Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy)

by Jackson, Chris A.

  “Stay here,” Sereth ordered his bodyguards. “I want a private word with Jinny.”

  “Yes, sir.” They folded their arms to wait. They knew he wasn’t going to go traipsing off alone.

  At the top of the stairs, Jinny met him with worry in her eyes. “What is it?”

  “Lad’s leaving Twailin.” Sereth took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm his whirling thoughts. “He’s going to Tsing to meet the Grandmaster. Leaving in two days.”

  “That’s a long trip.”

  “Yes. Two weeks each way.”

  Jinny gripped his arm. “Sereth, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, Jin.” He smiled at her and almost laughed at the irony. “He’s leaving me in charge of the guild while he’s gone.”

  “He’s…what?”

  Sereth unrolled the note again and read aloud. “You will act as interim guildmaster in my absence. Upon my return, you will resume your duties as Master Blade.”

  Jinny’s grip tightened. “Sereth! That’s…” She faltered, then said, “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah! Yeah, it’s good.” He smiled weakly and patted her hand. “I…I just didn’t expect it.”

  “Why not? You’re a master. That means that you’re good at your job.”

  “Yes, but think about it, Jin. This shows that he trusts me.” Sereth shook his head. Lad had already trusted him to keep the secret of Hensen’s contract with Patino. Though he was curious about why Lad wanted to keep it from the other masters, he wasn’t about to violate that trust. Sereth owed Lad more than he could ever repay.

  “Well, then he’s smarter than I thought he was.”

  Sereth stared at Jinny in surprise. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, I know we owe him our lives, Sereth, but he just seems a little…I don’t know. Odd, I guess.”

  “He’s been through a lot, Jin.” He squeezed her hand, impulsively pulled it up to his lips and kissed her fingers. More than I ever want to go through.

  “Day after tomorrow? He’s got to be kidding!” Mya reread Lad’s note and cursed beneath her breath.

  “Problem, Miss Mya?” asked her new assistant, Geltin. He was no Dee, but he was learning.

  “Hells yes, there’s a problem.” She dropped the letter and leaned back in her chair, her dinner suddenly unappetizing. “I’m leaving for Tsing in thirty-six hours.”

  “That’s…a problem all right.” Geltin’s eyebrows arched. “Want me to call in your senior journeymen?”

  “Yes. I’ll have to put Pictor in charge until I get back.”

  “That’ll make his day.” Geltin chuckled and scratched notes in his book.

  “Well, Sereth is going to be acting guildmaster while Lad and I are gone, so that’ll un-make it.” For some reason, Pictor didn’t like Sereth. Mya mused on Lad’s decision. It didn’t really surprise her; of all the masters, Sereth seemed to be the most forthright and stable. After Sereth found out about Kiesha, Lad had been relying on him a lot. She felt a stab of anxiety.

  Leaving in two days… Two weeks alone in a carriage with Lad.

  Pushing away from the table, she stood and stared into the cold hearth, forcing her mind back to the task at hand. She had a lot to do before they left. Why the sudden rush? Not that she had a choice, of course. She had to go. She was a slave, after all.

  “Send a reply to the guildmaster. I’ll be ready. That’s all for tonight, Geltin. We’ll finish the rest in the morning.”

  “Yes, Miss Mya.” Geltin picked up his things and left without another word. At least he’d learned her moods well enough to know when not to argue. Her two bodyguards moved to follow as she keyed the hidden latch that opened the door to her subterranean abode. Her safe place.

  Hardly safe anymore since the whole damned guild knows about it. It had been a thin deception anyway, and there had been no way to flout Lad’s orders about keeping the Enforcers at her side.

  “Come on.” They followed her through the portal, glow crystals brightening their way as they descended into the apartment. The place was clean and quiet, as always. Paxal saw to the former, and Mya saw to the latter. One Enforcer stood beside the stairs in the main room, while the other followed her wherever she went. The only time she had any privacy was when she bathed and dressed. She wasn’t about to let them see her tattoos. There were enough rumors about her already.

  Mya went to her bedroom and opened the expansive clothespress, picking out the things she would pack. Traveling dresses, shoes, pajamas…

  Nearly a month alone with Lad…

  As the Grandmaster stipulated in his letter, they’d be posing as a couple to minimize suspicion. That meant sharing a room. A warm sensation trickled down her spine and centered in her stomach, igniting a sweet fantasy in her mind’s eye. She’d once crouched in the rain and watched through a fogged window as Lad and Wiggen made love. She imagined herself there, feeling his touch, taking away his pain, being with him…

  Maybe…maybe it could happen…

  Oh, stop it! She threw a few more outfits onto the bed. Everything was ready except for her formal dress and a corset she was having altered. Bemrin’s tailor had promised them soon.

  I’ll be damned if I’ll leave before they’re done!

  Mya sighed and looked at the pile of dresses, wishing she could travel in pants and shirt. I’m going to need two trunks to carry all this! Not only would she be uncomfortably clothed, but they’d be sitting in a coach all day with nothing to do but watch the scenery go by. She’d have to bring something along to keep her mind busy, keep her from dwelling on the fact that she was alone with Lad. Maybe some books… She had shelves full that she never had time to read.

  Striding out into the main room, still trailed by her bodyguard, she began selecting books from the shelf, piling them on the spare chair. When she’d picked out a score, she reviewed her selections, putting some back and picking others. Finally satisfied, she stepped back, frowning at the stack resting on the chair’s plush cushion.

  For the first time, Mya wondered what had possessed her to furnish this place so elaborately. She hardly ever used the divan, and no one had ever sat in the spare chair. She’d created a private sanctum, and furnished it like she was expecting company.

  Wishful thinking? The thought recurred to her: Two weeks alone with Lad… Mya bit her lip, closed her eyes and remembered that night in the rain again.

  It could be me. It should be me…

  Her fantasy died a premature death as she recalled Lad’s words… There will never be anything between us but business… They plagued her night and day, a constant reminder of her utter folly.

  Don’t be stupid, Mya. She went to her desk and sat, intending to immerse herself in work. She had plenty to do if she was leaving in two days. Two weeks…alone with Lad.

  Love is a weakness.

  Chapter XV

  Driver!” Norwood thumped the roof of the carriage. “Left at the crossroads!”

  “What?” Tamir snapped out of his doze and blinked. His bleary eyes were drawn out the window to the passing crossroad signs. “Why are we turning? Mountainview’s to the right.”

  “I know.” It was time to spring the surprise on Tamir. They were more than a day out of Twailin, and there was no chance of a careless word being overheard and spread. “We’re not going to Mountainview. We’re going to Farthane.”

  “Captain, I don’t…” Tamir nudged Tango aside to better see out the window as the carriage made the turn. The wind caught a thick streamer of white spittle dribbling from the mastiff’s drooping jowl and splatted it onto Tamir’s shoulder. “Godsdamned slobbering hound!”

  Tango just stared at him and panted, enjoying the breeze on his face.

  Tamir leaned out again and looked back as the carriage behind them, also emblazoned with the crest of the Twailin Royal Guard, stayed on course to the right. “Where are they going then?”

  “Mountainview. Corporal Donnely has his own orders.”


  “Orders?” Tamir looked perturbed. “Pardon my askin’, sir, but what the hell’s going on?”

  “We’re going to Farthane to catch an assassin, Tam.”

  The sergeant’s eyebrows shot up. “What assassin is that?”

  “The one who murdered Baron Patino, then tried to kill me three nights ago.”

  Tamir scowled, then looked at Tango and Brutus taking up more than their fair share of the seats, and realization dawned on his face. “Thought there was somethin’ strange about you suddenly bringing a couple of dogs with you everywhere. Why’d you keep it quiet?”

  “It’s a long story, Tam, and now that we’re out of Twailin, I can fill you in.” Norwood related the whole story, from Woefler’s discovery of the murder to the decision to keep it quiet and set a trap for the killer. It was a relief to finally get it off his chest. He didn’t like keeping secrets from Tam. To his credit, Tamir didn’t take his exclusion personally. “So, we’re setting up a trap, and you’re going to be a big part of it.”

  “Okay.” Tam looked at the two dogs again. “Why the canine cadre?”

  “Because dogs don’t like magic, and the assassin we’re after reeks of it.”

  “So, you’re going to sic these two on him when he pops in? That ought to startle him, but how do you plan to catch someone who can disappear in a puff of smoke?”

  “With this.” Norwood reached into his pocket and withdrew a thin golden chain. He wrapped one end around his hand. The other end dropped to the floor of the carriage, twitching like a snake. The two mastiffs growled at it. “Woefler loaned it to me.”

  “Magic, huh?” Tamir looked at the length of chain skeptically. “What’s it do?”

  “It keeps our assassin from disappearing in a puff of smoke.”

  “That’s all?” Tamir’s face scrunched in a scowl. “It doesn’t keep him from killing you, too?”

  “No. I’m hoping Tango and Brutus will distract him long enough for me to get this thing around an arm or leg. That’s all it takes to keep him from escaping. It sticks when it’s flicked against something living. I’ve practiced with it. It’s not hard to use.”

  “And how do you plan to keep him from killing you?”

  “The usual.” Norwood patted the sword at his side. “If he can’t escape, I can put a blade to his throat. That ought to persuade him to come quietly.”

  “And if he doesn’t come quietly?”

  “Then I put a blade through his throat.” Norwood coiled the chain and put it in his pocket. “I want him alive, but I’ll settle for dead. The important thing is, if he shows up, we’ll know there’s a spy in the Imperial Palace.”

  The sergeant’s eyes widened. “The Imperial Palace! A little out of our jurisdiction, ain’t it?”

  “We’re the Royal Guard, Tam. If the Imperial Palace isn’t royal, then I don’t know what is.”

  “Okay.” Tamir scratched his jaw and frowned. “So, tell me about this trap we’re settin’ up.”

  “We’ll need to enlist the help of the estate manager, but it’s important to keep things quiet. This is what I want you to do…”

  Lad worked a finger under his cravat and tugged to loosen it slightly. He’d only had the thing on for ten minutes, but it already felt as if it was choking him. Or maybe it was the course of action he had chosen that felt like hands tightening around his throat.

  Leave Twailin…

  The notion of wasting an entire month traveling to Tsing—before he found Kiesha, before he knew who was truly responsible for Wiggen’s murder, before he had answers—infuriated him. Unfortunately, Kiesha was the one with the answers, and she had vanished.

  Lad gripped the balcony rail and gazed out at Twailin, his city. He’d spent a quarter of his life here. He knew every street, alley, shop, and warehouse, but even with the entire Assassins Guild and a good portion of the Thieves Guild searching for the Hensen’s daughter, he’d been unable to find her. No blood, no body, no trace...no answers.

  Who wanted Wiggen dead? He twisted the ring on his finger. This has to be the part of the answer… He’d been over it a thousand times, and it always came back to the ring.

  I put it on her finger. He clenched his fist on the ring until his knuckles ached and his hand trembled. I wanted to protect her, and I killed her.

  “Careful with that!” Mya’s acerbic tone drifted up from the street below. She was in a foul mood, probably irritated at the short notice for their trip.

  Well, she’ll just have to get over it.

  A knock interrupted his thoughts, and Dee entered the room.

  “Miss Mya’s here, Master.”

  “I heard. I’m coming.” Lad looked out over the city once again, scanning the tumbled conglomeration of rooftops lit by the morning sun. Five blocks west of the Eastmarket wall, he picked out the distinctive roof of the Tap and Kettle. Smoke wafted out of the chimney, and he could almost smell the fresh-baked bread, feel the bustle of the inn coming to life, hear the sweet gurgles of a baby waking. Lissa… The clean smell of her hair, the soft clenching of her tiny hand around his finger… Gods! He swallowed a lump in his throat. He longed so deeply to see her, touch her, that his chest ached.

  I will see her again… He might never be able to be her father, but he vowed to watch her grow up, if only from afar. He couldn’t risk putting her in danger, but he could catch glimpses of her. It’s better this way. He tried to reconcile himself to that unbearable thought. Forbish and Josie would raise her well. Tika and Ponce would watch over her as protective uncles. They’d love her as she deserved to be loved. As he couldn’t…

  Lad turned away before he lost himself in thought, and followed Dee from the room. His two bodyguards thumped down the stairs behind them, incongruously loud compared to their master’s silent tread.

  “Master…” Dee overcame his hesitance after a moment. “May I suggest that during your trip you…be more clumsy, or at least less light on your feet? You don’t want to draw unwanted attention.”

  Lad wasn’t used to using a disguise. He chalked the advice up as one more thing he had to do to make his alternate identity realistic, and adjusted his steps to make more noise. It felt strange, just like the clothes, the shoes, the house… At the front door, Dee held out a walking stick—a tapered length of beautiful dark wood topped with a gilded handle shaped like a bird’s head—and a top hat.

  “No.”

  “Sir, please.” Dee looked determined.

  “No, Dee. I absolutely refuse to wear the hat.” The jacket, waistcoat, tie, trousers, and hard-soled shoes were oppressive enough. Why gentry thought it necessary to dress in such finery just to sit in a carriage all day mystified him. “It’s stupid! I’ll wear the rest, but I draw the line at the hat.” He snatched the cane and refreshed his gentlemanly persona in his mind.

  He’d been trained for stealth, not deception, but he had been taught to observe, to pick out minute details, look for anomalies in behavior, speech, and manner that might indicate a hidden threat. Now he used all he had learned from watching the moneyed gentry of Twailin. Casual steps, head high, loose stride, easy manner, tap-tap of the cane on the steps; a perfect gentleman.

  His trunk was already secured aboard the carriage, a huge conveyance built for comfort. A matched team of four horses stood patiently in the traces, hooves clacking on the cobblestone street. Mya’s two Enforcers were finishing with a pair of larger trunks from her hackney, securing the last in the carriage’s covered boot under her scrutiny. They’d only be taking three Enforcers with them: one as driver, two posing as their servants.

  Mya turned at his approach, and Lad was struck again by how strange she looked dressed as a gentlewoman, rather than in her usual trousers and shirt. Today she wore a russet-colored traveling dress, nothing fancy, but still incongruously feminine. The corset gave her a much more pronounced figure, pinching her slim, athletic shape into an hourglass.

  That can’t be comfortable.

  She stopped, noting his scrutiny
. A small hat topped her short red hair, and she peered at him from behind a lacy veil. “What?” She walked over with a sway to her hips and a bounce to her gait that she hadn’t possessed before.

  “Nothing.” A pair of ladies strolled toward them, curious eyes drawn to the activity. Lad tried to appear casual, wondering what a gentleman would say to a lady in an instance like this. He had no idea. “You look…very nice this morning.”

  Mya opened her mouth to say something, but then caught sight of the passersby. “Thank you.” She raised a hand to adjust his cravat. “So do you.”

  Lad stifled the urge to bat her hand away, and forced a smile of his own. “Ready?” He held out an arm as he’d seen gentlemen do, and gestured to the carriage door.

  “Yes.” She took a breath and let it out slowly. “Yes, I am.”

  The hand she put on his forearm trembled. Was she nervous or frightened? Why? The passing ladies were obviously no threat. Maybe she was just as reluctant as he to board the conveyance.

  They nodded to the inquisitive ladies as they passed, and Lad opened the door to allow Mya to climb in first. He knew Dee had already checked it for hidden dangers, but his long habit of caution chafed at his forced calm. Two weeks in this travelling coffin…

  “Be careful, sir.”

  Lad turned, surprised by the note of concern in Dee’s voice. How strange that this unassuming man appeared to truly care for him. Previously, when they both worked for Mya, Dee had barely acknowledged Lad, much less shown any indication that he liked him. And yet, since becoming his assistant, Dee had helped him immeasurably, and Lad had repaid him with a short temper and sharp words. It seemed unfair now.

  “Don’t worry, Dee.” Lad gave him a smile. “Thank you for…everything. I’ll see you in a month or so.”

  “Very good, sir.” Dee smiled, bowed, and stepped back, the very image of propriety.

  Lad boarded the carriage and settled into the thickly cushioned seat across from Mya. Despite the spacious cabin and the breeze wafting in the open windows, the walls seemed to close in around him, the air heavy. He tugged at his cravat and swallowed, his breath coming short. The carriage lurched into motion, the noise of hooves and iron-rimmed wheels on the cobbles masking the sounds of the city. Blind, deaf, and confined to a box… Lad’s knuckles whitened on the head of his cane.