Three steps and a perfectly timed leap put his foot on the carriage step and his hand on the door handle without any jostle to alert the driver. The latch turned easily—Vehicles rarely have locks. Remember!—and he was inside, a flicker of shadow in the darkness. Norwood only had time to draw a breath before Lad’s hand clapped over his mouth, pressing his head back hard against the cushioned seat. The captain reached for the dagger, but Lad plucked it from the sheath before he could touch it.
“Quiet, Captain!” Lad pitched his voice low to prevent the driver from hearing. The hissed command, or perhaps the dagger he held up before the captain’s face, ceased Norwood’s struggles. “I have questions for you about Baron Patino’s murder. As before, I’ll provide what information I can in return. If you call out, I’ll vanish, and you’ll get nothing. Nod if you understand.”
The fear and anger in Norwood’s eyes evolved into recognition and frustration. But there was curiosity there, too, and after a moment, he nodded.
“Good.” Lad released his hold on the captain’s mouth and, as proof of his sincerity, returned the dagger hilt first. “Please put that away.”
“Don’t you ever use a godsdamned front door?” Norwood snatched the dagger and jammed it into its sheath, his eyes flinty before widening with realization of what Lad had said. “Wait! How did you know Patino was murdered? I’ve kept that a secret!”
Lad sat down across from the captain. Already he’d learned two important details: the baron’s death was, in fact, murder, and Norwood knew it. “I knew he was murdered because I know what he was involved in that got him murdered. What I need to know is how he was killed.”
“If I tell you how he died, you tell me what he was involved in.”
Lad considered for a moment, then said, “Very well.”
“Patino was killed with magic.”
That caught Lad off guard, but the darkness and the cloth over his face hid his surprise. Kiesha might be a thief and an assassin, but by all accounts, she was no mage. “Why do you think it was magic?”
“The duke’s wizard told me. Apparently, Patino’s soul was harvested…by a priest.”
Lad thought about it. He wasn’t religious, but living in a city with temples dedicated to nearly a dozen gods, one was accustomed to seeing their devotees everywhere. They had access to places laymen didn’t. It would be a good cover for an assassin. But that didn’t answer the Kiesha question. “He’s sure it was a priest?”
“Or priestess, yes. He was sure it was divine magic, not arcane. Death was painless and instant, so it looked natural.” Norwood’s eyes narrowed. “So what was Patino involved in to get him murdered?”
“He contracted some people to interfere in the recent war between the Assassins Guild factions. One of those people killed…someone very important to me. The assassin’s vanished, but we discovered a link to Patino. It seems likely that the baron ordered the killing.”
“Son of a…” Norwood’s jaw clamped down hard on the curse. “What motive would he have to get involved in your guild war?”
“I have no idea. Do you know if Patino was connected to any organizations that might have an interest in the Assassins Guild?” If he was killed by a priest, maybe he was involved with a cult. Bemrin probably has spies in half a dozen temples. Maybe he can unearth something.
“I’m working on getting information about the baron’s associations, but it’ll take time.”
“How much time?”
“I don’t know. The inquiry has to travel to Tsing and back.” Norwood shrugged and glanced out the window.
Was that an evasion? Lad clenched his teeth. “That could take weeks. I don’t have weeks, Captain.”
“Then look for yourself!” Anger flared in Norwood’s eyes. “I don’t work for you!”
Lad gauged Norwood carefully. The man could only be pushed so far before he clammed up completely. “I’ll make you a deal, Captain. If you agree to share whatever you learn about Patino with me, I’ll respond in kind.”
Norwood glared for a few moments, seeming to fight an inner battle, then finally relented. “Fine.”
“Very well. The black darts that were used in the Fiveway Fountain killings were also used to kill my…friend. The person who fired those darts worked with Patino. We discovered the dart maker, but he’s dead and the murderer has vanished. Now Patino’s dead. I thought she might be covering her tracks by killing Patino, but magic is not her method.” At least not that we know of. What other secrets might Kiesha have been hiding from her father? An association with a mysterious cult?
“Her? The assassin is a woman?”
Damn! Lad had not intended to give up that bit of information. “Yes.”
“Her name?”
“I’m sorry, Captain, but I can’t tell you that.” If he provided Kiesha’s name and Norwood found her first, Lad might be cheated of his vengeance.
“You said Patino contracted someone to interfere in your guild war. Who did he contract?”
Lad wasn’t about to give him Hensen’s name either, but he had to give the captain something. “As strange as it sounds, the Thieves Guild.”
“You’re telling me Baron Patino transacted with the Thieves Guild?” Norwood frowned. “I need a name to confirm this.”
“I can’t give you a name. It would…complicate things.” But if I ever have to eliminate Master Hensen, I now have a means.
“You’re not giving me much to go on.”
“And you’ve given me even less, Captain.”
The carriage lurched as it rounded a corner, and a glance confirmed that this was Norwood’s street. They didn’t have much longer.
“So now both of us have more questions than answers.” Norwood cursed under his breath. “Marvelous!”
“We both have one more thing than we had before.” Lad hunkered back into the shadows as the carriage slowed. “You know Patino had some link to organized crime, and I know how he died, which changes my theory on who killed him. It also suggests that there might be a third party involved in this.” If Kiesha hadn’t killed Patino, then why was he murdered? Did this negate the connection between Wiggen’s death and Patino, or just make it more convoluted? Lad had a lot of thinking to do.
“All right.” Norwood begrudged him a nod. “If I find out anything out about Patino, I’ll…hang a white handkerchief from my bedroom window, and you can get in touch with me. Just try not to scare the shit out of me next time.”
“Fine. Goodnight, Captain.”
Lad watched as Norwood exited the carriage, called out, “Regular time tomorrow, Sergeant!” to the driver, and stomped up the walk to his townhouse.
But can I trust him? How much of what Norwood told him was true? He had no way to tell. He’d gotten good information from him in the past, and in the end, Lad had no choice but to trust the captain.
Lad settled against the carriage door, one hand on the handle, intending to hop out at the first shadowed corner. He watched Norwood unlock the townhouse door as the carriage lurched into motion. The captain stepped inside, highlighted by a lamp in the front hall. Then, as he turned to close the door, a dark cloud formed behind him, coalescing into a robed figure with one luminous hand outstretched.
No! As the townhouse door swung shut, Lad moved.
“Cocky son of a bitch thinks he can pop in whenever he wants…” The irony of actually working with the Assassins Guild to try to solve a murder didn’t escape Norwood, but he felt that the ends justified breaking the rules in this case. He’d obtained invaluable information. Knowing that Patino was involved with organized crime changed the whole focus of his investigation.
Despite the success of the encounter, Norwood’s hands trembled as he worked the key in the lock. The speed and strength of his visitor had shaken him badly. Had he grown so slow in his years behind a desk that an assassin could disarm and subdue him so easily?
The latch clicked, and he stepped inside, cringing at the aroma of boiled meat and cabbage filling the a
ir. It was the cook’s night off, and his wife had made dinner. Contemplating another tasteless meal followed by a night of indigestion, he swung the door closed. As he threw the heavy deadbolt, the light of the hall lamp wavered, and the scuff of a boot on the carpet behind him caught his ear.
A visitor? Nobody ever greeted him at the front door when he arrived, not even those two flea-bitten dogs. Curious, Norwood turned, and the keys fell from his grasp.
A crimson-robed figure strode forward, face hidden within a deep cowl. His glowing outstretched hand, like a grim harbinger of death, shocked Norwood into action. The dagger he’d tried to draw in the carriage leapt into his hand, and he slashed. The blade sliced across the outstretched palm, and the hand snapped back. A curse escaped the dark recess of the hood.
Norwood tried to step back, but in turning, his feet crossed. He tripped and fell against the door, the heavy brass hinge gouging him between his shoulder blades. The cloaked figure resumed its advance, the pearly glow that engulfed the outstretched hand now tinged red with blood.
Magic! Norwood recalled Woefler’s phantasmal hand and dire words—I could use this spell to reach into your chest and grasp your heart. He reached for his sword, but the long blade was caught between his backside and the door. He couldn’t free it without moving dangerously close to that deadly spell.
The door slammed open without warning, flinging Norwood aside like a rag doll. The ensorcelled hand missed him by a hair’s breadth. He hit the wall hard, but managed to keep both his dagger and his feet, despite being rattled by the impact.
A figure burst through the shower of splintered wood, a blur of black in the lamplight. Impossibly fast, a foot lashed out to strike Norwood’s assailant precisely at the elbow. The joint snapped with a sickening crunch, the impact spinning the crimson-clad attacker around. Another curse, or perhaps some dark invocation, hissed from beneath the hood. Shattered arm pressed to his abdomen, Norwood’s assailant backed away.
“Who are you?”
The assassin from the coach advanced, his voice edged like a razor. Norwood would have asked the same question had his mouth not been as dry as a desert. He settled for drawing his sword.
“The right hand of death!” The words seemed more of a threat than an answer. With one unintelligible word, darkness writhed about the assailant’s uninjured hand, spreading swiftly to engulf him.
The captain’s savior struck again, so fast that Norwood could barely follow the movement. His foot lashed through the swirling darkness, scattering tendrils like blown smoke, but struck nothing. There was nothing left to hit.
“Damn!” The assassin turned to Norwood, the light of the hall lamp striking him fully in the face. Though the dark cloth concealed most of the man’s features, a curious pair of mica-hued eyes reflected the light. “Did he touch you?”
“No.” Norwood shook his head and regained his composure. “No, I managed to keep him off me until you…arrived.” He looked at his dagger. The tip bore a tiny streak of blood. Not so slow after all, he thought with satisfaction. “We both marked him.” He wiped his dagger clean on his jacket and sheathed his weapons.
“I believe we’ve just met Patino’s killer, Captain.”
“You think?” A harsh, nervous laugh escaped his throat. “And now I know how he got into the baron’s home. This hall was empty when I opened the door. He must have popped in just like he popped out.” He remembered Woefler’s little trick in his office. Evidently priests could do it, too.
“And he obviously wants you dead. The question is, why?”
“Dear, is that you?”
The feminine voice from the back of the house spun the assassin around, and he started for the door. “Be careful, Captain. You’ve drawn the attention of some very deadly people.”
“Wait!” Norwood felt the need to say…something. After all, the man had saved his life. “I…um… Well…thank you.”
“Thank me by staying alive, Captain. Someone knows you’re looking into Patino’s murder and doesn’t like it.”
“Right.” Norwood blinked, startled by the suddenly empty doorway. The man was there, then he wasn’t.
Other thoughts quickly distracted him. That someone wanted him dead was troubling enough, but that someone knew of the murder investigation was even more disconcerting. Besides himself, only Master Woefler and Duke Mir knew that the death had been murder. Where had the leak occurred? Then he realized that at least one more person knew: the man who had just saved his life.
“What in the names of all the Gods of Light… What happened to the door?”
Norwood turned to find his wife standing in the hall, her hands clutching a sodden dishcloth, her face livid. Turning, he examined the shattered casement. The two-inch deadbolt had been knocked from the frame, leaving a sizable divot in the oak beam and scattering splinters down the hallway. The door itself, also solid oak, was split its full length. He stared for a moment, trying to reconcile the force it would have taken to do such damage.
Who the hell is this assassin?
“I…It was an accident, my dear.”
“An accident? The door is ruined!”
“Just some ruffians trying to break in, but I ran them off,” he assured his wife. “Don’t worry. I’ll have the door fixed tomorrow.” He swung it closed, but it didn’t fit well. He settled for hooking the security chain. “I’ll nail a board across it for tonight.”
“Ruffians? In this neighborhood?” His wife’s face paled. “What’s this city coming to?”
“I ask that question every day, my dear.” Norwood shook off his dire thoughts and turned to her. “Now what is that luscious aroma coming from the kitchen? Did you have dinner catered by a master chef again?”
“Did I…” She blinked at him, taken aback by the change in subject. “Oh, stop it! Come eat before it gets cold.”
“Of course, my dear.” Norwood hurried to comply. The only thing more daunting than being attacked by one assassin and rescued by another was his wife’s potato-cabbage stew gone cold.
Chapter XIII
With all the comings and goings lately, the neighbors will think Lad’s quite the socialite.
Mya mounted the steps to his house, diligently practicing her lady-like stride and feeling silly in her new dress. She planned a foray into Hightown after the meeting, and wasn’t about to go all the way back to the Cockerel to change. The dress was more comfortable than her old one, thanks to Bemrin’s tailor, but the light blue color clashed with her red hair. Never trust a journeyman Hunter to pick out a dress for you.
“Miss Mya.” Dee met her at the door. He didn’t comment on the color of her dress, which was very politic of him, not to mention healthy. “The others are already in the study.”
“Thank you, Dee.” She lowered her voice. “I know Lad didn’t take the news about Patino well. How is he doing?”
Dee’s look of startlement took her aback. Then she remembered how closely he had kept her confidences when he was her assistant. His loyalty was to Lad now.
“Never mind. It’s not my business.” She started past him. “Forget I asked.”
Dee held out a hand to forestall her passage and lowered his voice to a bare whisper. “Please, Miss Mya, I know you’re worried. He…didn’t sleep at all last night, and he didn’t want breakfast this morning. Something’s really got him worked up.”
“Thank you.” The look on Dee’s face told her that she wasn’t the only one who cared about Lad. Mya followed him down the hall, deep in thought. She hoped one of the other masters had good news. Her Hunters had made no progress tracking Kiesha.
Dee opened the door to the study, and she found herself in the company of the other masters and Lad. Thankfully, Hensen wasn’t here. She’s been surprised to see the master thief sipping tea at Lad’s table the previous morning, and felt no small amount of relief that he hadn’t been tortured. But why was only Sereth in on the interrogation? Maybe she’d just have to ask Sereth.
“Mya, sit down.�
� Lad paced like a caged wolf, his bloodshot eyes darting around the room at every turn. “We’ve got a lot to discuss.”
“Yes, Master.” She settled onto the divan and said casually, “Oh, Dee, would you bring in something to eat? I missed breakfast putting on this ridiculous outfit.”
Dee raised his eyebrows at her request, then his eyes lit in understanding, and he nodded. “Of course, Miss Mya.” He ducked out of the room.
“You need a lady’s maid, Mya.” Bemrin brushed his silk brocade jacket with a practiced gesture. “I find my valet indispensable.”
“The last thing I need is a—”
“Talk about your servants some other time,” Lad ordered, his eyes raking over them all. “I met the man who killed Baron Patino last night.”
That brought them all up short.
“The man?” Mya gaped at Lad in surprise. How had he discovered the killer when all her Hunters and Bemrin’s Inquisitors couldn’t? “I thought Kiesha killed him.”
“We were wrong about that.” Lad resumed pacing.
“So, he really was murdered?” Bemrin’s brows arched skeptically. “All my people were able to get from the Royal Guard was that Patino died of natural causes.”
“I have my own informant, and if he says that Patino was murdered, then he was murdered.”
He went to Norwood again! Mya wasn’t really surprised.
“How did you find him?” Jingles asked. “And more to the point, where is he now?”
“I didn’t find him. He tried to kill my informant, and I had to intervene.”
That’s not good, Mya thought. If an assassin was desperate enough to try to take out the captain of the Royal Guard, things had just stepped up a notch.
Lad stopped pacing and faced them. “That was right after my informant told me that Patino was killed with magic, by a priest.”
“A priest?” Sereth asked with a furrowed brow.
“Yes. And the attacker last night certainly wielded magic.” Lad paused as the door opened.
Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy) Page 18
