Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy) (11 page)

“Oh, you flatterer!”  She batted her eyelashes and
slapped her hand playfully against his chest.  The bodyguard stepped forward,
but the baron waved him away.

“What brings you out on this beautiful sunny day, my
dear?”

“How could I stay indoors in such weather?  After so
much rain, I feel as if I’m bursting forth like a flower in bloom.”  Kiesha
flung her head back and her arms out, knowing exactly the effect it would have
on the man.  He responded as if following stage directions, stepping in close
to offer his arm, which she gratefully accepted.  “I must say, you look quite
dashing in that hat.  Is it new?”

“Why, thank you.  Yes, it is.”  Though obviously
delighted to be promenading with such a beautiful young woman, Baron Patino’s
eyes clouded with consternation.  Leaning in close, he lowered his voice and
said, “I must apologize, my dear, but I don’t quite remember where we’ve met
before.”

“We haven’t.”  Kiesha squeezed his arm and smiled at
his furrowing brow.  “We do have a mutual acquaintance, though.”

“Oh?”  A wisp of suspicion crossed his brow.  “And
who might that be?”

Maintaining her delighted façade, she lowered her
voice even further, leaning in as if they were deep in a tête-à-tête.  “Suffice
it to say that we work for the same person, Baron.”

“Work?”  Patino chuckled, looking honestly
surprised.  “My dear, I’m of noble blood.  I don’t—”

“Oh, come now, Baron.  Surely you remember our
friend of the dreary crimson cloaks.  He comes and goes like a breath of wind.”

Patino stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes wide. 
“Who the hell—”

The bodyguard stopped also, his eyes narrow, his
hand resting on the sword at his waist.

Kiesha laughed as if she had shared a shocking joke,
patted Patino’s arm, and tugged him back into step.  “Now, now, Baron, we’re on
the same side here.  I just need you to contact our friend for me.”

“I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about.” 
His voice, though barely audible, shook with intensity.

Is he suspicious of me, or just
nervous about talking here
?
Kiesha wondered.

“I simply need to contact our mutual friend.”  She
smiled at him again and winked.  “I know that you know who I mean, so there’s
no point in continuing the charade.”

“I am a noble of the Royal House.  The only person
in this world I
work
for, my dear, is His Majesty, Tynean Tsing II!” 
His eyes narrowed, though the rest of his face remained as blank as a mummer’s
mask.

She couldn’t fault the baron for not blurting out
his association with the Assassins Guild, but he was taking the deception a bit
too far.  Breathing deeply to calm herself, she forced a smile, squeezed the
baron’s arm, and stepped back.  “Your loyalty does you credit, Baron.  I’ll be
sure to mention it to our mutual friend when I next see him.  And it’s
essential
that I see him soon.  Please contact him and tell him that Kiesha sends her
regards, and that she must speak with him
immediately
.”

“I’ll do nothing of the kind.”  He took her hand and
kissed it, then hardened his grip on her fingers.  “I will, however, mention
your name when I next meet our friend.  And I’ll tell him that you’re woefully
indiscrete.  If you are what you claim, you
may
only receive a
reprimand.”

“I would welcome a reprimand, Baron Patino.”  She
smiled broadly, curtsied, and left him.  At least he finally admitted to
knowing Hoseph.  She could only hope that he would contact him, even if only to
complain about her.  She didn’t care how angry Hoseph might be, she wanted out
of this mess.  But until she heard from him, what could she do but wait?

Kiesha fretted as she pretended to browse the
bazaar, smiling at the merchants while her mind whirled through her dilemma.  
Nothing
to do but wait
…  She had never been one to wait when action might solve a
problem more readily.

Who else could she turn to?  Certainly not Hensen. 
I
can get a new assistant in a week
…  She wondered if she had unknown
brothers or sisters waiting in the wings to take over if she met her end.

No Hoseph, no Hensen, no hope
.  Kiesha had only herself to
rely on. 
It’s time I started covering my tracks
.

“Who the hell is that?”  Sereth watched Kiesha as
she strolled through the bazaar in the company of an unknown nobleman.  At
least the man looked like a nobleman, though Sereth didn’t recognize the coat
of arms on his fancy jacket.

“Pardon me, miss.”  The pretty young girl arranging
silk scarves in a stall’s display turned to him with a smile.  “Who’s that
fellow with the top hat there?”

“Oh, that’s Baron Patino!  Rumor is he’s a lady’s
man, and the baroness don’t even care.  He’s always got some fancy bit o’ fluff
on his arm.  Bet you got a lady of your own who’d like a pretty scarf.  You
bargemen got a girl in every port, don’cha?”

Sereth smiled, passed her a silver half-crown and
accepted the scarf she’d been showing him, all the while keeping an eye on
Kiesha.  Both of their disguises seemed to be working.  While she blended in
with the gentry, his canvas jacket and straw hat rendered him virtually
invisible among the common folk.  Bargemen were as common as cobbles in
Twailin.  No one gave them a second look.

He eased away from the stall as Kiesha left the
baron and followed her through the bustling crowd.  After some aimless
frittering at the stalls, she left the bazaar and hurried down the street
deeper into Westmarket.  Sereth kept her just in sight.  He’d been tailing her
all day.  At some point, he reasoned, she would lead him to Jinny.

Then it’s payback time…

He winced as he rubbed his aching nose.  The
lingering pain, more to his pride than his face, reminded him that Kiesha was
much more than just Hensen’s assistant and go-between.  He’d underestimated
her.  She’d gotten the drop on him and taken him down with uncanny skill.  What
other surprises did she have in store?

A few more blocks and Sereth knew where she was
going.  He’d tracked her from Hensen’s home this morning to an undistinguished
inn.  She’d walked in wearing a simple day dress, and walked out looking like a
countess.  It made sense that she had someplace where she could store and
change into her disguises; she could hardly come and go from Hensen’s
upper-class residence dressed like a streetwalker.  As she entered the inn once
again, he wondered who she would be next.

Sereth took a sidewalk seat at a blackbrew café two
doors down and across the street, ordered a cup and a pastry, and watched.  He
had a perfect view of the inn’s front and side doors, the only ways in or out,
barring a window.  He examined every woman who exited the inn: well-bred
matrons, blushing maids, and servants sent out on errands.  He spared barely a
glance at the scullery maid in the nondescript gray dress stepping out of the
inn’s side door.

Not her style
.

He was about to order another cup of blackbrew when
the maid adjusted her headscarf.  Her hand was pale and smooth, the fingernails
clean and neatly manicured, not the red, calloused hand of a scullery maid.

Damn, she’s good
!

Sereth rose casually to his feet, dropped some coins
onto the table, and started after her, lagging back a half block.  Tailing
Kiesha gave him a new appreciation for Hunters, and an admiration for the
thief’s skill.  Her imitation of a work-weary scullery maid was flawless, and
she made her occasional glance over her shoulder look casual.  Even with so
many people out and about, Sereth was hard-pressed to maintain his distance and
also keep her in his sights.  Scullery maids were as common as bargemen, and
just as invisible.

Kiesha trudged across the arched span of High
Bridge, one among hundreds of people making their way from home after a hard
day’s work.  On the other side of the river, she turned onto South Waters
Avenue, following it for several blocks before turning into The Sprawls.

Sereth wrinkled his painful nose with distaste.  The
Sprawls wasn’t where he had expected Kiesha to lead him.  He knew the
downtrodden district all too well, and the residents didn’t care for strangers.

Nearly a third of Twailin’s entire populace lived in
The Sprawls…the bottom third.  Most of them provided simple, unskilled labor to
those who lived in the nicer districts: hauling cargo, delivering goods,
cooking, cleaning, sweeping streets, grooming horses, and collecting waste. 
They lived here because they could afford no better.  The environment fostered
an “us versus them” attitude, and though most accepted their lot in life, there
were others who fought to escape.  Long ago, Sereth had been one of the latter,
and he’d never looked back.

On these seedy streets, one more stooped and tired
scullery maid heading home drew no notice.  Few bargemen walked here, however,
unless they were headed toward one of the seedier gambling dens, whorehouses,
or taverns.  Sereth ditched his straw hat and jacket in an alley, and dropped
back farther.  Kiesha glanced about whenever she turned a corner, but she
hadn’t spotted him yet.

Another corner, another glance, and Sereth ducked
into a shadowed doorway, glad that he’d worn dark shirt and trousers beneath
his disguise.  Her gaze passed over his hiding spot without pause, and she
moved on.  Hurrying up to the corner, he peeked around the crumbling bricks. 
Dumpy little shops lined the block: pot makers, tinsmiths, and tinkers, if
their faded signs were to be believed.  Kiesha crossed the street and ducked
into a tiny shop.  Adopting the wary stride of a Sprawler—far too easily
remembered for his comfort—Sereth walked past the shop, glancing sidelong at
the grimy storefront.  No placard identified the shop, just a single character
drawn on the black door in flaking gold paint.  Sereth couldn’t read the mark,
but knew it was gnomish.

“What are you up to, Kiesha?”  He swallowed hard as
he imagined Jinny captive in this rat-infested section of town.  Neither the
Thieves Guild nor the Assassins Guild did much business down here, leaving the
impoverished territory to the local street gangs.

Stopping at the corner, he leaned against a
drainpipe in the twilight shadows and watched.  The streets were still
reasonably busy, but traffic declined as night fell.  Honest folk didn’t
venture out after dark in this part of the city.

A gang of four street toughs rounded the far corner
and strutted down the street. 
They get younger every year
, Sereth
thought.  The oldest looked about fifteen.  Each carried a stick with a long
nail pounded through the end, identifying them as members of the Spikes gang,
and Sereth was on their turf. Spying Sereth, they altered their course,
grinning dangerously.

“You waitin’ for a hackney, Norther?” the largest asked,
flipping his spiked club in the air.  The haft made a meaty pop when he caught
it.  Sprawls gangs referred to anyone who lived north of their own territory as
Northers.

“Bugger off.”  Sereth drew two gleaming daggers from
his sleeves.  “I’m here on guild business, and it’s not yours.”  He didn’t say
which guild.  It wouldn’t matter to the Spikes anyway.

“Your guild don’t have no business down here,
Norther, but I might take one of those shiny daggers from you for a souvenir.” 
The others chuckled as they approached.

The last thing Sereth needed right now was a fight,
but he’d have to deal with these toughs so he could resume his watching in
peace.  Even as he opened his mouth to warn them off, he noticed Kiesha
emerging from the shop. 
Damn
!  The four Spikes stood between Sereth and
his quarry, but he didn’t want to draw her attention.  She closed the door
carefully, but then only glanced his way before hurrying in the opposite
direction.  If Sereth didn’t conclude this soon, he would lose her.

“I don’t have time to kill you right now, so why
don’t you just take one of my daggers and go.”  Sereth flipped his right-hand
blade and threw it.  The fine steel thunked into the leader’s raised club. 
Sereth had another dagger out before the boy even realized what had happened. 
“Now bugger off, or each of you gets a souvenir in the eye.”