Weapon of Blood (12 page)

“Thank you,
milord.”

The duke leaned
heavily over his desk. “But be
polite
when you visit the Wizards Guild. 
I can’t afford to aggravate them.  They can disapprove contracts made by any
guild wizard, and I don’t relish doing without Master Woefler’s services.”

“Nor do I,” Norwood
admitted.  He didn’t want to consider investigating a wizard’s death without
the court mage’s assistance.  “I’ll be cautious, milord.”

“Just shut up and
get to work.”

“Yes, milord.”

Norwood left the
duke’s palace vacillating between moods foul and fair.  On the foul side, he
had just been assigned a virtually impossible, and certainly thankless, task. 
On the other side, his favorite eatery was only a block away.  He could enjoy a
delicious lunch, and still get back to his office in time to hear Tamir’s
report on the inside of Vonlith’s skull.

Chapter
VIII

T
he scent of impending
rain hung heavy in the air, and pedestrians scurried about like rats on a
sinking ship.  Lad and Mya were returning from a meeting in the Barleycorn
Heights district, still a dozen blocks from the
Cockerel
, when the skies
opened up, and the daily deluge began.  It wasn’t quite noon yet, but they had
been trekking about the city for hours already, so he was grateful when she
gestured toward a street-side eatery.

“We’ll grab a bite and wait this out.” 
She squinted up at the leaden sky and shook the water from her hair.  “Maybe
it’ll pass.”

Lad nodded, even though he didn’t think
it likely.  In the shoulder-to-shoulder press of people, all with the same
thought for getting out of the rain, he suddenly had much more than the weather
to occupy his mind.  As Mya ordered their lunch, Lad scanned the damp, jostling
crowd, but felt his vigilance impaired.  His back still ached from Ponce’s kick
the previous day, the hiss of the rain on the street cobbles dulled his
hearing, and the smoke from the grill stung his eyes and masked any scents.  A
midday attack in such an open venue wasn’t likely, but he couldn’t discount an
intrepid assassin trying to slip something lethal into Mya’s food, or a knife
into her back.

“Here.”  Mya handed him a hot wrap
stuffed with steaming lamb, onions, peppers and dripping cheese, and followed
as Lad opened a path through the crowd.

Claiming a spot well away from the busy
counter, Lad bit into his lunch, and his eyes welled with tears as the hot
peppers lit his mouth on fire.  Blinking to clear his vision, he felt Mya nudge
him to make room for others, and stepped back until he stood at the edge of the
waterfall cascading off the eatery’s colorful awning.  A laughing couple dashed
in from the rain, and Mya bumped into him again, her shoulder pressed against
his.  Lad shifted anxiously.  The rain, smoke, chatter of voices, and food were
distracting enough; he didn’t need Mya standing so close he could feel her
heartbeat.

“Don’t you
ever
relax, Lad?”

“What?”  The question caught him off
guard.

“You’re as tense as a stallion with a
mare in his sights.”  Mya poked him with her elbow, which only agitated him.

“I’m merely being vigilant.”

“Vigilant is one thing, but you’re wound
up like a watch spring.”  She leaned closer and lowered her voice.  “Frankly,
you’re stiff as a board, and you’re starting to draw attention.  Loosen up!”

Rain pattered on his shoulder as he edged
away from her.  She knew he could hear her even if she whispered.  Why did she
insist on standing so close that the scent of the soap on her skin competed
with that of the food?

“Sorry.”  Lad tried to relax while
maintaining his vigilance and eating his lunch, but found it difficult under
Mya’s scrutiny.  “What?  Am I not loose enough?”

“What’s bothering you, Lad?  You’ve
always been a bit twitchy, but lately you jump at every shadow.”

“It’s my job to jump at shadows, Mya. 
The last shadow I jumped at was trying to cut off your head.”  He didn’t
recognize the expression on her face, and he couldn’t tell if she was serious
or not.  Even though he provided her ample opportunity for jests with his
continued semblance of naïveté, he didn’t appreciate her making fun of him for
her own entertainment.

“Yes, and you performed perfectly, but
lately…”  She took another bite of her sandwich and chewed, never taking her
eye off of him.  “I think being a father has made you edgy.”

“Why would being a father make me edgy?” 
He didn’t generally discuss his family with Mya or anyone else in the Assassins
Guild.  He knew she had Hunters watching the inn, so it was no surprise that
she knew about Lissa.  But he knew Mya did nothing without intent, which made
him wonder about her motivation for discussing his home life.

“Oh, come on, Lad!”  She laughed and
nudged him again.  “A crying baby in the middle of the night, and a nursing
mother with post-birth doldrums.  It can’t be easy.”

“Things have…changed a little, but…”  He
was hesitant to elaborate. 
What does she want?

“Relax, Lad.  I won’t tattle.  After so
many years together, don’t you think you can trust me?”

“I trust you, Mya.”  That wasn’t
completely a lie.  He trusted her not to slip a knife between his ribs, or turn
him over to the Royal Guard.  Neither would benefit her, and both would be
dangerous.  But trust her with his family?  No, he didn’t trust her or anyone
else with that.  He shifted away from her again, trying to be casual, but apparently
not trying hard enough.

“Gods, is it
me
you’re nervous
about?”  Mya barked a short laugh.  “I don’t bite, Lad.”

Said the viper to the rat
, he thought.  Suddenly he realized that it
was
her making him edgy.  She was acting strangely; this casual conversation about
his family, her nudges and curious body language, made him nervous. 
What is
she up to
?  The only way to find out was to play along.  He purposefully
relaxed his stance, muscle by muscle, and sidled out of the rain.  Once again
they were pressed against one another, Mya’s shoulder brushing his chest, the
scent of her damp hair right under his nose.

“That’s better.”  She grinned and took
another bite of her lunch, wiping the meat juice from her chin with her
sleeve.  “Has motherhood changed Wiggen, too?”

Another shiver of apprehension thrilled
up his spine at her mention of Wiggen, but he forced it down.  The twinkle in
her eyes and wry smile, however, told him that she’d felt his reaction.

“So
that’s
it!”

“That’s what?”

“Why you’re so uptight.”  She sighed, as
if explaining something to a dull-witted child.  “Motherhood changes women more
than fatherhood changes men, Lad.  Wiggen might not feel the same about…things
for a while.  Be patient.”

He looked at her suspiciously.  “What
things?”  Was she saying that Wiggen might not feel the same about him after
having the baby?  That was ridiculous!

“You know. 
Physical
things.”

“You mean sex?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”  She
poked him in the stomach with her elbow.  “I know men get tense when they don’t
get…those things.”

“You think that’s making me tense?”

“It might be.  I could…help you with
that, if you want.”

“How could you—”  He gaped at Mya as her
intention came clear to him.  A dozen assassins could have leapt out of the
shadows at that moment and he wouldn’t have noticed.  “You…
what
?”

“I
am
a woman, Lad.  And I’m not
totally hideous to look at; you said so yourself just the other day.”  Her lips
curved in a lascivious smile.

An all-too-familiar physical response
thrilled through him before he could banish it.  This was Mya.  He didn’t—he
couldn’t
think about her that way!

“To tell you the truth, being Master
Hunter isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  I don’t get—”

“No, Mya.”  Lad clenched his jaw and
leveled a stare at her.  “I love Wiggen.  She’s my wife.”

“All right.  I understand.”  Mya turned
away to take another bite of her sandwich, but not before he caught a flash of
something in her eyes.  Irritation?  Anger?  He wasn’t sure.  She brushed the
hair back from her ear—one of her common tells when she was being evasive—and
talked with her mouth full.  “But sex and love are two different things, my
friend, and if you don’t find something to relax you soon, you’re going to
explode.  Then where would I be?”

Lad didn’t reply.  He didn’t know how to
reply to that from her.

“Captain!  I remembered!”  Sergeant Tamir
burst into Norwood’s office without knocking.  “I remembered that wagon!”

Norwood’s eyes snapped up from his work
at the interruption, but his tirade died on his lips.  Tamir’s face shone with
excitement, and the man behind him, though he looked more frightened than
excited, seemed familiar.  He wore soft leathers and a cloak of deerskin, which
was odd enough to see in the city, but the captain couldn’t place his face. 
Norwood had hardly slept since meeting with the duke yesterday, and had spent
the morning slogging through Master
Woefler’s
voluminous report and pouring over the scant list of suspects, none of whom
appeared to have the resources, motive, or nature to murder an accomplished
wizard
.  Consequently, it took him a moment to realize what his sergeant
was shouting about.

“Vonlith’s wagon?”

“Yes, sir.  The very same.”  He grabbed
his companion by the arm and pulled him forward.  “You remember my friend
Poeter, right?  He helped us out when we were investigating those
assassinations a few years back.  It ended up being that importer fella, Sleeze
or something.”

“Saliez.  Yes, what about it?”  Norwood
felt like a cold hand had just clasped the back of his neck.

“Well, if you remember, Poeter here
reconnoitered Saliez’s mansion for us before we closed the trap, and he
reported seeing a big, colorful wagon with gold and silver letters or designs
on it.”

“Yes, I remember.”  Norwood recognized
the man now, and his heart skipped a beat.  “You’re saying that was Vonlith’s
wagon at Saliez’s mansion?”

“That’s right, sir!”  Tamir grinned like
he’d just won a week’s pay on a bar bet.  “I never seen the wagon myself, sir,
for, as you know, it was gone by the time we busted in.  So I took Poeter down
to Vonlith’s stable to see it, and damned if he didn’t tell me ‘Yep, that’s the
one I seen.’”

“You’re sure of it?”  Norwood fixed the
man with a hard look.  “There are lots of tinkers’ wagons rambling the
streets.”

“Sure as a magistrate’s warrant,
Captain.”  Poeter braced his shoulders back and met Norwood’s glare with
surprising fortitude.  “I remembered how a couple of them funny letters looked
like snakes twisted up in a curlicue, and how the colors behind ’em seemed like
a rainbow but in a spiral.  There’s no mistakin’ it, sir.  That’s the same
wagon.”