Weapon of Blood (34 page)

“I know.  So will I.”  He picked up a
plate and handed it to her.  “Eat something, Wiggen.  We should leave soon.”

Wiggen took the plate and sat next to
Lad.  Together, they ate in silence.  Though the food tasted like sawdust in
Lad’s mouth, he meticulously cleaned his plate.  If he had to kill someone tonight,
he’d need his strength.

Accounting must have been invented by
a sadistic devil
.

Hensen blinked to clear his vision,
blurry from poring over columns of numbers in his ledger.  Guild income and
expenditures were complex in the extreme—from professional children beggars and
pick-pockets to high-profile lenders of money to financially strapped nobles,
from buying information for a heist to fencing the stolen goods—and rife with
opportunities for his numerous underlings to skim profits. 
He
had
certainly skimmed a small fortune while he was in the ranks.  Consequently,
Hensen trusted no one but himself to do the final accounting.  This was,
without question, his least favorite aspect of his position.

He sneered at the irony of his life.  He
had learned bookkeeping early in his apprenticeship with the Thieves Guild,
assuming that the numeric slog would end when he moved on to bigger and better
things.  The skills helped him pose as a moneylender for years, a wonderful
cover for a thieving operative.  But regardless of how high he rose or how
interesting the projects, there were still books to be done.  He would much
rather be out fleecing the populace on a face-to-face basis.  He’d especially
enjoyed walking the streets, flanked by guards, click-clicking his black sword cane
along the cobbles, watching people tip their hats and step out of his way.

So much better than this drudgery
.

The knock at the door came as a welcome
interruption.  “Come in.”

Kiesha entered bearing a silver tray with
a carafe and a single glass.  The pale wine accented her golden gown and blonde
hair perfectly, but her severe expression spoiled the image.

“Bad news?”

“It’s not my place to judge what’s good
or bad, sir.”  She put down the tray and poured wine into his glass.  “The
Assassins Guild has made their move, just as Sereth said they would.  They’ve
kidnapped Lad’s daughter.”

“Hmm.”  Hensen accepted the glass from
her and inhaled the wine’s delicate bouquet.  “No demands yet?”

“No sir, but it only happened a few hours
ago.  They’ll probably let him sweat until morning.”

“Does the Master Hunter know what’s
happened?”  He sipped his wine and swished it across his tongue before
swallowing. 
Oak and honey, a hint of fruit and a pleasant aftertaste of
apple.

“Yes, sir.  She came to the inn.  They…” 
Her mouth pursed in a pensive moue, as if she was considering each word’s potential
danger.  “They had a disagreement.”

“A disagreement?  Mya and Lad?”

“Yes, sir.  It was raining hard, and I
couldn’t hear it all.  Most of it didn’t make much sense.  I couldn’t see into
the courtyard without exposing myself, but their voices were definitely raised
and angry.  It may have even come to blows.”

“They
fought
?”  Hensen nearly
dropped his wineglass.

“From what I heard, it could have been a
fight, but Mya left with no sign of injury, so I must have been mistaken.”  She
shrugged and bit her lip.

“Hmm.”  He put down the wine.  “Well,
write down all you can remember of their conversation.  And contact Sereth to
see if he knows where the child has been taken.  Wherever that is, I want
someone there.  Surveillance only, but when this comes to a head, that child
will be at the center of it.  We have to be poised to keep Lad alive.”

“And the Master Hunter as well, sir?”

“Of course, but focus on Lad.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What news from our operative at the
Golden
Cockerel
?  I imagine the place is like a kicked anthill about now.”

“No news, sir.  Our intermediary said she
didn’t arrive for their scheduled rendezvous.”

“Didn’t arrive?”  Hairs rose on the back
of Hensen’s neck.  “Where the hells is she?”

“We checked her apartment, and she’s not
there.  No sign of a fight or intrusion.”

Hensen frowned, then stopped himself. 
Wrinkles were so unsightly.  “Any sign that she’s been discovered?”

“No, sir.  If she was discovered, she had
orders not to allow herself to be interrogated.”

“Yes, I
do
remember giving those
orders.”  He once again stopped himself from frowning, and instead picked up
his wineglass, swirling the vintage to watch the legs flow down the fine
crystal.  “We need to find out where she’s gone, but we need to do so discreetly.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anyone who works on this contract gets
the same orders.  Nobody’s to be taken prisoner by the Assassins Guild.  We
can’t let this come back to haunt us, my dear.”

“Of
course
, sir.”

The wagon creaked and clattered over the
cobbles of the deserted streets as Lad flicked the reins to urge the cart horse
along.  The animal had balked at leaving its warm stall for the harness, and
tried to turn into every stable yard they passed.  Lad didn’t blame it.  The rain
kept most people indoors.

But not everyone.

Though his senses were impaired by the
rain and the noise of the wagon, Lad knew they were being watched.  He had
counted on it.  He just hoped that their progress from Eastmarket to the South
Docks district had been slow enough and obvious enough to allow those who had
kidnapped Lissa to assemble.  He needed them all in one place.

Finally they pulled up outside the
inconspicuous door of an inconspicuous warehouse in an inconspicuous neighborhood. 
Clasping Wiggen’s hand, Lad helped her down from the wagon and led her toward
the door.  He could feel her shivering, and wondered if it was due to the chill
of damp clothes, or if fear had finally overwhelmed her anger.  His own tremors
were of a higher pitch, vibrations of singing nerves, artifacts of his
heightened tension.

At least, that was what he tried to
convince himself.

No fear…

The door opened as they approached, and together
they stepped into the dimly lit warehouse.  Two armed thugs remained by the
door, while another two escorted them without a word to the office where the
masters met.  The scuff of boots, thuds of heartbeats, rustle of fabric and
leather, and the clinks of metal told Lad that at least a dozen assassins
lurked in the shadows, ready to pounce if things went awry.  He struggled
against the murderous impulses that raged beneath his calm façade. 
They
took my child
!  Violence was not an option as long as the assassins still
had Lissa.  But if they could just get the baby into Wiggen’s arms, she would
be safe.  Then he’d be free to release the killer within him.

They stepped through the office door, and
Lad assessed his adversaries.

Know your enemy’s capabilities,
strengths and weaknesses.  Remember!

All four masters were there, which didn’t
really surprise him.  Add in their bodyguards and the two thugs at the door. 
Ten against one.  In the confined space of the office, where they would get in
each other’s way, he could manage those odds, but that was not counting the
assassins outside.  If all Nine Hells broke loose, he’d have to kill them all
quickly.

Neera first
.  Who knew what mayhem the alchemist could hurl with
her potions and poisons.  Best to rid himself of that unknown before he found
out.

Then Horice
.  The Master Blade was highly skilled, and the sword
at his hip, Lad knew, was enchanted, making him a candidate for quick
elimination.

The enforcer or the inquisitor next? 
Brute force or cunning
?

Lad decided on Patrice, not because she
might be more dangerous than Youtrin, but because he believed the Master
Enforcer to be more of a bully than a fighter.  It wouldn’t surprise Lad if
Youtrin tried to take Wiggen as a shield.  Of course, if he did, then the
surprise would be on Youtrin.

“Welcome, Lad.”  Patrice rose and
gracefully waved to the two empty chairs at the table.  “How good of you to
anticipate our desire to meet with you.  And this must be your lovely wife. 
Both of you, please have a seat.”

Lad tensed.  Neera usually took the lead
at meetings.  Though demanding and outspoken, she was generally
straightforward.  Patrice, on the other hand, excelled at verbal sparring,
tricking people into revealing what they didn’t want to tell.  Although Mya
could hold her own against the Master Inquisitor, Lad felt ill at ease in this
type of confrontation.  He would have to be careful with every word.

Think like an assassin.

“We’ll stand.”  He grasped Wiggen’s hand
tightly, drawing her close.  “We want to see Lissa.  Now.”

“We need to discuss a few things first.”

“No.”
 Show no weakness, no fear.

“
What?
”  Patrice looked at him as
if he’d slapped her, then let her astonished gaze circuit the room.  “What do
you mean, ‘No’?”

Lad drew upon his memories of a thousand
meetings he had attended with Mya, some dangerous and some not, and tried to
emulate her confidence, her stern demeanor, the cold menace she was so skilled
at projecting.

“I mean that if you don’t let us see our
daughter this instant, I’ll kill each and every one of you, right here, right
now.”

He watched them closely, and saw that his
threat had the desired effect.  Hints of fear rippled through them: Horice’s
hand twitched toward his sword, Neera’s shoulder shifted as her hand settled
beneath her robes, Youtrin’s scowl deepened, his knuckles cracking under the
table.  Their reactions weren’t surprising.  The masters were unused to being
threatened, and Lad knew that his reputation as a killer had preceded him.  Only
Patrice showed no response.

Wiggen squeezed his hand, the ring
pressing his palm.  She was ready.  He squeezed her hand twice. 
Not yet. 
Be patient.

“You’re not that foolish,” Patrice
countered.  “Kill us, and your wife
and
child will die.”

“And you’ll be no less dead,” Lad said.

“Cocky bastard!” Horice growled with a
glare as sharp as any blade.  “Let him see the brat.”

“Very well.”  Patrice gestured to the two
thugs at the door, and they moved to a canvas-covered shape in the corner of
the room.  Lad had noticed it when he entered—it hadn’t been there during
previous meetings—but didn’t know what it was.

They removed the canvas to reveal an
ornate, oval mirror in a free-standing frame.  Patrice stepped over to it and
touched several spots around the rim.  Her reflection swirled and melted like
dripping wax, the image finally resolving onto another place, a bare room with
wooden walls that could have been any one of thousands in the city.

Lad’s heart sank.  Lissa wasn’t here. 
The masters had outwitted him, abolishing any chance of him rescuing his
daughter before he submitted to their demands.