Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy) (24 page)

“Don’t worry, Dee.”  Lad gave him a smile.  “Thank
you for…everything.  I’ll see you in a month or so.”

“Very good, sir.”  Dee smiled, bowed, and stepped
back, the very image of propriety.

Lad boarded the carriage and settled into the
thickly cushioned seat across from Mya.  Despite the spacious cabin and the
breeze wafting in the open windows, the walls seemed to close in around him,
the air heavy.  He tugged at his cravat and swallowed, his breath coming
short.  The carriage lurched into motion, the noise of hooves and iron-rimmed
wheels on the cobbles masking the sounds of the city. 
Blind, deaf, and
confined to a box
…  Lad’s knuckles whitened on the head of his cane.

“Are you all right?” Mya asked.

“I’m fine,” he lied.  He forced himself to relax,
leaning  back against the soft upholstery and stretching his legs out
comfortably.  Still, Mya stared at him.  “I don’t like carriages.”

“Neither do I.”  A smile flickered across her
mouth.  “You taught me that.”

Lad looked out the carriage window, watching the
familiar scenery pass them by. 
Leave Twailin…  Leave Lissa
…  He forced
a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to ease his mind into the light
meditation he’d used for years.  As always of late, his thoughts turned to
Wiggen, bittersweet remembrances of the scent of her hair on her pillow as she
slept, the touch of her hand on his face, the brush of her lips on his neck…

Gone.  She’s gone
.

A rustle of cloth and the creak of leather opened
his eyes.  Mya held a small book in her hands.

“What are you reading?”  The question was out of his
mouth before he thought about it.  Anything to distract his mind.

“Just a novel.”  She shrugged and met his eyes.  “A
made-up story.”

“I know what a novel is.”

“Sorry.”

He looked back out the window.  They were coming to
Eastgate.  Lad hadn’t been outside the city in five years.  The last time he
had passed this portal, he’d been a different person, less than human, bereft
of emotion, and ignorant of what he was.  Sometimes he longed for that blissful
ignorance again.

Wiggen
…

“Didn’t you bring anything to do during the trip?”

“No.”  Lad glanced at her with a flash of
irritation.  “I suppose I should have brought a novel along.”

Ignoring his sarcasm, Mya opened her handbag and
withdrew another book.  This one was larger, with a leather binding and
colorful paint on the edge.  She handed it over.  “Here.  This will pass the
time, and might even be helpful.”

“The City of Tsing, Heart of the Empire Past and
Present,” he read aloud.  It had never occurred to him to read about Tsing
before arriving.  Though long familiar with reconnaissance, he generally
learned through experience, firsthand observation, and exploration.  The notion
of reading a published tour guide to learn about their destination beforehand
now seemed ludicrously obvious. 
Why didn’t I think of this
?

“It’s pretty dry reading, but there’s a lot of
information, and even some maps.”  Mya sat back again and opened her book. 
“It’s a big city.  I thought it would help to at least know our way around.”

Though seemingly relaxed, she sat stiffly, and Lad
took a moment to surreptitiously examine her more closely.  Her foot jiggled
under the folds of her dress, and her finger tapped on the spine of her book, uncomfortable
or nervous. 
Why
?  Maybe it was the carriage.

“Yes.  It should be useful.”  He flipped open the
cover and read the foreword, then thumbed ahead until he found a map.  Streets
crisscrossed the page, buildings jammed together in long blocks.  It
was
a big city.  Then he flipped the page and found another completely different
map, and another, and another.  “There are maps of several cities here.”

“Those are just Tsing’s districts.”  Mya looked up
with a hint of amusement in her eyes.  “There are six of them, and the Imperial
Palace besides.”

He counted the number of blocks across a single
district.  “But each one of these is as big as Twailin!”

“Yes, and most are much more heavily populated.” 
She went back to her book.  “I told you it was a big city.”

“Yes, you did.”  He’d known that, but he’d had no
real sense of how big.  In all his years living in Twailin, he’d never seen a
map of the entire city.  He’d learned its streets, alleys and rooftops by
walking them, not by reading about them.  It had taken him weeks to fully
explore it, and months to learn all its nooks and crannies.  Tsing would take
years
to learn.   “Have you been there?”

“No.”  Mya didn’t even glance up, but her foot
tapped faster.

Of course.  She’s nervous about
being summoned by the Grandmaster
. 
Lad had been so focused on his own problems that he’d forgotten her
predicament.  Masters were rarely summoned thus, and when they were, it
generally wasn’t good.  He had no idea how he might ease her fears, or if he
should even try.  “This
will
be helpful.  Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”  Her eyes continued their back and
forth migration across the pages.

Lad flipped through the maps, piecing together the
districts of Tsing in his mind, marveling over the vastness of the city.  What
would it look like?  What the people would be like?  Turning to the table of
contents, he perused the chapter titles: A Millennium of History, Biographies
of Fifty-eight Emperors and Empresses, Economics and Trade, The Military, The
Rise of Nobility, Laws Past and Present, and a final section on Entertainment
and Leisure.  This would be helpful indeed.

He glanced back to Mya. 
She’s always thinking
ahead, planning and plotting, looking for every advantage.  I just stumble
through, reacting to whatever comes my way
…  She was right; he didn’t think
like an assassin.  She, however, most certainly did.

I should have given Mya the
guildmaster’s ring
.

The thought was futile, of course.  She hadn’t
wanted it in the first place, and it was pointless to consider how things might
have been different.  The decision was made the moment he put it on.  He was
guildmaster.  He could do nothing but be guildmaster.  But he could not run the
guild alone.  He needed people like Mya, Dee, and Sereth, those who seemed to
truly want to help him.  He needed to learn how to better
let
them help
him.  Unfortunately, the only thing he’d learned was that managing people was a
lot harder than killing them.

The carriage rumbled beneath Eastgate’s high arch. 
Twailin was now behind them, and the city of Tsing ahead.  Lad flipped to the
first page of the book and began to read.

N
orwood
looked out the window as the carriage pulled up to the Farthane way-inn. 
Backlit by the twilit sky, the building cast a long shadow across the village
commons. 
Perfect timing
.  He had hoped to arrive after dusk, when
traffic would be sparser—not that a village this size had much in the way of
bustling crowds to hide an assassin—but not too late for dinner.

“Stay, Tango.”  The captain reinforced his command
with a hand signal.  The dog regarded his master with intelligent eyes, silent
and obedient.  Norwood glanced at Tamir, who sat back in the shadows.  He knew
his job, though he’d groused some about it.

Norwood opened the door.  “Brutus, guard.”

The mastiff hopped down from the carriage and froze,
scanning the surroundings.  This was where things could get dangerous.  If
Norwood’s theory was correct, and his ploy worked, the assassin could strike at
any time.  The instant he left the carriage might be that time.  Norwood tried to
look casual as he stepped down and closed the door behind him.

No assassin
.  Norwood wasn’t sure if he was
glad to still be alive, or disappointed that his plan might not work.

A stableman stepped out of the barn door and hobbled
across the courtyard toward him.  Before he could approach close enough to see
Tam inside, the captain banged on the side of the carriage and called up to the
driver, “Bring the estate manager back as soon as you can.  Don’t take no for
an answer!”

“Yes, sir!”  The coachman cracked his whip, and the
carriage clattered off into the deepening darkness.

The stableman neared, halting when Brutus growled. 
“Help you, milord?”

“Yes.”  Norwood scratched Brutus’ massive head to
calm him.  “I’ll be staying the night, and need stabling for my team when they
return.”

“Of course, sir.  Talk to the missus about rooms.” 
The man nodded toward the inn door, then peered nervously at the mastiff.  “No
dogs allowed in the inn, and I don’t want him in the barn.  The horses won’t
like it.”

“He stays with me.”  Without waiting for an
argument, Norwood strode toward the inn, Brutus at his heel.  He wasn’t about
to sleep without the mastiff in the room, not tonight.  A tall woman stopped
him at the door.

“No dogs in the house, sir.  He’ll have to be kept
outside.”

“This isn’t a dog.  This is my second in command,
Sergeant Brutus.  He likes meat, and lots of it.  I’m Captain Norwood of the
Twailin Royal Guard.”  Norwood fished a gold crown from his pocket and held it
up.  It was more than the price of a room, board and stabling for two days.

“Don’t care if you’re Duke Mir himself.  No dogs in
the house.”  She crossed her arms, ignoring the coin.

“Your charter to operate this inn as an official
way-station on the Imperial Highway is sanctioned by Duke Mir, ruler of this
province.  It’d be a shame if I had to advise the duke to
revoke
your
charter due to your refusal to accommodate members of the Royal Guard.”  He
still held out the coin.

She frowned, but took the coin and bit it.  Looking
down at the dented gold, she stuffed it into her apron pocket, stepped aside,
and jerked her head toward the common room.  “Late for supper.  Stew and
bread.  Plenty of cold mutton for your
sergeant
.”

“That’ll be fine.  I’d like a private room for
dinner, if there is one.  I have business to discuss with the Farthane Estate
manager.”

“Down the hall in the back.  It’ll be a silver
crown.”

“Dinner for two in the back room, then.  My driver’s
bringing the estate manager.  See that he’s shown back, will you?”

“She, you mean?”  The woman looked dubiously at him.

“Yes, she.”  He hadn’t known the manager was a woman. 
He probably should have, but it didn’t matter. 

“I’ll have it served when she arrives.”

“Very good.  Heel, Brutus.”

Norwood walked through the room, ignoring the few
patrons.  Brutus would growl if anyone made a move.  The private room had a
table, cold fireplace, one window, and four simple chairs.  He took the seat
facing the door and window and told Brutus to sit.

The mastiff’s growl snapped Norwood out of a doze.  His
hand was on his dagger when the door opened to admit an irate woman in
well-tailored workman’s clothes.

“Captain Norwood, I presume?”  She didn’t sound
happy.  “I’m Emi Jeico, manager of Farthane.”

“Yes.”  He stood and extended his hand.  Her
powerful grip surprised him.  “Thank you for coming.”  Norwood ushered her to a
seat, and told the maid who had escorted her back, “Knock before you come in. 
I don’t want to be disturbed except by the staff bringing dinner.”

“Yes, sir.”  The maid closed the door.

“I hope you haven’t eaten.  I ordered dinner for
two.”

“As a matter of fact, Captain, I
have
eaten,
and this
summons
has disturbed my digestion.”  Jeico took a seat, her
eyes narrow and suspicious.  “Your sergeant wouldn’t give me any details. 
What’s this about?”

“First, let me offer my condolences.  Baron Patino
is dead.”

“What?”  Her eyes widened.  “When?”

“Ten days ago.  As for why I’m here, that’s a
sensitive issue.”  He lowered his voice.  “You see, few know this yet, not even
his wife, but Baron Patino was murdered.”

“Murdered?”  Her eyes widened further, her
belligerence stifled by shock.

“Yes, ma’am, and I’m here to ask your help in
apprehending his killer.”

Mya lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and
listening, determined to stay awake despite her weariness.  The first three
days on the road had left her frustrated beyond reason, and she intended to do
something about it.

The first long day had established a maddeningly
silent routine.  Aside from an occasional comment about the book Lad was reading,
there was no conversation, no discussion, not even any arguments.  They dined
in silence, and that was the last Mya saw of Lad until the next morning.  The
following day and the next had been the same: board the carriage after a silent
breakfast, ride in silence, eat dinner in silence.  Lad would slip into the
room after she was abed, and was gone before she awoke the next morning.  The
only reason she knew he’d been there at all was the rumpled pillow and blanket
on the floor.

Mya took a deep breath, trying to control her
frustration.  This was so different from the easy banter they used to engage in
as they walked the streets of Twailin, sharing ideas, observations, and
theories.  Then, she had felt safe under Lad’s vigilance.  Now, she was fearful
of him, afraid to open her mouth.  She didn’t know what to make of his mood.  The
few times he had spoken, he asked her a question about the book, then seemed
irritated when she tried to strike up a conversation.  Every moment felt like a
trial of patience, a silent torture designed to drive her mad.

Tonight
, she vowed,
that’s going to
change
.

Mya shifted in the bed, her blousy pajamas tangling
about her legs.  She’d never worn anything to bed until she’d been assigned her
Enforcer bodyguards.  Now she slipped them on over her wrappings every night. 

Where is he
?  It was late, and she was
getting drowsy.

Her silly fantasies had been crushed, of course,
when he insisted on sleeping on the floor.  Mya no longer harbored any
fantasies, but this ridiculous silence was going to end.

The door latch clicked quietly, and Mya froze,
shutting her eyes and slowing her breathing as if asleep.  She listened to the
faint rustle of cloth as Lad entered and began to undress in the dark.  Mya
dared to open her eyes a slit.  Starlight through the gap in the drapes
provided enough light for her rune-enhanced eyes to see the play of muscles
under his skin as he draped his shirt over the back of a chair.  A fine tracery
of scars wove around his body where some of his magical tattoos had burned
away.  Unlike Mya’s, Lad’s original tattoos were invisible.  Only the new ones—the
runes etched into his skin by Vonlith—could be seen, a line of black spiders on
his chest.  As he stepped out of his trousers to pull on the loose silk pants he
slept in, warmth spread through Mya that her enchanted wrappings would not
abate, a visceral heat that she knew she could never quench.

Lad stretched out on the floor, flat on his back,
and pulled the blanket up.  For some time, Mya listened to him breathe, long
inhalations and exhalations, steady and unchanging.  Peering closer, she saw
that his eyes were open, their luminosity winking in and out as he blinked.

Enough
, she thought, stifling her
fear. 
He thanked me for the book.  Maybe he’ll let me help
.

She sat up in the bed and leaned back against the
headboard.  “You don’t sleep, do you?”

Lad jerked, turned to look at her, then away.  “No.”

“Would you like to talk?”

“No.”

“It might help.”

“Nothing will help, Mya.”  He flashed her an
unreadable look, and rolled over.  “I’ve tried everything.  Nothing helps.”

With a reckless impulse, she swallowed her fear and asked,
“Have you tried holding a carrot between your toes?”

He was on his feet in one instantaneous, fluid
motion to glare at her.  “Mocking me
certainly
won’t help!”

“You’re sure?”  Mya repressed the pointless urge to
fight or flee, refusing to let him intimidate her.  If he held everything in,
he would eventually crack.  Mya knew all about cracking; she had cracked once. 
“You seem to be focusing on being angry with me right now instead of obsessing,
so it might.”

Lad whirled away, wrenching open the window drapes
to stare outside.  Starlight illumed his torso, muscles tense beneath his skin,
pulse pounding at his neck.

Silence…

“We could talk about something else.”

Silence…

“You think Hensen’s telling the truth about Kiesha,
or is he just trying to protect her?”

“He’s telling the truth.”  Lad drew in a deep breath
and let it out slowly, his body relaxing just a bit with the exhalation.  Mya
knew the technique; she used it herself.

He’s trying, at least
.

Not knowing what else to do, she pressed on.  “And
he said he didn’t know why she killed Wiggen.”

“Yes.”

“And you believed him on that, too.”

“I…don’t know.  He said she told him it was an
accident.”

“An
accident
?  How could she kill anyone by
accident?”  A lot of things about this just didn’t make sense.  Maybe talking
it through would give her better insight.  Anything to keep Lad talking.  “What
I don’t get is what Kiesha was doing at Fiveway Fountain anyway!  Why would the
Thieves Guild give a damn if we all killed each other?  And if she was just
spying, why would she kill anyone, much less Wiggen?”

Lad tensed, and his breath came a bit quicker, but
he remained silent.