Burn Me Deadly: An Eddie LaCrosse Novel

by Alex Bledsoe

  I took an open stool. When Angelina came by, I said, “I see Callie’s got the upper hand in the relationship now.”

  “At least until pretty boy earns back the money he stole from her. Not too smart to run out on your girl and only go a couple of streets over.”

  “ ‘Smart’ doesn’t seem to apply much to minstrels,” I agreed. “I didn’t see you at the fire.”

  She waved her hand. “I’ve seen plenty of things burn down in my life. Besides, I wanted to make sure none of those weird red-rag people came running in here. They need to just go back to the hills where they came from.”

  “That’s harsh.”

  “I’m harsh, in case you hadn’t noticed. Are you hungry?”

  “Are you harsh?”

  “Hang on, then; I’ll whip something up.” She went into the kitchen, and I watched Callie continue to monitor her ex-boyfriend’s progress. He was soot streaked from the fire, as well as red eyed and pale from lack of giggleweed, but maybe sobering up was what he needed. He stopped mopping and looked to her for approval. She pointed to something he’d missed, and he wearily resumed his work. A bearded tanner poured some ale on the floor right in front of Tony’s mop, but he said nothing. The tanner and his friends laughed.

  Callie flounced over to me, almost shivering with delight at the new balance of power. “And how are you tonight, Mr. LaCrosse?” she said as she kissed me on the cheek.

  “Not as good as you, apparently.”

  “Well, Tony and I have reached an understanding. He’s working off the debt he owes me; then we’re going to send for Joan Diter and he’ll go to work for her.”

  “Why?”

  Callie leaned close and whispered, “Because he burned down the Lizard’s Kiss. Passed out and knocked over his giggleweed pipe.”

  “No,” I said with mock surprise.

  She nodded vigorously. “Oh, yeah. He’s lucky nobody died. And now he’s going to pay for it. For me, and for every other girl he’s ever screwed, then screwed over.”

  Callie returned to supervising Tony, and Angelina brought me a plate of food. “So how’s Liz?”

  I gave her the short version, without mentioning the dragons. It still made her eyebrows crawl toward her hairline. “Holy shit, is she okay?” she asked when I was done.

  “She will be. She’s resting, which is really what she needs. She’ll have some scars, but we all have those. And she’ll be sore for a while. But she really came through in the end. Don’t find many people, men or women, who can keep their cool like that.”

  “No, you don’t,” Angelina agreed. “So what about that other thing that was bothering you before?”

  I shrugged as I wolfed down some gravy-soaked bread. “Seems kind of insubstantial now. I mean, we’ll talk about it, but it matters a lot less than I thought it did.”

  She mussed my hair the way she’d done to Hank Pinster’s oldest boy. “You big softie. I bet you bleed pudding, don’t you?”

  I finished my dinner, then went upstairs to check my office. Nothing looked different from the last time I’d been there two days ago, when I found old man Lesperitt waiting; certainly no new clients were hiding under my desk. I’d have to see about that fairly soon. Dragon slaying sure didn’t pay very well.

  I grabbed some of Liz’s belongings from our place and returned to the hospital. They still wanted to keep her quiet and isolated, but they let me stretch out in an empty room and gave me something to make me sleep. Which I did, straight through to morning, deep and blessedly dreamless.

  They brought me in to see her then. She slept peacefully on clean white linen. She’d been washed, her wrists bandaged and the cut across her thigh tended. With her hair held back by a headband I saw the bruises on her forehead and jaw, the swollen bridge of her nose and her lips cracked and dried from dehydration. If Candora hadn’t already been killed in a manner more horrible than anything I could’ve inflicted, I’d have made the process a long and slow one, worthy of the man who cut Marion up alive.

  Still, Liz looked more beautiful than ever to me. I sat in the bedside chair and touched the back of her hand lightly above the bandage. She made a little whimper of contentment but did not awaken.

  There was a soft tap at the door. I turned, expecting to see one of the young apprentices or Mother Mallory, but instead a slight figure in an expensive hooded cloak stood there. In the brightly lit hospital this looked especially out of place, and my hand went automatically for the knife in my boot.

  The figure pushed the hood back. Princess Veronica said softly, “I didn’t mean to startle you. I hope I’m not intruding.”

  I sat back and glared at her. “You are.”

  She did not seem fazed. “May I come in?”

  “It’s your country.” My etiquette training did its best to get me to my feet, but my disgust won out and I stayed seated.

  She closed the door and stood at the foot of the bed, looking at Liz. Although the princess’ hair was immaculate and the dress under the cloak spotless, she looked as tired and worn as I felt. I could imagine the fiery scene with Gary and Argoset after I left. “Is this your wife?” she asked softly.

  “What do you care? She’s just another immigrant like me. She’s not your concern.”

  She ignored my sniping. “I’m assuming your presence here means the problem we discussed earlier has been resolved?”

  “Yes. Two people died horribly, Liz was tortured and . . . well, let’s leave it at that. There are no dragon eggs for your father, I’m afraid.”

  “I never really believed there were,” she said sadly. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, but her demeanor was calm, even icy. “It was just another fairy tale.”

  “So what do you want?” I demanded impatiently. Her presence both aggravated and unnerved me a little.

  She continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “I owe you my life, and I have not honored that debt. But I wish to do so.”

  “You don’t owe me anything, Your Highness. Except the honor of your absence.”

  “Mr. LaCrosse, within the next few years, my father will die. Either from natural causes or otherwise. When that happens, I intend to ensure Muscodia does not suffer the rule of my brother, Frederick.”

  “How do you plan to do that?”

  “By whatever means are required.”

  The firm tone surprised me, although it really shouldn’t have. It was easy to talk about assassinations and coups, especially when you were a spoiled, headstrong teenager. “And how does that help me?” I said, unable to keep the harshness from my voice. “Or pay your debt to me?”

  “I am very smart, and reasonably courageous. I am not very experienced, however, as the events this week have illustrated. When I ascend to the throne, I will need experienced people around me.”

  The implication hung in the air between us. A tiny smile touched her mouth. “I see you’re surprised.”

  “I see you’re delusional,” I shot back.

  Now she smiled for real. “Mr. LaCrosse, my offer is serious.”

  “Muscodia needs me?”

  “I need you.”

  “What about Argoset?”

  Her smile faded. “Daniel has been reassigned.”

  “Permanently?”

  “That’s up to him. His judgment, or lack thereof, has done a lot of damage and gotten people killed. He’ll have to convince me that’s changed if he wants to regain my favor.” It was plain that Argoset’s fall had broken her girl’s heart as well as engendered her royal scorn.

  “I still have his horse,” I said.

  She waved dismissively. “Consider it a gift. His name’s Little Blackie, I believe.”

  I nodded my thanks. “Will Argoset be upset that you’ve offered me his job?”

  “He would never be suited to the job I’m offering you.”

  I had to smile now, too. “Your Highness, I appreciate the offer, but I’ve lost the ability to be a team player. I work better on my own. Besides, you know how sword jockeys
are: greedy little men snooping around taverns and whorehouses spying on faithless spouses. We leave a trail of slime wherever we go.”

  She nodded. “I assumed you’d say that. And I won’t push you. But I will seek you out again once I’m queen.”

  “My answer will be the same.”

  “Well. I suppose we’ll have to see. In the meantime, I hope your wife fully recovers. She is a lucky woman to inspire such devotion.”

  “She’s not my wife,” I said. “And I always figured I was the lucky one.”

  The princess pulled the hood back down over her face and turned to leave.

  I said, “But you know what?”

  She stopped.

  I stood, formally bowed and said, “I can’t do anything for Princess Veronica of Muscodia. But if that nice girl Nicky ever needs my kind of help, under the table and behind the tapestries, with something too delicate for official channels . . . she just has to ask.”

  Her smile was visible inside the hood’s shadows. “She appreciates that very much, Mr. LaCrosse.” Then she left.

  chapter

  THIRTY-ONE

  T

  he next morning I awoke in the chair at Liz’s bedside and found her watching me. Her right eye was nearly swollen shut, and blood was still caked around her nostrils. She smiled, ointment gleaming on her cracked lips. “This has a familiar feel,” she said in a weak, thin voice.

  “Except you’re on the wrong side of the bed.”

  “So are you.”

  My entire body seemed rusted into my sleeping position, and moving out of it took a few moments. “How do you feel?”

  “Numb. Are my toes wiggling?”

  “Yes. They gave you some concoction to help you relax.”

  “Any more relaxed and you’ll need a ladle to move me. How long have I been here?”

  “Only a couple of days. Nowhere near my record.”

  She reached a bandaged hand toward me. “I owe you an apology. If I’d told you about Lesperitt the night of the fire, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “You’re right,” I agreed. “But we don’t have to talk about it now.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  “Okay. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She was silent for so long I wondered if she’d fallen asleep with her eyes open. At last she said, “I could give you some story about wanting to take care of things on my own, but the truth is that really . . . I was embarrassed.”

  “By what?”

  “By the fact that I still wanted to believe. That even though the adult Liz knew the truth, the little girl in me still believed dragons might be real. And she had to know. So Little Liz pitched a hissy fit, and Big Liz went along just to shut her up.”

  I nodded. “And now both of them know they were real.”

  She shook her head. “No. Not the kind I wanted to find. Not the ones filled with wisdom and power and love. They were just cold, beautiful animals.” Tears welled in her eyes. “What kind of idiot insists on believing in gods, anyway?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, and meant it. I leaned over and kissed her. Her lips were slippery with the minty healing ointment. “I’m not filled with wisdom or power, but I do love you.”

  She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Ah, you’re just saying that to get into my pants.”

  “Did it work?”

  She scooted over on the bed. “Not yet. But it probably will. Now get over here.”

  I stretched out beside her, let her snuggle close, and we fell asleep together despite the sunlight bouncing off the white walls. Before my eyes closed, I resolved that, as soon as she left the hospital, I would tell her about my past relationship with her late sister. I couldn’t very well be mad at Liz over this if I wasn’t willing to face the same music myself.

  AROUND noon I left her sleeping and headed back to town for lunch. I’d had my fill, literally and figuratively, of the medicinal stuff the moon priestesses called food. I needed something dipped in grease and fried. Before I left, though, I poured Frankie’s money into the donation vase. The noise was horrendous in the hospital silence, but no one appeared to investigate.

  A whole company of Muscodian troops lined the street outside the Saraden’s Sword. They looked tired and ill-mannered, especially the ones not lucky enough to be on horseback. A potbellied captain stood beside the door, while a crowd of onlookers gathered a respectful distance away. I’d seen more crowds in Muscodia during the last week than I had in all my time here, and really looked forward to the day there would again be nothing to gawk at.

  The door opened, and two soldiers came out. Between them staggered a disheveled Prince Frederick, looking dazed and half-asleep. The soldiers snapped to attention, and the captain stepped up to the prince with a smart salute.

  “Your Highness,” he said stiffly, “please allow us to escort you back to Sevlow.”

  Frederick blinked. “Uh . . . okay, sure.” He looked down at his feet. “Whoa, where’re my shoes?”

  “Boots for His Highness!” the captain bellowed. A junior officer quickly complied. I couldn’t tell if they’d brought extra boots just for this contingency or stripped them off a soldier roughly the same size. The two soldiers quickly bent to the prince’s feet and had him shod in no time. I suspected they’d done this before. Perhaps this whole company did nothing but chase Frederick around and bail him out of trouble.

  As Frederick was guided to a waiting horse, two more soldiers brought out Daniel Argoset. He was in full uniform, and stood stiffly at attention before his counterpart. “Captain Malligan,” he said formally.

  “Captain Argoset,” Malligan replied. Then he reached up and yanked the insignia from Argoset’s uniform. “By direct order of King Archibald, you are demoted to private and assigned to my unit.”

  Argoset swallowed hard, but his voice was steady. “Yes, sir.”

  Malligan smiled. If he’d spent any time at all with his former peer, he must’ve enjoyed this immensely. To his credit, the smile was his only gloat. “You’re assigned to the rear guard, Private. Am I clear?”

  Argoset had just been instructed to clean up any manure deposited on the road behind the company as it traveled. It was a punishment detail, the absolute lowest job available. He simply nodded and said, “Yes, sir, perfectly clear. Where may I find the shovel?”

  I left Argoset to his humiliation and continued to Angelina’s. There I found Callie’s ex-boyfriend asleep on my office stairs, where she could keep him from scurrying out to find giggle-weed. I also heard that Minnow Shavers had inquired about a job; Sharky un-inquired for her shortly afterward. And no one, it seemed, had inquired after my professional services. Neceda was finally returning to normal.

  I’d just filled in Angelina and Callie on Liz’s condition when Gary Bunson sat down beside me. His smile was almost wide enough to separate the top of his head from the rest of him. “What are you grinning about?” I asked.

  He pulled out a folded piece of black velvet and opened it to reveal a small military medal embossed with the royal seal of King Archibald. “The captain of the guard presented this to me. He even stood at attention.”

  “You got a medal?” Callie said, making no effort to hide her disbelief. “Why?”

  Gary pinned it to his chest, and puffed up like a startled toad. “For my quick action in solving the murder of Mother Donna Bennings of the Moon Sisterhood. With the grateful appreciation of the king and people of Muscodia.”

  “I thought the king didn’t approve of the moon priestesses,” Angelina said.

  Gary was almost beaming. “He may not, but they have a lot of clout and he knows better than to let people go around killing them.”

  Angelina and I exchanged a look of disbelief. I tried not to laugh. “Gary, the killer came to you and confessed. You basically did nothing.”

  “Yes, and I did it with alacrity and tact. I have a parchment that says so.”

  “And your conscience is okay with this?”

  Now Gary tr
ied not to laugh. “Eddie, I sold my conscience for a night with a trail whore when I was fifteen. Haven’t seen it since, and wouldn’t know what to do with it if it turned up.” He touched the medal almost reverently. “I also got a raise.”

  “A raise,” Angelina repeated. “A medal and a raise for doing nothing.” She shook her head with a grim, humorless chuckle.

  There wasn’t much else to say. I clapped him on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Gary. That means the next round is on you.”

  “Hey, sure thing. Angelina, a bottle of your cheapest best stuff.” He turned to me. “Want to hear something else weird?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Oh, wait: how’s Liz? I heard she was in the hospital. What happened?”

  “Had an accident making a delivery. She’ll be fine. So what else is weird?”

  “A sheep farmer from the Black River Hills came into town screaming that a dragon had carried off one of his rams.”

  “A dragon,” Callie repeated. “Like in a fairy story?”

  “Yeah,” Gary said. “A real fire-breathing dragon. Shiny black scales. Breathed blue fire, he said. Showed up in the middle of the night, scorched his pasture, killed his dog and flew off with a ram.”

  Now I knew where the creature had been returning from when she found me in her burrow. “That is weird,” I agreed. “Maybe he just had too much to drink at the hanging.”

  “He had too much of something. I told him if I heard any more about it, I’d lock him up as a public nuisance.”

  “Yeah, for the best,” Callie agreed. “Anyone who says they’ve seen a dragon must be a few needles short of a pine tree.”

  Gary sighed. “Well, I hope we’ve seen the last of him and those other weirdos, the ones with the red scarves. And anyone from Sevlow, and anyone named Marantz. This used to be a nice, peaceful town.”

  Gary left; I finished my lunch, then went upstairs to my office. When I went to unlock the door, though, it swung in on its own. Instantly I was flat against the stairwell wall, my boot knife in my hand.