Weapon of Fear (5 page)

Arbuckle
wasn’t sure which ached more: his hands or his eyes.  He flexed his fingers,
wincing at the blisters on his palms.  He had wielded an axe for more than an
hour, along with several knights and squires, demolishing the vile instruments
of torture in his father’s interrogation chamber.  Afterward, he had watched
with grim satisfaction as the doors were sealed and the keys destroyed.  There
would be no torture during the reign of Tynean Tsing III.

Except
for paperwork
, he
lamented as he gazed at the parchments strewn across his desk.  Ignorant of the
intricacies of the running of the empire, Arbuckle had insisted he be brought
up to speed.  Most details were handled by functionaries, but he had to know
how things worked.  He’d been studying since he had woken after too few hours
of sleep, and his eyes were bleary.  A knock at the door startled him to attention.

Tennison,
his father’s secretary—
my secretary now
—his ever-present ledger and pen
at the ready, hurried over and answered it.  “The crown prince is busy.  I can
fit you in…well, not until after he lunches.” 

Arbuckle
leapt at the chance to escape the paperwork.  “Tennison, who is it?”

The
secretary stepped back into the room, his sharp features pinched and his eyes
wide.  “Milord Prince, it’s Captain Otar of the Imperial Guard, and Master
Corvecosi.  I told them—“

“Relax,
Tennison.  I’d like very much to speak with them.”

“Very
well, milord.”

Arbuckle
gestured to the seats opposite the desk as his visitors entered.  “Gentlemen,
come in please.  Would you like some blackbrew?”  Servants hurried forward.

“No,
thank you, Milord Prince.” Captain Otar bowed stiffly and stood at attention,
declining to sit.

Corvecosi
looked longingly at the silver tray laden with cups and a steaming pot,
seemingly fought a private battle of propriety versus need, and acquiesced. 
“Thank you, milord.”  He sank into the chair and sipped the dark brew, sighing
in bliss.  The man looked exhausted.

“I
daresay we’ve all spent a sleepless night.”  Arbuckle waved for another cup
himself, though his head was pounding already with it.  “Captain, you first.”

Otar
remained at attention, his gaze fixed over Arbuckle’s head.  “I apologize for
not being here last night, Milord Prince.  I was out of the palace on personal
business and didn’t hear of your father’s death until I returned.  You have my
condolences.”

“You
can’t be everywhere at once, Captain, and Commander Ithross did very well.”  He
sipped blackbrew and put down his cup.  “Thank you for your condolences, but
I’ll not grieve my father’s passing after finding out what a vile creature he
truly was.”

The
captain stiffened, but didn’t reply.

Arbuckle
wondered how much Otar knew about the emperor he had pledged his life to serve
and protect.  Was his discomfort umbrage, or was it unease with the secret he’d
kept for so long?  “What progress have you made in your investigation?”

Otar
clenched his chiseled jaw.  “Not much, milord.  We have no identification of
the woman found in the interrogation chamber.  There’s no record of her arrest
or how she came to be in the palace dungeons.”

“That’s
rather strange, don’t you think?”

“Indeed,
milord.  According to the guards, no one but the jailor, His Majesty, and his
blademasters have entered the dungeons in weeks.”

“Archmage
Duveau contends that the dungeons are not warded against magical intrusion.  Do
you think she may have been brought in by magical means?”

“It’s
possible, milord.”  Otar shrugged. “You would have to ask the archmage about
that.”

“And
we have no theories why my father tortured the woman?”

“The
emperor conducted many
interrogations
, Milord Prince.  She may have been
a spy.  I would not deign to question the actions he took for the sake of the
empire.”

“Yes,
few would have confronted my father on
any
matter.”  One incongruent
fact suddenly struck him.  “You said that only the jailor, emperor, and
blademasters have entered the dungeons in weeks, but Hoseph was there when the
emperor was attacked,
inside
the dungeon.”

“I
understand from Ithross’ report, milord, that High Priest Hoseph disappeared
from the dungeon to evade questioning.  They assumed he used some kind of
spell.”

“Invocation,”
Corvecosi said with a mild smile.  “Priests employ invocations, not spells.”

The
muscles at Otar’s jaw bunched and relaxed.  “Perhaps he entered using the same
invocation
.”

“And
maybe he brought the woman in with him,” Arbuckle mused.  “His disappearance
certainly makes him appear guilty of
something
.”

“I
regret to inform you that he is still missing.  His rooms at the temple were
searched, and a guard was stationed there in case he returns.”

“Anything
else, Captain?”

“There
are some…irregularities in the palace visitors’ log for yesterday.”  Otar’s
eyes flicked to Arbuckle’s for a moment before reassuming their distant gaze. 
“A Captain Norwood of the Twailin Royal Guard, along with his sergeant, were
granted an audience with His Majesty, but there’s no record of either of them
leaving.  The carriage they arrived in is still in the stables.”

“I
remember them.”  Arbuckle frowned.  “The captain wanted to see my father about
a matter of security, and insisted that they be alone.  I guess they were right
about the danger.  Or…maybe they were the assassins.  Have you tried to find
them?”

“Of
course, Milord!”  Otar sounded put out.  “We’ve searched the palace, and I
alerted Chief Constable Dreyfus to seek them.  We’re also watching all the city
gates for them, as well as your father’s assassins from the descriptions
provided by High Priest Hoseph.”

Arbuckle
cock an eyebrow.  “The descriptions he provided right before he vanished into
thin air?  Do you think we can trust that?”

“They
are suspect, but it’s all we have to go on.”

Arbuckle
sighed. 
So many questions and so few answers
.  “Very well, Captain. 
Master Corvecosi, you mentioned some peculiarities at the scene.  Anything
new?”

Corvecosi
nodded.  “Several things, Milord Prince.  The first is that the unfortunate
woman—she was young, by the way—died not from her wounds, nor by being eased
into the afterlife, as Master Hoseph said.”

“How
did she die then?”

“Poison. 
The same poison that killed the blademaster I showed you.”

“So…”
Arbuckle tried to make sense of what the healer was saying, “…the same
assassins who apparently killed the blademasters and the emperor, also killed
the woman he was torturing?”

“So
it would seem, Milord Prince.” Corvecosi sighed and rubbed his eyes.  “There
were some other clues, milord, that suggest the prowess of the assassins.”  The
healer pulled from his pocket a slender metal spike.  “This was completely embedded
in a blademaster’s skull.”

“What
is that?” Arbuckle peered at the four-inch steel spike.

“An
implement of torture, milord.  We found others scattered about, and one in the
thigh bone of the woman.”

“Gods…” 
Arbuckle’s stomach roiled.

“This
one was thrown or magically propelled with extreme force.  Inhuman force, one
might say.”

“Inhuman? 
How?”

“Magically
enhanced strength is not unheard of, milord.” Corvecosi gestured to Arbuckle’s
blademasters.  “Your own bodyguards are blessed with it by their deity.  These
assassins must have had
some
kind of magic to accomplish such feats.”

Arbuckle
leaned back in his chair and blew out a frustrated breath.  “So, these unknown
assassins have not only the ability to appear and disappear, but also inhuman
strength.  What next?”

“Aside
from those in the…” Corvecosi glanced at Captain Otar, “interrogation chamber,
four other bodies were found elsewhere in the dungeon.”

Arbuckle
sat up straight, his eyes snapping to Otar’s.  “What?  Who else was killed?”

“Your
pardon for not mentioning it earlier, Milord Prince,” Captain Otar said with a bow. 
“They were just prisoners, by the look of them, though they wore simple smocks
rather than prisoners’ attire.  They were found in a small room at the far end
of the dungeon, behind a locked door.  The room was outfitted as a dining
chamber, but there was no food to be found, and the men appeared to have been
ill-fed for some time.”

“How
did they die?  Master Corvecosi?”

Corvecosi
shrugged.  “I don’t know.  They bore no wounds, and they weren’t poisoned.  The
remaining prisoners are alive, but in ill health, malnourished and infested
with various forms of vermin.”

Arbuckle
clenched his jaw, recalling the poor wretches he’d seen.  “Please see that
they’re cared for.  And I want every square inch of that filthy place cleaned.”

The
healer nodded.  “I took it upon myself to assign that task to my apprentices.” 

“What
about the jailor?  Isn’t that his job?” His attention shifted back to Otar. 
“Has he been questioned about all this?”

The
captain looked stricken, stammering out his reply.  “Not yet, milord.  We found
him out cold in an unlocked cell, drunk.  And not for the first time, if the
pile of empty bottles is any indication.  We’ll question him as soon as he is
capable of answering.”

Arbuckle
wondered at captain’s agitated reply, then recognized the man’s fear.  Under
Tynean Tsing II, he would have been punished for failing to have all the
answers. 
I’m not like my father
!  “My apologies, Captain.  Do carry on,
and keep me informed.”

“Of
course, Milord Prince.”

“Master
Corvecosi, thank you for your insights.”

“It’s
my pleasure to serve you, milord.”  The healer stood, then nodded to the
prince’s hands. “Would you like me to heal your blisters before I go?”

Arbuckle
shook his head.  “Thank you, but I’ll keep the reminder of a deed well done for
a while longer.”  Arbuckle flexed his hands, remembering the satisfying crash
of the torture devices shattering under his blows. 
My father’s legacy
…

A
smile flashed across Corvecosi’s lips before the two men bowed, then left.

Arbuckle
flexed his hands again.  “So, Tennison…”

“Yes,
Milord Prince!”  The secretary hurried to the prince’s side, his ledger already
open and his pen poised above the page.

“Relax,
Tennison.  It’s nothing urgent.  I only wanted to ask your opinion.”

“My…
what
?” 
The secretary looked startled.

“Your
opinion
.”  Arbuckle had always considered Tennison an pretentious prig,
but now the truth shone clear in his pinched face. 
He’s frightened
. 
This
is my father’s true legacy—fear
.  “I must announce my father’s death, but
I’m wondering how to do it.  I’ll draft an announcement to be sent to the
nobles, of course, but simply posting a notice to inform the commoners
seems…insufficient.”

“It
is dire news.  They will be…devastated.”

“
Devastated
?” 
Arbuckle fixed Tennison with an incredulous stare.  “Is that
really
what
you think the common folk of this city will feel at the news?”

“I…”
Tennison swallowed with effort.

“Tennison,
relax
!”  Arbuckle stood, but the man remained rigid with terror,
obviously unconvinced that he wasn’t being lured into a trap. 
Time to
change that
.  “You needn’t be afraid of me.  I’m
not
my father!  I
need you, above anyone else, to tell me the
truth
.”

“I…”
 The man blinked and swallowed.  “I will, milord.”

“Good. 
Now, tell me how I inform the commoners of the emperor’s death.  They deserve
something more than a mere statement.  An apology, an explanation…something.”

A
boyhood memory flashed in his mind, the face of a pretty young girl, the
daughter of the chambermaid who had cleaned his room since he was a babe.  The
girl had accompanied her mother to work one day, and a young Prince Arbuckle
had been delighted to meet another child.  His father had nipped the friendship
in the bud, lecturing his son on the impropriety of nobility mingling with
commoners.  “Subjects are to be subjugated, not befriended!”  Arbuckle never
saw the girl again, and a new chambermaid cleaned his room the next day.  He
wondered where the girl and her mother had disappeared to, and tried not to
picture the poor tortured woman in the dungeon.

“They
deserve more.”  Arbuckle began to pace.  “They’ve been through hell at my
father’s hand, and need to know they can expect better from me.”

“So…tell
them that, milord.”

Tennison’s
simple solution struck Arbuckle like a thunderbolt.  “Of course!”  He flicked
an impatient hand at the secretary’s leger.  “I’ll personally announce the
emperor’s death!  We need someplace public, and large enough to accommodate
many!”

The
secretary’s brows arched in surprise, his feather quill quivering over the
leger.  “Milord, I didn’t mean—”

“No,
it’s
perfect
!” Arbuckle warmed to the proposal.  “Draft posters to be
distributed throughout the city immediately.  I will appear at the Imperial
Plaza this afternoon to make an important announcement.  See to the details for
transportation and security.”

“Yes,
Milord Prince.”  Tennison still looked horrified, but there was something else
there, too.

Hope
? Arbuckle wondered.  The thought
brought a smile.
  Yes…that’s what the commoners need.  They need hope
.

A
t the chime of the doorbell, Dee
dropped his polishing rag.  With Lad off to Tsing, there wasn’t much for him to
do.  The continuing investigation into the murder of Lad’s wife was running
without much help.  Collating the information in preparation for Lad’s return
was his only real guild-related duty for the time being.  Desperate to be busy,
Dee had resorted to touching up the silver.  Answering the door came as a
welcome break.

Peeking
through the lens mounted in the center of the door, however, Dee thought the
break might not be so welcome after all.  A hooded acolyte stood on the stoop,
probably seeking a contribution.

“I’m
so sorry, good brother,” Dee said as he opened the door.  “My master’s out of
town, and I’m not authorized to give donations in his stead.  Perhaps if you
come back when—”

“I
know your master’s not home, and I’m not here for a donation.  I’m here on
guild business, and I’ll not discuss it on the stoop.”  The man’s scowl was clearly
not intended to entice generosity, and his face was unfamiliar.

Dee
had been fooled once before by a spy in a clever disguise, and had vowed that
would never happen again.  However, if the man was actually a guild messenger,
this certainly was not something to discuss on the stoop. 

Stepping
back, he waved the visitor in.  “I have no idea what guild you’re talking
about, but if you have business, you may come into the foyer.”  If this was a
trick to get entry for some nefarious motive, the man would be in for a
surprise.  Dee could summon two Enforcers in seconds.  He closed the door and
confronted the alleged acolyte, his arms crossed.  “Now, what’s this about?”

“Who’s
in charge of the Twailin guild?”  The demand came without warning, and in a
tone intended to intimidate.

Dee
wasn’t.

“I
don’t know you, sir, and I don’t know what guild you keep referring to.  I’ll
have your name and business, or you’ll be out the door this instant.”

The
acolyte pushed the hood back off of his head, giving Dee his first good look at
his features.  The man’s pate was shaved smooth, his features were angular, and
his eyes cold.  When he spoke, his tone came as sharp as a newly whetted razor.

“My
name is Hoseph.  I’m the personal assistant to the Grandmaster of the Assassins
Guild.  You are the assistant to Guildmaster Lad of the Twailin Assassins
Guild. 
You
need to tell
me
who’s in charge of the Twailin guild
in your master’s absence.”

Dee
tensed, but maintained his long-practiced composure as his mind raced. 
Personal
assistant to the Grandmaster!
  The claim seemed incredible, but rang true, given
the man’s knowledge of Lad’s identity.  It also explained why he seemed
unaccustomed to being questioned.  “Master Blade Sereth was put in temporary
command.” 

“Very
well.  Have him here at this time tomorrow so that I may speak with him.”

That
didn’t sound good at all.  Why would the Grandmaster’s assistant be here in
Twailin when Lad was visiting the Grandmaster in Tsing?  Had something happened
to Lad and Mya?  “May I tell him what this is in regard to?”

Hoseph
stared for a moment, his eyes as blank as a viper’s.  Finally he said, “Tell
Master Sereth that the Grandmaster of the Assassins Guild has been murdered by
Guildmaster Lad and Master Hunter Mya.  These traitors are to be sought and
apprehended.  I’ll give Master Sereth the rest of the details tomorrow.”

“What
the—”

Before
Dee could complete his question, his visitor flipped a gleaming silver trinket
from his sleeve, uttered a word, and dissolved into a swirling cloud of black
mist.

“Gods
of Light and Darkness!”  Dee staggered back as the last of the vapor
dissipated, the implications of the man’s visit and startling exit struck him. 
Black mists
…  Hoseph was the priestly assassin Lad had warned them
about, the man who had twice interfered in the investigation of Wiggen’s death,
once by killing Baron Patino, and again when he tried to kill Lad’s informant.

The
thought worked like a key in his agile mind.  Details fell into place like a
row of tumblers.  Kiesha—
click
!  Patino—
click
!  Black mists—
click
! 
Hoseph—
click
!  The Grandmaster dead…  The key stuck there, refusing to
open the door on the final truth.

Dee
tried to work it out. 
If Hoseph didn’t want Lad to solve Wiggen’s murder,
and he works for the Grandmaster, then…did the Grandmaster have something to do
with Wiggen’s death
?

Lad
had vowed to kill whoever was responsible, and Hoseph had said that Lad and Mya
had killed the Grandmaster.  The theory made sense, but in reality, Lad and Mya
couldn’t lay a hand on the Grandmaster.  The rings they wore wouldn’t allow it.

It
doesn’t matter
. 
The Grandmaster was dead, and the guild blamed Lad and Mya. 
Oh, there’s going
to be all Nine Hells to pay for this
.

Dee
hurried to the back of the house.  The two Enforcers sat at the table drinking
blackbrew and flirting with the pretty kitchen maid, who promptly curtsied and
scurried off.

“I’m
going out for a while.” Dee grabbed his suitcoat.  “Don’t allow anyone into the
house.”  He dashed out before they could ask any questions. 

Outside,
Dee slowed to a dignified stroll.  He was a gentleman’s assistant, and he had
to maintain that image.  At this time of morning the streets were bustling, so
he had no trouble flagging down a hackney.  Sereth’s fencing salon wasn’t far,
just on the edge of Barleycorn Heights, but Dee hadn’t taken the time to change
from his house shoes to walking shoes.  Truth be told, the hills in this part of
town wore him out.  Years spent working for Mya, and now Lad, had softened his
muscles.  But then, he’d always been more assistant than assassin.  He gave the
driver the address and climbed aboard.

Leaning
back against the carriage cushions, Dee’ mind wandered to his two masters. 
He’d enjoyed working for Mya.  The Master Hunter was intelligent, sharp-witted,
and unfailingly loyal to her people.  The youngest Master Hunter ever in
Twailin, she had earned their loyalty in return.  Secretly, Dee had harbored a
decidedly unprofessional infatuation for his boss, even though he knew nothing
could ever happen.  He had often watched her cast glances at Lad and wondered
if something might be going on between them, but he now knew that Lad was
utterly devoted to his family.

Lad
…  Being the guildmaster’s
assistant was an entirely different experience.  No less gratifying, but
challenging.  There was an intensity to Lad that Dee found both unnerving and
thrilling to be around. Working for someone who could snap you like a twig—a
living weapon in emotional agony, no less—was daunting.  Still, Dee’s empathy
for the man who had lost his wife firmed his resolve to help him in any way he
could.

The
hackney pulled up in front of Sereth’s studio, and Dee was out the door before
it even came to a halt.  He tossed the driver a silver crown.

The
driver caught it deftly. “Thank’e, sir!”

Sereth’s
assistant, Lem, answered the door and let Dee in.  The Master Blade was
sparring with a student, so Dee stood out of the way, forcing himself to relax
and consider what he knew about the man.

When
Mya had been warring with the other guild factions, Dee had dug up all he could
about the masters and their people.  As Master Blade Horice’s bodyguard, Sereth
had been high on the list.  Though an accomplished swordsman, he preferred
short blades to long, was hard-working, and until recently lived in a dreary
apartment in the Docks District.  More recently, he’d discovered that Sereth
had a wife who had been held hostage by the Thieves Guild.  Lad had helped free
her, and had sworn Dee to silence about the entire affair.  For that alone,
Sereth owed Lad his loyalty.

The
pace of the sparring shifted.  At first glance, the fencing master and his
student had appeared evenly matched, but suddenly, in a lightning exchange,
Sereth scored several touches, one to each leg, one wrist, and a fourth that
cracked the student’s wire mask hard enough to snap his head back.

“Enough!”

At
Sereth’s command, the student immediately stopped and took off the wire mask.  A
shock of blonde hair and sweetly rounded face proclaimed that the student was,
in fact, a young woman, not a young man.

“Very
good, Lady Racine, but you’re guarding your core overmuch and leaving openings
elsewhere.”

“You’re
so
fast
!”  She was breathing hard, her face glowing with sweat.  “I
couldn’t cover everything.”

“Then
get faster.”  Sereth noticed Dee.  “I’m afraid we’re out of time for now, but
remember; speed comes with practice.  Practice at home with a metronome as I
showed you, and keep increasing the tempo.  I’ll see you in two days.”

“Thank
you, Master VonBruce.”  She saluted and racked her practice sword, and Lem
helped her remove her thick plastron.

“Master
VonBruce.”  Dee strode forward and executed a respectful bow.  “My master sends
his regrets that he’ll be unable to attend his upcoming lesson.  He’d like to
reschedule if possible.”

“I’ll
have to check my appointment book.  Come with me.”  Sereth led Dee from the
studio into a small office, closed the door, and offered him a seat.  “What’s
happened?”

“Do
I look that upset?”  Dee prided himself on his ability to maintain an unruffled
façade.

“No,
but you never just pop in unexpectedly.  I figured something was up.”

“Something
is.  I just had a visitor.”  Dee quickly related the story of Hoseph’s visit
and his ideas of the priest’s involvement in recent events.

“Mother
of...”  Sereth’s oath trailed off, and his eyes drifted down to his hands.

“How
could they kill the Grandmaster?  Is it even
possible
?”

Sereth
glanced up.  “If anyone could do it, I’d bet on Lad and Mya.”  To Dee’s raised
eyebrows, he said, “You didn’t see them at Fiveway Fountain.  They fought
like...nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

“But
what about the Grandmaster’s ring?  How could they even touch him?”

“I
don’t know, but there was Saliez...”

Of
course
, Dee
remembered. 
The Grandfather
.  According to rumor, the former Twailin
guildmaster had been killed by Lad, despite magical constraints that prohibited
him from harming the man who had contracted him to be made.

Dee
took a deep breath.  “What are you going to do?”

“Meet
with Hoseph.”  The Master Blade seemed surprised at the question.  “I would be
foolish to refuse.”

“If
I can point something out without getting killed…”  Dee crooked a smile to make
sure Sereth knew the comment was in jest.

“Go
ahead.”

“We
owe no allegiance to this Hoseph fellow.  He’s not in the chain of command.  If
the Grandmaster truly
is
dead, our loyalty is to Lad.”

Sereth
pursed his lips.  “It’s more complicated than that, Dee.  If Lad and Mya did
somehow kill the Grandmaster, then they’re traitors to the guild.”

“But
if the Grandmaster’s dead, who’s calling the shots?”  Dee couldn’t believe he
was hearing this.  “Your life doesn’t belong to Hoseph, it belongs to Lad.”

“I
need to think about this before I make a decision.”

“But
he saved your—”

“Enough!”

Dee
tensed.  He’d expected more loyalty from Sereth, but he couldn’t flout his
orders.  Lad had put the Master Blade in charge.

Sereth
stood and opened the door, a clear signal that their meeting was over.  “I’ll
see you tomorrow morning at Lad’s house.”

Dee
nodded in assent, unsure whether he had masked his apprehension, and left.  To
him, the matter was simple.  His loyalty belonged to Lad, not some nebulous
dead Grandmaster in far-off Tsing.  But he didn’t dare alienate the Master
Blade.  Should Sereth be appointed guildmaster, Dee would have no choice but to
work with him.

Or
die
.