Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy) (2 page)

“You…”  Hoseph stared at Kiesha, and a slow smile
spread across his face.  “That was very quick thinking.  So, with the ring
freed—“

“I
murdered
Lad’s wife right in front of him!” 
Kiesha’s anguish spoke volumes.

Curiously, her pain eased Hoseph’s mind.  She wasn’t
rebelling, she was just suffering from guilt.  The mystery of her foul mood was
solved.

“He’s seeking her killer, set on vengeance.”

“Does he know that it was you?”

“No.”  Kiesha shook her head.  “I ran for my life afterward. 
He couldn’t know, but my contacts tell me that he’s determined to find out.”

“Relax, child.  I’m sure Mya won’t let him go
careening off on a hunt for his wife’s killer.  Now that she’s guildmaster—”

“Why do you keep assuming that?”  Kiesha’s question
was half incredulous, half scornful.  “
Lad
put on the guildmaster’s
ring!  He’s got the entire guild out searching for clues to his wife’s murder.”

Hoseph’s thoughts wavered.  That could be a
problem.  “Did he see you?”

“He couldn’t have.  I
told
you, I ran as soon
as…”  Kiesha took a shuddering breath and let it out slowly.  “There are all
sorts of rumors flying around, but they all have one thing in common—Lad is in
charge, not Mya.  He’s already appointed four new masters and made changes in
the guild’s business practices.”

Hoseph listened to Kiesha’s summary of those changes
with only half his mind.  With the other half, he considered the situation. 
Mya was not guildmaster as he had planned, but still, the situation had
promise.  The weapon was under control.  He had much to consider before reporting
to the Grandmaster.

  The first priority, however, was to allay Kiesha’s
fears.  “You’ve done well, Kiesha.”  He pulled a small satin pouch from a
pocket and offered it to her.  With seeming reluctance, the thief reached out, grasped
it, and tossed it onto the bed.  The contents rattled like dice, though their
facets were valued in carats, not numbers.

“I need protection,” Kiesha insisted.  “If they get
too close, I may need to disappear.  If I had a way to contact you…”

Hoseph shook his head.  “In due time, child.  Don’t
worry, and don’t do anything rash.  The Grandmaster will deal with this. 
There’s still work to be done.  First, find out where this new guildmaster
lives.  Any more information on changes he’s instituting would be helpful. 
I’ll check back with you in a few days.  If you need to disappear, I’ll arrange
a secure location.”

“All right.”  She sounded calmer.  Not happy, but resigned.

Hoseph flicked the silver skull into his hand and
invoked the power of his beloved goddess.  As Demia’s cold grace consumed him,
he caught one last glimpse of Kiesha’s eyes, bright with the fear of death.  That
was enough, for now, to keep her under his control.

L
ad
slapped open the door to the butcher shop so hard that it cracked against the
wall.  He propelled his charge through the door, reigning in his boiling blood
to keep from hurting the man.  The fellow had been through enough already.

“Hey!”  The proprietor looked up with a glare, then
swallowed his reproof and lowered his gaze back to his work.  He knew better
than to interfere with people who came into his shop bearing the marks of
recent violence.

Lad ignored the butcher’s mutters and propelled his
battered charge around the long counter and down a hall.  A man with a cleaver
at his hip stood before the door at the hall’s end, huge arms crossed over a
barrel chest, biceps straining the fabric of his shirt.  A typical Enforcer.  The
thug grinned as they approached, eying Lad as if deciding how many pieces to
tear him into.

The misconception was common.  With a lithe, wiry
build, nondescript clothing, and no weapons, Lad knew that many underestimated
him.  Generally he took pains to avoid conflict, but right now he wasn’t in the
mood for explanations.  He nodded toward the door.  “Open it.”

“I don’t know who you are, bucko, but you don’t just
come into this shop and—”

Lad thrust his fist out faster than the Enforcer
could even reach for his cleaver.  With exquisite precision, he stopped the
blow an inch from the man’s nose.  The ring on Lad’s finger—obsidian woven with
gold—widened the thug’s eyes and closed his mouth.  Lad bridled his urge for
violence.  The man was just doing his job.  It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t
yet recognize the new master of the Twailin Assassins Guild. 

“Now you know who I am.”  Lad lowered his hand and
nodded again at the door.  “Open it.”

“Yes, Master.”  The thug opened the door and stepped
aside.

The room wasn’t what one would expect in the back of
a butcher shop.  One side was furnished for pleasure, a well-appointed sitting
area with a luxurious rug, a plush divan and low table adjacent to a mahogany
bar crowded with decanters, bottles, and an array of cut-crystal glasses.  The
other side of the room was all business, with a broad desk of dark oak littered
with papers faced by two leather-upholstered chairs.

Behind the desk sat a man who obviously believed in
mixing business and pleasure.  Dressed in a sharp, brushed-wool jacket and
waistcoat with gold buttons, he appeared the epitome of a successful businessman. 
The provocatively dressed girl on his lap spoiled that image.  The perturbation
on his face at the unexpected visitors transformed to shock, and he surged to
his feet, spilling the girl to the floor and her drink into his lap. 

“Master!”  Tiny silver rods chimed at his wrist as
Jingles brushed the liquid from his trousers and hauled the girl to her feet. 
“Sorry about that.  Just havin’ a little bit of fun, you know.”  He patted the
girl on the rump as he nudged her toward the room’s other door.  “Off with you
now, Celia.  We’ll talk later.  Ah…keep up the good work.”

Lad watched the girl go.  She couldn’t have been
more than sixteen years old, but the seductive smile she tossed his way
suggested that she was already well-versed in her profession.  Undoubtedly a
portion of her earnings found their way into Assassin Guild coffers, though it
looked as if Jingles might be taking his share in trade.  What his Master
Enforcer did for fun didn’t concern Lad.  He had a more important matter on his
mind.

“Do you know this man?”  Lad released his charge’s
collar.  The man stumbled, looking as if he wished he were anywhere but here. 
He squinted out of his one good eye—the other was purple and swollen shut—and
dabbed at his bloody split lip with a sodden handkerchief.  One whole side of
his face was a massive contusion.

“Can’t say as I do offhand, but…”  Jingles rounded
the desk, still brushing at his damp crotch as he examined the fellow’s face. 
“Look the other way so I can see you without that bruise.”

The man complied.

“Come to think of it, yes, I think I do know him. 
Runs a bookstore off Briar Rose Avenue.”

“A st-stationers,” the man corrected.  “Th-the Binder’s
Bin Stationers.”

“Right!  Quebeck’s his name!”  Jingles grinned as if
he’d just solved a puzzle, but sobered when he saw Lad’s grim expression. 
“What happened to him?”

“He was beaten and threatened, and his shop was
tossed.”  Lad’s anger rose again.  “I ordered an
end
to this violence! 
Tell me, Jingles, did you order this?”

“I did
not
, Master.”  Jingles looked suddenly
frightened.  “I’ve followed your orders to the letter, I swear on my life!”

“An appropriate oath.  Your life is
exactly
what it’ll cost you if I find out you’re lying.”  Lad turned to the trembling shopkeeper. 
“Did you know the ones who beat you?”

“I n-never saw them before today, sir.  They weren’t
the ones who usually came by…before.”  He swallowed and wrung the handkerchief
in his hands.  A drop of blood fell to the expensive rug.  “Please, sirs, they
told me to be quiet about it.  I don’t want any trouble.  They…they said they’d
burn…”

“Nobody’s going to hurt you, Master Quebeck, but we need
answers to make sure that whoever did this won’t come back.”  Lad clenched his
jaw.  The poor man was terrified.  Lad had come upon him sweeping up glass from
the shop’s broken front window, in tears as he plucked pieces of fine parchment
from the muddy gutter.  He hadn’t wanted to accompany Lad, but the guildmaster
had insisted.  This was Jingles’ territory, so the Master Enforcer would have
to answer for it.  Lad hoped the violence was the Thieves Guild moving in on
their territory, though he dreaded that it wasn’t.  Jingles’ denial seemed
sincere, but Lad was determined to get to the bottom of the matter.  “This is
Master Jarred.  He’s going to ask you some questions.”

“I’ll answer as best I can, sir.”  The shopkeeper’s
voice still trembled, despite Lad’s assurances.  

Jingles eyed Quebeck critically.  “Can you describe
who beat you?  How many, what they wore.  Did they use names?”

“No names, sir.  “Th-there were two of them.  A man
and a woman, though she was as tall and big as he.”  Quebeck glanced at Lad,
then back to Jingles.  “She had red hair tied back in a long braid, and a scar
on the bridge of her nose.  The man was a Morrgrey.  Dark, of course, and wore
a green felt hat with a cock’s feather.”

Lad saw the answer in Jingle’s face even before he
asked, “Do you know these two?”

“I do, Master.”  The Master Enforcer’s hand twitched
and the silver bars jingled.  “The man’s named Korlak, and the woman’s Gerti Yance. 
They’re ours.”

“Ours...”  Lad’s knuckles popped as he clenched his
fists.  Forcing himself to take a deep, calming breath, he turned back to
Quebeck.  “How much damage was done to your shop?”

“Um, maybe twenty crowns worth, including lost
inventory, and it’ll be a couple of days ’til I can open back up.”

“And how much cash did they take from you?”

“Just what was in the cash box.  Maybe fifteen
crowns.”

Lad told Jingles, “Give him fifty crowns.”

The Master Enforcer didn’t even quibble.  He went
right to his desk, opened a drawer, and counted out the sum.  Dropping it into
a leather pouch, he handed it over to the man with the assurance, “I’ll make
sure this doesn’t happen again.”

Lad even believed him.

“You can go now, Master Quebeck.”  Lad nudged him
toward the door.  “Thank you.”  When the door had closed, he fixed Jingles with
an even stare and said, “Who are Korlak and Yance?”

“Enforcers, sir, assigned to Molsen’s area, near
Eastgate.”

“Take me to them.”

“Now, Master?”

“Now.”

“Yes, sir.”  Jingles  went to his desk, pulled two
daggers from a drawer, and put them in boot sheaths.  He snatched up a walking
stick and drew forth the gleaming sword that was attached to the polished gold
handle.  Snapping it back into place, he turned to Lad and nodded.  “Ready, Master.”

“Good.”  Lad noted Jingles’ fine clothes, and considered
his own simple shirt and pants.  His shoes bore no shine, and he wore no
weapons.  Anyone looking at the two of them would think Jingles a moneyed
gentleman and Lad his servant.  That suited Lad just fine.  “Where are we
going?”

“Molsen’s got them watching over a gambling house
called
Lucky Bones
.”

“I know it.”  There weren’t many places in Twailin
that Lad didn’t know.

“Business usually starts to pick up this time of
day, so they should both be there.”

“Let’s go, then.”

Jingles seemed to consider his next words before
speaking.  “If you tell me what you want done, Master, I’ll see to it.  There’s
no reason you need to—”

“There
is
a reason I need to see to this,
Jingles.  I want to know why it happened, and make sure it doesn’t happen
again!”

“As you say, Master.  I’ll tan Molsen’s hide if I
find out he knew anything about this, but these two might just be poachers, not
acting on orders.  It’s your call, of course.”

“Yes, it
is
my call.”

Lad followed Jingles out the back door and around to
the street, stopping abruptly as the Master Enforcer hailed a passing hackney. 
He generally walked wherever he went, but one look at Jingles’ shiny, hard-soled
boots told him that there was no way the man could walk to Eastgate.  Lad didn’t
like coaches, but after a week as guildmaster, he had discovered a lot of
things he didn’t like that he was having to get used to.  Going to bed every
night without Wiggen at his side was the hardest.

As the coach pulled up, a woman in a simple dress hurried
past and, for an instant, he saw Wiggen: her walk, her hair, her scent…  He
blinked, and the vision was gone.

Gone
…
  She’s gone
…  Lad
followed Jingles into the coach and took a seat.

Clenching his hands at his sides, he forced down the
urge to lash out, to vent the rage and frustration that continually threatened
to overwhelm him.  One by one, he flexed and relaxed each muscle in his body,
an exercise he had been taught long ago to imbue calm.  It didn’t work, just as
his morning exercises and meditation no longer brought the peace of mind they
once had.  Nothing helped.  Everywhere he looked he saw her.  Every scent and
sight reminded him of the life they’d shared at the
Tap and Kettle
.  He
looked out the window at the passing city, searching for something, anything to
keep his mind active, busy, away from dwelling on his empty bed, the smell of Wiggen’s
hair as he lay down beside her, one arm over her, the warmth of her body
against him…

Wiggen
…

“Here we are!”

Jingles’ announcement snapped Lad from his reverie,
and the guildmaster’s blood chilled.  He recognized Eastgate Street outside,
but remembered nothing of the trip. 
How long
?  He considered the
distance; fifteen or twenty minutes, at least.

Not again
!  Lad kept his face composed
despite his mounting apprehension.  He’d been trained from birth to be
attentive to his surroundings at every waking moment, and it had saved his life
many times.  Since Wiggen’s death, lapses like this, transient periods lost in
thought, were becoming frequent. 

Jingles opened the coach door and stepped out.  Lad
forced himself to focus on the here and now as he followed.  They stood in
front of the
Lucky Bones
public house.  A broad sign—a pair of dice
coming up double eights—pointed the way down the stairs to the drinking and
gambling establishment tucked into the basement of a shoe factory. 

“The manager’s name’s Lyghter.  She’s a hard case,
but runs a good business.  She’s been one of our…clients for a long time now.” 
Jingles flipped a half-crown to the coachman, and turned to Lad, jingling his
bracelet nervously.  “Master, if Korlak and Yance
are
poachers, they
might try to bolt.  A visit from me wouldn’t startle them, but if I’m with
someone, it might.  Maybe I should go first?”