Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy) (14 page)

“Your choice, Hensen.”  Lad spun the master thief
around to face him.  A chill gripped his gut as he recognized the man’s face. 
He’d seen it in the
Tap and Kettle
late one night not long ago, had even
served the man a glass of wine.

They were spying on me, even then
.  The chill wrenched him hard at
his next thought. 
He knows where my family lives
! 
Lissa
!

Hensen must have seen the pending violence in Lad’s
eyes, for his pupils dilated, his face flushed, and his heart raced.  His
outward countenance, however, remained calm and composed.  Master Hensen, it
seemed, was a very cool-headed thief.

The pounding of boots on the steps snapped Lad back
to task.  Hensen’s guards would be there in seconds.  “Do we kill your guards
or not?”

“I’d prefer that you didn’t, of course.  Good help
is
so
hard to find.”  He rubbed his shoulder and gestured to the silk
robe hanging on a hook beside the nightstand.  “Might I put on a robe?”

Cautious of hidden surprises, Lad reached over and
lifted the robe off the hook.  After a quick search, he handed it over.  “If
you try anything, I’ll break your leg.”

“I would
not
be so foolish, Lad.”  Hensen
donned the garment with exaggerated care.  “May I call you Lad, or do you
prefer Guildmaster?”

“Call me what you like.”

The pounding of boots halted just outside the door,
and the doorknob rattled.  A knock accompanied an urgent, “Are you all right,
sir?  You rang the bell!”

“Invite them in, and tell them to put their weapons
on the floor,” Lad instructed.  “If they don’t do as you say, I’ll kill them.”

“Very well.”  Hensen cleared his throat.  “Basil, I
have guests who are very upset.  You and your people will come in and place
your weapons on the floor.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Lad nodded to Sereth, who flicked the dead bolt and
backed away, daggers poised.  The latch clicked, and the door swung open.  Five
guards entered, four men and one woman, two with loaded crossbows.

“Where’s the sixth?” Lad demanded.

“You tell me.  Worton was assigned the front door.”

Lad ignored Hensen’s snide manner, his gaze fixed on
the guards.  The leader returned the scrutiny, his eyes narrowing as they roved
over Lad, undoubtedly noting his lack of weapons.  The corner of his mouth
twitched and his knuckles whitened on his crossbow, and Lad knew he was
contemplating violence.

So was Lad.

“Put your weapons down this instant!” Hensen
ordered, his voice suddenly hard.

“Listen to your master,” Sereth warned from behind
them, his daggers poised to throw.

The guards slowly lowered their weapons to the
floor.  Sereth kicked the blades and bows out of reach, and pulled the daggers
from their belts.  Finally, he frisked them, retrieving three more daggers.

“Now lie down,” Lad commanded.

“Do as he says,” Hensen insisted.

The guards did as they were told, but not without
considerable reluctance.

“We should have brought more rope.”  Sereth jerked
one of the pillowcases free from the bed, and began cutting off strips of the
shimmering silk.

“I must say that you surprise me, Lad,” Hensen said
as Sereth bound his guards.  “I didn’t think you’d go to war for a traitor. 
Taking me prisoner won’t get Sereth his dear wife back, you know.  In fact, it
will only get her killed.”

The man’s nonchalance piqued Lad.  “We’re not here
just for Sereth’s wife, Hensen.  We’re here for Kiesha.  Where is she?”

“My assistant?”  The bewilderment on Hensen’s face
looked genuine, but the minute blood vessels around his irises dilated
involuntarily.  “Why would you—”

Lad’s hand shot out, his fingers pressing on the
fragile cartilage of the master thief’s larynx.  “Just answer my questions or
I’ll start removing pieces of you and nailing them to the wall.  Where is
Kiesha?”

The muscles of Hensen’s throat flexed under Lad’s
fingers.  Fear finally registered in the man’s eyes.  “I don’t know.  I didn’t
see her come in tonight, but she should be in her room.”

“Where’s her room?”

“Second floor, east wing, end of the hall.  But I
don’t—”

“Come on.”  Lad released Hensen’s throat and
propelled him out of the room with an arm twisted behind his back.  The time
for questions would come later.  Right now, they had to find Kiesha before she
managed to escape.  Sereth followed silently, daggers at the ready and looking
like he’d enjoy putting them to use.  The master thief chattered on, his casual
tone belied by the tension Lad could feel in in his gait.

“I don’t know what Sereth has told you, Lad, but let
me assure you that he would say anything to get his wife back.  He’s completely
beyond reason, you see.  He barged in here not long ago and had to be
restrained.  Kiesha has nothing to do with—”

“Quiet!”  Lad emphasized his order with a careful
twist of Hensen’s wrist.  “Kiesha has
everything
to do with this!”

Hensen shut up.

They descended the stairs swiftly and proceeded down
the hall.  Lad squeezed Hensen’s arm in warning, then gestured Sereth toward
the designated door.  A dagger in one hand, the Master Blade carefully turned
the knob, and the door swung open without resistance.  The glow of a guttering
bedside lamp revealed a small, plain room.  The bed was empty and tidily made
up, but there was a clothespress big enough to conceal a squad of guards inside. 
Sereth crept toward it, clasped the handle, and yanked it open.  Finding it
overflowing with dresses, he shook his head.  Dropping to one knee, he glanced
under the bed.  Again, nothing.

Kiesha wasn’t there.

Lad gritted his teeth and propelled Hensen into the
room, leaving the door open so he could see down the hall.  They hadn’t checked
all the rooms and he didn’t want to be blindsided.

“Search everything.”  As Sereth began a more
thorough search, Lad backed Hensen against the wall.  “Where is she?”

“I honestly don’t know.”  The thief rubbed his
wrist.  “Nor do I know why you’re interested in my assistant.”

Lad pinned him against the wall by the throat.  “I’m
interested because Kiesha killed my wife!”  He tightened his grasp until the
man’s eyes bulged.  “And
you
ordered it!”

“I…didn’t!”

“Master!”

He turned to see Sereth standing beside the bed. 
“She hasn’t been here.  The sheets are cool.  And if you kill him, we’ll never
find her or Jinny.”

Sereth was right, of course.  Lad released Hensen’s
throat and caught up the front of his robe.  “You’re going to start talking
right this moment, Hensen.  Explain to me why my wife was murdered, and you
might die easily.”

Hensen coughed, cleared his throat, and took a deep
breath.  “Kiesha was only trying to protect you.”

His last shadow of a doubt vanished with the thief’s
words.  Kiesha was not only Wiggen’s killer, but also Lad’s protector.  “Who
ordered her to protect me?  You?”

“Well, yes, I assigned her that task.  I received a
contract to protect both you and Mya.  The death of your wife was an
unfortunate accident.  Kiesha thought another assassin—”

“Bullshit!”  Lad pinned Hensen to the wall again,
pressing hard on his chest.  He felt the ribs sag under the pressure.  “The
fight was over when she killed Wiggen! 
Nobody
could have mistaken her
for an assassin!  Tell me the truth!  Who ordered Kiesha to kill my wife?”

“I…”  Hensen struggled to breathe, and Lad eased the
pressure, allowing him to talk.  “I did
not
, and Kiesha wouldn’t—”

“Master.”

Sereth held a long, flat mahogany box, the lid
tilted open.  Inside, a blowgun of matte black metal and dark ebony nestled in
the soft velvet lining, beside it a row of familiar black darts.  A flat brown
glass bottle and dropper sat in a separate recess.  Even without opening it, Lad
knew it contained white scorpion venom.  Without a doubt, this was the weapon
that killed Wiggen.

“Master, something doesn’t make sense.”  Sereth
gestured at the overflowing drawers and clothespress.  “If she left, she went
without taking many of her clothes.  And if she was covering her tracks,
leaving the blowgun and darts behind was stupid.  And Kiesha
isn’t
stupid.”

No, things weren’t making sense, and it frustrated
Lad to no end.  He turned back to Hensen. “I’m going to ask you one more time. 
Why did Kiesha kill Wiggen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know.  You must believe me!”

“He’s lying,” Sereth said with a sneer.

Only one way to find out
... 

“Sereth, I’m leaving, and Hensen’s coming with me. 
Call in your people and search this place thoroughly.  Be careful.  I don’t
want any of his staff harmed, but I want them secured.”

“Master, let me go with you!”  Sereth cast a
malignant glance at Hensen.  “I can help question—”

Lad held up a hand.  “Sereth!  I need you here.  Kiesha
may be hiding in the house, and only you can identify her.  Once you’re done,
come to my home to report your findings.”

“But Jinny—”

“Don’t worry.  We’re going to ask Master Hensen a
few questions, then you and I will go get your wife.”

Sereth heaved a sigh, but nodded and backed down. 
“Very good, Master.”

“You’re assuming that I’m going to tell you where
she’s being kept,” Hensen said indignantly.  “I see no reason to give up my
only bargaining chip.”

“I assume
nothing
, and I can think of
twenty-one reasons—” Lad looked the master thief up and down.  “Make that
twenty-
three
reasons why you’ll tell me where she is.  But we need to go
someplace where no one will hear your screams before I start removing those
reasons.”

“Before you
what
?”

Lad knew many ways to render someone unconscious. 
He picked the one least likely to break the thief’s neck, and caught the
falling body on his shoulder.  Lifting the weight easily, he looked to Sereth. 
“Fetch the carriage.”

“Yes, Master.”

L
ad
breathed in the earthy aroma of oak and stone that permeated the wine cellar
beneath his house.  The smell of fear soured the pleasanter scents, and the
coppery odor of blood would soon join the mix.

Amidst the racks of bottles and neat rows of casks,
Master Hensen sat bound to one of Lad’s ornate dining room chairs.  A pained
squeak escaped his gag as Lad tightened the last knot.  The thief stared
wide-eyed into Lad’s blank expression, then looked away.   By the sweat on his
upper lip, the pulse pounding at his throat, and the reek of fear, Lad could
tell that the man knew what was coming.

I have to do this.  There’s no
other way
.

The idea of torture sickened him, but he saw no
alternative.  He would do anything to discover who was responsible for Wiggen’s
death.  Even this.

 Lad walked behind the chair, reached out for
Hensen’s neck.  The thief tensed in expectation of the violence he knew would
soon come, then relaxed when Lad untied the gag.  Hensen spat out the wad of
cloth that had ensured his silence during the short carriage ride.  His first
words were predictable.

“You’re making a mistake.”

Before Lad could answer, a metallic clatter from the
stairs drew their attention.  Dee came down bearing the same silver tray he
used to serve Lad’s breakfast, now heaped with kitchen implements.  He put the
tray down on a small folding table beside Hensen’s chair.  The thief’s eyes
widened at the pile of knives, forks, spoons, garlic presses, corkscrews, and
other assorted culinary tools.

“Sorry, sir, this is all I could find.  I could call
for an Inquisitor if you wish.”  Dee’s calm voice contradicted the clenched jaw
and stiff posture.  Dee apparently didn’t care for the gruesome task his master
was about to perform.

“These are fine, Dee.”  Lad picked a nutcracker out
of the tangle of metal.  The thought of applying it to Hensen’s fingers, the
pending crunch of bone beneath the serrated jaws, nauseated him. 
I have to
do this
.  “I can make do.  Go upstairs and wait for Sereth.”

“Very good, sir.”  He nodded and left, closing the
cellar door behind him.

“Don’t
do
this!”  Hensen’s voice was raw with
desperation.

Lad examined the cluttered tray of steel and
remembered all the horrible devices he’d seen in the Grandfather’s subterranean
torture chamber.  He remembered how he had hated that place.  Swallowing bile,
he looked around at his benign surroundings.  Had the Grandfather’s torture
chamber once been a cellar with casks of wine and ale?  Had Saliez once tied a
captive to a chair and reluctantly applied crude tools to elicit information? 
In doing so, had he developed his taste for torture?  Would Lad?

I have to do this
. 
There’s no other way
.

He told himself it was for Wiggen, but in his heart
he knew that was a lie.  The vengeance was for him.  But even more than vengeance,
he needed to know
why
.

“You don’t need to do this, Lad!”

“Don’t I?”  He examined the nutcracker in his hand,
imagining too easily the places it could be applied, and dropped it back onto
the silver tray.  “Then you better start telling me the truth, Master Hensen.”

“I’ve
told
you the truth.”  He swallowed
hard, sweat breaking out anew on his forehead.  “We can discuss this like civilized
men.”

Lad scrutinized Hensen, watching for signs of
deception.  The man might be able to maintain a stony façade, but few could
control their involuntary responses, and after five years with Mya, Lad was a
master at reading them.  “Let’s discuss, then.  You said you didn’t order
Kiesha to murder my wife.”

“That’s correct.  We had a contract to protect you
and Mya for one month.”

“Who contracted you to protect us?”

“Baron Patino, a local noble.”

Patino
… 
A noble
…  Lad didn’t
recognize the name, and he didn’t know any nobles.  “Why did Patino want us
protected?”

“He didn’t give a reason, just paid half our fee in
advance to keep you and Mya alive for a month.  We looked into his background,
but found no connections to the Assassins Guild or any other illegal
organization.  We knew from Sereth that there was trouble brewing within your
guild, and we knew from a spy at the
Golden Cockerel
that Mya had
received orders from the Grandmaster of Assassins to craft a new guildmaster’s
ring and assume the position.”

“Moirin was yours?”

“Yes, but she vanished without a trace.”  Hensen
frowned.  “We assumed she’d been discovered and you disposed of her.”

“She was discovered, but took poison before we could
take her.”

“A pity.”  Hensen sounded about as upset as if he’d
just broken a favored teacup.

“Pity?”  Hensen’s blasé attitude ignited Lad’s
temper once again.  His lip curled back in an involuntary sneer.  “You better
pity your assistant, Master Hensen.  She
murdered
my wife!  I’m going to
find her and kill her for it.  And if you don’t want me to remove your
fingernails with a paring knife and pliers, you’re going to help me!  Is that
clear?”

Hensen’s features hardened.  “Perfectly clear, but
if you kill me, Sereth’s wife perishes.  Kill me, and I’ll be unable to answer
any more of your questions.  Kill me, and the Thieves Guild will wage open war
on the Assassins Guild.  Every building you own, every business you run will
burn, and the streets and alleys of Twailin will flow with blood.  Kiesha told
me that your wife’s death was an accident!  She had no reason to lie.”

The cellar door thumped, and Sereth came down the
stairs.  “Master, we searched the house from rafters to cellar, but didn’t find
Kiesha.”  The Blade’s eyes roved over Hensen.  “We secured the household staff,
and I left a squad of Blades to watch over them.  We probably have until
sunrise before someone comes calling.”

“Which is when my guild will learn that you’ve taken
me captive, and horrible things will start to happen.”  Hensen looked to Lad,
his eyes imploring.  “Things that don’t
need
to happen.”

“Don’t believe a word he says, sir.”  Sereth
radiated loathing for the man like heat from a kiln.  “He’ll say anything to
save his own skin.”

And yet he’s not just telling me
what I want to hear
. 
It didn’t make sense that Hensen stuck with his story of an accident.  His
concern for his guards hadn’t shown such devotion, so why wouldn’t he just give
up his assistant?  Why risk torture to convince Lad that Wiggen’s death was a
mistake?  Frustration stoked Lad’s rage.

“Kiesha murdered my wife, and it
wasn’t
an
accident.  The fight was over.  Nobody could have mistaken Wiggen for an
assassin.”

Hensen shook his head stubbornly.  “Kiesha had no
motivation to kill her.  Our only orders were to protect you.”

“Your orders…”  Lad’s mind shifted gears.  Even if
Hensen wouldn’t answer his questions, he had given him another place to look. 
“Patino...”

“Patino?”  Sereth stepped forward, his brow
furrowed.  “
Baron
Patino?”

“What do you know about Patino?” Lad asked.

“Kiesha met with him yesterday at the Westmarket
bazaar.”

“Ridiculous!”  Hensen’s outburst seemed too
spontaneous to be faked, but he’d already proven himself a smooth liar.  “She
doesn’t know him.  She must have been merely spying on him.  Gathering more
information to—”

“No.”  Sereth was adamant.  “They had a
conversation, strolling arm and arm like old chums.”

Lad snatched up a corkscrew and held it in front of
his captive’s eye, seething.  “What did I say about telling me the truth?”

Hensen didn’t respond, just kept shaking his head. 
“Why would she lie to me?”

“Hensen!”  Lad longed to jam the spiral of steel
into the man’s hand to get his attention, but held back.  Even if the thief was
playing him for a fool, once Lad crossed that line, there was no going back. 
He would become just like Saliez, the man who had made him a killer.  “You said
you investigated Baron Patino.  Tell me what you found out,
everything
you found out.”

“Nothing.”  Hensen shifted minutely in his seat. 
Lad noted the movement; was it discomfort or a tell?  Was Hensen lying?  “We
looked into his family, his associations, even his mistresses.  He’s nothing
but a low-ranking noble, albeit a wealthy one.”

“And who conducted this investigation?”

Hensen seemed to wither in his seat.  “Kiesha.”

“So, you still think Kiesha had no reason to lie to
you?  That her killing of Wiggen was an
accident
?  Because either Kiesha
lied to you, or you’re lying to me right now.”  Lad’s grinding teeth chirped
like distant crickets in the ensuing silence.  He longed to lash out, to take
that step that would make him that much closer to Saliez.

Wiggen
…

“I’m
not
lying.  If it truly wasn’t an
accident, as you insist, then someone else must have ordered the kill.”

“And that someone might be Patino.”  Lad turned to
shout up the stairs, “Dee!”

Dee trundled down.  His eyes scanned the scene, and
the corner of his mouth twitched.  “Yes, sir.”

“Send runners to Bemrin and Mya with instructions to
investigate one Baron Patino.  They’re to pull in all the resources they need. 
I want to know what he eats, who he sleeps with, where he is every hour of the
day, and I want it now!”

“Yes, sir.”

“We have the name of Wiggen’s killer.  Kiesha.  Have
Mya’s start the hunt for her.  Sereth will give a detailed description and all
her disguises later, and we’ll have an artist make sketches.  For now, she’s
slim, blonde, pretty, and works as Master Hensen’s assistant.  And Dee, make
sure Mya knows that she’s dangerous, and that I want her alive.”

“Yes, sir.”  Dee hurried out.

Lad paced the confines of the cellar, feeling like a
wild animal in a cage.  He tried to organize his thoughts, but nothing made
sense.  What role did Patino play in all this?  Lad’s only interactions with
Twailin’s nobility occurred five years ago, when he murdered nobles on Saliez’s
orders.  Could one have been a relation of Patino’s, and Wiggen’s death the
baron’s revenge?  He shook his head.  The possibility seemed remote.  Then Lad
remembered Mya’s supposition about who might be protecting him.  A connection
between the Grandmaster and a minor noble seemed even less likely.

“That’s it!”  Hensen’s eyes widened again, but this
time they shone with the light of discovery instead of fear.  And they were
focused on Lad, or more precisely, Lad’s left hand.  “The guildmaster’s ring. 
Your wife wore it.”

“How did you…”  What other presumably secret
information did Hensen know?  It didn’t matter; he needed answers.  “Yes.” 

“And she could never take it off, isn’t that
correct?”

“Yes.”

“And Mya received orders to have a new ring forged
and declare herself guildmaster.”

Lad stiffened.  He knew where this line of reasoning
was headed, and it wouldn’t do to have Hensen blurting out information that Lad
would rather keep quiet.  Sereth didn’t know about Mya’s theory that the
Grandmaster might have sent someone to protect him, or Lad’s notion of the
Grandmaster’s potential involvement in Wiggen’s death.

And it’s going to stay that way
.

“Implicating one of my own people isn’t going to get
you out of that chair!”

“I wasn’t implying that.  I was just pointing out—”

“He’s
playing
you, Master!”  Sereth
brandished a dagger.  “He’ll spin any tale he can think of to get out of this. 
Give me ten minutes with him, and I’ll find out where they’re keeping Jinny.”

“Jinny?”  Lad’s mind stumbled over the name.

“My
wife
, sir.”

“Yes.”  Lad had been so caught up in the puzzle of
Patino and Kiesha, he’d forgotten about Jinny.  Once Hensen’s abduction was
discovered, Sereth’s wife would suffer.  Lad’s gut twisted.  He was making
progress in his interrogation of Hensen, but…  He looked at Sereth.  The Master
Blade regarded him respectfully, but desperation haunted his eyes.