Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy)

by Jackson, Chris A.

  Back at his house, the idea seemed feasible. Now Lad was having doubts again. “You’re sure someone will answer? It’s well past midnight, and there are no lights.”

  “I’m sure, sir,” Sereth assured him. “Remember, the butlers wear daggers under their jackets, but this late, there might be a regular guard on duty. Whoever it is, don’t let them pull on a bell rope.”

  “I remember.” Lad glared at the Blade. “And you remember: don’t kill anyone unless it’s absolutely necessary. I don’t want to start a guild war if I can avoid it. We’re here for information, not blood.” The blood would come later, once he knew exactly who was responsible for Wiggen’s death. Kiesha may indeed have fired the lethal dart, but under whose orders?

  The distant click of metal on metal caught Lad’s ear. He tapped Sereth’s shoulder, and they edged further back into the shadows of the manicured hedge. A moment later, a squad of city guardsmen rounded the corner and strolled past. In this upscale district, patrols were frequent.

  When they’d gone, Lad whispered, “Your people are in position?” Another of Sereth’s suggestions; Blades had been assigned to watch all possible exits, with orders to capture anyone who tried to escape.

  Sereth checked his pocket watch. “They’re ready, Master.”

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  Lad and Sereth crossed the street and approached the house from an oblique angle. Lad strolled casually, his senses on high alert. Though he detected no shifting shadows or subtle noises that might indicate Thieves Guild watchers, he couldn’t detect their own people either. Walking in the open made his skin crawl. Lad left Sereth before he could be seen by anyone peering out through the front door viewing glass, and sidled up beside the door with his back against the wall.

  Pressing an ear against the doorjamb, Lad listened; breathing, a single heartbeat, and the scuff of a boot on a rug. Someone paced inside, probably trying to stay awake and alert.

  Sereth walked right up to the viewing glass and rapped the polished bronze clapper three times. Lad held up a single finger and pointed to the door. Sereth nodded minutely.

  Another boot scuff from inside, just beyond the door now. The guard was undoubtedly examining the late-night visitor through the glass. Sereth held his hands up in a submissive gesture. He’d told Lad of his failed attempt to forcefully rescue Jinny. Hopefully, Hensen would be more eager to continue receiving intelligence from his spy than to ban Sereth from his house.

  Four bolts clacked open, and a complex locking mechanism clattered before the heavy door opened. A length of a thick-linked brass chain stopped it from opening more than three inches. The voice from inside sounded tired and irritated.

  “What is it, Sereth?”

  “I need to talk to Kiesha.”

  “She’s sleeping. Come back in the morning.”

  Lad tensed as the door started to close, but Sereth stomped his foot between the door and frame.

  “Of course she’s sleeping, Worton. The whole damned city’s sleeping! I’d be sleeping if I had any choice in the matter, but your master made it quite clear that I do my job…or else.” Sereth fingered his broken nose and huffed in annoyance. “If you don’t let me see Kiesha, I guarantee that Hensen will have your balls in his egg cups for breakfast, not mine.”

  “Don’t threaten me.”

  “Get Kiesha, and if you’re too timid to wake her, go get Terrence or Jamesly and let them take the heat.”

  Worton paused for two heartbeats before relenting.

  “All right, but don’t think you can pull the same shit on me that you did on Jamesly. And you’re damn right I’m gonna wake Terrence. Wait there while I ring him.”

  “Wait out in the street for another City Guard patrol to come by? Are you daft?” Sereth glanced up and down the street nervously. “I’ll wait inside, or I’ll come back midmorning, and you can explain to Hensen why he didn’t get my report sooner!”

  “Fine!” The man sounded irritated, but resigned. “Move your foot so I can let you in.”

  Sereth complied, and the door closed. The chain rattled, and the door began to open again.

  Lad moved in a blur. This part of the plan they agreed on. Their first priority was silence. He thrust the door open with one hand and smacked the edge of the other into the guard’s throat just below the larynx. The blow wasn’t lethal, just enough to stun and silence any cry for aid.

  Worton stumbled back and raised a crossbow. As his finger tightened on the trigger, Lad plucked out the bolt, flipped it, and poised the tip an inch from the startled guard’s eye. The crack of the empty crossbow was no louder than the bronze door knocker.

  “One word and you’re dead!”

  Ignoring the menace, the man dropped his crossbow and tried to bat the bolt away while reaching for his sword with his free hand. Sereth lunged to catch the crossbow before it could clatter to the floor. Lad thrust the bolt through the guard’s sword hand, kicked him squarely in the crotch, clapped a hand over his mouth, and caught him before he fell to the floor. Sereth closed and bolted the door, then lay the crossbow aside.

  They were in.

  Lad kept watch as Sereth gagged and bound their captive. The guard’s moan seemed loud to his hypersensitive ears, but he detected no disturbance in the farther reaches of the house. Glancing back, he watched Sereth finish the knot in Worton’s gag, then stand and draw two daggers. The Blade nodded toward the stairs.

  Lad silently led the way, Sereth’s tread barely audible as he followed. The low light of ornate wall lamps illuminated their passage. Pausing at the second floor landing to listen, he heard nothing to indicate that an alarm had been sounded. They continued up. At the third floor, they stopped again. To the left, double doors at the end of the hall led into Hensen’s bedroom. Ahead, along the front of the house, was Hensen’s office. The two doors down the hall to the right were unknowns.

  Never leave a potential threat behind you. Remember!

  Lad pressed an ear to the office door and each of the unknowns in turn, but heard nothing. His heart sank a little; he’d hoped that Kiesha slept behind one of them.

  Not that easy…

  Lad turned to Hensen’s door. Pressing an ear to the thick oak planking, he discerned two muffled heartbeats and light, regular breathing. He held up two fingers to Sereth and pantomimed sleep. The Blade nodded.

  The ornate brass thumb latch above the handle depressed with a quiet click, but the door didn’t yield to gentle pressure. Lad released the latch and withdrew a set of fine picks from a pocket. He didn’t often practice lock picking, but he also didn’t lose skills once they were learned. Lad remembered every lesson he’d ever been taught as if they had taken place yesterday.

  The picks ticked against the double rows of tumblers, an intricate lock indeed, but hardly beyond his skill. When the last tumbler clicked into place, the deadbolt turned easily. Lad carefully rewrapped the picks and slid them back into his pocket. This time when he depressed the latch, the door swung silently in on its hinges, but stopped suddenly when a restraining chain came taut. The clatter of the chain wasn’t loud, but the easy cadence of breathing inside the room changed. Either Hensen or his companion had awakened. Stealth had just been superseded by the need for haste.

  Lad reached through the gap in the door, grasped the chain, and pulled.

  Metal and wood screeched, but he was through the portal in a flash, taking in the entire room in one sweeping glance.

  The woman sprawled on the near side of the huge bed was just waking, and posed only an inconvenience rather than a threat. Sereth would deal with her. On the far side of the bed an older man, presumably Hensen, stretched out a hand. Whether he was reaching for the sword propped against the nightstand or one of the three bell ropes that dangled beside the bedpost, Lad didn’t know. All he knew was that he had to stop him.

  Three steps and Lad leapt over the bed. His outstretched hand snatched Hensen’s wrist, but too late. The master thief’s fingers were already closing on the
nearest of the three bell ropes. Lad’s momentum not only jerked the man right out of the bed, but also wrenched the bell rope right out of the wall. Lad landed and flipped Hensen facedown onto the floor, pinned his arms behind his back, then lifted him to his feet.

  Sereth had the startled woman’s face pressed into a pillow to stifle her protests. “He pulled a bell rope?”

  “Sereth?” Hensen peered across the bed toward the Blade’s voice, squinting in the dim light. “Again? I already told you—”

  “Quiet!” Lad twisted the thief’s pinned arms, not enough to pop a shoulder out of the socket, but enough to elicit a gasp of pain.

  “Guards will be here in about thirty seconds.” Sereth whipped a short piece of rope around his captive’s wrists, tied it tight, and let her go. “Don’t scream, miss. You’re boyfriend has already called in his goons.”

  “Bastards!” the woman spat as Sereth got up to close and lock the door. She rolled over and glared at each of them in turn, apparently unconcerned with her state of undress. “Don’t people ever get tired of barging in on you, Henny?”

  “I’m sorry, my dear, but—”

  “I said quiet!” Lad twisted Hensen’s arms again. “Both of you.”

  If the woman’s eyes had been daggers, Lad would have had his hands full dodging them.

  “You shut up or you get gagged. Your choice.” Sereth withdrew another length of cord from a pocket.

  She glared at him, but remained silent.

  “Thought so.” The Blade drew the blanket up to cover her, and turned to Lad. “The other night there were six guards: two crossbows, four swords.” Picking up the daggers he had dropped to tackle the woman, he flipped one for throwing. “Dead or alive?”

  “Your choice, Hensen.” Lad spun the master thief around to face him. A chill gripped his gut as he recognized the man’s face. He’d seen it in the Tap and Kettle late one night not long ago, had even served the man a glass of wine.

  They were spying on me, even then. The chill wrenched him hard at his next thought. He knows where my family lives! Lissa!

  Hensen must have seen the pending violence in Lad’s eyes, for his pupils dilated, his face flushed, and his heart raced. His outward countenance, however, remained calm and composed. Master Hensen, it seemed, was a very cool-headed thief.

  The pounding of boots on the steps snapped Lad back to task. Hensen’s guards would be there in seconds. “Do we kill your guards or not?”

  “I’d prefer that you didn’t, of course. Good help is so hard to find.” He rubbed his shoulder and gestured to the silk robe hanging on a hook beside the nightstand. “Might I put on a robe?”

  Cautious of hidden surprises, Lad reached over and lifted the robe off the hook. After a quick search, he handed it over. “If you try anything, I’ll break your leg.”

  “I would not be so foolish, Lad.” Hensen donned the garment with exaggerated care. “May I call you Lad, or do you prefer Guildmaster?”

  “Call me what you like.”

  The pounding of boots halted just outside the door, and the doorknob rattled. A knock accompanied an urgent, “Are you all right, sir? You rang the bell!”

  “Invite them in, and tell them to put their weapons on the floor,” Lad instructed. “If they don’t do as you say, I’ll kill them.”

  “Very well.” Hensen cleared his throat. “Basil, I have guests who are very upset. You and your people will come in and place your weapons on the floor. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lad nodded to Sereth, who flicked the dead bolt and backed away, daggers poised. The latch clicked, and the door swung open. Five guards entered, four men and one woman, two with loaded crossbows.

  “Where’s the sixth?” Lad demanded.

  “You tell me. Worton was assigned the front door.”

  Lad ignored Hensen’s snide manner, his gaze fixed on the guards. The leader returned the scrutiny, his eyes narrowing as they roved over Lad, undoubtedly noting his lack of weapons. The corner of his mouth twitched and his knuckles whitened on his crossbow, and Lad knew he was contemplating violence.

  So was Lad.

  “Put your weapons down this instant!” Hensen ordered, his voice suddenly hard.

  “Listen to your master,” Sereth warned from behind them, his daggers poised to throw.

  The guards slowly lowered their weapons to the floor. Sereth kicked the blades and bows out of reach, and pulled the daggers from their belts. Finally, he frisked them, retrieving three more daggers.

  “Now lie down,” Lad commanded.

  “Do as he says,” Hensen insisted.

  The guards did as they were told, but not without considerable reluctance.

  “We should have brought more rope.” Sereth jerked one of the pillowcases free from the bed, and began cutting off strips of the shimmering silk.

  “I must say that you surprise me, Lad,” Hensen said as Sereth bound his guards. “I didn’t think you’d go to war for a traitor. Taking me prisoner won’t get Sereth his dear wife back, you know. In fact, it will only get her killed.”

  The man’s nonchalance piqued Lad. “We’re not here just for Sereth’s wife, Hensen. We’re here for Kiesha. Where is she?”

  “My assistant?” The bewilderment on Hensen’s face looked genuine, but the minute blood vessels around his irises dilated involuntarily. “Why would you—”

  Lad’s hand shot out, his fingers pressing on the fragile cartilage of the master thief’s larynx. “Just answer my questions or I’ll start removing pieces of you and nailing them to the wall. Where is Kiesha?”

  The muscles of Hensen’s throat flexed under Lad’s fingers. Fear finally registered in the man’s eyes. “I don’t know. I didn’t see her come in tonight, but she should be in her room.”

  “Where’s her room?”

  “Second floor, east wing, end of the hall. But I don’t—”

  “Come on.” Lad released Hensen’s throat and propelled him out of the room with an arm twisted behind his back. The time for questions would come later. Right now, they had to find Kiesha before she managed to escape. Sereth followed silently, daggers at the ready and looking like he’d enjoy putting them to use. The master thief chattered on, his casual tone belied by the tension Lad could feel in in his gait.

  “I don’t know what Sereth has told you, Lad, but let me assure you that he would say anything to get his wife back. He’s completely beyond reason, you see. He barged in here not long ago and had to be restrained. Kiesha has nothing to do with—”

  “Quiet!” Lad emphasized his order with a careful twist of Hensen’s wrist. “Kiesha has everything to do with this!”

  Hensen shut up.

  They descended the stairs swiftly and proceeded down the hall. Lad squeezed Hensen’s arm in warning, then gestured Sereth toward the designated door. A dagger in one hand, the Master Blade carefully turned the knob, and the door swung open without resistance. The glow of a guttering bedside lamp revealed a small, plain room. The bed was empty and tidily made up, but there was a clothespress big enough to conceal a squad of guards inside. Sereth crept toward it, clasped the handle, and yanked it open. Finding it overflowing with dresses, he shook his head. Dropping to one knee, he glanced under the bed. Again, nothing.

  Kiesha wasn’t there.

  Lad gritted his teeth and propelled Hensen into the room, leaving the door open so he could see down the hall. They hadn’t checked all the rooms and he didn’t want to be blindsided.

  “Search everything.” As Sereth began a more thorough search, Lad backed Hensen against the wall. “Where is she?”

  “I honestly don’t know.” The thief rubbed his wrist. “Nor do I know why you’re interested in my assistant.”

  Lad pinned him against the wall by the throat. “I’m interested because Kiesha killed my wife!” He tightened his grasp until the man’s eyes bulged. “And you ordered it!”

  “I…didn’t!”

  “Master!”

 
; He turned to see Sereth standing beside the bed. “She hasn’t been here. The sheets are cool. And if you kill him, we’ll never find her or Jinny.”

  Sereth was right, of course. Lad released Hensen’s throat and caught up the front of his robe. “You’re going to start talking right this moment, Hensen. Explain to me why my wife was murdered, and you might die easily.”

  Hensen coughed, cleared his throat, and took a deep breath. “Kiesha was only trying to protect you.”

  His last shadow of a doubt vanished with the thief’s words. Kiesha was not only Wiggen’s killer, but also Lad’s protector. “Who ordered her to protect me? You?”

  “Well, yes, I assigned her that task. I received a contract to protect both you and Mya. The death of your wife was an unfortunate accident. Kiesha thought another assassin—”

  “Bullshit!” Lad pinned Hensen to the wall again, pressing hard on his chest. He felt the ribs sag under the pressure. “The fight was over when she killed Wiggen! Nobody could have mistaken her for an assassin! Tell me the truth! Who ordered Kiesha to kill my wife?”

  “I…” Hensen struggled to breathe, and Lad eased the pressure, allowing him to talk. “I did not, and Kiesha wouldn’t—”

  “Master.”

  Sereth held a long, flat mahogany box, the lid tilted open. Inside, a blowgun of matte black metal and dark ebony nestled in the soft velvet lining, beside it a row of familiar black darts. A flat brown glass bottle and dropper sat in a separate recess. Even without opening it, Lad knew it contained white scorpion venom. Without a doubt, this was the weapon that killed Wiggen.

  “Master, something doesn’t make sense.” Sereth gestured at the overflowing drawers and clothespress. “If she left, she went without taking many of her clothes. And if she was covering her tracks, leaving the blowgun and darts behind was stupid. And Kiesha isn’t stupid.”

  No, things weren’t making sense, and it frustrated Lad to no end. He turned back to Hensen. “I’m going to ask you one more time. Why did Kiesha kill Wiggen?”

  “I don’t know.”