Weapon of Blood (29 page)

“I imagine she did.  You caught her
spying.”

“Yes, Miss Mya.  I jumped up and grabbed
her wrist, and that magnifier fell to the floor.”  He pointed to a small glass
disk not far from the woman’s outstretched hand.  “I picked it up and...  Well,
if you have a look through it at one of the letters, you’ll know what I mean.”

Mya retrieved the glass and held it at
arms-length over a sealed envelope.  Every word of the letter within sprang to
clarity in the lens.

“Magic!  She was reading my letters!” 
The
grandmaster’s letter!
she realized with a flash of horror. 
Gods, if she
worked for one of the other masters…  Horice?  Is that why he tried to have me
killed?
  She thought back, but the timing seemed wrong. 
Then who?

“Yes, Mistress.  I figured that as soon
as I looked through the glass.  Then I got angry.  I…grabbed her by the
throat.”  Dee’s voice choked up and he blinked rapidly, shifting his gaze to
the floor.

Mya followed his glance and took a closer
look at the body.  Under the stench of vomit and urine, she could detect the
faint musk of the intimacy they’d shared.  Dee, it seemed, had actually fallen
for this woman.  To discover that she was using him to spy, that she had
betrayed him, then her suicide…  Mya clenched her teeth against the sympathy
that welled up from her gut.

“Go on, Dee.  How did she die?”

“She wouldn’t tell me who put her up to
it, so I figured I’d bring her to you.”  His shoulders slumped, and he pointed
to the crumpled dress.  “I told her to get dressed, but she pulled something
from a pocket and put it in her mouth.  Then she fell and started shaking all
over, like she was having some kind of fit.  Before I could try to help her,
she was dead.”

“Gods
damn
it!”  Mya began to pace,
trying to think of all the correspondence that had passed over Dee’s desk in
recent weeks that could incriminate or condemn her.  If this woman was a spy
for the Royal Guard, she might as well walk up to Duke Mir and confess her
sins.  If she worked for one of the other Assassins Guild masters, she might as
well slit her own throat.  But there was no way to know who Moirin had been
working for.  Unless…

“I’m sorry, Miss Mya.”

“Sorry?”  Mya stopped and glared at him. 
“You’ll be more than
sorry
if you don’t stop sniveling about a dead
spy
and put your head together, Dee!  The only reason you’re not just as dead as
your former girlfriend is because I need your help.”

“My help?”

“Yes, Dee, your help!”  She recovered his
trousers from beside the bed and flung them at him.  “Now get dressed and start
thinking
, for the gods’ sake!  Neither of us is going to sleep until I
know every bit of correspondence that passed through your hands since you’ve
been seeing Moirin.  Everything!  You understand?”

“Yes, Miss Mya!”  He struggled into his
trousers and started collecting the fallen papers, averting his eyes as he
stepped carefully over the body of the woman with whom he’d recently made love.

“You keep a log of my correspondence,
don’t you?”

“Of course, Miss Mya!  A detailed log!”

“Good.  Bring it down to my office. 
We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“Yes, Miss Mya!”

She strode to the door and flung it
open.  Paxal, Mika and the two Hunters stood close by; they had undoubtedly
heard every word through the door.

“Blackbrew, Miss Mya?”

“You guessed it, Pax.  Lots of it, and
some food.  I’m afraid Dee and I are in for a late night.  She glanced back over
her shoulder at Moirin’s corpse.  “We need to keep this quiet.  Get rid of the
body without a trace.  She left immediately after her shift today, and nobody
knows where she is.  Got it?”

“I’ll see to it myself, Miss Mya.”

She looked at Paxal for a moment,
realizing how much she relied on him.  “And remind me to increase my own
rent.”  She nodded to the two Hunters.  “You two, help Pax, and keep this under
wraps.”

“Yes, Miss Mya.”

“Good.”  She looked back again.  Dee had
finally managed to dress and gather his ledgers.  “You ready, Dee?”

“Yes, Miss Mya.”

“Come on then,” she said as she looked
him up and down, “and tuck in your shirt.”

A tiny silver bell chimed next to
Hensen’s bed.  His hand silenced it before it could ring a second time.  The
last thing he wanted was to disturb his bedmate; the poor fellow was simply
exhausted.  He pulled the cord that rang the bell on the other end to tell his
assistant that he was awake, and slipped out of bed.  Pulling on a robe, he
shrugged the kinks out of his neck and shoulders.  He was tired, but not
exhausted, not by far.  In fact, he felt
good
.  His assistant knew to
ring the bell only when something dire was afoot.  Like a dog salivating at the
scent of roasted meat, Hensen’s nerves sang at the sound of that bell,
banishing his desire for bed and sleep like nothing else.

Hensen’s companion rolled over in his
sleep, the white silk sheet clinging to his lithe, young body.  Hensen bit his
lip. 
So beautiful
…  He suppressed the desire to tug the sheet down just
a tiny bit more, and eased away from the bed.  He slipped out of his bedchamber
without a sound.  He was, after all, a thief at heart, if not one in practice
much anymore.

Kiesha stood at the bottom of the third
floor stairs, also garbed in a robe.  Her tousled hair and sleepy eyes were a
far cry from her tidy daytime appearance, but no less beautiful.  
Unfortunately, if her mien of annoyance was any indication, she didn’t share
his appreciation of late-night intrigue.  But business was business; she
wouldn’t have woken him for something trivial.

“What’s happened?”

“I’m sorry to wake you, sir, but Sereth
is here.  He insists on speaking with you personally.  He wouldn’t let me take
a message.”

“Very well.  It must be important then. 
Lead on.”

He followed her down to the first-floor
parlor.  Before Kiesha could open the ornate door, Hensen laid a hand on her
forearm.  “You disarmed him, didn’t you?”  A silk robe gave no protection, and
all of a sudden he felt frightfully vulnerable.

Annoyance flashed in her eyes before she
nodded.  “Of
course
, sir.”

“Of course you did.  Proceed.”

She swung open the door to reveal Sereth
standing in the middle of the room, his boots muddying the priceless western
rug.  Overcoming his annoyance, Hensen ran his gaze over the spy, noting the
subtle marks and creases where a sword and daggers were usually carried: at his
side, in his boots, even strapped to his forearms.  The man was a walking
armory, and no doubt adept with every weapon he carried.

“Good evening, Sereth.”  Hensen strode
past the spy to the sideboard and pulled out two snifters.  From a crystal
decanter, he poured a measure of brandy into each, then offered one to the
assassin.  “Here.  You look like you could use a drink.”

Sereth’s jaw muscled tightened, his eyes
narrowing at the snifter.  “I didn’t come here to socialize.  I came here to
tell you that things are coming to a head.  The masters finally got Mya to
attend a meeting, and forced a vote to forge a new guildmaster’s ring.  They hoped
to scare her into destroying the old ring, rather than admit that she didn’t
actually have it destroyed years ago.”

Hensen placed one of the snifters back
onto the sideboard and swirled the other in his hand.  He sniffed the heady
bouquet, then sipped, letting the brandy’s slow burn ease the fire of his
flaring temper.  When a master extended hospitality to an underling, the offer
should at least be acknowledged with gratitude.  He and Sereth were not
friends, of course, but snubbing his act of generosity was blatantly rude.  The
slight made him angry, and when Hensen was angry, he was petulant.

“That’s it?  You woke me for
that
?”

“You
told
me to report immediately
on any plots against Mya or her weapon.  And no, that’s
not
all.  The
masters offered to support Mya’s bid for guildmaster, but she turned them
down.”

“She turned it down?”  Sereth might be
insubordinate, but his information was too intriguing to ignore. 
The
Grandmaster offers her the position of guildmaster, her fellow masters say
they’ll support her, and she still turns it down?
  What sort of woman was
she?  Everything she did surprised him, which of course, made her interesting. 
“Did she say why?”

“She’s convinced that appointing a new
guildmaster would make them all slaves.  They held the vote, but it
deadlocked.  But during the discussion, Master Inquisitor Patrice noticed
something; Mya gave her weapon an order, and he disobeyed.  No one thought he
could do that.  The masters think that if he can disobey, he might be able to
do more.  They’re looking for some way to pressure him.”

Hensen silently forgave Sereth his
insolence. 
So, Lad is his own man.  He’s not unconditionally bound to Mya
. 
What a revelation!  All kinds of benefits might be derived from this new
situation; it merited careful consideration.  But first, he had to keep Lad
alive.  “How do they intend to pressure him, and what do they intend to
pressure him to do?”

“They’ve discovered where he lives, so
they’ve got people looking into his personal life.  As to what they want him to
do; kill Mya, probably.”

“Do you think he can?  Surely the magic
prevents him from killing his master.  She’s the one who captured him.  She
bound him to a life of slavery!  If it didn’t, he’d have killed her years ago.”

“They don’t know how the magic controls
him, or what motivates his actions.”

Oh, but I do
! Hensen thought, remembering Master Forbish’s
scar-faced daughter with the plump baby on her hip.  “Interesting, indeed.”

“What are you going to do?”

Hensen’s eyes snapped to Sereth’s.  Why
would he think Hensen would tell him his plans? 
Surely he’s not playing
double agent.

Raising his snifter in a toast, he smiled
and said, “I’m going to sip brandy and
think
for a while, Sereth.  You
ought to try it some time.  Now please go.  Don’t worry, we’ll tell your wife
you send her your love.”

Sereth stiffened, then whirled away. 
Hensen watched him wrench open the door and stomp across the hall, Kiesha hurrying
after him.

Dismissing Sereth from his thoughts, he
paced for a while, enjoying the brandy and the ideas rambling around in his
head.  Once again, the sense of danger had brought his mind to razor
sharpness.  He ignored Kiesha when she returned from escorting their guest
out.  He paced and sipped and thought, until finally his thoughts congealed into
a plan.  Then he turned to her and smiled.

“Orders, sir?”

“Contact our operative at the
Golden
Cockerel
.  See if she can discover anything else about the Master Hunter’s reluctance
to take the guildmaster position.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hensen sipped his brandy, then noticed
that she was still staring at him.

“Was there something else?”

“Sir, it’s not my place, but this
contract concerns me.  How do we protect both Mya and Lad if the other masters
set them against one another?”

“Yes, that is a paradox, isn’t it?  Frankly,
I’m not sure we can, but we must be poised to try if need be.”  He shrugged. 
“And we must be prepared to cut our losses.”

“Should we send a letter to Baron
Patino?”

“No.”  He finished his brandy.  “No, we
might not like the answer.  Better to apologize after the fact, I think.  We’ll
see how this plays out.”

“And if it comes down to saving one or
the other of them?” she asked.

That was the real question, wasn’t it? 
Lad or Mya? 
Forget Baron Patino
, Hensen thought,
which one would be
more valuable to
my
plans
?  Mya, from all accounts, was a brilliant
strategist and competent master who would undoubtedly strengthen the Assassins
Guild, whatever her position.  Lad, on the other hand, was apparently more than
just a weapon.  Who knew what he might do if his master was killed.