Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy) (16 page)

“Pompous twit,” she murmured just loud enough for
him to hear.  Damned if he wasn’t right about that, too.  Hunters excelled at
finding people, tracking them down and bringing them back dead or alive. 
Inquisitors weren’t just interrogators, they were the guild’s spies, invisible
and everywhere.

“Why of
course
I’m a pompous twit, my dear.” 
Bemrin laughed easily and smiled at her, then lowered his voice.  “And we’re
walking through a
sea
of like-minded people, so I should fit right in,
no?”

Mya focused on the low conversations as they approached
the crowd.  Her stomach soured at the tidbits she overheard: “tragedy…”
“terrible…” “so young.”

“Pardon me.”  Bemrin nodded politely to a passing
woman.  Richly dressed, she dabbed her nose with an embroidered handkerchief. 
“What seems to have drawn the attention of the Royal Guard to this quiet
neighborhood?”

The woman looked at him with tearful eyes.  “It’s
the good Baron Patino.  He’s passed away.  Such a lovely man, too, and so
young.”

Mya struggled to maintain her composure. 
Dead
?

Thankfully, Bemrin’s expression showed only
appropriately feigned sadness.  He tsked and shook his head.  “Passed away, you
say.  Was he ill?”

“Not that I noticed, and I saw him just yesterday at
the market.  I’ve lived next to him for three years now, and never met a kinder
man.”

“But what could it have been?  His heart?”

Yeah, with a poisoned dart in it!
  Mya had harbored doubts about
the involvement of a noble in Wiggen’s death when she first read Dee’s note,
but for Patino to die the very same day they received orders to investigate him
pretty much cinched it.  Mya didn’t believe in coincidence.

“They don’t know the cause,” the woman said.  “His
valet found him this morning lying in his study, and sent one of the kitchen
boys to fetch the guard.  The baron’s maid spoke with my maid, who told my
butler, who told…  Well, you know how word gets around.”  She lowered her voice
to a whisper.  “Some are suggesting poison…”

“Who would
dare
such a thing?”

“Well…” the woman bent closer, a glint of scandal
shining through her distress, “…he
did
have lady friends, but Lady
Patino
knew
he kept other company.  Such an odd relationship…”

“The Nine Hells have no wrath like a woman scorned,
it’s true.”  Bemrin shook his head sagely.  “Such a shame.”  He squeezed Mya’s
arm.  “Shall we continue our stroll, my dear?”

“Of course.”  She had to admit, Bemrin was smooth.

As they walked on, Mya’s mind raced far, far ahead. 
When they were a block away, she gauged that they were sufficiently alone to
speak.  “Lad will want details, and fast.”

“How to get them is the question.”  Bemrin actually
sounded worried.  “I have no eyes in the Royal Guard, and this is out of the
City Guard’s jurisdiction.  But perhaps…” The Master Inquisitor cocked his head
in thought, then nodded.  “…I’ll send in a distraught young lady.  Tears and a
low-cut gown often yield results.  If Patino was known as a lady’s man, one
more attractive mourner asking for details shouldn’t invite undue attention.”

“Not a bad idea.”  Mya gazed at Bemrin with budding
respect.  He might be a pompous ass, but one did not rise to the position of
Master Inquisitor without knowing how to get information.

“Right then!  I’ll delve the Royal Guard for
details, and you go tell the guildmaster that Patino’s dead.”

“Thanks a lot!”  Lad would be furious at the news. 
She swallowed her fear and resolved to think positively.  Their last
conversation had ended well.  Why worry? 
Just because he may have tortured
Hensen to get information, only to find out that the object of his interest is
dead
? 
Oh, yeah, he’ll take that well
. 

Bemrin raised a hand to hail a passing hackney, and
the coach jerked to a halt.  “Tell our master that I’ll report as soon as I
can.  And do be careful.”

“Thanks.”  Mya didn’t believe his false concern for
a second.  She allowed him to hand her up into the carriage and managed to keep
from smacking him as he bent to kiss her gloved hand.  Backing off with a
smile, Bemrin closed the door and called up to the driver, “Greensleeves Way. 
And hurry.”

“As you wish, milord!”

Mya fought for a deep breath as the whip cracked and
the coach rumbled off toward Lad.  She felt stifled by the encumbering dress,
the enclosed carriage, and the mission Bemrin had coerced her into.   Biting
her lip, she dreaded what she might find at her destination.

“Not a mark, you say?”  Norwood crouched beside the
body.

Aside from his grayish pallor, Baron Patino looked
asleep. 
But a dead noble without an obvious cause of death warrants a visit
from the Royal Guard.
  Norwood sighed—
All part of the job
—and
resigned himself to a boring investigation that would undoubtedly reveal some
malady or hidden illness.  Strange as it might seem, sometimes young men died. 
At least the captain hadn’t had to travel far; his office was only ten blocks
away.

“Nothing, sir.”  The corporal in charge of the
investigation shrugged.  “No bruises, no look of pain on his face like you see
when a man’s had a heart attack, no vomit or sign of intoxication, and no
blood.”

“And he’s not been ill, and didn’t go out for
dinner, by the word of his valet,” another guardsman added.  “His man went to
bed around ten last night, and the baron was reading here in the study.”  He
gestured to a book beside a comfortable chair.

Norwood stood and went to the lamp beside the
chair.  He laid a hand on the glass chimney; it was cool.  “Any lamps on when
you got here, corporal?”

“Just that one beside the door.”  He pointed.

The lamp was out now, since there was enough light
streaming through the high windows to illuminate the room.  Norwood went to it
and felt the chimney, detecting slight warmth.  The other lamp had been put out
long before this one.

“So, he got up from his reading, put out his reading
lamp, took two steps and dropped dead without making a sound.”  That sounded
strange to Norwood, but there were no signs of violence or foul play.  “And the
valet said the exterior doors were locked when he got up this morning?”

“Tight as a drum, sir.  The wife’s hysterical.”

“I want to talk to her.”  Hysteria could be faked,
and she wouldn’t be the first noble wife to kill a husband.  If the house
hadn’t been broken into, and this did turn out to be a wrongful death, the list
of suspects narrowed considerably. 

The familiarity of the situation pricked his
memory. 
A locked home and a dead body
…

“Check all the windows and the attic for signs of
forced entry, and send a carriage for Master Woefler.  Ask him to check all the
baron’s decanters for poison, and the baron himself while he’s at it.  Oh, and
ask the baroness and servants if anything has gone missing, even something
seemingly unimportant.”

“Already checked for signs of a break-in, sir.  Not
so much as a scratch on a casement.  The butler and valet reported that
nothing’s missing.”

Nothing missing, and no sign that
anyone broke in
… 
Norwood considered again the similarities to something he’d seen. 
Something
recent…something…Woefler…magic
… He snapped his fingers when finally he
remembered. 
Vonlith
!  Similar circumstances, except for the dagger
wound in the brain.

Norwood looked down at the dead baron again.  Patino
was a score of years younger than the guard captain and looked to be in good
health.  “Damned strange…”  Norwood didn’t like it when nobles dropped dead in
his city, and liked it even less when there was no apparent explanation why
they were dead.

Maybe I’m just getting paranoid
.  He swept his eyes around the
room one more time. 
Not a single thing out of place.  Not a dropped glass,
not a book off the shelf, not a single sign that anyone came or went
.  He
felt a chill down his spine.

Captain Norwood turned to the corporal in charge. 
“Once we take the body, send a messenger to the Royal Physicker.  I want a
reason why this man’s dead, even if we have to cut him open to find it.”

The corporal swallowed and jotted down a note.  “Yes
sir.”

W
aiting
…

Lad paced back and forth across the polished wood
floor of his dining room.  A lifetime of self-reliance had ill-prepared him for
the guildmaster’s position.  He issued orders, then had to wait while other
people carried them out, wait for information, wait on results... 
Wait for
someone else to find Wiggen’s killer
.

In contrast, Hensen sat comfortably at the table,
sipping tea and nibbling scones, seeming to revel in his status as guest, rather
than prisoner.  Convincing the Thieves Guild that their master was here
voluntarily hadn’t been easy, but they’d done so.  Neither of them wanted a
guild war.  The two Enforcers looming at the thief’s shoulders belied his guest
status, but Hensen ignored them.  Not being tied to a chair and threatened with
torture had done wonders for the man’s calm.

Lad’s, however, was in tatters.

The recovery of Sereth’s wife had gone as easily as
Hensen said it would.  Lad had been afraid that the Master Blade might
retaliate against those who held her, but he’d just gathered the confused woman
into his arms and walked out.  They were together now in the next room, getting
reacquainted while Sereth worked with an artist to produce accurate sketches of
Kiesha.  He could hear their whispers through the closed door, though he tried
not to listen.  They had two years of catching up to do, and didn’t need anyone
eavesdropping.

“You really should learn to relax and enjoy your
position, Lad.”  Hensen chased the last bite of his scone with the dregs of his
third cup of tea.

Lad shot him a smoldering look.  “Your daughter
murdered my wife, and I’m still not convinced you didn’t have a part in it. 
I’ll
relax
when I know who ordered Kiesha to kill Wiggen.”

“I have just as much at stake in this as you do, yet
I’m relaxed and calm, while you pace and fret.”  Hensen sipped his tea and
sighed.  “Worrying only transforms minutes to hours, and gives you
indigestion.  You must learn to be like a swan: serene and calm on the surface,
paddling like hell under the water, and always on the lookout for alligators.”

“I’m not interested in your philosophy, Hensen, I’m
interested in—”

Dee pushed through the door from the kitchen
carrying a tray with fresh pots of blackbrew and tea, and another plate of
scones.  Lad eyed the blackbrew, but decided against another cup.  His nerves
were already jangling.  Waiting was killing him, and nothing he tried helped. 
Concentration, meditation, even his daily exercises had gone by the wayside,
all useless to ease his pain or order his thoughts.  He’d thought that a lead
would make him feel better, but he didn’t.  He felt like a rat in a trap,
gnawing at his own foot to escape.

“Master.”

Dee’s voice brought Lad’s eyes up, and he followed
his assistant’s gaze out the front windows.  A well-dressed lady had just
disembarked from a hackney outside his house.  Only when she turned toward his
front door did Lad realize it was Mya.  He barely recognized her in the
get-up.  The frills and lace made her look incongruously…female.

“Finally!”

Her arrival, however, set him teetering between
relief and anxiety.  Lad needed her keen mind to help him with the puzzle, but—he
glanced at Hensen—he couldn’t let her in the same room with the master thief. 
Hensen might blurt out something about the contract to protect them.  From
there, she would make the connection to the Grandmaster’s potential involvement
in Wiggen’s death.  Lad had to keep her and the other masters in the dark on
that score, or risk rebellion.

“I’ll talk to her in the parlor, Dee.  Keep our
guest company.”

“Yes, Master.”

Lad strode into the entry hall and opened the door
before Mya could knock.  She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand. 
“Not in front of Hensen.”  He kept his voice low and conspiratorial.  “In the
parlor.”

As Mya stepped inside, her gaze flicked curiously
toward the dining room and Hensen sitting there eating scones.  Her eyes widened
in surprise, then the corner of her mouth twitched.

Lad reached past her and slid closed the door to the
dining room.  “In the parlor.  Now!”

“Yes, I’m just…”  She nodded and bit her lip.  “Yes,
Master.”

He followed her into the parlor and closed that door,
too.  “What have you found out?”

Mya clenched her hands in front of her and took a
deep breath.  “Patino’s dead.”

“Dead?”  Lad’s head pounded, his pulse suddenly
racing.  He stepped up to Mya, straining to keep from grabbing and shaking the
details out of her.  “Patino was our only lead!  How?”

“We don’t know yet.”  She swallowed hard, her face
pale, but she stood her ground.  “Two Royal Guard coaches were parked outside
his house.  We couldn’t get any details other than that his valet found him
this morning, dead in his study.  A neighbor said that Patino had affairs with
other women, so Bemrin’s sending someone to the Royal Guard to pose as a
bereaved mistress, hoping to get more details.”

“Kiesha!”  Lad glared at the closed door.  “She
killed Patino to cover her tracks.”

Mya nodded.  “It’s a cinch he didn’t just
coincidentally
drop dead.”

“Yes.”  His mind spun.  Kiesha was the key to
everything.  Only she could confirm who was truly behind Wiggen’s murder.  “I
need you back on the street, Mya.  I want Hunters at every gate in and out of
the city, anywhere someone might slip through.  If Kiesha’s running, she may
leave Twailin.”

“What about Hensen?  He might know where she would
hide.”

“I’m working on that.  He’s cooperating.”

“Why?”

“We made a deal.”  Lad struggled with himself, and
made a decision.  Mya needed to know this much, anyway.  He needed her mind on
the job as much as he needed her on the street.  “He told us that Kiesha’s his
daughter.”

“His
what
?”  Her jaw dropped.  “You think
that’s the truth?”

“I…”  Lad recalled the look on Hensen’s face and
nodded.  “I do.  He insisted that Kiesha had no motive to kill Wiggen, which
makes sense.  Someone ordered the hit.  I agreed not to kill her if she told me
who gave her the order.  Since then, he’s been…helpful.  I’ll send information
to you at the
Cockerel
as soon as I get it.  The sketches of Kiesha
should be done soon.”

She glanced in the direction of the dining room. 
“You want me to talk to him?”

“No, Mya.  He trusts me, and Sereth scares him.  Between
the two of us, it’s working.”

“How did
Sereth
find all this out?”

Was that jealousy or just curiosity?  “It’s a long
story.  Dumb luck.  He was tailing Kiesha for another reason, and found the
crafter she’d murdered.  Then he searched and found the darts.  But that
doesn’t matter.  I need you to do
your
job, Mya.”

Tightening her lips, she nodded.  “Yes, Master.”

Lad could see her mind at work, processing the
information he had given her.  He would have to be very careful around Mya, but
then, he’d always known that.  She never stopped looking out for herself.

He showed her out, thinking as he watched her
trundle down the steps and made her way up the street.  She looked back over
her shoulder, then away when she saw his eyes still on her.

Back to work
.

Lad strode through the dining room and opened the
door to the adjoining sitting room.  By the window, the artist was finishing up
a sketch of Kiesha.  Sheets of parchment strewn across the low table showed a
dozen different likeness: Kiesha as a well-bred lady, Kiesha as a maid, Kiesha
as a trollop.

On the other side of the room, Sereth and Jinny
huddled close on a divan.  Jinny was so petite that she seemed fragile beside
Sereth.  The adoration in her face as she gazed up at her husband took Lad
aback.  Suddenly it was Wiggen gazing up at him with love in her eyes.

Wiggen
…

“Master?”

Lad snapped out of his trance.  Sereth and Jinny
stood before him, barely a step away, and he hadn’t even noticed them move. 
Not
again
!
  Not now
! 

“We’ve got news.  I need you in here.”  He was about
to tell Jinny to stay put when he saw how tightly they clutched each other’s
hands.  Separating them seemed…wrong.  She already knew so much about guild
business that excluding her now would accomplish nothing.  He nodded them both
through, and motioned the artist to continue her work.

As they passed, Jinny tugged her husband to a stop,
and looked up to Lad.  “Sir.  With all that’s happened, I never got to thank
you properly.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“But I’d like to.”  Jinny released Sereth’s hand and
reached out tentatively, laying her slim fingers on his shoulder.  “Sereth told
me about your wife.  After such a loss, for you to bring us back together… 
Well, I thank you, and I’m sorry for your pain.”

“I…”  What was he supposed to say?  Freeing Jinny
had been part of his agreement with Sereth.  Lad hadn’t done it out of
sentimentality.  But seeing her freed, seeing the two of them together, did
something to him; for just a moment, he felt good.  He had done something right. 
Finally.  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”  Her hand left his shoulder and
reclaimed her husband’s.  The couple entered the dining room and took seats as
far from Hensen as they could.

Hensen cast a dismissive glance at them before
addressing Lad.  “And what news did your Master Hunter bring?”

“Patino’s dead.”  Lad fixed the master thief with a
hard stare.  “And it doesn’t take much imagination to figure out who killed
him.”

“Kiesha.”  Sereth nodded knowingly.  “Covering her
tracks.”

“Possibly.”  Hensen didn’t sound convinced.  “She
is
thorough.  How did he die?”

“We don’t know yet.  Bemrin’s looking into it.”

Hensen brightened.  “Well, then, let’s think about
this.  If she was going to kill him, she’d use her favored method, yet her
weapon is at the house.”

“She slit the gnome toymaker’s throat,” Sereth
pointed out.

“Maybe she’s changing her method,” Lad suggested. 
“If she knows we’re hunting her, she might have deliberately left the darts at
the house and used a different weapon to make it less likely to connect her to
the killing.”

“But if she’s gone to all that trouble, why not get
rid of her weapon and the darts?  That would be the easiest way to hide her
association to the killings.”  Hensen frowned and shook his head in denial. 
“Kiesha may have played me false, but she is intelligent and thorough.  She
would
not
have gone to the trouble to kill the gnome, yet neglect to
dispose of her blowgun and darts.”

Lad had to admit that Hensen’s logic seemed solid. 
“We need to know how Patino died.”

“Even if the baron’s throat was slit, it
still
doesn’t mean Kiesha did it.  I admit, it seems likely, but…”

“It’s
more
than likely,” Sereth growled.

“We’re looking into Patino’s associations, too. 
There has to be a connection either to me or the guild.”

“As I said before, it must have something to do with
the guildmaster’s ring.”  Hensen nodded to the band of obsidian and gold on
Lad’s finger.  “Wiggen wore it.”

“But nobody knew she wore it until the fight in the
courtyard,” Lad countered.

“The other masters thought Mya wore the ring.  One
of them might have recruited Kiesha before they took Lad’s daughter.”  Sereth
shrugged.  It didn’t seem likely, but it was possible.  “Maybe they contracted
Kiesha to kill the wearer, thinking it was Mya, and Kiesha fulfilled the letter
of the agreement by killing Wiggen.”

“But the masters were already dead when she killed
Wiggen.”  Lad shook his head.

“And we were contracted by Patino to
protect
Mya!”  Hensen endured Sereth’s glare without flinching.  “And she did!  Her
report was precise.  She arrived just as the fight started, and killed five
assassins that night.”