Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy) (10 page)

The house guards arrived with a clatter of steel. 
Four wielded swords, and two raised crossbows, all of them aimed at Sereth. 
Kiesha felt her captor shift his stance—just the distraction she needed.  She
dropped her hand away from Sereth’s wrist, let her head loll forward in the
semblance of a faint, and folded her knees.  If he didn’t cut her throat out of
hand, this might work.

Sereth staggered with her weight, and pulled the
dagger slightly away from her neck.

Now
!

Kiesha reached back to Sereth’s crotch, grasped the
soft bulge of his testicles, and pulled down hard.  At the same moment, she flung
her head sharply back into the bridge of his nose.

The blade scored her neck before falling from his
limp fingers to the carpet.  Sereth collapsed to his knees.  A wheezing moan
escaped his bloody lips as he toppled over, both hands clutching his crotch. 
The guards charged, blades raised, but Kiesha stood her ground.

“Stop!  We need him alive!”  The wound on her neck
stung as she probed it with her fingers.  Though bloody, it was only
superficial.  She breathed a sigh of relief.

“She’s quite right.  We do need him alive.”  Hensen
sheathed his sword, and reached for a dark wine bottle nestled in a silver ice
bucket beside the bed.  As if nothing untoward had happened, he poured fizzing
pale wine into a pair of crystal flutes and handed one to the woman in his
bed.  She took it with a shaking hand and downed it in one gulp.  As Hensen
sipped the wine, he glanced over and frowned at Kiesha.  “You’re bleeding on
the rug, my dear.”

Kiesha stared at him for a heartbeat before
recovering her composure.  “Sorry, sir.”  She pressed the collar of her robe to
the gash as the guards disarmed the hapless assassin and lifted him to his
feet.  “What do you want done with Sereth?”

Hensen pursed his lips.  “Disarm him and take him
home.  I think he’s learned his lesson.”

“Very good, sir.”  Kiesha nodded to the guards, and
they dragged Sereth out of the room.  She paused at the door.  “Anything else,
sir?”

“Mmm.”  Hensen downed his wine and loosened the tie
to his robe, his attention returning his paramour.  “Yes.  Have Sereth’s wife
moved in the morning.  Someplace secure, but comfortable.”  He shrugged out of
the robe, utterly unconcerned by his daughter’s presence, and evidently
undiminished in his ardor.  “Now, my dear, where were we?”

Kiesha closed the mutilated door behind her and
descended to her own room. 
I can get a new assistant in a week
…  Her
stomach knotted with cold loathing as she slammed her bedroom door and examined
her wound in the mirror.  It was just a scratch.  A dab of ointment and a
bandage, and it would heal without a scar.  The emotional wound, however, ran
deeper.

Her hands shook as she opened a drawer beside her
bed and withdrew a small bottle of spiced rum she kept there for nights when
she couldn’t sleep.  She wrenched the cork free and took a long pull of the
sweet liquor.  The burn dissolved the lump in her throat and justified the
tears that leapt to her eyes.  Breathing deep, she willed her heart to stop
pounding.

“Would a simple ‘Thank you’ have been too much to
ask, you bastard?”

“Insomnia, Captain Norwood?”

“What the—”

The captain of the Royal Guard reacted with a
soldier’s reflexes, reaching for the sword that stood beside his bed and
jerking it from its scabbard.  His eyes scanned the darkness and centered upon
Lad.  Shrouded in shadow in the farthest corner of the captain’s bedroom, he
should have been all but invisible.  The faint glow of his eyes must have given
him away, but that didn’t matter.  He was just glad Norwood had finally come up
to bed.  Two hours sitting in the light evening breeze that wafted through the
open window had tested Lad’s patience.  Staying focused was so much harder than
it used to be.

“Please, Captain.  I only came to ask a few
questions, as before, but if you don’t put down that sword, I may be forced to
hurt you taking it away.”

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but
you can’t just break into my home whenever you feel like asking me questions!”

“Why not?”

The frank question seemed to take the wind out of
the captain’s sails.  The tip of the sword drooped, but he didn’t put it down. 
Frankly, Lad didn’t care if Norwood was upset.  He only cared about the
information he could provide.

“I’m willing to trade information with you as I have
in the past, Captain.  I don’t want to hurt you, but that sword in your hand
only makes this conversation more dangerous.  Dangerous for you, not me.”

“Cocky bastard!”  Norwood propped the sword against
his night table, then sat rigid on the edge of the bed.

“I never boast, Captain.  Believe what I tell you,
for your own good.”  Lad withdrew from his pocket the glass vial that contained
the black dart and tossed it onto the bed beside the captain.  “My first
question is: where did you come by a dart like this one?”

“I’ll have to strike a light.”

“The lamp next to you will do, but keep it low.” 
Lad pulled the hood of his cloak down to hide his face as Norwood struck a
match and lit the lamp.  The warm orange glow illuminated the captain, but
didn’t penetrate the shadows.

Norwood squinted at the vial in the lamplight, and
his eyebrows arched.  “We found five darts like this at the site of a mass
killing in a courtyard east of Fiveway Fountain.”

“Five?”  Lad failed to stifle his surprise.  “How—”

“My turn,” Norwood insisted as he held up the vial. 
“Where did you find
this
dart?”

“The same courtyard.   Where
specifically
did
you find them?”

“Lodged in the necks of five corpses scattered
around the courtyard.  Were you there?”

Lad’s mind whirled.  Wiggen’s murderer had also
killed five assassins during the battle.  Why?

“
Were you there
?”

Lad focused on Norwood again, and answered slowly. 
“Yes, I was there.”

“Whoever fired them knew what he was doing.  The
poison was—”

“White scorpion venom,” Lad finished.

Silence reigned for a long moment before Norwood
asked, “What the hell happened in that courtyard?”

Lad saw no reason not to give Norwood the truth.  “I
told you before that the factions of the Assassins Guild were fighting amongst
themselves.”

“Yes.”

“They fought it out in that courtyard.  The matter
has been resolved.  I’m sure you’ve noticed that violence around the city has
eased off.”

“I’ve noticed.”  Norwood frowned and shrugged.  “I
guess I can’t complain when assassins kill assassins.  That explains the other
dart, too.”

Lad sat bolt upright.  “What other dart?”

“We found the first one a couple of weeks ago, over
in Westmarket.  Same type of dart, same method of attack, a shot to the neck
from above.  Two constables found a dead woman in an alley.  They thought it
was just another prostitute until they tried to move the body.  She had a
poisoned ring on her finger, and one of them grabbed it accidentally.  He died
in seconds.”

Norwood’s recitation hit Lad like a thunderbolt.  He
pictured the ring, its grooved needle dark-stained with poison.  The woman had
been trying to kill him, but instead had died with a black dart in her neck. 
The memory ignited a startling realization. 
The assassin who saved my life
that night also killed Wiggen
. 
That doesn’t make sense
!

After his near brush with death, Lad and Mya hypothesized
that the Grandmaster sent someone to protect Lad so that he could, in turn,
protect Mya until she assumed the guildmaster position.  That the same
protector had killed assassins during the Fiveway Fountain battle fit well into
that theory.  But if that was so, why was Wiggen killed?  She posed no threat
to either him or Mya.  She was only there to protect Lissa because she wore
the—

Guildmaster’s ring
.  Lad clenched his fist on the
ring on his finger. 
Could the Grandmaster have ordered Wiggen’s death? 
Impossible!  No one knew she wore the ring except me.  I gave it to her to
protect her.  Would she still be alive if
…  Guilt washed over Lad like a
scalding tide.

“The poison on the ring was different from that in
the darts.”  Norwood’s voice startled Lad out of his musing.  “It was very
unusual.  Something from a tropical fish.  We haven’t been able to trace its
purchase or even find any shop that carries it.”

“A tropical fish?”  Lad knew of several toxins from
tropical fish.  A rare toxin might help him discover who sent the woman to kill
him, and might even lead to the identity of his savior, Wiggen’s killer.  He
wasn’t about to discount
any
potential lead.  “Do you remember the name
of it?”

“Stone-something, I think.  Stone-step fish, maybe?”

“Two-step stonefish.” 
Deadly indeed
…

“Yes.  You’re familiar with it?”  Norwood sounded
surprised.

“I’ve heard of it.  What about the darts?  Have you
discovered who crafted them?”

“How do you know we’re looking?”  Norwood’s eyes
narrowed in suspicion.

“Because I’m looking, too, and we happened to look
in the same places.”  Norwood scowled, and Lad saw the skepticism there. 
“Don’t worry, Captain.  You’re my only informant within the Royal Guard.”

“I’m not your
informant
!”  He flushed with
anger, but finally answered.  “No, we haven’t discovered the crafter, but we
will.  The darts are unusual enough that they should lead us to the killer.”

“My thoughts exactly.”  Lad stood, tilting his head
to keep his face in shadow.  “I’d like my dart back please.”

Norwood threw it to him without a word.

“Thank you, Captain.  Please put out the lamp.”

“One more question first.  Did you ever find out who
killed that wizard, Vonlith?”

“Yes, Captain, I did.”

“And would you mind telling me who it was, and why
the man was killed?”

Lad wasn’t about to give up Mya, but he could give
the Captain something.  “Vonlith died, as most wizards do, because he knew too
much.  Knowledge can be deadly, Captain, which is why I won’t be telling you
the name of the murderer.”

“You mean that if you told me, you’d have to kill
me?”

“No, I wouldn’t kill you.  If I told you, you’d go
looking for the killer, and
that
would get you killed.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of the danger?”

“Because you have no notion of the danger I’m
talking about, and no way to protect yourself from it.” He nodded to the lamp. 
“The light, Captain.”

Lad waited until the lamp was doused, then reached
for the window frame.

“One last question!”  Norwood seemed determined to
get all he could out of his visitor, but Lad paused, balanced on the frame. 
“The battle near Fiveway Fountain, the one between the Assassins Guild
factions: who won?”

“I did.”

Lad was out the window and up the drain pipe to the
roof before Captain Norwood’s jaw dropped.

L
ad
strode through the early morning streets of the Eastmarket District after
another sleepless night.  This one, however, hadn’t been due solely to
obsessive thoughts about Wiggen.  Since his meeting with Captain Norwood two
nights ago, his mind had roiled like pit of vipers: darts and rings, toxins and
poisons, assassins killing assassins.

Who can I trust
?  The list had become very
short.

Could the Grandfather have ordered Wiggen’s death to
free the guildmaster’s ring for Mya?  Try as he might, Lad didn’t see how it
was possible.  The Grandmaster might be able to get a letter from Tsing to
Twailin in days instead of weeks, but only minutes had elapsed between the
discovery that Wiggen wore the ring and her death.

And she was shot in the back
, he reminded himself.  All the
others were shot in the neck.  Was that difference relevant?  He didn’t know. 
What he did know was that there was a possibility—slim but undeniable—that the
Grandmaster might have played a role in her death. 
The one person in the
world I can’t kill
.

Lad’s first thought had been to tell Mya and the
other masters so they could include his supposition in their investigations,
but careful consideration had changed his mind.  If he told them of his
suspicion, he’d have a rebellion on his hands in seconds.  And while they might
not be able to attack Lad directly, they could certainly denounce him to the
Grandmaster.  The trick, he’d realized, was to enlist their help without giving
them the incriminating details.  That task was what had brought him on this
errand.

The shop that Enola had inherited from Neera came
into sight, a large, three-story building on the corner.  A mortar and pestle
decorated the placard that jutted out above the door,
The Perfect Solution
written in broad gold letters beneath.  Through the smoked glass windows he saw
that they already had customers.  He’d hoped to arrive before they were busy.

A thousand scents assaulted Lad as he pushed open
the door.  Herbs and oils, extracts and toxins, acids and caustics all vied for
his olfactory attention.  His eyes, however, had little trouble picking out
what he was looking for.

The Master Alchemist bent over an elaborate
calcinator, peering in at the smoldering contents.  Glancing up, she noticed
Lad, and her naturally pale face blanched even more.  Her mouth shifted—Lad
could almost see her forming the word “Master”—but a quick look around the busy
shop stopped her.  Enola blew out the alcohol burner under the calcinator and
hurried up to the thick stone counter that separated the work area from the
shelves of merchandise.

“May I help you, sir?”  Her strained smile and
tremulous voice confirmed the subtle scent of fear that rose above the
alchemical mélange. 

Her fear roiled his stomach like the odor of rotten
meat.  He needed his masters to work with him, not fear him.  A certain amount
of fear was to be expected when someone held your life in their hands, but it
was a poor substitute for devotion.

“I hope so.”  Lad kept his face neutral.  “I require
your services.  May we speak in private?”

“Of course.”  Enola gestured, and he followed her
into a cluttered office.  Closing the door behind him, she turned and
curtsied.  “May…may I can help you with something, Master?”

“Yes.  I need to know if you’ve ever used two-step
stonefish toxin.”

“I…”  Her face paled again.  “Yes, I have.”

“Did you buy it somewhere here in Twailin?”

“No, Master.  I extracted it myself from stonefish
Master Youtrin smuggled in from Southaven.  It’s a rather tricky process.”

Lad might have guessed.  Enola was a gifted
alchemist.  It was no surprise that such delicate jobs had been entrusted to
her.

“Did you know that Neera used it to try to kill me?”

“I did, Master.”  There was still fear in her eyes,
but no evasion.

Lad remembered just how close he had come to dying
that night, and clenched his hands to keep them from around her neck. 
She
was only doing her job
… 

“Why didn’t you inform me of this?”

“Why…”  Enola wrung hands prematurely wizened from
years of damaging chemicals, clearly flustered by his question.  “The attempt
failed, Master.  I didn’t think it important to inform you.  Did I do wrong?”

“As it turns out, the authorities recovered the
poisoned ring and identified the toxin, so that makes it important.”

“Yes. They came asking questions about stonefish
toxin.  I told them nothing.  I swear it.”

“I’m not here to find fault, but to make a point. 
It’s not for
you
to decide what is and isn’t important.  That’s my job. 
But I can’t do my job if I don’t have
all
the information.  So I need to
know everything you know about the attempts on my life, Mya’s life, or the
lives of my family.  Is that clear?”

“Perfectly clear, Master.”  She ducked her head, her
hands clutched so hard her knuckles shone white.  “I know that we sold
sand-wasp venom to Horice about a month ago for an attempt to kill Mya.  The
month before, Neera sent someone to the
Golden Cockerel
to slip deadly
nightshade into Mya’s food, but we found out that the old barkeep caught the
girl and made her eat it herself.  That’s all I can think of off the top of my
head.”

So Paxal killed to protect Mya. 
Interesting
. 
“There was a spy caught at the
Golden Cockerel
.  She took poison rather
than be interrogated.  Was she one of Neera’s, too?”

“No, sir.”  Enola looked up at him with honest
curiosity.  “But if the body’s still around, I might be able to extract the
poison and find out what she took.  Maybe I could trace it.”

“I think the body’s long gone.  Ask Mya.”

“Yes, Master.  I’ll be more forthright from now on.”

Her willingness to improve encouraged him.  “It’s
not your fault, Enola.  The factions have worked independently for so long that
learning to cooperate again may come hard, but it’s essential.  All the masters
need to be open and upfront, both with me and each other.”  The truth of that
made him feel like a traitor for keeping his own secrets from them.

“Yes, sir.  I’ll review my notebook and talk to my
people to see what they know.”

“Do that.  Now, do you have any stonefish toxin in
stock?”

“Yes, Master.  I have some in my private
collection.   I’ll get it for you!”

Enola rushed from the room before Lad could stop
her.  He hadn’t intended to take the poison with him, but only to tell her she
might want to dispose of it, since the Royal Guard was looking for it.  The
sudden thought of using it on Wiggen’s killer, however, struck him as apropos. 
The perfect vengeance
…

In less than two minutes Enola was back, proffering
a tiny vial.  “It doesn’t look like much, but this is enough to kill a dozen
people.  This needle”—she pointed to a sliver of metal within—“is affixed to
the cap, and hollowed to hold a single dose.  Simply take off the cap, run the
tip of the needle over whatever you want envenomed—dagger, arrowhead,
whatever—and you’re ready to go.  I designed it myself.”

“Ingenious.”  Lad liked the invention, but liked the
twitch across her lips and a slight squaring of her shoulders more.  He plucked
the vial from her fingers and tucked it into a pocket.  “Only one more thing:
have you finished compiling that list of large purchases of white scorpion
venom?”

Enola’s face fell and she swallowed heavily.  “Not
yet, Master.  I’m having trouble—”

“This is why we’re a guild.  Ask for help.  Work
with Jingles if you need muscle, Mya if you need someone found, and Bemrin if
you need to get the truth out of a contact.  Clear?”

“Perfectly clear, Master.”

“Good.  Then we’re done.”  He followed her out to
the front of the shop, where he thanked her for her assistance, and they
exchanged pleasantries.

Outside, Lad gulped a breath of fresh air in an
attempt to banish the stifling atmosphere of the shop.  He hadn’t learned
anything new, but at least he’d alleviated some of Enola’s fear, which seemed
to motivate her.

What next
?
  What am I missing
?
 
Think
!
 If he could just keep his thoughts from wandering, he might
have a chance to find Wiggen’s killer before he had to go to Tsing.

“It’s been a godsdamned week!  Where the hell is
Hoseph?”

Kiesha scanned the bustling crowds of the Westmarket
bazaar, looking for faces she didn’t want to see.  With Royal Guards and the
Assassins Guild scouring the town, asking questions about black darts, she was
getting nervous.  It was only a matter of time before the garrote tightened and
she was found out.  How ironic that the very weapon she’d used to take so many
lives might lead to her own death.  She never thought she’d rue her choice of
weapon.  She had wanted the best, the most lethal one-shot-kill weapon she
could get.  How foolish she’d been, in retrospect, to have such unique if
admittedly effective projectiles crafted.

I have to get out of here
!  Hoseph had promised to be in
touch, to help her flee, but he’d left her dangling like a corpse on a gibbet. 
She cursed him silently for not providing her with a means to contact him. 
Patino
has a way
.  Well, if she had to go through Patino, so be it.

Kiesha touched the wide silk choker that concealed
the wound from Sereth’s knife.  It matched her fashionable gown perfectly.  For
a little while, she would be just one of the many gentry who had traversed the
river on this fine summer day to attend the bazaar.  She could think of no
better venue to approach her quarry.

Gaily colored tents filled the public square, each
fronted by a merchant hawking fabrics, trinkets, spices, or jewelry.  The
bazaar was more of a social event than serious shopping for the rich from Hightown
and The Bluff districts.  Here, they could titter over their lace-gloved hands
at the quaint merchandise.

Kiesha searched the crowds.  She knew Patino’s face
and habits from her investigation for Hensen.  Unfortunately, she had never
actually met him.  She would have to bluff an introduction, but she wasn’t
worried; it was just another lie.

There
!

The baron strolled through the bazaar as if he owned
it, smiling and nodding to his peers.  He was alone, save for the hawk-faced
bodyguard following discreetly a few paces behind.

Got to be quick, before the lout
steps in
.

Kiesha planned her approach to take advantage of
Patino’s reputation as a lady’s man.  She took a perverse pleasure in using the
beautiful clothes that Hensen provided her for such a clandestine purpose. 
Painting on a brilliant smile, she set forth to intercept her prey.

“Baron Patino!  How very lovely to see you!”

“My dear, you look stunning today!”  As Patino
leaned over her gloved hand to kiss it, she noticed his gaze lingering at the
cleavage revealed by her fashionably low neckline.