Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy) (21 page)

Captain Norwood stepped down from his carriage onto
the courtyard of the duke’s palace, brushing at the gooey white slobber on the
leg of his trousers.  The source of the noisome stain hopped down after him:
four hundred pounds of canine.  The two mastiffs observed their new
surroundings attentively.  Their hand-sized tongues lolled as they panted and
drooled onto the manicured gravel drive.

“Excuse me, Captain.”  A palace guard stepped
forward, one hand raised in a gentle forestalling gesture.  The other held a
halberd, its foot-long head gleaming in the mid-morning sun.  “You can’t bring
those…um…pets into the palace.”

“They’re not pets, they’re guard dogs, and they’re
staying at my side.”  In fact, the two mastiffs were the only reason Norwood
had gotten any sleep last night after the attempt on his life.  The dogs had
drawn stares and questions when he stopped by his office that morning, but he
couldn’t have cared less.  If that murderous priest popped in, Tango and Brutus
would take him apart before he could get near Norwood.  “I need to see Master
Woefler, and then the duke.  You can admit me through the servant’s entrance so
the dogs don’t startle anyone.”

“They don’t look safe to me, Captain.  I’ve the
security of the duke’s family and guests to consider.”

“Oh, come on, man!  They’re well trained.  They’re
not going to eat anyone unless I tell them to.”  He patted Tango and Brutus
affectionately on their massive heads.  “Hells, they won’t even crap on the
duke’s silk rugs!”

“Well, I didn’t mean—”

“They’ll be no trouble.  You have my word on it,
Sergeant, and I’ll take full responsibility if they so much as piss on a potted
petunia.”  The attempt on his life had put him in no mood to deal with
nonsense.  “Now call me an escort and stand aside, or call Duke Mir, and I’ll
discuss it with him.”  He turned and strode for the servant’s entrance, Tango
and Brutus padding along at his heels.

“But, sir!”

Norwood ignored the guard’s protestations.  A
footman intercepted him at the door, having watched the exchange from the main
entrance.  Thankfully, it was Thomsen, an old hand who knew the Norwood well.

“Don’t mind the sergeant, Captain.”  The footman
winked and lowered his voice.  “He’s a bit of a tight arse, if you know what I
mean.  Now, sir, does the duke’s mage know you’re coming?”

Norwood stifled a snort of laughter.  “Yes, but I’ve
never been to his chambers, so I’ll need a guide.  I’ll be attending the duke
afterward.”

“Of course, Captain.”  Thomsen raised a white-gloved
hand, and a page appeared before he could even extend a finger.  “Merciel,
conduct Captain Norwood to Master Woefler’s quarters, then wait and take him to
the duke in the gardens afterward.  I’ll inform his lordship that you’ll see
him at his leisure, Captain.”

“That’ll be fine.”

The page bowed to Norwood, his eyes widening at the
sight of the two mastiffs.  “This way, sir.”

Norwood let his mind wander as he followed the
page.  Despite hundreds of previous visits, it never ceased to astound him how
vast the duke’s palace truly was.  It had been a fully fortified king’s castle
once, but the expanding Tsing Empire had swallowed the Kingdom of Twailin two centuries
ago.  The usurped king’s son—after watching his father’s head roll through the
dirt of the outer courtyard—had readily agreed to be named duke of the new
province.  Since then, the duke’s palace had served as a bastion of the Noble
House of Tsing in the hinterlands of Twailin.

As he walked, he contemplated his tentative plan. 
Just how it would work depended on what Woefler had to tell him, but more importantly,
on whether the wizard would go along.  If Norwood could find the leak of
information, he could find the assassin.  He dismissed the Assassins Guild; not
only had his visitor last night not known that Norwood was conducting an
investigation, but he had saved his life.  That narrowed his scope.  If his
plan worked, and he caught the killer alive, he might even find out how this
was all connected to the Fiveway Fountain massacre.

And that
, he thought,
would be a
double feather in my cap
!

Lost in thought, the captain followed the page down
a flight of stairs, nearly bowling into the young man when he stopped abruptly
in front of an unmarked door.  The page rapped the brass clapper thrice and
said loudly, “Captain Norwood to see you, Master Woefler.”

The latch clicked, and the door opened of its own
accord.  “Show him in.”

Norwood squinted at the brilliant light that flooded
out the door, and entered the vast chamber.  Three steps in, however, he
stopped, his hand drifting to the hilt of his sword.  Tango and Brutus growled
and bristled at his heels.

Woefler turned from his seat across the room, wide
eyes fixed on the dogs, his face pale.  He looked more upset than Norwood had
ever seen him.  “What in the name of the lost books of Azrael are
those
things?”

“I might ask you the same thing,” the captain
countered, pointing past the wizard to the figure lounging on a low divan.  “Is
she really on
fire
?”

The wizard sat upon a stool in front of an easel,
his arms folded over his chest while four tiny paint brushes levitated before a
startlingly lifelike painting.  The model of the painting, and the subject of
Norwood’s concern, was a ruddy-skinned woman no larger than a child, with hair
of living flame.  Her eyes gleamed red, and a gown clung to her like a second
skin, as if molten gold had been poured over her curvaceous shape.  Arching a
fiery eyebrow at him, she plucked a glowing coal from a nearby brazier and
popped it into her mouth like a tasty tidbit.

Woefler glanced over his shoulder, and then looked
back to Norwood.  “Yes, she is.  Now please explain why you’ve brought those
two monstrous dogs into my chambers.”

“These are my new bodyguards, Tango and Brutus.”

“Well, they can’t come in here.  You’ll have to
leave them outside.”

“Why?”

Woefler waved a hand, and his brushes descended to
their paint pots.  “First of all, you have no need of bodyguards in my
quarters.  Secondly, dogs don’t particularly care for magic.  It’s said that it
smells
wrong
to them.  They tend to bite things they don’t like, so
mages, as a general rule, do
not
care for dogs.”

The news couldn’t have pleased Norwood more.  He
patted the slobbering beasts affectionately.  “Well, I like them quite a lot,
but I suppose they can wait outside.”  He turned to the page.  “You don’t mind
watching them for me, do you, Merciel?”

“Um…no, sir.”  The youth eyed the two canines
dubiously.  “As long as they don’t…um…dislike pages, too.”

“They’re gentle as lambs.”  Norwood nudged Tango and
Brutus out of their threatening postures.  “Come on, boys.  Heel.”  The dogs
whined, seemingly reluctant to turn their backs on the wizard’s chambers, but
followed.  Outside, Norwood bade them to sit and stay, which they did without
complaint.  The page stood by nervously, still uneasy.  “Don’t worry, they won’t
move until I come back.”

“Yes, sir.”

Norwood went back into the room, and the door closed
behind him of its own accord.

“Why in the names of all the Gods of Light do you
need two dogs the size of ponies to guard your person, Captain?”  Woefler
seemed to have relaxed, now that the dogs were gone, but his voice still
carried a burr of annoyance.

“I find them comforting.”  Norwood looked around the
room.  Whatever he had expected of a wizard’s chambers, it was not this.

He’d imagined a small, cluttered cubby smelling of
sulfur and smoke, rife with tattered books, stacks of parchment, oddments and
doodads.  This was more of a lavishly appointed suite than a laboratory or
workshop. The chamber seemed to have been freshly cleaned by an army of
obsessive maids, organized by an equally detail-oriented archivist, and
decorated by someone with impeccable, if somewhat eclectic, taste.  There were
bookshelves, to be sure, but the volumes were neither dusty nor disorganized. 
Glass-fronted cabinets stood between the shelves, their contents displayed in
tidy rows.  These curios, however, would never be seen on a staid dowager’s
mantle.  Figurines of ivory, precious metals, crystal, and ebony danced, moved,
and writhed on their little bases.  Even the rug appeared to be animated, the
threads and patterns changing and shifting as he stared.  Norwood felt nauseous
with all the movement as made his way to the center of the room, where
comfortable divans surrounded a low table.  An array of decanters, blackbrew
and tea pots, jars and glass-domed serving dishes brimming with hors d’oeuvres
were laid out as if for a pending party.

Lowering himself to a seat, he spoke once again. 
“After someone tried to kill me last night, I felt the need for additional
security.”

“What?”  Incredulity replaced annoyance on Woefler’s
face.

“I said, someone tried to kill me last night.”  He
peered at the miniature woman.  “Um, is that a…”

“Tweorijle’s from Hades, but you needn’t worry.” 
The wizard smiled in a dismissive manner.  “She’s constrained by the circle of
runes there on the floor.”

“Must you ceaselessly torment me with that word?” 
The tiny devil’s voice sounded like bones being ground to dust between a pair
of granite blocks.  Turning her blazing eyes back to Norwood, she looked him up
and down.  “Your visitor looks positively delicious.  May I eat him?”  She
popped another ember into her mouth and smiled with black, burning teeth.

“No, you may not.”  Woefler sighed and transferred
his brushes to a pot of solvent.  “Forgive me, Captain, but Tweorijle is miffed
that I discovered her true name and bound her to my service.”

“I am not bound yet, Wizard.”  The devil’s sensuous
smile curled into a feral grin.  “Not yet.”

Norwood peered closer and realized that, as the
devil moved, so did her image in the painting.  He wasn’t sure he wanted to
know what Woefler was doing, and didn’t ask.

“But you will be bound, my dear, you will be.” 
Woefler drew a silk cover over the painting.  “That’s enough for now, I think. 
You may go home.”  He waved a hand, and the burning woman vanished in a puff of
noxious smoke.  “She’s sort of a work in progress.”

“I understand.”  Norwood didn’t actually, but felt
safer simply agreeing rather than having Woefler elaborate to the point of
petrification.  
Best to get right to the point
.  “You received the
report from Tsing?”

“I did, but what’s this about an attempt on your
life?”  Woefler sat on one of the plush divans and poured himself a goblet of
amber-hued wine.  Lifting the glass cover from a platter, he asked, “Won’t you
have something?”

“I’m not hungry, thank you.”  The captain wondered
about the array of food and drink.  Had Woefler ordered all this just for him? 
It seemed extravagant.  “I’ll explain about the attack in a minute, but I’d
like to read the report from Tsing first, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.”  Woefler plucked a pastry from the
platter and replaced the cover.

Norwood blinked.  Beneath the glass dome, the plate
was full again. 
More magic
…  The captain shifted uneasily.  Magic was
rare and dangerous.  To use such power for simple convenience didn’t seem
right.

Oblivious to his guest’s discomfort, Woefler popped
the morsel into his mouth and waved a hand.  A thick roll of parchment floated
over from a shelf as he chewed, swallowed, and chased the bite with a sip of
wine.

“I’m afraid it’s rather dry reading.  Maybe you’ll
get more from it than I did.”  Taking the parchment out of the air, he handed
it over.

Norwood untied the string that bound the roll and
opened the report.  “You read it?”

“I had to transcribe it from the messaging scroll,
Captain.”  The wizard pointed to an ornate golden stand on a nearby table.  A
scroll stretched across the flat surface, rolled into a pair of spindles at top
and bottom.  Beside it, a long-feathered quill pen stood in an inkpot.  “Just
as the emperor’s archmage had to transcribe the report onto an identical
messaging scroll in his laboratory.  I hope the information was worth our
time.”

“So do I.”

While Norwood read the report, Woefler continued
munching and sipping wine.  The wizard was right; it was dry reading and
offered little insight.  Nothing even remotely illegal or suggesting a
connection to the Thieves Guild or Assassins Guild. 
There has to be one
somewhere
.  Norwood had already thrown off any thought of the baron being
killed for his money, or something as trite as jealousy.  This murder was not
so mundane.  Rerolling the scroll, he lost himself in thought.  Perhaps, there
was something here that he could work into his plan to identify the information
leak.

“Satisfied, Captain?”

“Not really.”  He regarded Woefler.  Could the
amiable wizard be involved in some murderous conspiracy? 
No
.  If he
was, Norwood would already be dead.  That didn’t mean, however, that he hadn’t
inadvertently leaked information.