Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy) (12 page)

The Spikes gaped.  The stunt stopped them cold, just
as Sereth intended, but they still stood between him and Kiesha.  If he tried
to force his way past them, he’d likely get a spike in the back of his head.

The leader wrenched the dagger from his club and
examined the blade.  Like all of Sereth’s knives, it was perfectly balanced and
razor sharp.  The boy’s eyes widened as he realized that it would sell for more
than he made in a week, then narrowed and darted toward his friends.  Sereth
recognized the struggle between defiance and avarice.  No Sprawls gang member
could afford to appear weak among his fellows.  Sereth had to give him a way
out.

“I tell you what.  Consider that a down payment. 
You may have heard that the guild is recruiting down here.  We’re serious about
it.  My name’s Sereth, and I’m the guild’s Master Blade.  You come onboard with
us, and every single Spike will be carrying a dagger like that.  You can still
be Spikes and keep your territory, but you can be Blades, too.  Tell your boss
about my offer, and ask for me at Donnovon’s Chandlery on South Waters.”

The defiance in the boy’s eyes shifted to
determination as he gazed again at the shiny dagger.  He nodded.  “We’ll see
what Dangley has to say about your offer.”

“Good.”  Sereth hadn’t known the Spikes had a new
leader, but then, gang leaders didn’t last long in The Sprawls.  Tucking his
daggers away, he nodded down the street.  “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m
working
.”

“Oh, uh.  Yeah.  Sure.”  The leader nudged his mates
and they moved along.

Kiesha had vanished.  Sereth dashed to the corner
and peered around, but she was nowhere to be seen.

“Damn!”  The Blade hesitated.  Should he hurry back
to the inn where she changed clothes or…  He looked over his shoulder at the
tiny shop.  Curiosity niggled the back of his mind.  What was Kiesha doing
here?  He could always pick up her trail back at Hensen’s house, but right now,
he needed to know what was inside that shop.

Sereth strode back and turned the door handle.  It
didn’t budge, and a glance confirmed that a shade had been pulled down inside
the filthy window.  Up and down the street, other shops remained open late to
serve homeward-bound residents.  Why was this shop locked up, not only early,
but right after Kiesha left?

Only one way to find out.

Sereth fished a tiny packet of tools from his back
pocket, glanced up and down the street to confirm that the few passersby were
paying him no attention, and slipped two picks into the lock.  A wiggle and
careful pressure with one while he flicked the other over the tumblers yielded
immediate results.  The handle turned in his grasp, and the door swung open.

Sereth ducked under the low lintel and entered the
dark shop, wary of the low ceiling within.  The gnomish symbol and diminutive
door warned him that the shop would be unaccommodating to someone over six feet
tall.  The shorter races built to their own dimensions.  If humans and elves
didn’t deign to stoop, well, they needn’t enter.

The darkness around him buzzed with the ticks and
whirs of clockwork devices, but there was no greeting or warning from a
proprietor.  Closing the door, Sereth noted a metal-reinforced frame and heavy
iron bar meant to secure the door from the inside. 
So why wasn’t the bar
thrown when the door was locked
?  He secured the bar now to ensure that no
one else could enter, and waited while his eyes adjusted to the gloom.

As shapes resolved around him, Sereth was surprised
to discover no clocks in the shop.  Instead, the shelves were crowded with
finely crafted clockwork toys.  Windup dogs, cats, horses, people, and even
pigs blinked and nodded at him.  Sereth had seen similar toys in other shops,
but closer inspection revealed a macabre theme to these creations.

A rocking horse bobbed up and down, its little rider
swinging a thin wire lariat that garroted a fleeing man.  Two goblins rode a
seesaw, a human head sliding back and forth on a wire between them in a
gruesome game of catch.  A headsman wielded a bloody axe to lop off a woman’s
head, which tumbled into a little basket before popping up to be lopped off
again.  A zombie beat a teasing dog with its own severed leg…

Sereth marveled at the ingeniously grim toys—
Gnome
humor?
—before recalling his real question. 
Why did you come here,
Kiesha?

He moved through the shop, careful not to touch any
of the toys.  Gnomes also enjoyed crafting deadly little traps to dissuade
would-be thieves.  Beyond the shelves stood a knee-high counter, a veritable
sea of clockwork fishes and frogs swimming beneath the clear glass.  Behind the
counter, a simple curtain blocked his view into the backroom.  Sereth stepped
silently around the counter and stood with his back to the wall beside the
doorway.  The tip of his longest knife teased the curtain aside.  He was
greeted by the dim glow of lamplight and the sickly sweet scent of blood.

Peering through the gap, he spied a diminutive
corpse beside the workbench.  He eased the curtain back and scanned the tiny
back room; no one else was here.

Sereth slipped inside and squatted down, careful to
avoid the congealing pool of blood around the gnome’s oversized head.  The
little toymaker’s eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, his expression shocked
and pained.  His throat had been efficiently cut, so recently that blood still
oozed from the wound.  Sereth laid a hand on the corpse’s forehead; still warm.

Standing, the assassin surveyed the scene with a
professional eye.  Blood spotted the tools and partially finished devices atop
the bench, and a trail of droplets decorated the wall behind it.  The toymaker
had apparently been killed at his bench, his throat cut from behind. 
A
clean job
, Sereth decided,
worthy of an assassin
. 
Kiesha’s just
full of surprises…unless she had an accomplice
.

Sereth glanced around, but not even a gnome could
hide amidst the benches and shelves of junk.  The shop’s back door was barred
and padlocked.  A quick inspection revealed dust on the lock.  No one had gone
out that way recently.  Beside the door, a ladder led up to a hatch in the
ceiling.  The gnome probably lived up there, and if Kiesha did have an
accomplice, they might be up there right now.  Sereth listened carefully.  No
noise from above, but that might mean that someone was listening for him. 
Dagger at the ready, he put his foot on the lowest rung and lifted the trap
door a finger-width.

Nothing.

Cautiously, he poked his head into the upper space. 
As suspected, it was a small apartment, boasting only a mattress on the floor,
a tiny dresser, an undersized table, and single chair.  No accomplice lurked in
the shadows.

Sereth shook his head in wonder as he added
assassination to Kiesha’s list of accomplishments.  He wouldn’t underestimate
her again.  Staring down at the body, curiosity spun in his head like one of
the gnome’s macabre toys.

Why in all the Nine Hells and Seven
Heavens would you kill a gnome toymaker, Kiesha
?

Sereth meticulously searched the workshop, picking
cautiously though the pervasive clutter, looking for answers.  Tools, paints,
and a thousand tiny clockwork parts filled boxes and shelves, but nothing that
might interest a thief…or provoke a murder.

Drawers, cupboards, and the bench top finally
completed, Sereth ran his dagger beneath the lip of the bench, stopping when
the blade clicked against metal.  Still wary of traps, he slowly applied
pressure, and a hidden catch popped open.  A slim drawer slid silently out from
the shadowed recess on long, well-oiled hinges.  Sereth caught his breath.

“Motherless son of a…”

A dozen black darts nestled in velvet-lined nooks,
darts identical to the one that killed Wiggen.  Not one assassin at the Fiveway
Fountain battle had been able to lift a hand against her because she wore the
guildmaster’s ring.  But the ring wouldn’t have prevented a thief from killing
her, a thief skilled at assassination.  He glanced at the dead gnome at his
feet.

Kiesha
!

The darts were the method, and the dead gnome
indicated that she had the skill. 
Opportunity
?  With a sinking heart,
Sereth recalled Kiesha’s attempted seduction.  He had tried to expunge the
memory, but now recalled how he had blurted out the location of the planned
exchange of Mya for the guildmaster’s baby daughter. 

What about motive
?  What could possibly have
provoked Kiesha to kill Lad’s wife?

That
, Sereth decided,
is for Lad
to discover
.

He lifted a dart from the tray to present to his
guildmaster as evidence, but before he slipped it into his pocket, another
thought came to mind.  The Royal Guard was also looking for whoever had made
the darts.  A decaying corpse would draw vermin and eventually the authorities,
even in this neighborhood.  He couldn’t afford to have them make the same
discovery.  He emptied a small box of springs and gears onto the cluttered
bench top, and put the entire contents of the hidden drawer—the dozen darts and
loose components for several more—into it.  He pressed the wooden lid snugly
atop the box, and slid the drawer back into hiding.

Now to get the hell out of here
without being seen
.

Barred doors would delay the discovery of the
corpse, so he needed another way out.  Tucking the box with the darts under his
arm, Sereth climbed the ladder and crawled into the dingy little loft.  A
window in the back wall opened into the narrow alley.

“Perfect.”

Sereth grabbed a soiled blanket from the rumpled
little bed and tied the box into a bundle he could sling over his shoulder.  He
peered out the window, wrinkling his nose at the stink of refuse.  Night had
fallen, and the alley was empty.  The assassin wormed his way out of the
window, and hung from the crumbling brick casement by one hand while he closed
it behind.  He dropped down to the ground.  As he started down the alley, the
evidence bouncing over his shoulder, yet another thought struck him.

 Lad will ask how I discovered
this. 
His steps
faltered.  The truth would bring out his association with Kiesha and his
treason against the guild. 
He’ll kill me
.  Sereth’s deep-rooted sense
of self-preservation rose, and for a moment he considered throwing the parcel
into the heaps of trash that fouled the alley.  Then he reconsidered.

Lad would give anything to find his wife’s killer,
and Sereth now knew who that killer was.  The information was priceless, but
was it worth enough to spare Sereth’s life?  Even enough to get Jinny out of
Hensen’s clutches?

It all depends on Lad
.

The guildmaster knew what it felt like to have a
loved one taken from him, to be pressured into betrayal.  He had killed the
other masters not out of hatred or retribution, but to save his daughter.

There was only one way to find out: tell the truth.

Sereth thought long and hard on his walk home.  By
the time he was out of The Sprawls, an alarming notion resolved in his mind. 
Kiesha
killed the gnome because she knows Lad is hunting her
!
  She’s covering
her tracks
.  That meant she was running scared, perhaps intending to flee. 
If Sereth delayed, she might vanish, and his evidence would be worth nothing. 
Urgency now trumped caution.

“Tonight.  It has to be tonight…”

B
y
the time Kiesha reached home, evening had deepened into night, and her feet
were long past aching.  With the gnome dead, all she had to do was to get rid
of her blowgun and darts, and there would be no physical evidence linking her
to Wiggen’s murder.  Only two people knew for certain what she’d done, and
neither her father nor Hoseph seemed likely to betray her.  Sereth might
suspect that she had been at the scene, but she had the threat of Jinny to
manipulate him.

The backdoor lock clicked as she turned her key to
the right, then clicked and clacked again as she turned it back to the left. 
She felt a tingle up her arm as the elaborate device disengaged.  If she’d
released the key or inserted the wrong one, the magically sealed portal would
have reduced her to a smoldering corpse. 
Only the best security for the
Master of the Thieves Guild
, she thought sourly.

Slipping inside, Kiesha gently pushed the door shut,
inserted her key and turned it again.  The clatter of the mechanism relocking
made her cringe.  If anyone saw her, they’d immediately inform Hensen, who
would insist that she come in to dinner and give a report of her activities.

The far louder clatter of pots and pans set her mind
to rest.  The staff was busy preparing the evening meal.  Slipping past the
kitchen and scullery without anyone spotting her was easy.  Up the service
stairs and down the hall, she thought of where best to dispose of her weapon
and darts. 
The river or the sewer
?  The former was farther, but more
likely to keep the evidence lost.

Easing into her room, Kiesha closed the door and
breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good evening, Kiesha.  I trust you’re well.”

Hoseph’s greeting startled her at first, but then a
flood of relief washed over her.  He had gotten her message after all.  Then
she remembered why she’d gone to Patino in the first place, and the rest of her
excruciating day, and anger supplanted all other emotions.

“No, I’m
not
well.”  She sat on the edge of
her bed without even looking at him, and plucked at the laces of her shoes. 
“I’ve been dancing on a frying pan, and
you
were nowhere to be found! 
You
said
you’d be in touch!”

“Calm down, and don’t bother taking off your shoes. 
We’re leaving directly.”  He stood up from her dressing chair, his
sanctimonious manner unaffected by her tirade.

“Leaving?  I can’t leave right now.  I’ve got things
to do.”

“Don’t be petulant, Kiesha.  I told you I’d take you
to a safe place.  Your recent activities have made it too dangerous for you to
stay in Twailin.”

“My recent
activities
?”  She gaped at his
gall.  “When you didn’t show up for a
week
, I decided to take matters
into my own hands.”

“Yes.  You contacted Baron Patino.”  His lips pursed
into a disagreeable moue.  “That was not wise.”

“Well, at least it got your attention.  If you’d given
me some means to contact you myself, as I asked, I wouldn’t have had to go to
Patino.  You said you’d be in touch, and left me hanging.  What did you expect
me to do?  Anyway, I don’t need rescuing anymore.  I’ve been covering my
tracks.  I’ve a couple more things to do, then I should be safe.”

“What you’ve done is ruin a perfectly good
operative, draw attention to yourself, and put your master’s interests in
jeopardy.”  He stepped toward her and held out one hand while flipping that
creepy little skull into his other.  “Now come along.”

Kiesha glared at him.  He hadn’t listened to a thing
she’d said.  It was just like her father all over again.  Well, she wasn’t
going to kowtow any more, and there was no way in hell she was going to take
his hand.  When he said he’d take her to a safe place, she’d assumed it would
be by carriage, not wafting through the cosmos like smoke on the breeze.

“No!”  She leapt off the bed, reaching for the
dagger she’d used to kill Ghulgen.  Though she didn’t draw it, the solid hilt
felt reassuring in her hand.  “I’ve got one more thing I need to do tonight. 
There’s still evidence linking me to Wiggen’s death.  I’ve got to get rid of
it!”

Hoseph’s face darkened, and the muscles of his jaw
bunched.  “You’ve already done too much that you weren’t told to do!  Our
master doesn’t want
initiative
from you, only obedience.  Now come
here!”

He stepped forward, but she sidestepped again.

“If
your
master wanted a spy who didn’t think
for herself, then you recruited the wrong woman!”  She slipped the knife from
its sheath and held it steady in front of her.  “You may as well leave.  I’m
not going with you, and one scream will bring the house guards.”

The priest’s eyes flicked between the knife and her
face.  “You will
not
scream, Kiesha.”  He looked more annoyed by her
reaction than concerned about the dagger in her hand.

“Oh?  What makes you think—”

With a single mumbled word, a chill flash of blackness
burst forth from the little skull.  Her mouth gaped to scream, but only a
whimper escaped as despair crushed her heart.  A lifetime of shame, guilt, and
self-loathing sapped her anger, her strength, and her will to resist.

Hoseph stepped toward her, reaching out his hand,
and she stumbled back, jerking her weapon out of reach.  The dagger felt heavy,
her grasp clumsy.  He snatched her other wrist with a grip like a steel trap. 
Dark tendrils blossomed from the skull talisman, writhing to engulf him, snaking
down his limbs and stretching out toward Kiesha.  Where the tendrils touched,
flesh faded into mist.

“N….no!”  A deathly chill shuddered through her as
she watched her captive hand swallowed up.

With a strength born of terror, she clutched the
dagger so tightly her knuckles whitened.  Her very first knife-fighting lesson
came back to her then. 
Put the point into a vital spot, and you’re done.

Bending all her will, Kiesha thrust the blade into
Hoseph’s chest.  Too late.  The dagger pierced only the black mist.  There was
nothing left to stab.  One last moment of panic, and the coldness of the grave
pulled Kiesha into darkness.

“Master?”

Lad blinked.  In front of him lay the list of names
that Enola had provided.  He remembered starting to review it, wondering if the
owner of one of these names had killed Wiggen.  Then, nothing…

How long this time
?  It had been early evening when
he sat to read the list.  Now it was full dark outside, and his back and neck
ached from sitting at the desk. 
Hours, at least.

Looking up to Dee standing at the study door, he
asked, “What is it?”

“Master Sereth is here, sir.  He says it’s urgent.”

“What’s the hour?”  Lad stood and stretched,
vertebrae popping with each twist.

“Near midnight, sir.”

Four or five hours, then
…  He clenched his teeth so hard
that his jaw ached. 
This has to stop
!
  I have to focus
!  Forcing
himself past the exhaustion, past the memories, he realized what Dee had said. 
Sereth
…
urgent
…
near midnight
…  “Bring him here.”

“Yes, sir.”  Dee left, and a moment later returned
with the Master Blade in tow.

At first glance, Lad could see that Sereth was
upset.  He was also sporting a recently broken nose.  Usually the most stoic of
the masters, the Blade’s face was rigid with tension, his eyes wide with worry
and fear.  Curiously, one of Sereth’s six daggers was missing.  He also wasn’t
wearing his rapier, and he clutched a small wooden box protectively.  Lad’s
senses heightened at the irregularities.

“Thank you for seeing me, Master.”  Sereth bowed,
stiff and jerky, so unlike his customary fluid and precise movements that it
screamed apprehension.

This is serious
.  “What is it?”

The Blade cast a glance at Dee.  “Alone, if you
please, Master.”

The strange request put Lad even more on edge.  He
had come to trust Dee more than he trusted most of the masters.  His assistant
saw more sensitive guild business than Sereth ever would.  Despite his unease,
he could think of no reason to refuse.  After all, Dee was not a bodyguard, and
Sereth could no more hurt Lad than he could pluck out his own eyes.

“Very well.  Dee, wait outside.”

“As you wish, Master.”  Dee bowed and left the room,
his face stiffly expressionless.  Lad heard him take five steps down the hall
and stop there, close enough to quickly answer a summons, but far enough to
give them privacy.

Lad nodded to Sereth.  “Now, what is it?”

“The contents of this box will explain much,
Master.”  He held out the container.

Lad’s suspicion flared.  Could this be a trap?  The
master’s ring prevented Sereth from raising a hand to harm him, but what about
handing over a lethal gift?  Maybe he was being paranoid, but Lad was no longer
just Mya’s bodyguard.  As guildmaster, he was a target, and he wasn’t going to
risk his life to ignorance, especially with Sereth acting so strangely.

“Take the lid off yourself.”

“Of course, Master.” 

Sereth flipped open the lid without hesitation or
any hint of evasion, and again held out the box.  Convinced there was no
threat, and consumed by curiosity, Lad took it.

Inside, black darts gleamed in the lamplight,
identical to the one that had killed Wiggen.  Lad’s mind spun, and his hands
trembled so badly that the contents of the box rattled.  Among the darts lay a
number of springs, cylinders, pins, and tiny needles.  Disassembled darts, apparently. 
Or preassembled
!  Hope surged.  Sereth had discovered the crafter.

“Where did you get this?”

Sereth hesitated, still clearly uneasy.  “A gnome’s
shop in The Sprawls.  A toymaker.  I found him with his throat slit.”

“What?”  Lad’s hope plummeted.  With the crafter
dead, the trail to Wiggen’s murderer was broken.  “We have to find out who
killed him!  Pull in all the—”

“Master, please.”  Sereth held up trembling hands. 
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  “I know who killed the gnome, and I know
who murdered your wife.”

The box fell from Lad’s hands.

Vengeance
…

Darts and components skittered across the rug like
deadly black spiders.  A scalding wave of heat flooded through him, igniting a
visceral urge to strike out, to kill.  He clenched his hands at his sides and
stepped toward Sereth.  “Tell me!  Now!”

“I will, Master.”  Sereth stood his ground.  “I’ll
tell you everything, but first I must ask you a favor.”

“A
favor
?”  Lad’s teeth ground together. 
“What the hell are you talking about?  Tell me who killed Wiggen this instant!”

“I’ll tell you, Master, though it may mean my life.”

“Your life is
mine
, Sereth!” Lad burned with
the urge to break the Blade in half.

“Yes, Master.”  Sereth’s jaw clenched, but his voice
remained firm.  “I only ask that you remember what it felt like when your
daughter was held hostage.”