps without a backward glance. She had nothing to fear from Sereth. She could kill him before his dagger even cleared its sheath.
Dee met them at the door, looking dapper in a tailored jacket and cravat, the perfect image of a wealthy gentleman’s assistant. He had good taste, and had always been after her to upgrade her own quarters and wardrobe, to no avail. It seemed he had finally found a situation where he could exercise his talent for elegance.
“Hello, Dee. You’re looking well.”
“Miss Mya. I’m doing well, thank you. The guildmaster keeps me busy.” He smiled, but the dark circles under his eyes suggested that his new position wasn’t all silk sheets and roses.
He waved them into a broad, dark-paneled hall that ran the length of the house. To the left, beside a wide staircase to the second floor, sliding doors opened into a parlor. To the right, similar doors opened into the dining room. Hardwood floors gleamed underfoot, and silver vases of fresh flowers adorned every tabletop. The other masters also looked around curiously.
“You’ve done well with the house.” Bemrin scrutinized the elegant décor with an appraising eye. “Masculine with a hint of nouveau riche. The guildmaster will have beautiful young gold diggers beating down his door in no time.”
Mya glared at the tasteless remark; Lad’s wife had been killed only weeks ago. Dee’s appalled expression surprised her, however. He had never shown any particular liking for Lad. Why now? Then she remembered Moirin. The woman had been a spy, but she’d also been Dee’s lover. Her death had apparently affected him deeply enough for him to empathize with Lad.
“This way if you please, masters.” Dee resumed his expression of blank attentiveness and led them down the hall. He opened a door at the end into an airy library. The room boasted bookshelves on two walls, portraits on a third, and windows that looked out onto the landscaped garden behind the house. Blooming shrubs colored the view, and ivy climbed the high brick walls that ensured privacy.
Lad stood before the windows, gazing outside. Unmoving, he seemed to be either lost in thought or intentionally ignoring his guests. He was the only man Mya knew who could look graceful standing still. She felt a faint flutter in her chest. Every time she saw him, she felt the same conflict—her heart hadn’t caught up with her head yet. She hid her consternation by inspecting the room.
The bookshelves were filled with leather-bound classics. The portraits were of stern-faced men and genteel women who bore a vague resemblance to Lad. Dee had done well, indeed. A visitor would assume they were the young gentleman’s ancestors. Lad, of course, had no living forebears that he knew of.
Something we’ve got in common, Mya thought, though for different reasons.
The chime of Jingles’ ridiculous bracelet caught Mya’s ear, and she glanced at the Enforcer. He was nervous, but that was no surprise. They all had good reason to be nervous. None of them knew why Lad had called this meeting.
“The masters are here, sir,” Dee announced, his voice oddly loud for the enclosed space.
Lad stirred, his shoulders stiffening slightly. “Good.” Turning, his eyes flicked over each in turn.
Mya tried not to fidget under his scrutiny. She knew he saw more than most. What does he see in me? Could he see her fear? Could he smell it, as she smelled the fear from Enola and Jingles? How did he feel about being the cause of that fear?
“Sit down.” Lad nodded to the plushly upholstered chairs circling a low table, but didn’t take one himself. He looked oddly uncomfortable, as if his clothes didn’t fit properly. Mya suddenly realized why. Everything—Lad’s clothes, the room, the entire house—was perfect; it was Lad that didn’t fit.
The masters all took seats. Enola descended stiffly into the nearest chair, sitting like a puppet with over-taut strings, her dark cloak drawn around her like armor. Bemrin flounced onto the divan with no small measure of grace, crossing his legs and looking to his master with an open expression, fearless in his ignorance. Jingles sat at rigid attention, twitching his wrist just enough to make his bracelet jingle. Sereth was the enigma. Mya had never seen him show fear, even the moment after Lad had killed his former master, but the Blade was neither cocky nor stupid. He seemed to face every situation
with the practiced poise of a veteran warrior going into battle, ready to face death at any moment. He took his seat, perfectly at ease, focused, and calm.
Did he learn that from serving the Grandfather? Mya sat beside Bemrin on the divan.
Dee sat at a small desk, took up a leather-bound ledger, and started scratching notes.
Lad stood like a statue, surveying them with eyes like chips of mica. “I want to know how things have been progressing in both business and the investigation. I’ve read your reports, but I want to hear it from you. Jingles, you first.”
With a quick jingle of his bracelet, the Master Enforcer began. “Things have quieted down since our little discipline problem. The message you sent has been understood and accepted. The City Guard is still crying and moaning about us cutting off their bribes, but we’re telling them to piss off. As long as we keep the really illegal stuff out of sight, we’ll be fine. There’s some squabbling on the fringes of the Docks District—a couple of The Sprawls gangs trying to horn in on our territory.” He shrugged as if the young thugs were of no consequence. “We’re telling them to bugger off as politely as possible.”
“Have you considered trying to recruit them? Having eyes in The Sprawls might help us find Wiggen’s killer.”
“Yes, Master, but they’re an independent lot.” Jingles glanced to Sereth and jerked his left hand in a practiced flip. Jingle jingle. They all knew the Master Blade’s origin, and that he didn’t like to be reminded of his youth. “In fact, more than one has told us to bugger off. It probably wouldn’t be worth the trouble. Our operations in the South Docks District are going well. As to the investigation, I’ve got every cutthroat and loan shark south of the market districts chasing rumors. So far, nothing.”
“Keep working on the gangs. Tell whoever will listen that we’ll pay for information about anyone who had contact with the former masters, or anything concerning me or my family. And keep chasing rumors.” Lad’s eyes flicked to Jingles’ left. “Enola?”
“Business is virtually unchanged, Master.” Her voice barely reached the corners of the room, and her eyes remained fixed on her lap. “The poison from the dart is nothing special. White scorpion venom. You can get it in any one of a dozen shops, including mine. The dart itself is quite a piece of work: spring loaded. It delivers a huge dose of the venom.”
“Then whoever used it must have purchased a lot of the venom. Find out who bought large quantities of that poison.” He looked to the Master Inquisitor next. “Bemrin?”
“Business is booming, Master.” He grinned broadly, one bejeweled hand sweeping in a foppish gesture worthy of the duke’s court. “I’ve got my girls and boys busy in every parlor, bedroom, backroom, and alley both north and south of the river. Gossip and gold are flowing like wine. You have my report on the financial aspects, of course. As far as rumors go, everyone seems to think the disreputable elements of Twailin killed each other off in one big, bloody battle, and everyone’s safe now.”
“Are any of those rumors helping our investigation?”
“Not directly, Master, but there is plenty of chatter.”
“Stop chasing gold and start chasing rumors. You’re supposed to be an Inquisitor. Start asking questions!”
Bemrin’s were the only shoulders that didn’t tense at the frustration in Lad’s voice. “Rumors it is, Master!”
Is he really that oblivious? Mya wondered.
“Sereth?”
“My new fencing salon is progressing about as well as expected, for the short time I’ve been at it. Clients are enrolling slowly but surely. As you know, I’m also running a security business. Vetted security personnel is the idea. Aside from the income, they’re well placed to hear rumors, or spread them for that matter. Other than a few outside contracts for muscle, intimidation, or outright assassination, business is more legal than illegal, so we’re not drawing much attention. As to the investigation, I’ve little to report. Blades simply aren’t trained for ferreting out secrets. It’s not our bailiwick. I’ve got those working as bodyguards listening and asking questions, but I don’t want to provoke suspicion. It’s been suggested”—he glanced sharply at Bemrin—“that I bring an Inquisitor into the fencing salon to ply the young lordlings for information, but I’d rather not risk my public identity.”
“I agree. Any discipline problems?”
“None whatsoever, sir.”
Mya noted the faintest relaxation of Lad’s posture, a lessening of the wrinkles that seemed to perpetually crease the corners of his eyes nowadays. She suspected that Yance’s execution had taken a toll on him, and that he was relieved to not have to repeat the lesson. With the rumors that must be flying around the guild about him after the Fiveway Fountain massacre, she was surprised anyone had been stupid enough to flout his authority in the first place.
“Good.” Lad turned to the Master Hunter. “Mya?”
“Business is virtually unchanged, since we instigated these practices years ago. And my people know you, so there’s no problem with sedition.” Mya pulled the vial holding the dart from her pocket. “I did find out something about this, however.”
“The crafter?” Lad’s face lit up with eagerness.
“No, Master.” She hated to dash that glimmer of hope, but she’d been convinced that Crumly didn’t know who had made the darts. “Nobody I talked to had ever seen anything like this. But one old clockmaker told me that the Royal Guard has been asking the same questions I have. They evidently recovered an identical dart from somewhere, and they’re looking for whoever made it.”
Lad’s eyes narrowed. “And have they made any progress?”
“I have no way to know, Master.” She looked toward Bemrin. “We might be able to find something out between the sheets, if you want to go there.”
“Bemrin?”
“I’d be happy to try, sir.”
“Do it. Find out where they got that dart and if they’ve found its maker.” Lad’s eyes snapped back to Mya, a pair of needles that pierced her to the core. “Who was asking the questions?”
“A sergeant named Tamir. He’s Norwood’s number one.”
“Norwood…”
For a moment Lad’s eyes took on a faraway look, and Mya’s heart sunk. Gods, not again! Lad’s first visit to the Royal Guard captain had seemed foolhardy; repeating the stunt would border on insanity. She opened her mouth to warn him, but then clapped it shut. Lad didn’t know that she had discovered his nocturnal visit to Norwood; telling him now would earn her no favors. Thankfully, Lad’s gaze had drifted to a spot on the rug. He hadn’t noticed her expression of concern.
Everyone sat perfectly still, waiting for their master to resume the conversation, but he didn’t. Lad seemed utterly lost in thought, but no one dared interrupt. Bemrin shifted in his chair, and Jingles and Sereth exchanged glances. Even Enola looked up to see what she might have missed, before dropping her eyes once again to her lap. The silence dragged on, broken only by the mantel clock chiming the quarter hour, and still Lad remained focused, oblivious to their growing discomfort.
This isn’t like him at all. Lad was the most attentive human being Mya had ever met. When they walked the streets of Twailin together, he would react to the drop of a coin a block away.
Dee cleared his throat loudly, and Lad’s head snapped up like a bird dog attending a flushed pheasant. He blinked and looked around, almost as if he’d woken from a dream.
What the hell…
“Yes… Yes, do that. Mya, you work with Bemrin. Start with someone who works under this Sergeant Tamir.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Business is going well, so no changes there, but I find that I’m pressed for time.” Lad began to pace, his words clipped. “The investigation has to be concluded quickly. I expect you all to push forward on this. Money, pressure, use whatever means are necessary to follow a lead. If it comes to violence, clear it with me personally first.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Good. Mya, I need to
talk to you. The rest of you can go.”
What the… Fear gripped Mya. She watched helplessly as the others stood and left. Dee shot her a sympathetic glance as he closed the door on his way out. She stood and clenched her hands behind her back, facing her master, but kept her eyes fixed on the top button of his shirt. She didn’t dare look into his eyes.
Lad held out a hand. “Give me the dart.”
Fishing the vial out of her pocket, she put it in his hand without a word. Her fear eased a trifle. Of course, he needs it to take to Norwood.
“I received a letter that concerns you.” He pocketed the vial as he strode to the desk. When he returned, he held out an envelope. “Read it.”
The familiar press of black wax sent a shiver down Mya’s spine. Her heart sank when she recognized the embossed crest and scrawled signature on the letter.
I warned him that there would be repercussions…
Then she read, “Master Hunter Mya Ewlet will accompany you to this meeting,” and her mouth went dry. Oh, gods… Memory flashed, and Mya saw the Grandmaster’s letter burning in her hearth, crumbling to ash. She had literally thrown his offer in the fire, refused to accept the guildmaster position. Now she would pay for her fear-driven actions.
Mya’s mind buzzed with possibilities, potential actions, and consequences as it always did when she faced mortal peril. She couldn’t fight, couldn’t flee, and knew perfectly well what a meeting with the Grandmaster could mean. Her death loomed large before her eyes.
“How could he know so fast?”
“What?” The question caught her off guard. “Know what?”
“I received that letter this morning, one week after I sent him a letter announcing my assumption of the guildmaster position.” Irritation edged his voice, and his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “My letter should only be arriving in Tsing right now, and yet we already have his reply.” He flicked the envelope in her hand. “He addressed it to my assumed name, which I’ve only had for three days. And before you ask, the answer is yes, the seal is genuine.”
Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy) Page 7
