Weapon of Fear (14 page)

Hoseph
spread his hands and smiled.  “You know the saying, ‘The only sure things in
life are taxes…’”

“…and
death.” Graving glanced warily around the office as if he expected someone to
hear his whisper.  He tilted the flask again.  “What does this have to do with
me?”

The
interest in Graving’s eyes warmed Hoseph’s heart.  He was in.  The priest
settled into one of the leather chairs.  “It takes time to arrange such
matters, but that’s my job.  Your job will be to organize a network of nobles
and magistrates who think the way we do.  Their jobs will be to prevent Crown
Prince Arbuckle from getting the support he needs to make significant changes
in the interim.”

“He’s
making trouble enough with his blasted
edicts
, and he won’t need the
nobles’ support after he’s crowned.”

“He’ll
never be crowned.”

Graving
digested this information and his thick lips twitched.  “All right.  I’ll draw
up a list of potential—”

“No,
Chief Magistrate.  This is too sensitive an undertaking to put names to
parchment.  Besides, I can’t just go around visiting nobles.  Not only would it
draw attention, but each encounter with the constabulary increases the chance
that someone will recognize me. 
You
will visit our prospective allies. 
If you decide that they’re worthy of our cause, and our
trust
, have them
pen a mundane invitation that will allow me to visit them without suspicion or
undue scrutiny.”

“You’re
very devious.”

“I’m
very
careful
.”  Hoseph nodded respectfully.  “When I talk with them,
I’ll invite them all to a meeting to discuss the situation.”

“When
do you want to have this meeting?”

“Tomorrow
evening.”

Graving
pursed his pudgy lips.  “That will take some doing, but the sooner the better,
I suppose.  Arbuckle’s already causing
riots
.  The way things are going,
we’ll have people begging to join our conspiracy.”

Hoseph
frowned.  “Conspiracy is an ugly word.  We’ll be the saviors of this empire,
nothing less.”

“Saviors…”
Graving considered for a moment.  “Yes.  I like that better.  Now, Duke Tessifus
is next in line for the throne, but he doesn’t seem the type to join this sort
of…endeavor.  Should I—”

Hoseph
was already shaking his head.  “Tessifus has already been taken care of.” 
At
least, if Lady T has done her job
.  “He’ll cooperate when the time comes.”

“I
see.  Very well, I’d best get moving.”  Graving heaved up from his chair.

“Be
discreet, Chief Magistrate.  Tell them only enough to enlist their
cooperation.  We must keep this group small and be absolutely sure of those we
recruit.  There can be no chance of betrayal.”

“Do
give me
some
credit.”  Graving sniffed, then looked suspiciously at
Hoseph.  “What do you intend to do if someone declines?"

Hoseph
met the man’s gaze calmly.  “Don’t worry.  People won’t be dropping dead
immediately after you’ve visited them.  That would be noticed.  Just let me
know if you suspect a problem, and I’ll deal with it.”

“All
right.  But how discreet will a meeting of nobles and magistrates be?  Hardly
anyone is leaving their houses with the current unrest.  Where in the Nine
Hells will we meet?”

“Leave
that to me.  I’ll transport everyone magically so there’ll be no chance of
someone seeing us come and go.”

Graving
blanched.  “I’d…rather not.”

“I
didn’t ask you what you would
rather
, Chief Magistrate.”  Hoseph
surveyed the room, memorizing it for later use.  “The only other option is to
risk discovery.  Now, on with your task.  I’ll come for the invitations at
precisely nine o’clock tomorrow morning.  Be here in this room…alone.”

Mya
clenched her jaw as she stepped out of the dry-goods store into the darkening
street.  Ten strides took her to a narrow alley and she ducked inside, stepping
around the piles of trash.  Loosing the reins on her frustration, she smashed
her fist against the wall.  Mortar crumbled and two bricks cracked under the
blow.  The bones of her fist also undoubtedly fractured, but she felt no pain,
and the injury healed instantly.  Leaning her forehead against the cool bricks,
she sighed.  Her day had not gone well.

Clemson’s
directions had been good, and Mya had no problem finding the other masters’
offices.  That was where her luck ended.

She’d
visited Master Blade Noncey first.  Tall, broad-shouldered without looking
brawny, and good looking, he reminded her of Sereth.  Despite the city-wide law
banning swords to all except constables and nobles—or perhaps because of it—he
did a good business supplying ne’er-do-wells with all manner of dangerous
implements, some of which she’d never even heard of before.

Master
Hunter Umberlin proved as slimy as Noncey had been suave.  An obsequious little
man with a bald pate and a smarmy smile, he made her skin crawl.  He seemed
less like a Hunter than an Inquisitor.

Or
a solicitor
, she
thought.

The
two men had one thing in common; like Clemson, neither would acknowledge her
without Lady T’s endorsement.  She doubted the last two masters would prove
more amenable.

Squeezing
her eyes shut, Mya forced down despair. 
Why did I ever think that I could
pull this off
? 
Lady T’s right
—
just because I wear the Grandmaster’s
ring doesn’t mean I’m in control of the guild
.

Scuffling
footsteps at the mouth of the alley drew Mya’s attention.

Five
figures advanced, fanning out to block her exit. 
Did Umberlin send people
after me
?  That seemed foolish, but then she saw that none of the figures
was very large or very old. 
Not yet teens
, she estimated, relaxing. 
Street
urchins?

“Good
evenin’,
lady
.”  The boy in the fore looked to be the eldest, wiry, in
torn britches and a canvas shirt, a rusty kitchen knife in one grimy hand. 
“Out for a stroll?”

I
do
not
need
this right now
.  Mya was exhausted from her lack of sleep, frustrated by
her lack of progress, and had an hour-long walk back to her inn.  To add insult
to injury, her stomach growled loudly.

“What
I’m doing is none of your business.  And you’re in my way, so move.”  She
stepped forward.

As
if on some silent command, the other youths all pulled out weapons, though more
pitiful than fearsome.  One boy wielded a broken bottle, while another
brandished a board with a protruding nail.  A third boy held two stout sticks,
and beside him a girl with a twisted leg twirled a makeshift sling.  Stopping,
Mya looked behind her, but the alley was a dead end, strewn with rotting crates
and refuse.

The
leader stood his ground, the knife steady.  “I don’t think so,
lady
. 
Now cough up your purse or you’ll be coughing up blood.  It’s both the same to
us.”

Mya
regarded them critically.  The boy’s eyes glinted with desperation, and the
rest were no better.  They were all malnourished, with prominent collar bones
and wiry ropes of muscle under grimy skin. They were on the edge—rejected,
abandoned, fighting to survive.

She’d
been there once.

Years
ago, living on the streets of Twailin, not quite a child but not yet a woman,
her belly tight with hunger, Mya had known that desperation.  They would take
everything she had, or die trying.  They didn’t know the monster they faced.

But
even a monster doesn’t kill children
.

“I
tell you what.”  Mya fished a gold crown from the pouch at her belt and held it
up.  “Take this and—”

The
blow to the back of Mya’s head came without warning, hard enough to send her
sprawling.  Stars exploded in her vision, and the cobblestone street came up to
smash her in the face.  Blinking hard, she shook the ringing from her ears.

“Finish
her, Knock.”

Instinct
took over.  Mya thrust her palms hard against the cobbles, kicking out in the
direction the blow had come from.  Her shoe struck something solid.  As she
landed on her feet, she caught a glimpse of a squat girl wearing only short
breeches and a rag tied around her chest tumbling backward into the refuse in
which they had apparently been hiding.

The
girl landed with a crash, and lay there for a moment staring at Mya.  An ugly
little thing, the girl peered out from beneath a jutting brow, her gaping mouth
full of crooked teeth, with one prominent tusk jutting up from the left side of
her lower jaw.  She looked strong, and clutched an axe handle in one broad fist. 
Thankfully the axe head was missing, or Mya’s brains would have been dashed
across the side of the building.

How
the hell did she get close without me hearing her?
  Mya didn’t have time to ponder
the question.

The
rest of the urchins attacked.

As
the lead boy slashed with his rusty knife, Mya caught his wrist and wrenched
the weapon away, then planted a foot on his chest and sent him flying.  With a
twist of her wrist, she used the flat of the blade to deflect a sling stone
aimed at her head.  She batted away the nail-studded board an inch before it
pierced her skull, and dropped that boy to his knees with a kick to the gut. 
She’d pulled most of the force from her blows, unwilling to kill.

These
little ruffians are playing for keeps!

A
stick cracked her shoulder as the boy with two clubs flailed at her.  Mya smacked
his knuckles with the back of the rusty knife hard enough to send one of the
sticks flying from his grasp.  Snatching it, she shattered the last boy’s
broken bottle in his hand, eliciting a startled yelp.  Stick boy struck again. 
Mya parried with the knife and slapped aside another stone slung by the
crippled girl.  The board came down at her head again as the boy she’d kicked
in the gut recovered.  She dropped the knife and flung up a hand to catch the
blow.  The nail pierced her palm.

Enough
is enough
!

Mya
jerked the board from the boy’s hand and cracked it across the lead boy’s wrist
as he tried to recover his fallen knife.  She batted another slung stone away
with her stolen stick, then flung the club at the girl, striking her square in
the forehead.  Bending under the next stroke of the stick wielder, she swept
his feet out from under him.  Sling girl and stick boy both hit the ground
hard.

“Knock!”

Mya
whirled to see the axe handle coming at her.  She braced the board stuck to her
hand to intercept the blow, but it snapped under the impact.  The hardwood
shaft smashed into Mya’s face, and she felt her cheekbone shatter.

The
kids fell back, panting with their efforts, wide-eyed to see their foe still standing.

Mya
bit back ice-cold rage and spat blood.  She might have just walked away, but
for some unfathomable reason, she couldn’t.  Instead, she shook her head, felt the
bones of her face click back into place as she pulled the nail from her hand
and flung the broken board away.  Grinning at their surprise, she spat another
mouthful of blood at the feet of the stocky girl who had twice hammered her.

“You’re
good with that stick.”

“Knock!” 
The girl’s lip curled back from her crooked teeth in either a snarl or a grin,
Mya couldn’t tell.  “Knock knock!

She
swung again, lightning quick, but Mya wouldn’t underestimate her again. 
Leaning back, she let the axe handle miss her head by a hair’s breadth.

“But
not that good.”  Mya reached out and slapped the girl on both cheeks.

The
girl blinked in surprise, then grimaced.  “Knock!”  She swung again.

Mya
ducked the blow, reached out to slap her twice more, harder this time.  The
girl stumbled back, blinked.  Amazingly, tears rolled down her cheeks. 
“Knock!”

“Stop
it!”  The lead boy stepped between them and glared at Mya.  “Don’t you hit her
like that!”

They
all glared at her, murder in their eyes.

Mya
couldn’t believe this.  “She was trying to
kill
me, and you’re mad
because I
slapped
her?”

“Killin’s
part of livin’,” the boy said.  “But there ain’t no call for slappin’ her like
she was some bratty kid!”

“
What?
”

“She
ain’t your kin.  You got no right to slap her like she was your blood.”

A
memory rushed through Mya’s mind, so real that she felt the sting of her mother’s
open hand on her cheek, her ears ringing with the blow.  She remembered the
gut-wrenching anguish of being abused and humiliated.  These urchins may have
attacked her, but they were still children. 
She
was the one who should
know better.  Killing was survival.  Torment was just wanton cruelty.

“I’m…sorry.”

Again
they stared at her.  Perhaps they’d never heard an apology from an adult
before.