Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy) (23 page)

“He’s been through a lot, Jin.”  He squeezed her
hand, impulsively pulled it up to his lips and kissed her fingers. 
More
than I ever want to go through
.

“Day after tomorrow?  He’s got to be
kidding
!” 
Mya reread Lad’s note and cursed beneath her breath.

“Problem, Miss Mya?” asked her new assistant,
Geltin.  He was no Dee, but he was learning.

“Hells yes, there’s a problem.”  She dropped the
letter and leaned back in her chair, her dinner suddenly unappetizing.  “I’m
leaving for Tsing in thirty-six hours.”

“That’s…a problem all right.”  Geltin’s eyebrows
arched.  “Want me to call in your senior journeymen?”

“Yes.  I’ll have to put Pictor in charge until I get
back.”

“That’ll make his day.”  Geltin chuckled and
scratched notes in his book.

“Well, Sereth is going to be acting guildmaster while
Lad and I are gone, so that’ll un-make it.”  For some reason, Pictor didn’t
like Sereth.  Mya mused on Lad’s decision.  It didn’t really surprise her; of
all the masters, Sereth seemed to be the most forthright and stable.  After
Sereth found out about Kiesha, Lad had been relying on him a lot.  She felt a
stab of anxiety.

Leaving in two days…  Two weeks
alone in a carriage with Lad.

Pushing away from the table, she stood and stared
into the cold hearth, forcing her mind back to the task at hand.  She had a lot
to do before they left. 
Why the sudden rush
?  Not that she had a
choice, of course.  She had to go.  She was a slave, after all.

“Send a reply to the guildmaster.  I’ll be ready. 
That’s all for tonight, Geltin.  We’ll finish the rest in the morning.”

“Yes, Miss Mya.”  Geltin picked up his things and
left without another word.  At least he’d learned her moods well enough to know
when not to argue.  Her two bodyguards moved to follow as she keyed the hidden
latch that opened the door to her subterranean abode.  Her safe place.

Hardly safe anymore since the
whole damned guild knows about it.
 
It had been a thin deception anyway, and there had been no way to flout Lad’s
orders about keeping the Enforcers at her side.

“Come on.”  They followed her through the portal,
glow crystals brightening their way as they descended into the apartment.  The
place was clean and quiet, as always.  Paxal saw to the former, and Mya saw to
the latter.  One Enforcer stood beside the stairs in the main room, while the
other followed her wherever she went.  The only time she had any privacy was
when she bathed and dressed.  She wasn’t about to let them see her tattoos. 
There were enough rumors about her already.

Mya went to her bedroom and opened the expansive
clothespress, picking out the things she would pack.  Traveling dresses, shoes,
pajamas…

Nearly a month alone with Lad
…

As the Grandmaster stipulated in his letter, they’d
be posing as a couple to minimize suspicion.  That meant sharing a room.  A
warm sensation trickled down her spine and centered in her stomach, igniting a
sweet fantasy in her mind’s eye.  She’d once crouched in the rain and watched
through a fogged window as Lad and Wiggen made love.  She imagined herself
there, feeling his touch, taking away his pain, being with him…

Maybe
…
maybe it could happen
…

Oh, stop it
!  She threw a few more outfits
onto the bed.  Everything was ready except for her formal dress and a corset
she was having altered.  Bemrin’s tailor had promised them soon. 

I’ll be damned if I’ll leave
before they’re done
!

Mya sighed and looked at the pile of dresses,
wishing she could travel in pants and shirt. 
I’m going to need two trunks
to carry all this!
  Not only would she be uncomfortably clothed, but they’d
be sitting in a coach all day with nothing to do but watch the scenery go by. 
She’d have to bring something along to keep her mind busy, keep her from
dwelling on the fact that she was alone with Lad. 
Maybe some books
… 
She had shelves full that she never had time to read.

Striding out into the main room, still trailed by
her bodyguard, she began selecting books from the shelf, piling them on the
spare chair.  When she’d picked out a score, she reviewed her selections,
putting some back and picking others.  Finally satisfied, she stepped back,
frowning at the stack resting on the chair’s plush cushion.

For the first time, Mya wondered what had possessed
her to furnish this place so elaborately.  She hardly ever used the divan, and
no one had ever sat in the spare chair.  She’d created a private sanctum, and
furnished it like she was expecting company.

Wishful thinking
?  The thought recurred to her:
Two
weeks alone with Lad
…  Mya bit her lip, closed her eyes and remembered that
night in the rain again.

It could be me.  It
should
be me
…

Her fantasy died a premature death as she recalled
Lad’s words… 
There will never be anything between us but business
… 
They plagued her night and day, a constant reminder of her utter folly.

Don’t be stupid, Mya.  
She went to her desk and sat,
intending to immerse herself in work.  She had plenty to do if she was leaving
in two days. 
Two weeks…alone with Lad
.

Love is a weakness
.

D
river!” 
Norwood thumped the roof of the carriage.  “Left at the crossroads!”

“What?”  Tamir snapped out of his doze and blinked. 
His bleary eyes were drawn out the window to the passing crossroad signs.  “Why
are we turning?  Mountainview’s to the right.”

“I know.”  It was time to spring the surprise on
Tamir.  They were more than a day out of Twailin, and there was no chance of a
careless word being overheard and spread.  “We’re not going to Mountainview. 
We’re going to Farthane.”

“Captain, I don’t…”  Tamir nudged Tango aside to
better see out the window as the carriage made the turn.   The wind caught a
thick streamer of white spittle dribbling from the mastiff’s drooping jowl and
splatted it onto Tamir’s shoulder.  “Godsdamned slobbering hound!”

Tango just stared at him and panted, enjoying the
breeze on his face.

Tamir leaned out again and looked back as the
carriage behind them, also emblazoned with the crest of the Twailin Royal
Guard, stayed on course to the right.  “Where are they going then?”

“Mountainview.  Corporal Donnely has his own
orders.”

“Orders?”  Tamir looked perturbed.  “Pardon my
askin’, sir, but what the hell’s going on?”

“We’re going to Farthane to catch an assassin, Tam.”

The sergeant’s eyebrows shot up.  “What assassin is
that?”

“The one who murdered Baron Patino, then tried to
kill me three nights ago.”

Tamir scowled, then looked at Tango and Brutus
taking up more than their fair share of the seats, and realization dawned on
his face.  “Thought there was somethin’ strange about you suddenly bringing a
couple of dogs with you everywhere.  Why’d you keep it quiet?”

“It’s a long story, Tam, and now that we’re out of
Twailin, I can fill you in.”  Norwood related the whole story, from Woefler’s
discovery of the murder to the decision to keep it quiet and set a trap for the
killer.  It was a relief to finally get it off his chest.  He didn’t like
keeping secrets from Tam.  To his credit, Tamir didn’t take his exclusion
personally.  “So, we’re setting up a trap, and you’re going to be a big part of
it.”

“Okay.”  Tam looked at the two dogs again.  “Why the
canine cadre?”

“Because dogs don’t like magic, and the assassin
we’re after reeks of it.”

“So, you’re going to sic these two on him when he
pops in?  That ought to startle him, but how do you plan to catch someone who
can disappear in a puff of smoke?”

“With this.”  Norwood reached into his pocket and
withdrew a thin golden chain.  He wrapped one end around his hand.  The other
end dropped to the floor of the carriage, twitching like a snake.  The two
mastiffs growled at it.  “Woefler loaned it to me.”

“Magic, huh?”  Tamir looked at the length of chain
skeptically.  “What’s it do?”

“It keeps our assassin from disappearing in a puff
of smoke.”

“That’s all?”  Tamir’s face scrunched in a scowl. 
“It doesn’t keep him from killing you, too?”

“No.  I’m hoping Tango and Brutus will distract him
long enough for me to get this thing around an arm or leg.  That’s all it takes
to keep him from escaping.  It sticks when it’s flicked against something
living.  I’ve practiced with it.  It’s not hard to use.”

“And how
do
you plan to keep him from killing
you?”

“The usual.”  Norwood patted the sword at his side. 
“If he can’t escape, I can put a blade to his throat.  That ought to persuade
him to come quietly.”

“And if he
doesn’t
come quietly?”

“Then I put a blade
through
his throat.” 
Norwood coiled the chain and put it in his pocket.  “I want him alive, but I’ll
settle for dead.  The important thing is, if he shows up, we’ll know there’s a
spy in the Imperial Palace.”

The sergeant’s eyes widened.  “The Imperial Palace! 
A little out of our jurisdiction, ain’t it?”

“We’re the Royal Guard, Tam.  If the Imperial Palace
isn’t royal, then I don’t know what is.”

“Okay.”  Tamir scratched his jaw and frowned.  “So,
tell me about this trap we’re settin’ up.”

“We’ll need to enlist the help of the estate
manager, but it’s important to keep things quiet.  This is what I want you to
do…”

Lad worked a finger under his cravat and tugged to
loosen it slightly.  He’d only had the thing on for ten minutes, but it already
felt as if it was choking him.  Or maybe it was the course of action he had
chosen that felt like hands tightening around his throat.

Leave Twailin
…

The notion of wasting an entire month traveling to
Tsing—before he found Kiesha, before he knew who was truly responsible for
Wiggen’s murder, before he had answers—infuriated him.  Unfortunately, Kiesha
was the one with the answers, and she had vanished.

Lad gripped the balcony rail and gazed out at
Twailin, his city.  He’d spent a quarter of his life here.  He knew every
street, alley, shop, and warehouse, but even with the entire Assassins Guild
and a good portion of the Thieves Guild searching for the Hensen’s daughter,
he’d been unable to find her.  No blood, no body, no trace...no answers.

Who wanted Wiggen dead
?  He twisted the ring on his
finger. 
This has to be the part of the answer
…  He’d been over it a
thousand times, and it always came back to the ring.

I put it on her finger. 
He clenched his fist on the ring
until his knuckles ached and his hand trembled.
  I wanted to protect her,
and I killed her
.

“Careful with that!”  Mya’s acerbic tone drifted up
from the street below.  She was in a foul mood, probably irritated at the short
notice for their trip.

Well, she’ll just have to get
over it
.

A knock interrupted his thoughts, and Dee entered the
room.

“Miss Mya’s here, Master.”

“I heard.  I’m coming.”  Lad looked out over the
city once again, scanning the tumbled conglomeration of rooftops lit by the
morning sun.  Five blocks west of the Eastmarket wall, he picked out the
distinctive roof of the
Tap and Kettle
.  Smoke wafted out of the
chimney, and he could almost smell the fresh-baked bread, feel the bustle of
the inn coming to life, hear the sweet gurgles of a baby waking. 
Lissa
… 
The clean smell of her hair, the soft clenching of her tiny hand around his
finger… 
Gods
!  He swallowed a lump in his throat.  He longed so deeply
to see her, touch her, that his chest ached.

I
will
see her again…
  He
might never be able to be her father, but he vowed to watch her grow up, if
only from afar.  He couldn’t risk putting her in danger, but he could catch
glimpses of her. 
It’s better this way
.  He tried to reconcile himself
to that unbearable thought.  Forbish and Josie would raise her well.  Tika and
Ponce would watch over her as protective uncles.  They’d love her as she
deserved to be loved.  As he couldn’t…

Lad turned away before he lost himself in thought,
and followed Dee from the room.  His two bodyguards thumped down the stairs
behind them, incongruously loud compared to their master’s silent tread.

“Master…”  Dee overcame his hesitance after a
moment.  “May I suggest that during your trip you…be more clumsy, or at least
less light on your feet?  You don’t want to draw unwanted attention.”

Lad wasn’t used to using a disguise.  He chalked the
advice up as one more thing he had to do to make his alternate identity
realistic, and adjusted his steps to make more noise.  It felt strange, just
like the clothes, the shoes, the house…  At the front door, Dee held out a
walking stick—a tapered length of beautiful dark wood topped with a gilded
handle shaped like a bird’s head—and a top hat.

“No.”

“Sir, please.”  Dee looked determined.

“No, Dee.  I absolutely refuse to wear the hat.” 
The jacket, waistcoat, tie, trousers, and hard-soled shoes were oppressive
enough.  Why gentry thought it necessary to dress in such finery just to sit in
a carriage all day mystified him.  “It’s stupid!  I’ll wear the rest, but I
draw the line at the hat.”  He snatched the cane and refreshed his gentlemanly
persona in his mind. 

He’d been trained for stealth, not deception, but he
had been taught to observe, to pick out minute details, look for anomalies in
behavior, speech, and manner that might indicate a hidden threat.  Now he used
all he had learned from watching the moneyed gentry of Twailin.  Casual steps,
head high, loose stride, easy manner, tap-tap of the cane on the steps; a
perfect gentleman.

His trunk was already secured aboard the carriage, a
huge conveyance built for comfort.  A matched team of four horses stood
patiently in the traces, hooves clacking on the cobblestone street.  Mya’s two
Enforcers were finishing with a pair of larger trunks from her hackney,
securing the last in the carriage’s covered boot under her scrutiny.  They’d
only be taking three Enforcers with them: one as driver, two posing as their
servants.

Mya turned at his approach, and Lad was struck again
by how strange she looked dressed as a gentlewoman, rather than in her usual
trousers and shirt.  Today she wore a russet-colored traveling dress, nothing
fancy, but still incongruously feminine.  The corset gave her a much more
pronounced figure, pinching her slim, athletic shape into an hourglass.

That can’t be comfortable.

She stopped, noting his scrutiny.  A small hat
topped her short red hair, and she peered at him from behind a lacy veil.
“What?”  She walked over with a sway to her hips and a bounce to her gait that
she hadn’t possessed before.

“Nothing.”  A pair of ladies strolled toward them,
curious eyes drawn to the activity.  Lad tried to appear casual, wondering what
a gentleman would say to a lady in an instance like this.  He had no idea. 
“You look…very nice this morning.”

Mya opened her mouth to say something, but then
caught sight of the passersby.  “Thank you.”  She raised a hand to adjust his
cravat.  “So do you.”

Lad stifled the urge to bat her hand away, and
forced a smile of his own.  “Ready?”  He held out an arm as he’d seen gentlemen
do, and gestured to the carriage door.

“Yes.”  She took a breath and let it out slowly. 
“Yes, I am.”

The hand she put on his forearm trembled.  Was she
nervous or frightened?  Why?  The passing ladies were obviously no threat. 
Maybe she was just as reluctant as he to board the conveyance.

They nodded to the inquisitive ladies as they
passed, and Lad opened the door to allow Mya to climb in first.  He knew Dee
had already checked it for hidden dangers, but his long habit of caution chafed
at his forced calm. 
Two weeks in this travelling coffin
…

“Be
careful
, sir.”

Lad turned, surprised by the note of concern in
Dee’s voice.  How strange that this unassuming man appeared to truly care for
him.  Previously, when they both worked for Mya, Dee had barely acknowledged
Lad, much less shown any indication that he liked him.  And yet, since becoming
his assistant, Dee had helped him immeasurably, and Lad had repaid him with a
short temper and sharp words.  It seemed unfair now.