Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy) (28 page)

The coach jerked to a stop.  Up ahead, a
well-dressed couple crossed the street, flanked fore and aft by bodyguards who
parted the throngs of commoners with piercing glares.  The man wore an ornate
rapier in a gilded scabbard proudly at his hip. 
A noble
.  Lad watched
the crowd, their furtive glances and downcast eyes.  Men touched their caps and
ducked, their shoulders slumped like beaten curs skirting a pack of wolves. 
The women curtsied and turned their faces away.

“Fear…”  Curiosity roiled his gut.  “Why are they
all so afraid?”

“I don’t know,” Mya replied, staring through
narrowed eyes at the spectacle, “but you’re right.  Everyone’s terrified.”

“They’re afraid of the constables, the military, and
the nobles.  Why would they be?”

“I don’t know.”  She cocked one eyebrow.  “We could
find out.”

Excitement welled up in him. 
To go exploring in
such a vast city
…  Then the ring seemed to tighten on his finger and he
frowned.  “We aren’t here to poke into local problems.  We’re here to meet the
Grandmaster and look into Patino’s associations.”

“Of course.”  She looked away.

Still, Lad’s curiosity nudged him.  Why would commoners
here, in the heart of the empire, be afraid of the very people—constables,
nobles, and knights—who were their sworn defenders?  Commoners in Twailin
didn’t fear the City Guard, or even the Royal Guard, unless they were doing
something illegal.  And why fear nobles?  He’d seen plenty of resentment
between the classes in Twailin, but fear?

Even from the outside, Mya could tell that the
Drake
and Lion
was the finest inn they’d seen in two weeks.  In fact, it might be
the finest she’d ever seen.  The thought of staying in such luxury lightened
her dark mood another bit.  The pending meeting with the Grandmaster still had
her worried, but the strangeness of the city and the curious behavior of the
locals distracted her from her fears.

Deep in the Heights District, the inn stood in the
company of upscale shops and multi-story townhouses.  It reminded Mya of the
finest neighborhoods of Hightown in Twailin, except that this was nowhere near
the height of luxury in Tsing.   Uphill, the townhouses evolved into palatial
homes, and the shops to exclusive clubs and eateries.  Downhill from the inn,
the neighborhoods were as nice as Barleycorn Heights.  Below that, Midtown
spread out in a jumble of tile and slate roofs, reminding her of West Crescent,
though immensely more vast.

So many people
…  She wondered how the Assassins
Guild operated here.  How were they organized?  What kind of scams and rackets
did they run?  Did they even operate in the rarified air of the Heights
District?

The carriage door opened and an attendant extended a
white-gloved hand to assist her.  Smiling at him, she accepted his help in
stepping out of the carriage.  “Thank you.”

The fellow’s eyes flicked up to hers for an instant,
surprise plain in his face before he looked down.  “Milady.”  He released her
hand, bowed to Lad as he stepped from the carriage, and gestured to the foyer. 
“Milord.  I’ll see to your baggage immediately.”

Did I say something wrong
? Mya wondered, thinking about
the look he’d given her.  All she had said was thank you.  She’d spent enough
time in Hightown practicing her fine-lady persona to know that even nobles
generally thanked people for their services.  It was a matter of decorum.  Had
he not expected to be thanked?  Maybe not, considering what they’d seen between
the commoners and nobles. 
Strange
…

Lad stood staring out over the city, apparently
mesmerized by the sight.

“Are you ready, dear?” she asked. 

He didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge her
question.  Mya chilled with dread.  Lad had done this several times during
their trip to Tsing, losing himself so deeply in thought that he was nearly
insensible.

Casually, she sidled up to him, careful not to touch
him.  She had made that mistake only once, barely dodging his lightning-fast
strike.  They couldn’t risk that happening in public.

“Come along, dearest!  You can look at the scenery
from our room.”

Lad looked at her as if she’d appeared from
nowhere.  “Right.  Sorry, I must be tired from the trip.”  He extended his arm,
and she put her hand on it.

“A bath and a nap will perk you right up.”  She
breathed easier, disaster averted.

They strolled up the inn steps while the attendant
ordered a team of porters to collect their baggage.  A uniformed doorman swept
open the wide door—teak and brass that looked newly polished—and bowed from the
waist as he greeted them.

“Welcome to the
Drake and Lion
, milord and
lady.”

The lobby was resplendent with more gleaming wood,
bright brass, marble columns, crystal chandeliers, and brilliant red
carpeting.  On the wall behind the front desk, a serpentine drake battled a
roaring lion—the elaborate golden crest of the inn.  Elegant men and women
moved gracefully across the floor, as much in their element as fish in the
sea.  One woman wearing a brilliant yellow gown with matching purse air-kissed
a companion, then abruptly turned into the path of a passing servant.  The
collision was slight, but the woman’s purse fell, the contents scattering
across the carpet.

To Mya’s astonishment, the woman’s face contorted
into a mask of rage.  Her discordant shriek shattered the lobby’s soothing
ambiance as she lashed out her frilled parasol with rabid ferocity.

“How
dare
you!  I’ll see you in the stocks
for this and whipped as you deserve!  I’ve never seen such incompetence!”  The
parasol cracked against the man’s head as he scrabbled to collect the fallen
bits and bobs.  “Fifty lashes, I swear by the Gods of Light!  You’re utterly
useless!”

The servant fumbled the contents back into the
purse, muttering apologies.  A particularly vicious blow sent the purse flying
from his grasp, scattering the contents a second time.  Mya expected a manager
or inn employee to step in and stop the violence, but no one else seemed to be
paying the scene the least bit of attention.  No, that wasn’t quite right. 
Elegant guests walked past with smug expressions, while other employees hurried
by, averting their eyes.  Lad stopped cold, but Mya tugged on his arm, urging
him into motion.  The last thing they wanted was to look out of place.

“Come on,” she whispered so quietly that only Lad
would hear.  “Ignore it.”

She felt his tension as they walked past the
dreadful scene to the broad front desk.  A woman gowned in black and white
greeted them with a broad smile, acting as if she didn’t hear the woman’s
screeching voice reverberating off the marble walls.

“Welcome to the
Drake and Lion
, milord and
lady.  I trust you have a room reserved?”  She looked expectantly at Lad as she
opened a thick leather-bound book.

“Yes, we have.  Laurance Addington,” Lad said.

The shrill shrieks finally abating, Mya stole a
surreptitious glance.  The woman in yellow had stopped flailing her parasol,
but the improvised weapon had done damage.  The man was trying to staunch blood
flowing from a cut on his forehead as he gathered the scattered items.  Still
no one paid the slightest notice.

“Does this,” Mya inclined her head toward the
fracas, “happen often here?”

“Of course not, Mrs. Addingdon.”  The receptionist
looked aghast.  “The
Drake and Lion
prides itself on the efficacy of its
attendants.  Rest assured, that one will be duly punished for his clumsiness.”

Mya opened her mouth to say that she meant the
beating, not the inadvertent bump that sent the lady’s handbag to the floor,
then thought better of it.

“Ah, here we are!  Addington.  A suite for two,
lodgings for your servants and coachman, and stabling.  If you would sign here,
sir.”  The receptionist presented a piece of embossed parchment and a pen, and
Lad signed without a word.

“Excellent!”  The receptionist beckoned a porter. 
“Jamis, show the Addingtons to their suite, and have their servants quartered.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  Jamis bowed to them and gestured. 
“This way, please.”

The Enforcers with their own small bags were led
toward the back of the lobby, while Jamis escorted Lad and Mya up the grand
staircase, trailed by several porters hefting their trunks.  As they rounded
the first landing, Mya stole a glance back.  The yellow-clad woman clutched the
hapless, bleeding servant by the collar, dragging him to the front desk.

“I demand this oaf be punished.  Fifty lashes and a
day in the stocks!  He’s utterly useless!”

“Of course, Lady Clovis.  I’ll see to it personally. 
Let me assign another servant to your…” 

Mya reminded herself to take a closer look at the chapter
on local laws in her Tsing book as the voices from the lobby faded.  In Twailin,
deliberately striking a noble was punishable by imprisonment at the least and
hanging at the worst, depending on the severity of injury.  Nobles enjoyed
immunity from petty offenses, but could not assault commoners with impunity. 
How could things be so different here?  She exchanged a glance with Lad and saw
the same question in his eyes. 

Jamis turned off at the third landing and lead them
to their suite.  Escorting them inside, he directed the porters to stow the
luggage, and presented Lad with keys.

Oh, my
!  The room was lovely beyond
Mya’s expectations.  The outer room was furnished as a living area, with
silk-upholstered chairs and divans grouped for cozy conversation.  There was a
large, ornate table for dining in front of one window, and a lower one better
suited to sipping tea beside the divan.  The walls sported stylish paintings,
but none could compare with the view out the three large windows.  Mya pulled
aside the beautifully sheer drapes and gazed out across the city all the way to
the bay.

Finished with the luggage, the porters tipped their
caps and bowed out of the suite.  Jamis backed away with a sweeping bow.  “If
there is nothing else, sir…”

“Actually, Jamis, could you stay for a moment?  I’m
unfamiliar with the city and have some questions.”

Mya cringed. 
What’s he doing
?

“Of course, sir.”  Jamis looked uncomfortable as the
door closed behind the last porter.

Mya shot Lad a warning glance, but too late. 

“That…occurrence in the lobby.  How does it come
about that a guest can assault one of the inn’s employees without consequence?”

Jamis’ eyes widened and he stammered, “Lady Clovis
is noble-born, sir,” as if that explained everything.

“And that gives her the right to beat a free man
with impunity?”

“She may do as she wishes, milord, as any noble-born
may.”  Jamis looked confused.

“I…see.”  Lad looked stunned.

“You’ll forgive our questions, Jamis,” Mya cut in
with an easy smile.  “We’re from Twailin, you see.  Our customs are different
there.”

“Of course, ma’am.”  He bowed.

“We’ve had a very long trip, and we’re tired.”  She
pulled a silver crown from her purse.  “For your trouble.”

Jamis stared at the coin as if it would bite him. 
“Ma’am, please.  I’m paid by the inn.  I mustn’t take anything additional.  If
they found out, I’d be dismissed.”

“Pardon my misunderstanding.”  Mya smiled
disarmingly to hide her astonishment, and put the coin away. 
Fired for
accepting a tip?  What the
...  “Once again, my provincial roots are
showing.  We Twailins often give a little something extra for exemplary
service.”

“I…I see,” he stammered.  “Please, ma’am.  I meant
no offense.”

“None was taken.”  She opened the door and let Jamis
escape.  “Please arrange for a bath for the two of us.  We’re a little road
dusty, I’m afraid.”

“At once, ma’am.”

Mya closed the door behind him and leaned against
it, shaking her head.  “That was...”  She fell silent, at an utter loss for
words.

“Bizarre,” Lad finished for her.  He took off his
jacket and began to pace.  “Did you hear what he said about the noble-born? 
They can abuse anyone they wish with no provocation or consequence!  No
wonder
everyone’s afraid.”