Weapon of Fear (7 page)

“Carry
them out at once.”  He looked around.  “Sir Fineal!”

The
knight rode his charger forward.  “Milord Prince.”

“I
want the knights to assist in the release of the prisoners.”

“At
once, Milord Prince!”  Fineal snapped orders, and soon the knights and their
squires dismounted to join the Imperial Guard.

Sparks
flew as steel cleaved chains and struck locks from stocks, but the soldiers
took the greatest care with the prisoners, helping them to the waiting arms of
their grateful families.  The effect on the crowd was gradual but profound. 
Murmurs of disbelief swelled to shouts of elation and cheers.  Those receiving
bodies wailed, but many more wept tears of joy.

Arbuckle
raised his hands.  “People of Tsing!”

Silence
fell.  Arbuckle’s heart raced at the sight of their upturned faces, no longer
fearful and despairing, but hopeful.  A new eagerness and spirit shone in their
eyes.

“I
know you have suffered long under my father’s rule, but I’m here to tell you
that I will
not
perpetuate his policies.  As a pledge upon my word, I
grant full pardons to all those who were being punished here in the plaza, and vow
to personally review the case of every prisoner currently being held in this
city.  Those cases found unjust by me will be dismissed.”

A
murmur of disbelief swept through the crowd, and a voice called out, “What of
our dead?”

“I
can’t make up for your losses, but every family who brings to the palace the
cloak we have wrapped your dead in will receive compensation.”

“Blood
money!” someone cried, and a dangerous murmur began.

“No!” 
Arbuckle shook his head.  “This is not blood money, but compensation for wrongs
perpetrated by your emperor.  Gold can’t bring back the dead or pay for your
sorrow, but it can feed your children.”

“How
do we know we can trust you?”

Arbuckle
almost smiled at the question.  Already they were more emboldened than they had
been in years. 
Trust is earned
…  But how to convince them?  He clenched
his fists, and the pain from the torn blisters on his palms ignited his memory
of that morning, of the satisfaction at destroying his father’s implements of
torture.
 Of course
!

“Commander
Ithross, get me an axe!”

Within
moments, Ithross hurried up the gallows steps, a battle axe in hand, and the
hint of a grin on his face.  “I’m afraid it’s not quite a woodsman’s tool,
milord.”

“It’ll
do, Commander.”  He nodded at the tall square frame of the gallows.  “Care to
join me in an encore of our morning’s work in the interrogation room,
Commander?”

“With
pleasure!”

Arbuckle
hefted the battle axe in his aching palms.  It felt good despite the pain. 
Hauling back, he swung with all his might, and the blade bit deep into the soft
pine.  A cheer went up from the crowd.  Wrenching the blade free, he swung
again while Ithross attacked the other support.  Blood dripped from his torn
palm.  After several more strokes, the gallows framework lurched.

“Ware
below!” called Ithross, and the nearby guards backed away.  With one final
blow, Arbuckle smashed through the remaining support and the frame crashed down
onto the cobblestones.

Another
ragged cheer rose from the crowd.

Arbuckle
turned to Ithross.  “Commander, have your guardsmen tear down every single
post, pillory, and gallows.  Pile it all right here!”  He pointed down to the
space beneath the gallows.

“Yes,
Milord Prince!”  Ithross fired off orders, and the Imperial Guard hurried to
comply.

For
nearly an hour they toiled, and the crowd watched in amazement.  An enormous
mound of broken timber rose beneath the platform upon which Arbuckle stood.  He
called for a skin of oil, and emptied it down through the trap door, then
raised his hands for silence.

“Today
is a new beginning!” he bellowed.  “Today we begin to right the wrongs!  Today
I show you my commitment to bring justice to this empire!  One justice for all
people, rich and poor, noble and commoner alike!”

The
cheers echoed off the buildings around the plaza, so loud that they
reverberated against Arbuckle’s chest.  He held high the torch that Ithross had
fetched.  “You, the common people of Tsing, are the life and blood of this
empire.  This realm was built by your hands, your sweat, your labor!  With this
flame, I ignite a fire to burn away the injustice of the past and temper a
pledge for justice in the future.”

Arbuckle
dropped the torch down through the hatch in the platform.  Fames immediately
flickered amidst the well-oiled wood, and the fire quickly spread.  The crown
prince descended the platform’s steps amidst a flurry of sparks and raucous
cheers from the crowd.  By the time he reached his carriage, the bonfire raged,
flames soaring into the sky.  The crowd cheered, and he even saw some delighted
folks dancing and clapping.  Many Imperial Guard and knights grinned, while
several of the younger squires hooted with relish.

“Chief
Constable Dreyfus, pull your constables back.  Protect the surrounding
buildings and keep order, but let the people gather to enjoy the bonfire. 
It’ll do them good.”

“Yes,
Milord Prince.”  Dreyfus didn’t look happy, but immediately began relaying
Arbuckle’s orders.

“Commander
Ithross, back to the palace!”

Arbuckle
climbed into his carriage and fell against the cushions with a hearty sigh.  “A
good afternoon’s work, if I may say so myself.”

“Yes,
Milord Prince.”

Arbuckle
started at the voice.  The imperial scribe sat tucked once again into his
corner.  Suddenly the crown prince realized that the man had been nearby
throughout the entire foray, constantly scratching on his ledger, as quiet and
unobtrusive as a shadow.  In fact, as far as he could remember, this was the
first time Arbuckle had ever heard him speak.

“Do
you know, I don’t believe I’ve ever learned your name.”

“It’s
Verul, Milord Prince.”

“Well,
Verul, how did you like my little speech?”

The
scribe looked sheepish.  “I…I don’t know, Milord Prince.  I’m so busy writing
the words that I don’t have time to listen.”

“I
know what you mean.  I was so busy speaking, I don’t remember exactly what I
said.  May I re-live it by reading?”  He gestured to the thick book in the
man’s lap.

“I’m
afraid it’s not legible yet, milord.”  Verul turned the volume around to show a
page full of incomprehensible markings.  “It’s just shorthand now.  It’s
transcribed every night by the archivists.”

“I
wondered how you wrote so quickly to get it all down.  Would you bring the
archive to me once it’s been transcribed?”

“Of
course, Milord Prince.”

Arbuckle
leaned his head back and closed his eyes, tired but happy.  His first action
had been a resounding success.  He hoped it was good portent of his upcoming
reign.

Mya
watched the imperial carriage pull away, Crown Prince Arbuckle tucked safely
inside.  The spectacle had fairly dumbfounded her. 
This
was Tynean
Tsing’s son?

The
Grandmaster had considered his heir inept and unfit to rule his empire.  He was
right.  But then, Arbuckle didn’t intend to rule
this
empire, but one of
his own making. 
Lad would like that
.

As
the constables’ line dissolved into squads, the crowd surged forward.  She
allowed herself to be taken with them until she felt the heat of the bonfire on
her cheek.  She felt a trickle of sweat on her neck, not due to the sweltering
temperature—her enchanted wrappings kept perfectly comfortable, regardless of
heat or cold—but the crowd was getting overly rambunctious for her comfort. 

She
dabbed her neck and examined her fingers. 
I hope my hair dye doesn’t run
.

Certain
that a hunt would be underway for the emperor’s murderer, she’d made a quick
purchase from a cosmetic shop that morning.  A hasty application had colored
her distinctive red hair black.  Not that it mattered much, tucked up under a
cap.  She had disguised herself as a boy to venture out today.  She’d been
right to assume there’d be no nobles in the crowd.  Her fine traveling dresses
would make her stand out in a crowd like this.

Pushing
her way back through the crowd to the edge of the plaza, she swung up onto a
street lamp with a few other cavorting boys, and gazed out across the sea of
people.  Everywhere, they celebrated—dancing, laughing, singing—drunk on the
freedom that their new ruler promised.  Here and there, however, small pockets
of people huddled close, talking low, their faces showing not elation, but
anger or malice.  She hopped down and moved near one group, cocking an ear to
hear them over the hoots and howls of the crowd.

“…don’t
believe a word of it…”

“A
trick!”

“Just
wait…”

The
squads of constables that hung around the edge of the plaza watched everyone
closely, especially those who seemed less than elated.  They stood, facing the
crowd with shields at the ready, as if they expected to be bowled over by an
angry mob at any moment.

She
examined the crowd: shopkeepers in worn suits and long aprons, charwomen with
dingy skirts and rough hands, mothers carrying pink-faced babies, shipyard
workers with wood chips in their hair, ne’er-do-wells missing hands, eyes, or
legs and smelling of the foulest gutter.  The entire spectrum of the city’s
working and lower-class citizens had attended the assembly.

A
dangerous crowd, even if most of them are happy.

An
uproar caught her ear, and she looked to where a small troupe of rowdies jeered
and laughed at a squad of constables.  Only yesterday, the officers would have
immediately set about bludgeoning the young men into submission.  But Arbuckle
had said there would be justice, and he evidently meant it.  The squad held
themselves in check, ignoring the unruly youths, though Mya could see hands on
swords.  The rowdies took full advantage of their new-found freedom, cat
calling and making rude gestures.  They traded around a rum bottle, drinking
and laughing at the grim constables.

Mya
sighed, recognizing the type.  There were always those few who just wanted to
stir up trouble.  Raucous laughter erupted, and one of the youths threw the
empty bottle at the constables, where it shattered against a shield.

And
there it goes
.

The
squad leader drew her sword, and the rest of her squad followed suit, stepping
into a tight formation of shield-sword-shield.  They took a menacing step
forward.  The ruffians scattered, but a couple snatched brands from the bonfire. 
As they ran from the plaza, they yelled back a bastardized version of Crown
Prince Arbuckle’s words.  “Light a fire for justice!”

“Uh
oh.”  Mya moved toward the nearest alley.

Drunk
idiots with torches was a bad combination in a city this tightly packed with
flammable structures.  The constables intercepted one of the torch-wielding
morons, dropping him to the cobbles with a shield to the face.  Several others
cried out in alarm, however, and cat calls started flying.

Protests
of “Damned caps!” and “Fires for justice!” ripped through the crowd like
rolling thunder warned of an approaching storm.

Mya
turned and walked away.  She had the distinct feeling that the celebrations
were about to take a turn for the worse.

M
ya snapped awake, her eyes gritty
and her left leg completely asleep, but relieved that she had survived another
night.  She’d barely slept at all with the noise of commoners celebrating in
the streets until the small hours, worried that every bump in the night might
be Hoseph coming to kill her.  She lurched up from her corner and shook the
pins and needles out of her leg, wondering if the city had also survived the
night.

After
leaving the Imperial Plaza yesterday, she had collected her belongings from the
Prickly Pair
and moved into a new inn, the
Tin Dulcimer
.  From her
window on the third floor, Mya could see the entire northern half of the city. 
The view from the roof was even better.  She had spent much of the evening
watching as fires flared and were quenched, waiting for the Docks District,
with its tightly packed wooden houses, inns, taverns, and warehouses to ignite
into a conflagration.  Her plans for the Assassins Guild would depend on how
much of the city survived.

Pulling
aside the curtain, she squinted into the morning sunlight.  Thin streams of
smoke trailed skyward across the river, but most of the city appeared intact. 
She would wager that the entire constabulary had spent a sleepless night
rounding up arsonists and putting out fires, however.

Nice
to know someone else isn’t sleeping
,
Mya thought with a great yawn.

Once
again she had spent all night with her back in the corner of the room, daggers
ready, dreaming in snippets of vengeful priests appearing out of nowhere to
murder her.  She glanced wistfully at the bed, then away.  She had work to do.

Opening
the window and leaning out, she caught sight of the nearest bridge.  Traffic
was brisk, though constables were questioning everyone who wanted to cross. 
She was surprised they were letting anyone across, but supposed someone had to
serve the rich their morning tea and polish their boots.

The
streets were undoubtedly being heavily patrolled, so dressing like a commoner
might be an invitation to be stopped by the authorities.  Dressing as gentry,
however, might get her accosted by troublemakers looking for an easy target. 
Not that she couldn’t defend herself, but causing a disturbance would draw
unwanted attention.  She planned to visit Lady T, and considering the woman’s
distain for the lower classes, decided to dress as a moderately successful
business woman.  She donned one of her better travel dresses, but no jewelry or
frippery, grabbed her simplest hat, and went down to breakfast.

“Miss
Ingrid, how are you this morning?”  The innkeeper met her at the bottom of the
stairs with a smile.

Mya
was still getting used to answering to her newly assumed name, but deception
came easily.  “I’m fine, Master Felche.  And yourself?”

The
innkeeper tucked his thumbs in his belt and bounced on the balls of his feet. 
“Oh, very good indeed.  You were lucky you checked in so early yesterday.  We
were full up by evening with those coming over from the north side.”  The plump
man lowered his voice and in a conspiratorial tone.  “I don’t suppose you’d
consider sharing your room?”

“No,
Master Felche, and I hope that my paying you for a week in advance was enough
to ensure my privacy.” Mya smiled as she spoke, polite but firm.

The
innkeeper wilted just a little, then chuckled.  “Of course, Miss Ingrid. 
You’ll have privacy, clean towels, two meals a day, and use of the washroom,
just as we agreed.  I’ll not have you saying that I cheat my guests.”

“You
run a fine establishment, Master Felche.  I’m sure I’ll enjoy my stay.” 
Stepping around Rufus, the old tomcat the size of a mountain lynx who kept the
place free of rats, Mya strode into a common room buzzing with chatter.  She
picked a corner table, sat with her back to the wall, and trained her ear on a
promising conversation.

“Prince
Arbuckle started the first fires his own self, he did!  I swear it by my right
thumb!” An old man sitting at the bar held up his thumb for emphasis as he
sipped a pint of stout.  “He yammered on about justice for all, commoner and
noble alike!”

“That’ll
be the day!”  The morning maid laughed as she put a plate mounded with fried
potatoes, onions, and sausage before Mya, along with a steaming cup of
blackbrew and a small pitcher of cream.  “Ain’t never gonna be the same justice
for us as there is for the high-born.”

Mya’s
mouth watered with the heavenly aroma, and her stomach growled.  Despite her
healing magic, it took a lot of energy to replace all the blood she had lost. 
She sliced a piece of sausage and popped it in her mouth, reveling in the
spicy, greasy, wonderful flavor.  Adding a hearty dollop of cream to the
blackbrew, she washed the bite down with a big swallow.

“Come
now, Dorid, don’t you believe Old Rhubarb.”  A bargeman also seated at the bar
gave the oldster a nudge.  “Next he’ll have you believin’ that the milk he
brings is from a cow and not from Madam Brixol down the way.”

“Hey,
a wet nurse has gotta keep the flow goin’ between jobs!” Old Rhubarb laughed
and finished his pint.

“You
two stop that!  You’ll put off the payin’ customers!”  Dorid swatted Rhubarb
with her dish towel and scowled.

“No
humor in you at all!”  Rhubarb stood, his bones popping and cracking.  “I’m off
to business, Dorid.  See you tonight.”

Mya
looked dubiously at her blackbrew and sniffed the pitcher of cream.  Pushing
aside the pitcher, she shifted her attention from one conversation to the next
as she ate.  The gossip ranged from reasonable to ridiculous, but she resolved
to check the details for herself.  She finished her meal, even risking the
blackbrew, though she had her second and third cups without cream, and headed
for the door.

As
she left the inn, Master Felche waved her over.  “Goin’ out then, are you, Miss
Ingrid?”

“Yes. 
I have business to conduct.” 

“Best
have a care if you’re crossing the river.  Not safe on the streets, I’m
thinkin’.  Would you like one of my boys to go along with you?”

“I’ll
be fine, thank you.”

“Very
well then.”  He frowned at her lack of caution.  “You’ll be back for supper?”

“I
wouldn’t miss it, Master Felche.”  She donned her hat and left the inn.

A
few people still celebrated in the streets, some looking like they’d been at it
all night.  Even those waiting in line for the bridge were smiling and
chatting.  Many of the smiles turned to scowls, however, as people were
confronted by the squad of eight constables manning the bridge.  The constables
were questioning all who wanted to pass, turning many back.

Of
course
, she
reasoned. 
The violence is happening north of the river, and most of the
people perpetrating it live south of the river
.

Joining
the queue, Mya listened to the constables questioning and passing judgement on
those ahead of her.  Only those with legitimate business across the river were
being allowed to through.  Mya put on her best “gentle lady” persona and waited
her turn.

“Your
name, Miss?”  A disheveled sergeant squinted at her, his eyes red and rimmed
with dark circles.  The entire squad looked tired, and the tall corporal at the
sergeant’s elbow sported a burn across his cheek.

“Ingrid
Johens.”

“Out
alone this mornin’?”

“Yes. 
I have an appointment across the river, but with the current unrest I chose to
stay last night at an inn on the south side.”

“Smart
of you, that.”  He looked her up and down.  “Where you stayin’?”

“The
Tin Dulcimer
.”

“Is
old Fenwick still runnin’ that place?”

Mya
adopted a confused air.  “The innkeeper’s name is Master Felche, unless there
are two
Tin Dulcimers
?”

The
sergeant quirked a smile.  “Just checking your story, Miss.  You understand,
I’m sure.”

“Oh! 
Well, yes, I understand perfectly, Sergeant.  Thank you for the work you do.  I
do
appreciate it.”

“Very
well, then.”  He touched the rim of his iron cap and waved her on.  “Perhaps
we’ll see you on your way back this afternoon.”

“Perhaps
you will.”  Mya concentrating on walking like a lady and started across.  From
behind, she heard the sergeant’s gruff whisper to one of his men.

“There’s
a cutie for ya, Jorren.  She comes back this way, you should ask her if she
needs an escort back to the
Dulcimer
, just to check her story, ya know.”

“Not
my type, Sergeant.”

“They
come in types?”  The sergeant chuckled.  “I’d settle for any type that says
yes!”

They
hadn’t spoken loud enough for someone without her preternatural hearing to pick
up, but Mya risked a glance back to see how much attention they were paying
her.  The sergeant was watching her, but his corporal had already turned back
to his job.  She hurried on her way, wondering if she should cross at a
different bridge.

Mya
had thought long and hard about how to find Lady T’s home, and decided to
simply ask one of the people who knew the city best.  Other than constables—a
bad idea—that meant a hackney driver.  The previous night’s riots, however,
meant that hackneys were few and far between.  Finally she managed to hail a
passing carriage.

“Where
to, Miss?”

“Do
you know of Lady Tara Monjhi?”

“Oh,
aye!  Her coach is somethin’ to see!  Perfect matched team of four Leonarian
purebreds, she has, too!”

“Yes,
those beautiful black and white horses!  Could you take me to her home,
please?”

“Of
course, Miss.  Half a silver crown with all the troubles on the street, I’m
afraid.  Takin’ my life into my hands out today, I am.”

“Very
well.”  Mya climbed aboard and settled back, one hand on the door latch.  If
Hoseph popped into the moving carriage, she could only hope to be out the door
before he could kill her.

If
she was to have any chance of recruiting him, she would have to control their
first meeting.  She thought about Hoseph as the carriage rumbled along, a high
priest of Demia, the Grandmaster had said.  She doubted he would be easy to
find.  She peered out the carriage window.  Between the stout buildings of
Midtown she caught glimpses of the towers and minarets of Temple Hill soaring
into the sky.  She and Lad had ventured there to deposit the injured Captain
Norwood at the Temple of the Earth Mother.  She shouldn’t have trouble finding
Demia’s temple.  Hoseph probably wouldn’t be there, however; she’d seen on a
posterboard that he was wanted for questioning.  She might ask some questions
of her own, though, if the place wasn’t crawling with imperial guards.

Smoke
tinged the air, not enough to make her cough, but sufficient to mask the rancid
smell of the river.  Mya kept track of their route.  The streets seemed
deserted compared to the bustling crowds she’d seen previously.  Many of the
shops and businesses they passed were shuttered, and guards patrolled outside
warehouses.  The celebratory atmosphere of the Dreggars Quarters was absent. 
Here, constables and mounted lancers made up more than half the traffic, and
those few citizens out and about walked with hurried steps and furtive glances.

At
each corner and turn she scratched a note in a small notebook.  Mya would mark
the maps in her book about Tsing later.  She had no hope of learning Tsing as
she knew her home city of Twailin, but she needed to know her way around.

Twailin
…  She felt a pang of homesickness
for the
Golden Cockerel
, Paxal the innkeeper, Dee, Sereth… 
Lad.
 
Her mind drifted. 
Stop it, Mya
. 
Pay attention!

The
carriage labored uphill, the staid buildings of Midtown giving way to the
mansions of the Heights, as if social class rose naturally with elevation. 
They passed a smoldering building, the target of vengeful commoners.  Though
wholesale catastrophe seemed to have been averted, a few homes and businesses
had been gutted by fire.

Finally,
the carriage stopped before a lofty townhouse.  Roughly twice the size of the
Lad’s home in Twailin, it soared four floors above the street.  Tall windows, a
pillared entrance, and ornate sculptures adorned the façade.  If Lady T’s home
was any indication, business was good for the Tsing Assassins Guild.

Two
men stood in front of the tall red-and-gold-painted door, thick arms crossed
over their broad chests. 
Enforcers, no doubt
.  They watched with
narrowed eyes as Mya exited the carriage.

 
Here
we go
!  Mya took a deep, calming breath while she paid the driver, then
turned and approached the house with a smile and confident expression.  She
didn’t know what to expect here, and had to be on her toes.  Hoseph had
undoubtedly told Lady T what had happened, and might even be inside.  The man
had to be hiding somewhere.