“I understand.” Mya handed the letter back, chagrined that she’d been distracted by her own plight, blinded to the apparent enigma of the letter itself.
“Then explain how the Grandmaster managed to send me this letter.”
She shrugged. “He must have a means to send documents quickly, perhaps magic, perhaps mundane. The Grandfather used birds to carry messages.”
“Birds?” He waved the perfectly creased and unmarred letter in front of her. “You think a bird carried this from Tsing?”
“No, Master. It doesn’t appear so.” She swallowed. What did he want from her? “It must have been sent magically. I don’t know how. I can try to find out if a wizard can be contracted to send a letter quickly.”
“Think like an assassin, Mya!” Lad flung the letter onto the desk. “What else does this mean?”
“What else?” Mya bristled at having her own words thrown back at her. She always thought like an assassin. Why was he so angry with her about this? She had nothing to do with the damned letter. Forcing down her ire, she cleared her mind and thought for a moment. An answer snapped to the fore. “It means he has someone watching you, and they have methods of communication way beyond anything I’ve ever heard of. It also means he wants you to know he’s watching you, or doesn’t care if you know. A reminder of his power over you, I suppose. I don’t know what else you want me to tell you.”
“I want you to tell me who’s spying on me, Mya! And I want you to tell me who killed Wiggen before I have to sit in a gods-damned carriage for a month on my way to and from Tsing, just to meet a man who will probably tell me to drop our investigation and concentrate on making money for the guild!”
The desperation in Lad’s eyes belied his angry tone. She looked down, cursing herself for meeting his gaze, knowing it would tear at her heart. He didn’t want pity from her; he wanted answers. Unfortunately, she had none.
“I’ll do whatever I can to help, Lad.” She bit her lip at her slip of the tongue—she hadn’t called him Lad since the night he put the guildmaster’s ring on his finger—but he didn’t seem to notice her lapse, so she forged ahead. “The spies could be anyone, anywhere. In an organization of our size, it would be virtually impossible to find them. Consider Moirin. If Dee hadn’t inadvertently caught her in the act, she would have continued reading my correspondence and reporting to who knows who. We could try leaking misinformation to specific people and wait to see if any of it comes back through the Grandmaster, but that would probably take too long to be useful. It’d be easier to just take strict precautions, restricting vital information to only those you trust.”
Lad arched an eyebrow. “Which leads to the question: who can I trust? ‘There is no one in the world who wouldn’t betray someone with the right incentive.’ Those were your exact words to me not too long ago.”
“In general that’s true. But what I’ve learned over the last five years of running the Hunters is that you’ve got to trust someone or nothing will get done.” She swallowed hard and fixed her eyes to his again. “Master, you can trust me.” There it was. He could take it or not.
Lad stared at her, but did not respond.
Discomforted, she looked away and continued. “As far as the trip goes, I don’t see any way to avoid it. Disregarding the Grandmaster’s summons would only bring you grief…or worse. We’ll just have to find Wiggen’s murderer before you leave.”
“Before we leave, you mean.”
“Yes, of course. We.” It had been an honest mistake. Mya didn’t want Lad to think she was trying to weasel out of the trip.
“Why do you think he wants to meet you?”
“I imagine he wants to know why I’m not wearing that ring on your finger.” The answer came out more acerbic than she had intended. “If he knows I threw his letter into the fire, I’m dead. I only told you about it, but Moirin was reading my mail, so…”
“I won’t tell him you burnt his letter if you don’t tell him I lied about destroying the ring in the first place.”
“I’m afraid he might already know both those things.” At least Lad wasn’t raving any longer. Her willingness to help seemed to have calmed him. Mya laughed without humor. “It could be worse. He could just have us both killed.”
“I’d almost prefer an assassination attempt to a month in a carriage wearing a neck cloth and jacket.” He flipped his lapel with distaste. “Dee told me I needed new clothes for the trip. And if I have to dress like a gentleman, you have to dress like a lady.”
Spies, poison darts, and a summons by the Grandmaster, and he’s worried about clothes? She tried not to think of the trip to Tsing. Though a corset wasn’t comfortable, it beat a dagger in the heart. It would be a sore trial if she endured the former only to suffer the latter.
The chime sounded, and Lem hurried to answer the door.
Sereth kept his attention on his opponent, though his curiosity was piqued. Another new student, maybe. More skilled than this one, I hope. He side-stepped a sword thrust, tapped his foot in a feint, and parried the expected stop-thrust. His riposte was deflected, and the exchanged continued with a quick rattle of steel on steel.
Lem’s voice rose in protest, then quieted. Not a student, then. Heavy footsteps clomped across the wooden floor, and Sereth’s student turned his head toward the interloper. Sereth took the opportunity, lunging full extension to thrust the tip of his sword hard into his opponent’s chest.
“You’re dead, young lord!”
“Damn it!” The boy pressed a hand to the spot, but dutifully lowered his rapier and stepped back, breathing hard beneath his wire mask.
“Never, ever let yourself be distracted while in combat. That’s a quick way to die.”
“Or get your nuts cut off!”
Sereth bristled at the crude comment and yanked off his mask. A burly man wearing the livery of the Royal Guard and a friendly smile stood just off the practice area. Sereth ignored the smile, stifled his response, and turned back to his student.
“That’s all for today, Lord Westin. I think we’re doing well here. You have the basics, but you need to break up your patterns. Mix things up. Fighting isn’t ballroom dancing; if you lead your partner, you’ll get a blade in your gut. And remember: concentration is key to survival.”
“I’ll remember, Master VonBruce. Thank you.” The young noble racked his weapon and accepted Lem’s help with the buckles of his fencing gear.
Sereth racked his practice sword and hung up his wire mask before he turned to face his visitor. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit by the Royal Guard?” He noted the stripes on the guardsman’s collar. “Sergeant…”
“Tamir.” The sergeant extended a hand.
Sereth removed his fencing gauntlet to shake it, and found himself automatically assessing the man. The handshake was firm, but without the undue pressure of intimidation. Scars of experience on the man’s fingers and hand indicated that he was a swordsman, though a cauliflower ear suggested that he wasn’t a stranger to fisticuffs. And despite being shorter than Sereth by several inches, the guardsman outweighed him by at least two stone. But what caught Sereth’s attention was the name—Tamir. This was Norwood’s first sergeant, who, according to Mya, was pursuing the black darts. What in the Nine Hells is he doing here?
“Sereth VonBruce at your service, Sergeant.” He loosened the clips of his plastron, and draped it over the rack. “What can I help you with?”
“I have a few questions, Master VonBruce.” He looked around as if thinking of buying the place. “You just opened this little training school, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did.”
The door chime jingled again as the young noble departed. Lem began tending to the fencing gear. Sereth took no overt notice, but realized that the move put the guardsman between them. Lem was prepared for trouble, and inexperienced enough to precipitate it. The last thing Sereth needed was a dead guardsman on his hands. Not only would he have to abandon the salon, he’d need an entirely new
identity.
“Lem, help me out of my gear while I speak with the sergeant here.”
“Yes, sir.” Disappointment flashed across Lem’s face, but he dutifully did as his master requested.
Sereth turned back to Tamir with a smile. “To answer your question more precisely, Sergeant, I opened the salon just over week ago. Does the Royal Guard now investigate all new businesses?”
“Not all of them. So, you’re new to teaching, eh?”
“No. I sometimes helped train the novice students for my former master.”
“Horice DeVough.”
“Yes.” So that’s it. Someone must have identified me as Horice’s bodyguard. Sereth turned so Lem could unbuckle his practice jacket.
“And Master DeVough died recently, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did.” Sereth wasn’t worried. He had prepared for this possibility, and his answers came easily. The Master Blade shook his head ruefully. “I also worked as his bodyguard, so you can imagine how I felt.”
“Yeah, having a bodyguard didn’t seem to help him much. I take it you weren’t there when it happened?”
“No. I didn’t even know he’d gone out that night.”
“So how did you find out he was dead?”
“When I showed up for work the next day, the household staff told me Horice had gone out and not come back. The following day it was all over the city that he was one of those killed in West Crescent, so I assumed I was out of a job.”
Tamir narrowed his eyes. “Why didn’t the household staff mention a bodyguard?”
Sereth shrugged. “I don’t know, Sergeant. I guess you’ll have to ask them.”
Sereth was, in fact, telling the truth. He had arrived at Horice’s the day after the battle to establish an alibi, but hadn’t been back since. It was curious, though; if the staff hadn’t told the Royal Guard about him, who had?
“I will. So, let me get this straight. He employed you as his personal bodyguard, then didn’t take you along on the night he was killed?” Tamir’s snort of laughter might have been either derision or disbelief. “That was stupid of him, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Did Master DeVough often go out without you?”
“How would I know if he did?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“And you went with him everywhere else?”
“I have no way to know that, either.” Sereth shrugged out of the stifling jacket and wiped the sweat from his face with a towel. “I accompanied Master DeVough a great many places. At least once, I wasn’t there to protect him.”
“And where exactly were you when your master was killed?”
“Home.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“So, you don’t know who he went out to meet?”
“Sergeant, if I didn’t know he’d gone without me, how would I know who he went to meet?” Sereth frowned at the guardsman. The tactic was old and simple; Tamir was trying to trip him up. But Sereth was neither stupid nor unprepared for this line of questioning. “Do you know who killed him?”
“Not yet, but we expect to find out soon. Do you know if DeVough had any business with the master of the Bargeman’s Guild? A Youtrin Dorfino?”
“No.”
“What about a West Crescent madam by the name of Patrice DeLaCourse?”
“Horice did go to West Crescent on occasion. I don’t know that name, but he had a number of…lady friends.”
“Anyone in particular stand out?”
“Not really, Sergeant. They were pretty much all birds of a feather, if you know what I mean.”
“He didn’t tell you about any of these ladies?”
Sereth sighed in feigned exasperation. “I wasn’t his friend, Sergeant Tamir, I was his employee. It wasn’t my job to pay attention to the women he…slept with. It was my job to keep him alive.”
“And you failed, didn’t you?”
“That’s right, because my master was an idiot.”
“That’s not a very kind thing to say.”
“You didn’t know him, Sergeant. Horice wasn’t a very kind person.”
“You apparently didn’t know him very well either if you didn’t know who he was doing business with.”
Sereth barked a laugh. The sergeant was no fool. “You’re right there.”
“And now you’ve got your own training school.” Tamir looked around again. “Must have put you in debt to set this up. Is it paying off?”
“Not yet, of course, but I’ve got other irons in the fire.”
“Oh? And those are…”
“I provide personal security for people who can afford it. You may know some of my clients. Most of them live north of the river.”
“Personal security. Is that a fancy way of saying that you hire out bodyguards?”
“Yes. If you’d like a list of my clients, I’d be happy to provide it.”
“Do many of them know that your former master died because you weren’t there to protect him?”
“I wasn’t there to protect him because he didn’t want me there, Sergeant Tamir.”
“And do you know why he didn’t want you there?”
Sereth rolled his eyes. “No, Sergeant, Horice didn’t tell me he was going out late at night without my protection, why he was going out, or who he was going to meet. If I knew the answers to any of those questions, I’d tell you. I didn’t like Horice much, but I didn’t want him dead.”
“But, because he’s dead, you’ve got this nice business.” One of the sergeant’s thick eyebrows rose.
Sereth narrowed his eyes. “I resent your implication, Sergeant.”
“Was I implying something?” Tamir’s look of surprise was so utterly false that it would have gotten him a round of laughter had he been on stage.
Sereth didn’t laugh. “I gained nothing from Horice’s death except the impetus to strike out on my own. I now earn less, work harder, and am obliged to rely on my reputation with the young gentlemen who are my students, a reputation that you probably just damaged by barging into my school in the middle of a session.”
“Don’t take offense, Master VonBruce. I’m only trying to solve a murder here. Several, in fact.”
“I wish I could help you, Sergeant.” Sereth put everything he had into the lie. Fortunately, years as a spy within his own guild had prepared him well.
“Very well then, Master VonBruce.” Tamir sketched a short bow just a shade away from mockery. “Good luck with your new business. I hope the personal security you hire out are better at keeping their charges alive than you were.”
Sereth was too experienced to fall for Tamir’s provocative taunt. “Lem, show the good sergeant out. We’re done here.”
Tamir smiled, nodded once, and left.
As the ring of the door chime faded away, Sereth heaved a sigh, pleased with the way the interview had gone. There was no way he could be connected with Horice’s death.
“Clean up here, Lem. I’m going home.”
“Yes, Master.”
Sereth changed his shirt and donned his jacket and weapons, all the while deep in thought. He found it interesting that Tamir was investigating both the Fiveway Fountain killings and a black dart that apparently matched the one that that had killed Lad’s wife. Of course, that was where she was killed. Had more darts been fired that night? Regardless, Lad would want to know about Tamir’s visit.
As Sereth left the studio, he considered Lad. At their meeting yesterday, the guildmaster had appeared distracted, though no less committed to finding Wiggen’s killer. Even desperate.
I can’t blame him. Sereth’s mood plummeted as he considered his own plight, and his pace quickened. At least Jinny’s alive. But for how long, if she remained hostage to Hensen’s growing demands?
Two days, and still no word from Kiesha… They weren’t taking his ultimatum seriously. They’d called his bluff, but they
didn’t know that Sereth wasn’t bluffing. Come hell or high water, he was going to get his wife back. And if Hensen wouldn’t give her back, Sereth would just have to take her.
Chapter VI
Kiesha lurched out of a fitful sleep, the screams from her nightmare fading into the chiming of a bell. It was the smallest of the three bells beside her bed, high-pitched and harsh, announcing a visitor at the door. A glance at the clock on her dresser told her that this wasn’t a social call. It wouldn’t be the first time one of her spies arrived late with urgent news. Blinking away sleep, she pulled on a robe as she trundled downstairs.
At the bottom step, she jolted to a stop. “Sereth!”
The assassin squared off with Jamesly, the night butler, his arms crossed, a determined look on his face…and all his weapons in place. Jamesly looked equally determined, and well he might. He had orders that Sereth wasn’t allowed one step further into the house without disarming. Neither man appeared ready to relent.
At least he’s alone, Kiesha thought as she noted the bolted front door. Even if a dozen Blades lurked outside waiting for Sereth’s signal to storm the house, they would find no easy access. Every door and window was secured with deadly traps, and Jamesly was much more than a butler, capable and deadly, and within arm’s reach of the bell pull that would summon the house guards. The master of the Thieves Guild didn’t sleep unprotected.
Cinching the belt of her robe tighter, she stepped forward, but stopped well out of the assassin’s reach.
“Good evening, Sereth.”
“It will be if I leave here with my wife. Now, get Hensen.” He issued his command without taking his eyes off Jamesly.
So, it’s to be another bout of impotent insistence. Hensen had been right; Sereth was upset, but not suicidal. She could deal with this. “I’m sorry, Sereth, but Master Hensen isn’t available right now. If you want to talk, just hand your weapons over to Jamesly, and we’ll talk.”
“I’m through talking to you, Kiesha. It gets me nowhere.” He stepped toward her, but Jamesly moved between them.
Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy) Page 8
