From Kittal’s Midtown apothecary, she had taken a carriage to the Heights where the Master Inquisitor posed as the proprietress of an elegant bath house. Inhaling the heady aromas of exotic oils as she followed an attendant through the establishment, Mya had wished she could slip into one of the baths and float among the lotus blossoms, or have a massage to loosen her tense muscles. One of the disadvantages of being covered neck to wrist to ankle in magical runic tattoos, however, was that she could never bare her skin to anyone.
Master Inquisitor Lakshmi surprised her. A gracious older woman with a maternal air, she had received Mya with seemingly genuine hospitality, the golden sequins on her sari swaying gently as she personally poured tea into shallow ceramic bowls and offered Mya sweet cakes on a silver platter.
The hospitality had shattered when she said, “I wish you the best of luck, but I’m afraid that until Lady T identifies you as our new Grandmaster, I can’t even consider helping you.”
It all boils down to Lady T. Mya had given the woman three days to get the word out, and she had apparently done nothing. Mya couldn’t tolerate that degree of insolence. It was time to confront this problem.
By the time she reached Lady T’s neighborhood, the late-afternoon sun tinted the buildings a golden hue, casting deep shadows between them. She strolled by the house, stopping some way beyond to drop a copper into the outstretched cup of a young beggar.
“Anything to report, Digger?”
“The lady went out this afternoon in a carriage. Hasn’t come back yet.”
“Black-and-white horses pulling it?”
“Yeah.”
Mya fumed. She wanted to get this over with. “All right. When she returns, fetch me at the café two blocks down the hill. Where’s Gimp?”
“Out back. Look under the bushes.”
“Got it.” Mya continued on, turning at the corner to go around the house.
The entire back of the mansion was lined with manicured bougainvillea, their inch-long thorns a formidable barrier against prowlers. Surely the girl wouldn’t try to hide beneath those; she’d be torn to shreds. Mya strolled on, scanning the shadows. At the end of the block, across the street from the back of Lady T’s house, she spied a short wrought-iron gate that opened into a courtyard garden. Beneath one of the two lush shrubberies that flanked the gate hunkered the girl with a twisted leg. Mya would have missed her if she hadn’t known what to look for.
Stopping to lace her shoe, she winked at the girl. “See anything good, Gimp?”
“Aye, miss,” the girl whispered. “I seen the lady at them windows there earlier, and then a carriage leavin’. Careful, there’s two watchmen inside the carriage gate.”
Mya glanced to the wide, wrought-iron gate that undoubtedly led to Lady T’s inner courtyard and stable. Two thick figures lounged against the sides of the arch, one smoking a pipe. Sloppy, but good for me. She gave Gimp directions to the café, finished with her shoe, and headed for a well-deserved cup of blackbrew and a sweet roll.
As the day settled into evening, Mya’s head buzzed with blackbrew, and her teeth felt sticky from the sweet pastries. She wished she’d brought something to read, but she hadn’t expected to have so much free time to sit and stew in the juices of her frustration. Finally the bang of the door and the plaintive voice of a street urchin announced her deliverance.
“Got any stale buns?” Digger caught her eye.
“Get out of here!” The shopkeeper rounded the counter, but Digger was already out the door.
Leaving a coin on the table, Mya went out into the darkening street. Digger shuffled away, then turned into an alley. Mya followed and pretended to twist an ankle at the corner of the alley.
“She’s home.” he announced.
“Alone?”
“Yep.”
“Good.”
Mya headed toward Lady T’s house. Crossing the last street, she heard the twitter of a bird—Gimp—though she couldn’t remember what the particular call meant. Circling to the adjacent block, she hopped a low gate on the opposite side of the courtyard garden and flitted through the shadows to where Gimp crouched.
“Gimp, what did you see?”
The girl blinked at Mya’s surprise arrival, and whispered through the gate. “The carriage came back, then the lights in that room started actin’ funny.” She pointed a grimy finger to a third-floor window at the back of Lady T’s house. “Them ones, where I seen the lady before.”
“Funny how?”
“Watch… There!”
The light behind the gauzy curtains faded, then brightened, as if someone inside turned the lamp down, then up again.
“That is odd. How many times has that happened?”
Gimp looked down at her fingers, folded three down. “Maybe that many. Seven.”
Mya patted the girl on the shoulder. “I’m going up there. You keep watching, and do your bird whistle if you see anyone coming around.”
“But how are you—”
“No questions, Gimp. Just watch.”
“Yes, miss. Careful. Them two are still watchin’.” Gimp pointed to the carriage gate.
“Thanks.”
Mya was no burglar, but she knew how to case targets. Looking up at the illuminated windows, she gauged the angle to the carriage gate. The watchers inside the gate wouldn’t be able to see the back of the building, but they could certainly see the street, so she couldn’t just dash across from here. If she approached along the thorny hedge, the angle and the shadows should conceal her.
The first-floor windows were dark and barred, but the second- and third-floor weren’t, with jutting stone sills and lintels. Mya plotted her path up the side of the building, thanking Lad once again for showing her exactly what her magically enhance strength and coordination could accomplish. She felt another pang at the memory of their brief time together; platonic though it had been, she had felt a synergy with him that she had felt with no other human being.
Stop it! Focus!
Mya backed into the deep shadows of the garden, stripped down to her wrappings, and hid her clothing and shoes beneath a bush. Her pale face and hands might be a problem, but she had no way to darken them. Leaving the garden by the opposite end, she dashed around the block and across the street behind Lady T’s house. Thankfully, it was late enough that she could avoid the occasional pedestrian by keeping to the shadows. Mya eased down the street close to the thorn hedge, listening for any sign that the watchers had spotted her. Nothing.
Beneath the illuminated window, she leapt up and over the bougainvillea to the first-floor window. The thick bars offered a perfect perch for her to listen for a moment. Hearing nothing, she launched herself up to the second-story, catching the windowsill. One hard jerk brought her up to stand on the sill, her palms braced on the stone frame. Leaning back as far as she could without falling, she looked overhead to the lit window. People inside probably wouldn’t see her peering in through the drapes if she didn’t make herself obvious.
Careful now.
Thrusting with her legs, she leapt and clamped onto the sill of the third-story window. Mya hung there a moment to listen. No shouts of alarm from the watchers or whistle from Gimp meant she hadn’t been seen yet. She felt horribly exposed hanging in the open, but, a glance left and right confirmed that there were no passersby.
Pulling herself up, Mya peered through the casement. The gauzy drapes hazed her view, but she recognized the sitting room where she’d spoken with Lady T. The scene within, however, furrowed her brow.
A party?
A handful of well-dressed people sipped drinks out of crystal glasses and ate tidbits off of silver trays. Digger had said that Lady T arrived home alone.
So where did they come from?
Cocking her head, she could just make out their muffled voices through the glass.
“Really, Lady T, don’t you have servants to attend us?” A short man in a silk brocade jacket picked a dainty off a tray held by his hostess. “Perhaps afte
r spending all of your money on your title and this lovely home, you can’t afford any?”
Lady T inclined her head graciously despite the man’s snide comment. “Security demands sacrifices, Duke Seoli. This is not the type of meeting one wants discussed in the kitchen.”
“What’s the world coming to when one can’t trust one’s own servants?” complained a stately older woman as she ineptly poured wine from a decanter. “All this cloak-and-dagger nonsense is silly. I don’t know why you insisted upon it, Graving.”
“In this, Duchess Ingstrom, I wouldn’t trust my own mother.” A portly man whom Mya assumed to be Graving plucked a tidbit from the tray, popped it into his mouth, and reached for another.
The duchess sniffed. “It’s a wonder you magistrates trust anyone, dealing with commoners every day. But such secrecy for mere politics is—”
The conversation ceased as the light suddenly dimmed. Mya’s eyes locked onto one corner of the room where a whirl of shadow obscured the glow of the nearby lamps. The shadows cleared, and the radiance was restored, illuminating a man in gray robes and woman in a severe black dress, neither of whom had been there a moment ago.
Remembering the swirling black mists during their fight in the imperial dungeons, Mya immediately thought of Hoseph, but she didn’t recognize this bald man. Another priest?
Her attention followed the woman in black as she jerked her hand from the man’s grasp and hurried to the sideboard, her face white with horror. Grabbing a decanter, she splashed a measure of liquor into a tumbler and knocked it back.
“Hells below, what a horrid way to travel!”
“The gall!” Duke Seoli glared at the woman. “Have you no manners at all? You’re in the house of a noble of the realm!”
“I take no offense, Duke.” Lady T nodded and gestured graciously to the woman. “All are welcome in my home, noble and magistrate alike. And since you so accurately pointed out my lack of servants to attend us, I encourage everyone to feel free to help themselves. Let’s not quibble about propriety.”
“Thank you, Lady.” The woman’s hand shook as she poured another stout drink. “I certainly meant no offence.”
Mya ignored the sniping nobles, her eyes drawn back to the man in gray robes. Squinting through the drapes, she studied his angular features and realized that she’d been fooled by a thin disguise. It is Hoseph! Lowering herself until only her eyes and dark hair edged above the sill, she examined her nemesis. She’d given her urchins an inaccurate description of the priest, and wondered now if he’d been lurking around her inn under their noses in this new disguise. Probably not. I’m still alive.
“Lords and ladies, distinguished magistrates, we can ill afford dissension amongst ourselves. The future of the empire depends on us.” Hoseph nodded toward the portly man chewing yet another savory. “Chief Magistrate Graving has identified each and every one of you as loyalists who esteem the great empire of Tsing. We share a common goal here tonight: to oppose the dangerous policies of that weakling upstart Arbuckle. We must set aside our differences for the common good!”
What a crock of bullshit, Mya thought.
“What’s your role in this?” demanded a thin-nosed man in satin breeches and jacket. “Other than whisking us all around the city, I mean. Being seen with a wanted fugitive would ruin me.”
Despite Hoseph’s static smile, Mya could see the twitch of his jaw muscles as he clenched his teeth.
“You know me only as the emperor’s spiritual advisor. His Majesty also entrusted me with deeper responsibilities.” He made a grandiose gesture. “One cannot maintain control over the unruly masses wielding only an iron fist. The emperor also had a…more subtle organization to root out subversion and apply pressure when and where necessary. You might consider us as the emperor’s secret constabulary.”
That’s my Assassins Guild you’re talking about, buddy!
“Spies?” someone asked.
“Spies…and more.”
“You say the emperor’s private constabulary. Doesn’t that mean you’re working for Arbuckle?” Duke Seoli’s question startled several of the guests.
Hoseph smiled. “Arbuckle is not yet emperor, and we intend that he never will be.”
So that explains all the secrecy. They’re planning to assassinate the crown prince.
Over the ensuing barrage of questions, Mya heard the twitter of a bird, recognizing the signal for danger. Glancing down the street, she spied a troop of constables rounding the corner, still a block away, but approaching. They might pass without seeing her, but she couldn’t take the chance.
With a surge of panic, she sought a way out. She’d made a foolish mistake by not planning an escape route. Climbing up to the would risk being seen from inside the window, and noise if any shingles happened to be loose. The only other direction to go was down. Mya peered into the thorny foliage beneath her and chose a gap to her left. If she landed just right, she could hunker in the shadows beneath the colorful leaves, invisible in her dark clothing. Mya winced as she remembered the shrub’s long thorns.
No pain…
Mya swung her legs and released the window sill, plummeting like a stone. Only a light rustle of leaves marked her passage into the shrubbery. She flexed her knees as she hit the ground and remained crouched, lowering her face and holding her breath, listening. Slowly, she withdrew a long thorn from the back of her hand and felt warm blood trickle down to her wrist. She wondered how many pierced her elsewhere.
The constables talked quietly as they passed by, but none spied anything amiss. With the recent violence, they were probably looking for mobs of troublemakers, not burglars.
Mya considered climbing back up to listen some more, but reconsidered. She had gleaned the most important implication of the meeting: Lady T was working with Hoseph. Their plan to assassinate the heir to the throne didn’t concern Mya. That wasn’t her fight. She had enough on her hands trying to gain control the guild. Easing from the prickly embrace of the hedge, she made her way back around the block and through the courtyard garden.
Kneeling down by the gate, she whispered to Gimp, “Thanks for the warning. That’s enough for tonight. Go get some rest. Tell tonight’s night watch to meet me behind the inn, but it’s going to be a while. I’m going to have a little chat with Lady T after her party’s over.”
“Aye, miss.” Gimp hobbled off into the night, surprisingly stealthy despite her uneven gait.
Mya recovered her clothes and settled down to wait, considering what she’d heard. It sounded like Hoseph was making all the plans, but she couldn’t imagine the guildmaster playing second fiddle to the non-guild priest. Patiently, she watched the window and planned her approach.
Tonight I find out what game Lady T is playing.
Dee blinked at the light looming out of the darkening gloom. His gelding snorted and lunged from a canter into a gallop despite the mist and dark. This was the third mount Dee had ridden today, and he recognized that behavior. The horse knew that a way inn was close, and Dee was more than ready to stop for the night.
If I’m this sore, how must Pax feel? He glanced over, but shadows rendered the innkeeper’s face unreadable, and Paxal wasn’t talking much, at least not to him.
The geldings bolted through the open gate, across the turning court, and straight for the stable where they stopped and blew noisily. The way-inn stableman stepped out and took the reins as they dismounted.
“Room for the night, sirs?”
“Room, food, and somethin’ to soak my achin’ arse in, if you don’t mind.” Paxal stumbled as his feet hit the ground, his back popping audibly.
“And fresh mounts an hour before sunrise, if you please.” Dee dug a silver crown from his pocket and handed it to the man. He pulled the precious saddlebags off the horse and slung them over his shoulder, trying to look as if they weren’t heavy with tightly packed gold crowns.
“Happy to oblige. Just see the missus about supper and a room.” The stableman tipped his cap a
nd led the two horses into the stable.
Dee followed Paxal into the inn, his mouth flooding with saliva at the aromas of savory cooking. Jerky and bread on horseback hadn’t made for a satisfying lunch.
A man and woman in merchants’ garb were the only other guests in the common room. That wasn’t surprising, considering the late hour and the inn’s location, far from any town or village. They’d be getting no locals in for an evening drink, which was fine with Dee.
“Good evening, sirs.” A matronly woman bustled forward. “You two look done in.”
“Whipped like a rented mule, ma’am.” Paxal doffed his hat and jacket, and Dee followed suit.
“We need a room for the night, and a meal if it’s not too late for supper, please.” Dee kept the saddlebags in hand.
“Of course. Would you like to put your bags in your room before supper?”
“There’s no sense in climbing stairs twice, is there?” Dee wasn’t about to let the saddlebags full of gold out of his sight.
“Not at all. What will you be wantin’ to drink?” She gestured them to a table.
“Wine please.”
“Ale for me.” Paxal winced as he sat down. “A large tankard if you please, ma’am. I gotta kill the pain in my…um…”
“No need to explain. We get couriers all the time. I’ll be back in a trice!” She bustled off.
“Rethinking your decision to come along, Pax?”
Paxal shot Dee a cold glance. “No.”
They sat in uneasy silence until the kitchen door banged open, and the woman hurried back with a large tray.
“Here you are, sirs.” She set out laden plates and brimming cups, then placed a key on the table. “You’re in room number three, just left at the top of the stairs.”
“And would a bath be available?” Paxal looked up hopefully.
“Of course! I’ll heat the water. When you’re done eatin’, the washroom’s just through there.” She pointed to a door leading off the common room.
“You’re an angel of mercy, milady.” Paxal lifted his tankard to her and drank deeply. “Gods of Light, I may survive after all.”
Weapon of Fear Page 15
