Weapon of Blood (13 page)

Norwood leaned back in his chair with the
memory of that horrific night: the fight in the courtyard, the torture chamber
they’d found beneath the keep, the bloody corpse of Saliez with his throat
crushed, his torso covered in arcane tattoos…
runes!
 His mind snapped
onto the thought like a mousetrap, and he shot up out of his chair.

 “Vonlith was a runemage, and Saliez had
runes tattooed all over his body!”  He shook his head, cursing himself for not
making the connection earlier.  “Son of a…”

“Exactly, sir.”  Tamir grinned and stuck
his thumbs into his belt.  “So, if Vonlith was associatin’ with scumbags like
this Saliez, there’s no wonder he ended up dead.”

“And remember what that innkeeper’s
daughter said about Saliez?  Master of the Assassins Guild.”  There was no
physical evidence to support the relationship, but the presence of Vonlith’s wagon
at Saliez’s suggested a link between the wizard and the Assassins Guild.  With
that in mind, Norwood could come up with all sorts of theories as to how the
runemage might have earned a dagger in the brain. 
So much for telling the
duke that the cases were unrelated
.

“She did say that, didn’t she, sir?”

“She did.”  Norwood rubbed his jaw.  “And
Vonlith was killed by a professional; neat and tidy.”

“That he was, sir.”

“Pull the records of that investigation,
Tam.  Everything!  I want to know what the color of the godsdamned carpets were
in Saliez’s mansion.  If we can link something we found there to this case, we
might get some idea of who our assassin is.”

“Right away, sir!”  Tamir gave him
another self-satisfied grin.

He’s probably just happy that he was
the one to get a lead, not Woefler,
the captain thought, and that gave him an idea of where he might find another
link between Vonlith’s murder and that old case.

“I think it’s time I paid a visit to the
Wizards Guild lodge, Sergeant.”  Norwood rifled through the stacks of papers on
his desk until he found the writ from the duke.  It had a blackbrew stain on
it, but was still legible.  “We need to find out exactly who our dead wizard
was doing business with.”

The ledger must have weighed two stone. 
It hit the table with enough force that Norwood felt it through the stone floor
of the Wizards Guild common room.  He also felt the hair on the back on his
neck prickle with the caustic stares of the mages sitting in
leather-upholstered chairs all around him.  They obviously did not appreciate
his presence in their private domain.  Only after examining the duke’s writ
with some disdain had the guild secretary finally allowed the captain access
and brought out the guild log.

“Thank you.”  He gave the surly fellow a
cordial smile.

“Damage a single page, smudge a single
character, Captain, and you will be woefully sorry.”

“I understand.  I appreciate your help,”
Norwood said as politely as he could manage, remembering the duke’s warning
about alienating the guild.

With another glare, the guild secretary
took two steps back, crossed his arms and set his feet, obviously intending to
watch over Norwood’s shoulder for as long as it took him to complete his task.
The table upon which the logbook now sat had no accompanying chair, and one
glance at the secretary’s face told him that one would not be provided.

Marvelous
.  Suppressing a glare of his own, he opened the
leather-bound tome with careful deliberation, stooped down, and began to read.

It took him a while to figure out how the
massive logbook was organized.  He’d be damned before he asked for help from
the snooty secretary, and the man offered no assistance.  His acerbic attitude
seemed strange behavior to Norwood; one of their own had been killed, and the
captain was here trying to solve the crime.  Shouldn’t they be more helpful?

The logbook turned out to be a linear
chronology of every guild member’s standing, activities and contracts, and as
such, contained page after page of information Norwood didn’t care about.  He
had had no idea there were so many wizards in Twailin, or that they were so
busy.  Flipping backward from the current date, Norwood found Vonlith’s death
noted in a precise, dispassionate reference.

Eighth day
of Torith, year T-II-47: Master Vonlith, deceased.  Wrongful death.  Dues paid
to end of the current month, balance to be forwarded to next of kin.

Next of kin
.

That had been a disappointing avenue of
investigation.  Vonlith had left everything to his only living relative, a
nephew who owned an unassuming bar in the Sprawls District.  Tamir had
interviewed the fellow, and reported that he didn’t think the barkeep had
either the financial or cognitive wherewithal to arrange—or commit—such a
murder.  Also, a dozen patrons were ready to swear that the man had been
serving them drinks from late afternoon into the small hours of the morning on
the night of Vonlith’s death.  The nephew would soon find himself
embarrassingly rich.  According to Woefler, the sale of Vonlith’s personal
effects alone would yield a fortune, and his fellow guild members were already
gathering like crows to carrion.

The captain consulted his own notebook,
then flipped backward through the ledger to the date five years ago when they
had raided Saliez’s estate.  Nothing was noted for Vonlith on that date, but
three days prior, the wizard had signed a contract to “scribe various runes.” 
Half of the fee had been paid up front—a substantial amount—with the rest to be
paid upon completion of the task.  Two days after the date of the raid,
however, another notation filled a line in the ledger.  “Contract terminated
prior to completion.  Deposit retained.”

Well, it’s circumstantial, but it
certainly suggests that Vonlith worked for Saliez.  So it’s no stretch to
imagine that he knew the assassin who killed him
.  Norwood jotted the dates and notations into his
notebook, cursing the Wizards Guild policy of confidentiality for patrons. 
There was no way to match names to these contacts.

He began flipping forward, one page at a
time, searching the elegant script for Vonlith’s name.  Two weeks after the
termination of the presumed contract with Saliez, he found another entry. 
“Contract to scribe various runes.  Payments to be received monthly until
completion.”

 Each month after that he found a
notation that Vonlith had paid his guild dues in full, and that he had received
payment for his ongoing contract.  Norwood gaped at the amounts. 
No wonder
Vonlith lived in the lap of luxury
.

The captain continued flipping through
the log’s pages.  Every month he found the exact same entry for Vonlith: dues
paid, payment received.  One year, two… 
Two years of inscribing runes?  Was
he enchanting an entire estate or something?

Finally swallowing his pride, Norwood
crooked a finger to beckon the secretary over.  “I find myself wasting your
valuable time, sir.  Perhaps you could help?”

The secretary glared at him, looking as
if considering whether he should answer or not.  He made a face, something
between distaste and impatience.  “If it will get you out of here quicker, I
suppose
I could help.”

Pretentious twit!
 Norwood gritted his teeth and smiled pleasantly.

“Thank you.  I’d like to know if there is
a way to quickly determine if and when this contract was completed.”  He placed
a fingertip on the recent notation.  “It began almost two years prior to this
date.”

The secretary scowled at him, then
stepped forward and placed his finger on the notation.  He muttered under his
breath, and his fingertip glowed briefly.  Norwood stepped back, but the magic
was apparently already done.

“Tenth day of Mirah, year T-II-47.  About
a month ago.”  The secretary waved a hand and the pages of the log flipped
forward.

“One contract lasted almost five years?” 
Ignoring the secretary’s condescending sneer, Norwood read the notation:
“Contract completed, final payment received.”  The total sum of the money
earned by the contract, noted in red, was staggering.

Five years earning a fortune, and a
month after it’s completed, he ends up dead…  And the previous contract,
presumably for Saliez, was cancelled because Saliez was killed.
  The connection between the two murders was still
only circumstantial, but firming up.

He stepped back from the book and nodded
to the secretary.  “Thank you.  That’s all I need.”

“Hmph.”  The man waved a hand and the
heavy tome flipped closed with a thump.

Norwood didn’t give the secretary the
satisfaction of a response to his rudeness, but turned on his heel and strode
from the guild lodge.  The trail, it seemed, had led him back to events that he
would rather not recall, events that had claimed the lives of more than a dozen
of his guardsmen, not to mention as many nobles.  He was beginning to have a
very bad feeling about Vonlith’s murder.  But now, where else could he find
information on a possible connection between Vonlith, Saliez, and the Assassins
Guild?  He only knew of one place.

“Where to, sir?”

The question from his driver jolted
Norwood out of his musing.  He was standing at the door of his carriage, the
rain hammering unnoticed on the top of his head.  Climbing aboard, he shook the
rain from his cloak and wiped his wet face before pulling out his notebook once
again.  He flipped through the pages, found what he was looking for, and called
up to the driver, “Westmarket.  The
Tap and Kettle
on Beltway Street.”

Chapter
IX

T
he door to
Norwood’s carriage jerked open the instant the vehicle lurched to a stop.  A
bright-faced young man grinned up through the pouring rain and bowed.

“Welcome to the
Tap and Kettle
,
milord.”  Stepping aside, he flourished an arm toward the inn.  Golden light
glowed from the windows, piercing some of the day’s gloom.  “My name’s Ponce,
sir.  I apologize that I don’t have a proper umbrella to keep the rain off. 
This weather’s only fit for frogs and fishes, but we’ve got a warm hearth and
hearty ale waitin’ inside.  Not every day we get a visit from the Royal Guard!”

“Thank you.”  Norwood stepped out of the
carriage and dashed up the broad steps to the shelter of the covered porch.

Ponce matched his steps and hurried ahead
open the door.  “Anything for your driver while you’re inside, milord?  We’ve
got a pot of blackbrew hot in the stable, and we can towel off your team so
they don’t take a chill.”

“That would be fine.  Thank you.”

“My pleasure, milord.”  Ponce grinned,
bowed and dashed off through the rain to guide the coach into the barn.

Norwood turned to enter the inn and stopped
short, startled to find himself staring at the very same young man.  At least,
he looked the same, except that this one was dry and the other wet from the
rain.

“Take your cloak, milord?”  The new young
man relieved him of his soaked weather cloak and hung it by the door.  “My
name’s Tika.  Welcome to the
Tap and Kettle
.  I can see by the confusion
on your face that you’ve already met my brother Ponce.  We’re easy enough to
tell apart, really.  I’m the handsome one, and he’s the lout.”  He gestured to
the bustling common room.  “Will you be takin’ a meal with us today, or just a
pint and a seat by the fire?”

Norwood found himself taken aback for a
moment by the welcome.  Few inns in this part of town boasted both a groom and
doorman, let alone manned by identical twins, and such mannerly ones at that. 
But the effect was not off-putting, and the captain found himself smiling. 
“Blackbrew will be fine.  I’d like a see Mister Forbish when he has a moment. 
Tell him Captain Norwood of the Royal Guard wishes a word with him.”

“Of course, milord.  This way, please.” 
Tika guided him through the busy common room to a cushioned chair by the fire.  His
uniform drew a few glances from other patrons, but that was to be expected
south of the river.  “Warm yourself here while I get your blackbrew and ask
about the master of the house.”

Norwood had no sooner sat down and
propped his soaked boots on the hearth than Tika was back with a tray.  A pot
of blackbrew, a thick steaming mug, a pitcher of cream, a plate of cookies, and
a silver honeypot vied for space on the tray.  The young man handled the load
expertly as he placed it on the small table beside the chair.

“Master Forbish’ll be right with you,
milord.  He’s up to his elbows in bread dough at the moment.”

“That’s fine.”

The boy hurried off, and Norwood took a
few moments to relax.  Stretching his feet closer to the fire, he sipped the
blackbrew and nibbled a few of the delicious almond cookies while he surveyed
the inn’s common room.  Business, it seemed, was good.  Customers sat at more
than half of the tables.  Most were merchants, some obviously locals taking
time from their businesses to enjoy a hearty meal, others passing through the
city, as evidenced by their foreign garb and travel-worn clothes.  One couple
looked to be wealthy travelers, dressed in finery and eating and drinking in
congenial company at a corner table, a pretty young wife attending to her older
husband’s every word and gesture.  Two maids bustled about with tankards and
trays of food, while Tika tended the door, occasionally stepping out onto the
porch to shout for a coach to be brought around.  The place seemed a well-run,
clean hive of activity.  Norwood vaguely recalled the inn as being much quieter
when he visited five years ago.  He was on his second cup of blackbrew and
fourth cookie when Forbish bustled out from the kitchen, drying his hands on a
towel and dusting the flour off of his apron.

“Captain Norwood!”  Forbish gave him a
quick bow, his smile a bit nervous, though not, Norwood conceded, more nervous
than any innkeeper might be with an unexpected visit from the captain of the
Royal Guard.  The innkeeper wedged his considerable bulk into the other chair
near the hearth.   “Been quite a while since you’ve visited.  Is this a social
call or a matter of business?”

“Business, I’m afraid, but nothing to do
directly with you.”  The captain swallowed the last of his blackbrew and put
the cup aside.  Looking around, he raised an appraising eyebrow.  “It seems as
if your own business is thriving.”

“It is indeed.  Best investment I ever
made was to marry my barmaid Josie.  She added womanly touches, like these
comfortable seats for lounging by the fire.”  He patted the arm of his chair as
if it was a pet, then gestured to the young man at the door.  “And her nephews,
Ponce and Tika, are like a couple of dervishes!  Took to the business like
ducks to water.”

“I noticed.  Congratulations on your
marriage.”

“Thank you, Captain.”  Forbish nodded
gratefully, though his smile remained strained.  “But you didn’t come here just
to look in on my business, I’ll wager.”

“You’re right on that account.”  Norwood
glanced around.  Two tables of patrons were within hearing, so he kept the
subject ambiguous for now.  No need to start rumors flying by mentioning a
murder where others could hear.  “I need to speak with both you and your
daughter, in a private room if you have one available.  A matter has come up
that might be linked to that other affair she was involved with.”

Forbish’s eyes went wide for a moment,
then he gestured to his guests.  “We’re very busy, Captain.”

“It won’t take long.”  Norwood kept his
voice light, remembering how Forbish balked at a heavy hand.  The last thing he
wanted was for the man to clam up.  “Only a few questions.”

“I’d just as soon not bring Wiggen into
this, Captain.  We’ve put those happenings behind us and moved on.  She’s
married now and has a little daughter of her own, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know.  Congratulations
again.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“But I’m afraid I must insist that I
speak with her.”  He edged his words with a bit more steel.  “It won’t take a
moment, and I’ll be happy to compensate you for your time.”

Forbish bit his lip and finally nodded. 
“Very well, Captain.”  He stood and waved Tika over.  The young man arrived
with an eager grin on his face.  “Show Captain Norwood to the small private
room.  I’ll get Wiggen and join you shortly, Captain.”

“I’ll just bring along your blackbrew and
biscuits, milord.  It’d be a sin not to finish such delicious fare.”  Tika
picked up the tray with all the aplomb of a high-class waiter and gestured
toward a hall off the back of the common room.  “Just this way if you please.”

“Thank you, Forbish,” Norwood said as he
moved to follow the young man.

“You can thank me by not upsetting my
daughter overmuch if you can avoid it, Captain.”  Forbish wrung his hands on
his apron.  “As I said, we’ve all moved on from those horrible times.”

“I’ll be as gentle as I can be, I assure
you.”  He honestly didn’t want to upset the girl, but he was going to get what
he came for.

*

“What does
he
want?”  Wiggen
hitched Lissa up on her hip and continued stirring the huge pot of soup.  The
babe was fussy today, and every time Wiggen put her down, she rattled the
dishes with her cries.

“He’s just got a few questions for you,
Wiggen.”

Wiggen looked to her father and, despite
the heat of the stove, felt a shiver of apprehension up her spine.  She had
hoped never to see Captain Norwood again.

“He said something’s come up that might
be related to that business with Lad a few years ago.  Nothing to do with us,
or so he says.”  As Forbish leaned past her to move the pot to the back of the
stove, she noticed a slight tremble in his hands.  He was nervous.  “The
soup’ll be fine for a few minutes.”

“I don’t want to talk to him, Father.” 
She lowered her voice to a whisper.  “What if he asks about Lad?”

“As far as he knows, Lad’s dead.”  He
pulled gently on her arm.  “Come on.  I’ve already told him you’d give him a
word.  Putting it off will only make him mad.”

“Oh, I’ll give him a few
choice
words!”  She didn’t mean to snap at her father, but dealing with a fussy baby
while attending to her work already had her nerves pinched so tight she felt
like a bowstring ready to snap.

“Wiggen, try not to make him angry.”

“I won’t make him angry if he doesn’t
make me angry, Father.”

“Fine, but keep in mind that if he makes
you angry,
you
can’t lock
him
up in a dungeon.  He can, and has.”

She scowled, but acknowledged his point. 
She had vivid memories of the dungeon beneath the headquarters of the Royal
Guard.  Reluctantly, she followed her father to the private room.

Captain Norwood sat close to the small stove,
sipping a cup of blackbrew and munching on an almond cookie.  At first glance,
he looked unintimidating, merely a middle-aged man with a slight paunch and a
receding hairline.  His Royal Guard uniform and the long blade at his hip
shattered that image.

He stood as they entered, brushing crumbs
from his jacket with a sheepish smile.  “Excuse me.  I rarely eat sweets, and
these are very good.  Thank you for agreeing to speak with me, Wiggen.”

“I’m glad you like the cookies,
Captain.”  Wiggen nodded in acknowledgement instead of curtseying as she should
to a man of Norwood’s stature.  Forbish shot a strained look at her, but she
ignored him.

“And this must be the daughter I’ve heard
about.  She’s adorable.”

Wiggen softened for a moment, as she did
whenever someone admired her baby, but then stiffened her resolve.  He was just
buttering her up with kind words, using Lissa to get her cooperation.  She
refused to rise to the bait.  Instead, she bounced the baby on her hip, and
brushed a hand over the silken little head as if to comfort the child.