Weapon of Blood (30 page)

Such a lovely young man…and what a
thief he would make!

Hensen decided.  “If Lad chooses to kill
Mya, do nothing.  If Mya makes an obvious attempt on Lad’s life, one that you
think might actually succeed, kill her.  But remember, his skills far exceed
hers, so don’t expose yourself unnecessarily.”

“Yes, sir.”  Kiesha paused, her features
thoughtful.  “And the contract?”

“If the two come into conflict, we’ll
explain exactly what occurred and demand half of the final payment.  It only
seems right, since we will have fulfilled half of the contract.”

“Do you think he’ll pay it?”

“No, but since he may have eyes in our
own organization, honesty, in this case, seems the best policy.”

An involuntary snort of laughter, quite
unladylike, escaped her.  “Pardon me, sir, but that’s a hell of a thing to hear
you say.”

“Yes, well, this is a hell of a
situation.”  He waved her away and turned back to the sideboard for another
brandy.  It was going to be a long, thoughtful night, and despite his slumbering
companion upstairs, Hensen could not imagine going back to bed.

Chapter
XIX

W
e’ve got to
figure out who was running Moirin.” 

Mya fought through the cobwebs in her
mind, trying to stay focused.  Lack of sleep weighed heavily on her.  She had
spent all of last night going through records with Dee, then grilling Paxal and
several of her Hunters on everything they could remember about Moirin. 
Unfortunately, she had learned precious little.  The night before had been just
as sleepless.  Every time she’d closed her eyes she’d pictured Lad and Wiggen
making love, so she’d trained for hours in the hope that exhaustion would bring
sleep.  Unfortunately, her tattooed runes kept physical exhaustion at bay, but
did nothing to relieve mental fatigue.  She felt like she was being held
together by nothing but blackbrew and magic.

“What about Dee?” Lad asked.

“Sleeping, finally.  He was fine until I
started asking him about Moirin, then he started shaking and saying he was
sorry.  He must have really been head over heels for her.  I had Paxal slip him
a sleeping tonic with a shot of whiskey and post someone to watch over him.  I just
hope when he wakes up, he’s back to normal.”

“You drugged him?”  Lad cast a skeptical
glance, but she just shrugged.  She was too tired and too grateful he was here
to argue. 

Much to Mya’s relief, Lad had arrived at
his customary mid-morning hour.  She had filled him in on the night’s events as
they made their usual rounds to the businesses under her purview, attempting to
appear as if nothing untoward had occurred.  She’d been bouncing ideas off of
him in hopes that his fresher outlook might induce some answers.  So far, it
wasn’t working.

“There’s got to be some kind of
connection here.  It can’t be coincidence.”  She ticked items off on her
fingers.  “Horice mounts an attack on us that’s better organized, manned, and
executed than any previous one.  Moirin is reading my letters and spying on me
through Dee.  The masters all but
hand
me a guildmaster ring on a
platter.  Someone tries to murder you, and someone
else
saves your
life.  Not to mention that people have apparently been chasing you every night
for years.  How does it all relate?”

“One or more of the other masters could
be behind all of it, except for someone saving my life.  I don’t see how
keeping me alive would benefit any of them.”  Lad squinted up at the burgeoning
clouds.  The rains had not yet begun, but the deluge was coming.  Yesterday’s
sunny weather had passed.  “And let’s not forget Vonlith’s murder.”

Mya rubbed her eyes.  She knew Vonlith’s
death had no place in the equation, and she was sick of him yammering on about
it.  “Forget Vonlith!  It has nothing to do with this!”  She brushed her hair
back and tried to think.

Lad stopped dead in the street and stared
at her.  When he spoke, his voice was hard and cold.  “What aren’t you telling
me?”

Mya’s heart pounded, and she knew that Lad
could hear it, interpret its significance. 
How could he know? Did Norwood
tell him something to make him suspect me?

“What do you mean?”  She could never tell
Lad that truth.  Her murder of the runemage could well be the last straw.  He’d
leave…with the ring.  And despite her threats to have him followed, he could
easily kill anyone she sent.  The crowds ebbed and flowed around them as people
hurried to complete their errands before the rain started.  “We can’t talk
here.  Come on.”

Three steps on she realized he wasn’t
following, but standing like a statue amongst the bustling humanity.  Mya had
to tell him her something.

If he wants a secret, I’ll give him
one!

“I haven’t told anyone, but...”  Mya
stepped close and pitched her voice as low as she could, knowing he could hear
her over the commotion of the busy street.  “Last week I received a letter from
the Grandmaster.  Moirin had to have read it.  That letter may very well have
started this whole thing.  It was an offer, Lad.  He told me to forge a new
guildmaster’s ring and claim it for
myself
.”

Whatever Lad was expecting to hear, that
wasn’t it.  His eyes widened in shock. “Really?”

“Really.”  She rubbed her eyes again.  “I
burned it.”

“Why?”

She glared at him for a moment.  “Because
I don’t
want
to be guildmaster!”

“You don’t?”  Confusion furrowed his
brow.  “But it would protect you from the other masters.  They couldn’t touch
you.  You’d be safe.”

Mya just stared at him.  “Being
guildmaster wouldn’t protect me from the Grandmaster; it would put me directly
under his thumb!  Did you think I was blowing smoke yesterday when I turned
down Patrice’s offer?”  Her mind reeled.  Did Lad really not understand her at all? 
Did he think all she wanted was power?  A guildmaster’s ring only put her that
much closer to becoming the person she had abhorred most in the world, the
Grandfather.

You’re already halfway there, Mya
, a little voice in her mind mocked as she pictured
the runes lacing her flesh.

“If Patrice was running Moirin, she might
have backed you because she knew the Grandmaster already made you the offer.”

Mya shook her head. 
At least his mind
is off Vonlith!

“Assigning a spy like Moirin to use sex
to get close to my assistant would be Patrice’s style, but it doesn’t fit.  She
didn’t back me until I convinced her that I really didn’t want a new
guildmaster.  If any of the other masters actually
knew
that the
Grandmaster sent that letter, they would have blocked any notion of forging a
new ring.  And none of this gets us any closer to finding out who saved your
life.”

Lad looked thoughtful.  “The
Grandmaster…  Why wouldn’t he just tell everyone that you’re the new boss?”

“I don’t know.”  The cobwebs were
reasserting themselves in Mya’s brain.  She wished she could just
not think
for a while, lie down and sleep.

“How long does it take to forge a
guildmaster’s ring?”

“A while, I guess.  Weeks.  Why?”

“Because until it was forged, you’d be
vulnerable.”

The flame of an idea burned away all the
cobwebs.  “That’s it!  The letter said to forge a new ring, and
then
show the masters the letter!  He must know that we’re at each other’s throats. 
He wanted to protect me, and the best way to protect me is to protect you! 
Lad, you’re a genius!”

“Miss Mya!”

Lad whirled to scan the surrounding
crowd, buildings, and rooftops, but Mya recognized the voice, and tapped his
arm.  “It’s all right, Lad.  Just a messenger.”

A girl ran up, one hand clutching her
side, her breath coming in gasps.  She’d obviously been running hard.

“Miss Mya!  Urgent message…”  She held
out a folded note.

Mya glanced over the short message, and
felt like she’d been kicked in the gut. 
Gods, no
…  She crumpled the
paper and looked into Lad’s pale eyes. 
Not his family
.

“What, Mya?”  From his tone, she knew he
could see the horror on her face.  “What’s happened?”

“There’s trouble at the
Tap and Kettle
.” 
She watched his pupils dilate, the tiny blood vessels around his eyes pulse
red.  His skin flushed with sudden heat, palpable from two feet away.

“Wiggen!”

“Lad!  Wait!”  She may as well have tried
to stop the rain that had begun to patter down on the warm cobblestones.  He
was already gone, dashing through the crowd faster than any human being should
be able to run.

“Forbish!”

Wiggen’s hands were deep in pie dough
when Josie’s cry came from the common room.  The urgency in her stepmother’s
tone brought her eyes up to her father’s in a flash of worry.  Forbish put down
his rolling pin and gave her a tense smile.

“Probably just—”

Josie burst into the kitchen, her face
red.  “Trouble, Forbish.  There’s a bunch of bravos in the courtyard.”

“By the gods, I’ll—”  Forbish took up his
biggest cleaver, but Wiggen was already past him.

“No, Father.  I’ll go.  Remember what Lad
told us to do if something like this happened.  Bolt the kitchen door and stay
here.”  She nodded to the crib in the taproom off the kitchen where Lissa was
finally napping.  “Watch over Lissa.  Josie, get the customers and the help upstairs,
then close and bar the common room shutters.”

“Be careful, Wiggen!  What if they’re…”

She didn’t hear the rest; she was already
across the common room to the front door, her heart pounding in her throat. 
Tika stood there, one hand holding open the heavy oak door, the other grasping
the two hardwood staves that they kept propped by the coatrack.  Past him, in
the courtyard, she could see Ponce standing with his back to a coach.  Four big
men wielding swords surrounded him.  Wiggen stopped short, blinded by a vision
from the past: men with swords and knives, blood and screams, her brother Tam
dead on these very front steps…

Not this time!

“Go, Tika!  Help Ponce, then both of you
get back in here.  I’ve got the door!”  Wiggin reached though the hanging
cloaks to the back of the coatrack and found the sheathed dagger that hung
there.  Wrapping her fingers around the cold hilt, she tucked her hand and the
weapon under her apron.

“Right.”  Tika grinned maliciously and
strode across the porch, a staff grasped casually in each hand.  “Is there a
problem, gentlemen?”

Wiggen braced herself in the doorway and
watched two of the men turn at Tika’s question.  The other two kept Ponce
backed up against the coach at sword point.  The driver of the coach stayed in his
seat, hands on the reins, staring at the spectacle with wide eyes.

“Flippin’ right there’s a problem.”  The
apparent leader of the men flourished his blade and squared off at the bottom
of the stairs.  “Unpaid taxes.”

“You’re the duke’s tax collectors,
then?”  Tika stopped four steps from the bottom and planted the two staves on
the step below his feet.  “You don’t
look
like the duke’s men, and I
think our taxes are all paid up.”