Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy) (17 page)

“That’s true.”  Lad wasn’t about to tell them where
he learned that.  “We’ve got too many questions and not enough answers.  I need
to know more about Patino.  He’s known to have mistresses, so Bemrin’s sending
an Inquisitor posing as one to Royal Guard headquarters to see what she can
find out.”

“You should tell him to be careful,” Hensen warned. 
“Our investigations found that Patino had two mistresses, and his wife knew
about them.  If she should see yours, there’ll be questions.”

Lad nodded to Dee.  “Send a runner to Bemrin with
that.  Tell him that I want his report before sunset tonight.”

“Yes, Master.”  He ducked out of the room.

Lad sighed.  It was back to waiting again.  “Sereth,
take Jinny home.  If you think of
anything
else that might help us find
Kiesha, report to me immediately.”

“There was one thing, sir.  She often met me dressed
like a prostitute, so you might check the brothels.  And…”  Sereth looked nervously
to his wife, then to Hensen.  “Twice, she tried to seduce me.  It was probably
on his orders, just another way to manipulate me, but—”

“I did
not
order Kiesha to seduce you,”
Hensen blustered.  “I considered having someone do so, but it wouldn’t have been
Kiesha.”

“Then why would she?” Sereth countered.

“She was lonely.”  Jinny’s slight voice drew every
eye in the room.  “We spoke some.  I told her how much I missed you, Sereth,
trying to talk her into letting me go.  It didn’t work, of course, but she told
me to count myself lucky that I’d had you in the first place.  She said…”  Her
gaze slid over to Hensen, then down.  “She said she had never had anyone to
love.”

Hensen’s face flushed.  “Ridiculous!”  He lifted his
cup of tea and sipped.

Lad saw a ripple atop the dark liquid in the cup. 
Was love—or the lack of it—motivation enough for Kiesha to double cross her own
father?

“Murder?  You’re sure?”  Norwood gaped at the duke’s
wizard as if the man had just told him his pension had been canceled.  For
once, he wished his intuition had been wrong.  The murder of a noble commanded
precedence over all other investigations.  He looked to the intricate diagram
on his wall.  The Fiveway Fountain killings would take a back seat to finding
Patino’s killer.

“Without a doubt, Captain.”  Woefler’s boyish
enthusiasm remained undaunted.  “And it was lucky that you called on me
immediately.  There was very little residual magic left when I arrived. 
Undoubtedly, it’s completely gone now.”

“Magic?  I called you there to look for poison.”

“And I did.  Finding none, I indulged my curiosity,
poked about for magic, and found it!”  The wizard grinned in triumph.

“Damn!”

This didn’t bode well at all.  Assassination was bad
enough.  Magical assassination was exceedingly rare, and usually meant
sophistication, money, influence, and power.  In most cases, this would rule
out
a simple matter of marital strife turned lethal.  Jealous wives
rarely hired magical assassins to murder their husbands when a drop of deadly
nightshade in his brandy would do.  Baroness Patino, however, certainly had the
financial means, so he would have to consider the possibility.

“And there wasn’t a mark on him.  What magic can
kill like that?”

Woefler wagged a long finger.  “I asked myself that
very question, Captain.”

“And?”

“Well…”  Woefler’s face lit up with pleasure, and
Norwood stifled a sigh of despair.  The wizard enjoyed nothing more than
explaining his craft.  “…there are a number of spells that disrupt the human
body.  Different spells leave different signatures.  Very few leave none.”

“Signatures?”

“Visible evidence.  Things like burns, frostbite, or
necrotized tissue.  There are less-destructive spells.  For example…”  Woefler
plucked what looked like a desiccated chicken foot from the depths of his robe
and muttered a few arcane syllables.  A phantasmal clawed hand detached from
the foot and wafted over Norwood’s desk.  It closed around the lamp and lifted
it several inches.  “I could use this spell to reach into your chest and grasp
your heart, which would undoubtedly kill you.”

“So?”  Norwood eyed the phantasmal claw and refused
to be terrified.

“So, Captain, while the spell would leave no marks
on your body, it would cause you considerable pain.  You would probably die
clutching your chest, your face contorted.”

“Neither of which we saw on Baron Patino.”

“Precisely.”  The ghostly hand lowered the lamp to
the table and vanished.  Woefler tucked the dried chicken foot away with a
satisfied smile.  “The magic that killed Baron Patino did so without external
injury or causing him any apparent pain.  I only know of one spell that can
kill painlessly.  I believe his soul was harvested.”

Norwood stared at the wizard.  “
Harvested
? 
What does that mean?”

“Simply put, it’s the act of separating the soul
from the body.  The technique was first discovered eons ago, when necromancy
was still in its infancy.”  Woefler shifted uncomfortably.  “Of course,
necromancers harvested souls for use in their magic…or to extend their own
lives.  That’s been outlawed here in the Empire, but other disciplines have
mimicked the effect as a form of painless execution.”

“Execution?  I’ve never heard of any such method
of—”

“Captain, please let me explain.  You wouldn’t have
heard of this, because it’s under the purview of wizards.  The Wizards Guild
polices itself.  We have our own laws, and our own executioners.  When needed,
they use a soul-harvesting spell.”

“You’re suggesting that Patino was murdered by such
magic?”

“Exactly.”  Woefler smiled.  “No other spell could have
killed him without leaving some type of signature.”

“And who might be capable of casting such a spell?”

“Oh, I could perform it with a bit of research, and
a few of my more proficient guild brethren might be able to do the same, but
the aura I detected in Baron Patino had an odd…flavor.”

“Aura?”

“Magic leaves trace auras.  Any wizard can sense
them. 
This
aura, however, originated not from an arcane spell, but a
divine one.”

“A
divine
…you mean a priest?”  Norwood
flopped back in his chair, utterly flummoxed.

“Or priestess, yes.”  Woefler grinned.  “You find
that surprising, Captain?”

“I find that astounding!  In thirty years of
investigating violent crime, I don’t think I’ve seen a single murder committed
by a member of the clergy.”

“I don’t mean to offend, Captain, but how would you
know if you had?”  One of the wizard’s eyebrows lifted.  “You said yourself
that Baron Patino’s death appeared to be completely natural.  Any number of
people could have been likewise murdered, with no one the wiser.”

Woefler had a point.  The captain had always
considered members of the clergy to be healers of body and soul, not
assassins.  “Can you tell me which god this priest or priestess worships?  It
would narrow the search.”

“I’m afraid not, Captain.  There was just enough
aura remaining for me to distinguish it as divine magic, nothing more.”

“Well, it could explain why we didn’t find any sign
of forced entry to Patino’s house.  If the assassin could kill with a wave of
his hand, he could have murdered Patino from across the street.”

“Um…no, Captain.  Soul harvesting, whether arcane or
divine in origin, requires a touch.  The murderer was in that room.”

“All right…”  Norwood tried not be upset that
Woefler had transformed a simple case of a dead baron into a nightmare murder
investigation.  He had asked for the wizard’s help, and Woefler had provided
valuable information.  Where to go with that information was the problem. 
Norwood was accustomed to dealing with criminal organizations, not churches. 
This case would take some thinking.

“Thank you, Master Woefler.  I appreciate your
help.”

“Happy to oblige, Captain.”  The wizard stood and
straightened his robes.  “I’m going back to the palace.  Do you wish me to
inform Duke Mir?”

“No, no.  I’ll do that.”  Another thought came to
him.  “Oh, and please keep this quiet for now.  I don’t need rumors of murder
flying around Hightown, especially if a homicidal priest might be listening. 
As far as anyone else is concerned, Baron Patino died of heart failure.”

“Oh, which reminds me; since I discovered the cause
of death, I rescinded your order for an autopsy.  I didn’t think the baron’s
family would appreciate him being cut open without reason.”

“Oh, yes!  Thank you!”

“And you needn’t worry about rumors, Captain.  My
lips are sealed!”  Woefler’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he nodded farewell
and opened the office door.

A cacophony of raised voices from the outer office
shook the room, some screeching obscenities, others wailing in angst, and
several more pleading for calm.

The wizard looked back with a pained expression. 
“Unfortunately, not
all
lips are sealed.”

“What in the name of…”  Norwood rounded his desk,
stalked to the door, and gaped at the scene.

His guardsmen were attempting to restrain four
raving young ladies and a fuming baroness with only marginal success.  All five
were casting everything from poisonous glares, to harsh words, to the contents
of their handbags at one another.  Baron Patino’s widow, clad in appropriate
mourning, flapped and fluttered like a great black vulture, trying to get past
the two guardsmen who had bravely interposed themselves between her and the
others.  Royal Guards were trained in dealing with squabbles between nobles,
and though they dare not lay hands on the baroness, they formed a wall between
her and her foes.  The other four, dressed in various shades and degrees of
finery, enjoyed no such immunity, and struggled in the grasp of guardsmen,
fighting to get at each other’s throats.

“I think I’ll leave through another exit, Captain.”

“There are no other—”  Norwood shut his mouth as
Woefler murmured an arcane phrase, stepped through a dark fissure in the air,
and vanished. 

“Coward,” he muttered, turning back to the screaming
match.  He took three strides into the fracas and bellowed, “Quiet this
instant!”

Silence fell. 

The captain took a moment to assess the quiet but
still-hostile women.  Two of the young ladies, obviously well-to-do, given
their stylish gowns and tasteful jewelry, merely glowered at one another.  The
baroness ignored them, instead glaring daggers at the other two.  One, a
delicate young lady wearing a low-cut saffron gown, dabbed her tear-sodden
eyes, and clutched a broken parasol.  The fourth took Norwood’s breath away. 
Her form-fitting crimson dress made her seem a rose among daisies.  Stunningly
beautiful, she stood with the poise of a queen, head high in defiance, hair
like waves of molten chocolate tumbling over creamy shoulders and daring
décolletage.

Norwood cleared his throat.  “Now, what in the Nine
Hells is going on here?”

It was obviously the wrong question.  All five women
immediately started screeching at him and one another.  The two ladies of
standing railed at one another like sailors, while the young lady in saffron
simply wailed, tears streaming down her cheeks.  The rose struggled to free a
hand, her painted nails resembling bloody thorns.

“Please…be…civil!”  Silence fell again, and Norwood
nodded to the baroness.  “Lady Patino, what’s this all about?”

“I came here to clear up a simple misunderstanding,”
the baroness seethed, “and I find that my late husband has been consorting with
common whores!”

Saffron Gown wailed at an even higher-pitch, while
Crimson Rose countered with a poisonous glare and taunted, “Oh, come now,
Baroness, you can’t tell me you didn’t know your dear husband was diddling half
the women in Twailin!”

“Why you lascivious tramp!  I should have you
arrested!”

“On what charge?” Crimson Rose countered.  “Last I
heard there’s no law against cuckolding a shrew!”