Weapon of Fear (41 page)

Mya
could hardly believe what they had accomplished during the course of the
morning.  If Hoseph appeared suddenly, he’d be in for a surprise.

“We’s
spiders…” Gimp had said, and her fanciful description seemed apt.

Taut
strings of catgut webbed every corridor and room above the first floor.  A
labyrinth of narrow passages—hard to discern unless you knew where they
were—twisted through the tangle.  Bells hung from the trip wires at odd
intervals, tinkling alarms when disturbed.  Three bedrooms were kept free of
obstruction, but that would change every night.  Dee, Paxal, and Mya would each
have two urchins armed with crossbows sleeping in shifts in their rooms. 
Digger and Nestor would patrol the halls of the second floor.  In case of fire—
Gods
of Light, please don’t let them try to burn us out
—rope lay coiled at each
window, and buckets of water and sand were positioned at the bedroom doors.

At midday,
Pax called out that lunch was ready, and the urchins bolted through the maze of
strings for the kitchen hall.  Mya found them stuffing their grinning faces
with bread, stew, and sliced fruit.

Dee
motioned to her from the kitchen door.  “Pax dismissed Cook for a few days, but
she made a pot of stew before she left.  When that’s gone, he’s going to make
our meals himself.”

“I
didn’t know Pax could cook,” she whispered before stepping into the kitchen. 
The air was still and humid—the windows were all shut tight—but redolent with
the aroma of peppers, garlic, and spices.  A pot simmered atop the stove; the
lunch Cook had left for them.  Beside it sat a much larger pot into which Pax
was dumping a curious assortment of chicken, potatoes, onions, peppers, and
chunks of bacon.

“Can’t
cook,” Pax admitted, “but I figured it best to get the help out of harm’s way. 
If that bastard of a priest comes at us again, it’ll be soon.”  Wiping his
hands, he filled three bowls from the smaller pot and nodded to the table. 
“Have a seat.”

“Good
thinking.”  Mya tore off a hunk of fresh, dark bread heavy with nuts and
raisins.  “We’re just about as secure as we can be.  I’d like everyone to get
some sleep this afternoon.  I need to go out.”

“Out? 
Why?”  Dee paused in the middle of buttering a piece of bread, concern plain on
his face.

“Other
than the fact that all the hammering’s driving me crazy, I thought I might
check the neighborhood for threats.”  She bit into her bread.  Paxal already
played mother hen to her, and now it seemed that Dee had picked up the
protective attitude.

“That
sounds dangerous.”  Paxal placed the stew on the table and joined them.

“Maybe,
but if we’re surrounded by assassins, I need to know.”

“Can’t
argue with that.”  Paxal ate a bite of stew and grimaced.  “Damn cook thinks
red pepper’s a vegetable, not a spice.”

Dee
reached for a pitcher and poured three cups of lemonade.  He placed one before
Paxal.  “That’ll cut the heat.”

“Thanks.” 
Pax shortened the contents of his cup by half.

“I’m
just wondering what to do if I spot assassins.  If they’re guild, that means
Lady T sent them.”  She sampled the stew, a heady concoction of sausage,
garlic, onions, lentils, and a slurry of spices.

“Do
you think she’d do that?” Dee asked.

“Not
really.”  She nibbled bread and sipped lemonade, clicking her nails under the
table.

“Stop
fidgeting and eat.”  Pax pointed to her bowl.

Mya
glared at him.  “I feel like I should be doing
something
.”

“You
are.  You’re eating lunch.”  Pax pointed at her bowl with his spoon, his face
set in stern lines of disapproval.

“He’s
right.  We’ve done all we can.”  Dee ate, but didn’t look at her.  “All we can
do is wait.”

“Like
a spider…”  The problem was, Mya hated waiting.  Dee was right, if the
information Lady T had given her was true, if the prince believed her, if they
could foil the plan, if…if…if…  She thought seriously about murdering the
conspirators in their beds, but that would require preparation she didn’t have
time for, and if she missed one, the others would know she was onto their
plot.  She couldn’t kill Duveau, and couldn’t find Hoseph.

You
know where I live, you bastard.  Come and get me.

“Exactly.” 
Dee ate more stew.  “And we should buy you some clothes.”

“What
do I need?  I’m a spinster mistress of an orphanage.”

Dee
finished his stew and took his bowl to the wash barrel.  “If Duveau doesn’t
kill Arbuckle before the coronation, I think you should go.”

“To
the
coronation
?”  She stared at him as if he’d sprouted wings.  “You
want me to sneak into the palace in the middle of the coronation?”

“No,
I think you should pose as an eligible young lady looking to catch the eye of
the emperor-to-be, and go with your noble aunt, Lady T.”  Dee looked her in the
eye as he returned to the table.  “Every noble in Tsing will be there, and
every single one with a daughter of the right age will bring them along.  There
hasn’t been an unwed emperor in three hundred years, so he’s quite a catch.”

“And
you think Lady T will go along with that?”

“I
don’t think she can refuse if you show up at her door unannounced.”

“He’s
got a point.”  Pax nodded.

Mya
glared at the old innkeeper.  He wasn’t helping.  “You really think Duveau will
make his attempt during the
coronation
?”

“I
have no idea, but he’s a wizard, not an assassin.”  Dee shrugged.  “I don’t
think either of us has a clue what he’ll do, but he’s not supposed to let the
prince be crowned.  If the prince is still breathing the morning of the event,
where else will he be able to be in the same room with him?”

 “So
he’ll do it in full view of hundreds of people?”

“Maybe
he’ll use magic to make it look like someone else kills the prince.”  Dee
shrugged again.  “He could conjure a demon in the middle of the whole show for
all I know.”

“I
don’t even know what he looks like.”  Mya knew little about magic, but she knew
some of what it could do.  She was evidence of that.  “In fact, he can probably
look like whoever or whatever he wants.”

“And
he doesn’t know what
you
look like.”  Dee finished his lemonade.  “He
certainly won’t be expecting the lovely young lady on Lady T’s arm to thwart
him.”

“He’s
got a point.”  Paxal looked from Mya to Dee and back.

Mya
glared at them both.  “There’s
also
the point that I don’t really want
the new emperor to know what I look like.”  She held up the ring on her finger. 
“I’m wearing his father’s ring.  He might actually recognize it.”

“A
little gold paint will fix that.”

“You
have answers for everything, don’t you?”  She didn’t want to admit that the
notion of walking into the palace in plain view of every noble in the city made
her skin crawl.  “Answer me this?  If I do have to kill Duveau in front of
hundreds of nobles and the gods-be-damned emperor himself, how to I get out of
there?”

“You
tell everyone that you were hired as Lady T’s bodyguard, and when the lady saw
her emperor in danger, she ordered you to intervene.”  Dee smiled innocently.

Mya
felt the perverse desire to wipe that smile off.  “You were never this
imaginative when you were my assistant, Dee.”

“You
never asked me for my opinion.”  He shrugged and looked down at his hands. 
“Except with your correspondence.”

As
much as she hated to admit it, Dee’s plan had merit.  There was no harm in
preparing.  “Fine.  If the prince and Duveau are both still around for the
coronation, I’ll go.”

H
oseph looked over the five
mercenaries with a mixture of disgust and satisfaction.  Three men, a dwarf,
and a lanky woman stood ready, armed with short blades and hand axes, torches,
oil, and crossbows.  They’d not balked at the notion of killing children if
they got in the way, nor burning an entire block of Midtown if necessary.  For
a sword-for-hire, gold trumped morality.

“Ready?”

“Don’t
know why we can’t just bash in the door.”  One of the men thumbed the keen edge
of a hand axe.  “Don’t like magic.”

“Because,
you brainless git, they’ll be ready and fill you full of crossbow bolts.”  The
woman cocked her crossbow and loaded a bolt.  “I like the priest’s plan.  Pop
in, kill everyone, light a fire, and pop out.  Clean and simple.  No
witnesses.”

“Don’t
you call me—”

“Shut
up, Rance.  Yurty’s right.”  Maul, their thick-necked leader, glared down the
other man.  “We’re ready.”

“Good.” 
Hoseph wiped his palms on his robe and tried to ignore the persistent ringing
in his ears, pervasive headache, and fatigue.  Transferring five through the
Sphere of Shadow would be taxing. 
Soon, it’ll be done, and I can rest.

He’d
been surprised to find Mya and her people still occupying the same building at
nightfall.  He’d watched for hours that evening.  Lights blazed in every
window, and he’d caught a glimpse of shadows moving on the third floor.  She
was dug in, ready for him.  Well, he wasn’t going in alone this time, and his
mercenaries might surprise her.  They could touch her even if guild assassins
couldn’t.  And if some of them were killed in the process, well, no great
loss.  They were mercenaries.  Their lives were full of risks.

“Remember,
we’ll be appearing in the third floor hallway.  Mya is deadly.  Kill whoever
you have to, but she’s the target.  Distract her long enough for me to get
behind her, and the job is done.”

They
nodded and readied their weapons; Yurty and Rance lit torches.  Maul clamped a
heavy hand on Hoseph’s shoulder, and the rest did likewise in succession.  When
they were all thus connected, the priest invoked Demia’s talisman.

They
entered the Sphere of Shadow, and Hoseph knew instantly that this would be more
difficult than he’d anticipated.  Transferring a single additional person
through the Sphere taxed him.  Five dragged at him so heavily that he felt as
if his soul was being drawn and quartered from the inside outward.

Focus! 
It will pass as soon as we materialize.

Hoseph
envisioned the third floor hall and started the invocation, but felt as if a
spectral hand restrained him.  Something had changed.  He’d experienced this
before when trying to materialize in a room where furniture had been moved or
people stood about, interfering with his intended destination.  He shifted his
point of arrival in his mind and tried again, but still felt resistance.

The
pressure on his soul dragged at him.  He felt as if he might fly apart any
moment.  Unaccustomed panic threatened.  Hoseph shifted his destination closer
to the wall near the end of the hall, and the resistance eased. 
Finally!
 
The priest pushed through into the real world.

Screams
and gasps of shock greeted him, and for a moment, Hoseph thought one might be
his, so fiercely did the pain blossom behind his eyes.  He blinked hard to
clear his vision, wondering if the incongruous jingle of bells was some strange
auditory hallucination.  Maul’s fingers dug painfully into his shoulder.  Something
was dreadfully wrong.

Wrenching
himself free of the mercenary’s grasp, the priest rebounded off of something
resilient, certainly not a wall.  He flailed an arm for balance, and felt a
taut cord catch his hand. 
What in the name of…
  Hoseph turned and
beheld a scene reminiscent of a painting he had once seen in the temple of
Xakra the Tangler, Mistress of Webs.

The
entire hallway was crisscrossed with strands of heavy twine.  The feeling of
resistance had saved Hoseph from materializing within the convoluted web, but
not so his companions.  Maul struggled against the half-dozen strings that
pierced his torso and legs, fighting to reach a belt knife.  The dwarf hung
without a twitch, four strings intersecting his head at various angles, his
eyes bulging horribly and blood oozing from his nose and ears.  Yurty waved her
torch, trying to burn through the strings that pinned arm and legs, grimacing
against the pain.  The other two men twitched and moaned with taut lines
through their chests.  Rance lost his grip on his torch, and the flaming brand
hung in the air, the wooden shaft transected by a string.

Hoseph
had woefully underestimated Mya once again.  The shadows he had spied earlier
in the evening in the third-floor windows had seemed carelessness to him, not
calculated to draw him in.  He’d blundered right into a trap seemingly designed
to thwart the very attack he had chosen to employ.
 How could she have
known?

“Ding
a ling!  Ding a ling!” came a shrill shout from behind one of the closed
doors.  A chorus of similar calls rang out, and the priest knew the rest of the
trap was about to be sprung.

Hoseph
reached into the web of taut catgut and wrenched the dagger from Maul’s hip
sheath.  One slash severed the strings transecting Maul’s arm, and he handed over
the knife.  “Cut yourself free, then the others.”

“We’re
buggered!  Get us out of here!” Yurty demanded through gritted teeth as she
wrenched severed strings from her body.

“Free
yourselves!”  Hoseph wouldn’t give up yet.  “We can still—”

Three
doors opened, and small grimy faces peered into the torch-lit hall.  Feral
grins preceded the glint of loaded crossbows, the nearest only feet away from Hoseph
and his immobilized mercenaries.  Before Hoseph could react, two of them
fired.  Thankfully, the urchins apparently had little training.  One bolt
thudded into the wall, and the other only tugged at Hoseph’s robes.

“It’s
that priest!”

Several
more crossbow-wielding urchins surged into the hall, crouching among the maze
of twine to aim their weapons.

Maul
was almost free, his face contorted in pain and fury.  Yurty had managed to
burn enough of the strings to reach her crossbow.  The weapon, however, was
tangled.  She twisted and fired at the nearest door.  Missing an urchin by
inches, the bolt vanished into the darkness.  Rance hung limply, his face pale,
while the other man struggled feebly to reach a blade.  Hoseph had to intervene
or they’d all be shot down and his chance to kill Mya would be ruined.

The
priest cast forth his soul-searching invocation, sending a pulse of darkness
through the hallway.  Cries of despair rang out from urchins and mercenaries
alike, and weapons clattered to the floor.  Yurty dropped her torch into the
pool of volatile oil that had leaked from the pierced skin at her hip.  The
liquid ignited with a whoosh, engulfing the woman in flames.  A horrible scream
tore from her throat as her clothes blackened and hair shriveled.  Tongues of
flame licked at the ceiling.

This
wasn’t going according to plan at all.

Another
crossbow cracked, and the bolt buzzed past Hoseph’s ear.  In the gloom at the
far end of the hall, a grizzled old man reloaded a crossbow.  Beside him, two
more urchins raised their own weapons.  Still, there was no sign of Mya.

Hoseph
dissolved into the Sphere of Shadow and visualized the hallway behind the old
man.  Resistance inhibited him again.  He shifted his destination again and
again, but everywhere he tried, he was blocked.  He even tried the room he’d
been in before, but no, it, too, must be trapped.  He had nowhere to go in the
hallway except back where he had been standing, nowhere safe from which to
attack.  If he returned to the same spot, he would die.  He had no choice but
to flee.

Perhaps
the fire will do the job for me
.

Picturing
a new destination, Hoseph coalesced on the rooftop across the street, the perch
he had spied from earlier in the evening.  He sank to his knees as he head
swam, gripping the tiles as he fought off the dizziness, and tried to ignore
the pain and ringing in his ears.  Lifting his head, he watched the growing
glow of fire behind the drapes of the third-floor windows.

The
first shout snapped Mya out of a fitful, dream-filled sleep.  Lurching out of
bed, she fought a dizzying disorientation, not quite sure where she was.  Then
the door opened, and a flickering light outlined Nails and Gimp, crossbows at
the ready.  The urchins fired their weapons into the hallway without hesitation,
then backed into the room.

“It’s
that priest!” Nails shouted, reaching for another bolt.

Mya
snatched her daggers from the night table, dodging as a crossbow bolt zipped
through the door and thudded into the far wall.  Halfway to the door, a wave of
darkness swept through the wall toward her. 
Dear gods, no
!

Hoseph’s
soul-wrenching magic folded her knees.

The
sting of a slap across her cheek, hateful words burning into her soul—
I wish
you’d never been born
—blood on her hands, blood on the knife, the
astonished look on her mother’s face as blood pulsed from the severed artery in
her neck.

Not
real…  It’s just magic!  Focus or you’re dead!

Screaming,
Mya gripped her daggers so hard she felt the sinews and bones of her hands
cracking and popping under the strain.  She pressed herself to her feet. 
Lurching for the door, she tripped over Nails, curled and sobbing on the floor,
and slammed into the doorjamb.  The impact rattled her teeth—
No pain
—and
she blinked as a wave of hot air washed against her face.

Fire
…  The sight of flames outside the
door burned away the lingering despair.  A human shape writhed in the inferno. 
Was it Hoseph?  No, the screams were a woman’s.  Others hung limp, taut strings
of catgut piercing their bodies.  One hulking man slashed with a knife, trying
to fight free.  Hoseph must have materialized his assassins right in the midst
of their web. 
Spiders indeed.
  Hoseph was nowhere to be seen.

Damn!
  She spun, but no killer priest
lurked behind her. 
But the fire
…

“FIRE!” 
Mya grasped the bucket of wet sand beside her door and flung the contents onto
the burning woman.  The flames dimmed, but still spread along the floor. 
Oil
… 
They brought oil to burn us out
.

Paxal
strove through the maze of strings with another sand bucket, but slowly.  Dee
emerged from his door, his face pale and sheened with sweat, but his eyes clear
and determined.  He leveled a crossbow at the assassins and fired.  The bolt
caught the big man in the chest and he went down with a guttural cry.

But
the fire
…

“Dee,
get your fire bucket!”  Mya whirled back into her room and jerked the coverlet
from the bed.  “Nails!  Gimp!  Keep an eye out for Hoseph!  Everyone watch your
backs!”

Mya
dashed into the hall, cutting through strings with lightning strokes of her
dagger.  Leaping over the assassin Dee had shot, she barreled into the burning
woman, wrapping the blanket around her to keep the flames from spreading. 
Together they crashed to the floor.  Using the edges of the blanket, she patted
out as much of the fire as she could reach.  She felt the heat on her hands,
the skin blistering and healing before her eyes. 
No pain…

Wet
sand spattered across the floor, smothering more of the flames. Then Dee and
Paxal were there with blankets, dousing the last remnants of the fire.  Mya
levered herself up and surveyed the damage.  Smoke filled the corridor, and
their maze of strings hung in tatters.

“Anyone
hurt?”  She raked her gaze down the length of the hall.  Everyone was accounted
for, and all shook their heads to her question.  She heaved a sigh of relief
and coughed as the acrid smoke filled her lungs.