Weapon of Fear (20 page)

Ithross
interrupted the mage by clearing his throat.  “I
meant,
how could
someone poison the prince’s blackbrew.”

Duveau
scowled at the captain’s interruption, and Ithross scowled right back.

“Gentlemen!” 
Arbuckle tried to keep the quaver from his voice.  “Someone has tried to
kill
me.  I want to know who and why.”

“We’ll
question the kitchen staff and anyone who had access to this pot of blackbrew.”
Ithross pointed at the trembling footman. “Starting with
you
.” 

“I
just
poured
!” the servant cried.

Arbuckle
threw up his hands.  “That must be a very short list of people, Captain.  Aside
from the cook and the footman carrying the tray, who else could have touched
that pot?”

The
captain and the footman both blinked, stared at the prince for a moment, then
looked at each other.

“Milord,
there are many servants who might have had access.”  Ithross glanced back to
the footman.  “Perhaps thirty or…”

“More
like a hundred, sir.”  The footman looked from face to face.  “The kitchens are
a right madhouse this time of morning.  There’s fresh produce and meat bein’
delivered, twenty cooks all workin’ at the same time, with twice as many
scullery maids and potboys scurryin’ about.  Not to mention the footmen, lady’s
maids, chambermaids, valets, and who knows who else comin’ and goin’.”

“Good
Gods of Light.”  Arbuckle took an involuntary step back.  So many people just
to serve him and the few guests currently in the palace?  How such an endeavor
could go without his notice, he couldn’t fathom.  Who else? 
Gardeners, drivers,
maids, grooms…
  “How many servants
do
work in the palace, Tennison?”

“I…don’t
know the exact number, milord.”  The secretary looked discomforted.  “Some
hundreds.  More, if you count those who come and go with deliveries.”

Arbuckle’s
mind reeled. 
Hundreds…and one, at least, wants me dead
.

“Archmage
Duveau, you can discern truth with your magic, can you not?” Arbuckle asked.

“Of
course, milord.”

Who
wants me dead
? 
There was only one way to find out.  “Question everyone.”  Arbuckle knew he was
being paranoid, but he couldn’t live in fear in his own home.  “While the
palace is locked down, I want every single person interviewed.”

“Impossible!” 
Duveau’s face contorted into a mask of incredulity.  “That would take
days
,
milord!”

“Milord,
we can’t keep the palace locked down for days, but we can start with those who
arrived this morning on errands or deliveries, letting them leave once they’re
proved innocent, then focus on the palace staff working in or around the
kitchens.”  Ithross glanced from Arbuckle to the archmage.  “That, perhaps,
could take a day.”

“I
don’t care how long it takes.”  Arbuckle glared.  “You will find this
assassin!  Use whatever resources you must, and use your judgment, but I want
everyone in the palace questioned eventually, not only to see if they had
anything to do with this assassination attempt, but also to confirm their
loyalty to me.  Do you understand, Ithross?  Duveau?  You are to personally
interview each and every one.”

“But
Milord Prince, the labor involved in interviewing so many is inordinate.  I’m
already exhausted from adjusting the palace wards and sending out missives to
the provincial dukes.  I simply can’t—"

“You
can
and you
will
.  My life is at stake, and I need you to do your
job!”  Immediately Arbuckle regretted the harsh words.  He had already ruffled
feathers by speaking his mind too quickly. 
Think it through, Arbuckle
. 
Always think it through
.  “You’ll have help.  Master Kiefer is skilled
at this spell, too, isn’t he?  Have him assist you.”

Duveau’s
face reddened, but he nodded respectfully.  “Very well, milord.”

The
prince turned to Captain Ithross.  “Do
you
have any problem with my
commands, Captain Ithross?”

“None
at all, milord.  I suggest we do the interviews in my office.  Archmage
Duveau,” Ithross couldn’t hide his smirk as he bowed and waved toward the door,
“after you.”

Renquis’
pen scratched along in her ledger, the only sound in the ensuing silence.  Arbuckle’s
shoulders slumped. 
Someone tried to kill me
.

“Milord,
a fresh breakfast is on the way.”  Baris gestured toward the bedroom.  “Perhaps
you’d like to eat in your bed chamber while this mess is cleared.”

“No. 
Let’s move my breakfast down to my office.”  Arbuckle started for the door
without waiting for his retainers.  “We need to make a list of people who would
benefit from my death.  I seem to have made some enemies.”

Hoseph
strode up the avenue toward the palace, panting with the uphill effort.  He
welcomed the exercise.  The morning was cool, the blisters on his feet had
healed, and he was well rested, his spirit calmed by the morning’s meditation. 
Unlike priests of other deities, Hoseph never prayed for guidance.  Demia cared
little for the machinations of mortals.  Only when their souls had been
released from their flesh did she intervene, directing each to its appropriate
resting place, be it one of the Seven Heavens, Nine Hells, or an alternate
sphere of Earth or Sky.  His own soul, he knew, would travel immediately to
Eroe, Demia’s heaven, as reward for his lifetime of service.  Until then, he
would toil in this world.  He had no shortage of work to do.

His
current task, to assassinate the crown prince, might already be completed.  Lady
T had assured him that her man in the palace was well positioned and skilled.  Once
Arbuckle was dead, Hoseph would shift his focus to ridding the guild of the
usurper, Mya.  Lad seemed to have vanished.  Perhaps Mya had indeed killed him.

The
rebellious Master Blade of Twailin concerned him also.  Lad’s house in Twailin
had been deserted when Hoseph returned.  In fact, all the Twailin assassins’
homes and businesses that Hoseph knew of were also empty.  No matter.  Once
things were settled in Tsing, the guild would hunt down those who wouldn’t
pledge their loyalty.  Until then, Hoseph would wait and watch for signs that
Arbuckle had met his end.

Topping
the hill, Hoseph settled into his accustomed spot for spying on who came and
went from the palace, a narrow alley between two grandiose buildings along the
promenade.

A
shout rang out, drawing his mind from his musing.  Hoseph edged into the open
to see two heavy wagons turning on the wide street, maneuvering around each
other as their drivers cursed.  That was odd.

He leaned
out to view the palace gate.  The avenue opened into a broad boulevard that
girded the palace wall.  The main gates had been built to impress as well as
protect, a massive portcullis set in the outer curtain wall flanked by great
towers.  During the day, the outer gate was generally open to allow supply
wagons to pass into the outer courtyard, but now the iron-bound grating was
closed, guarded by four imperial guards, their halberds glinting in the sun.

Hoseph’s
heart skipped a beat. 
The palace closed?  Is it done?
 
Is Arbuckle
dead
?  He emerged from the narrow alley and strolled closer, his hood drawn
low to conceal his face.  As the wagons departed, a noble’s carriage pulled up
to the gate and one of the guards strode forward.

“The
palace is closed to visitors until further notice, milord.  All morning
audiences have been canceled.”

“But
I have an appointment!”  The petulant whine from within the carriage garnered
little sympathy from the guard.

“All
appointments have been cancelled.  You’ll have to make another.”

“This
is ridiculous!”

“I’ll
mention your displeasure to Captain Ithross, milord.  Now, please tell your
driver to move along.”  The guard backed away from the carriage as the driver
applied the whip and turned the team of four prancing horses.

Heartened,
Hoseph turned and strolled back to his place of hiding, then paused to recall
another narrow alley near the north wall of palace.  Invoking Demia’s gift, he
stepped into the Sphere of Shadow, focused upon his destination, and stepped
out again.  Brick walls loomed above him, echoing with the sounds of a nearby
commotion.  Thankfully, the crowd’s attention was focused not on him, but on
the small postern gate in the palace wall.

This
entrance allowed foot traffic for small deliveries and the passage of workers. 
At this time of day the flow of traffic should be brisk, but the door was
closed, and four more guards barred the entrance to a small crowd of commoners
carrying parcels.  Hoseph cocked an ear to listen.

“I’m
sorry, folks.  Try back later.  The gate’s closed for now.”

“What’s
this about?  I’ve got perishables to deliver, and if they go bad, it’s money
out of my pocket!”

“You’ll
be paid for your loss, but there’s nothing I can do.  The gate’s closed.”

“For
how long?”

“Until
my captain tells me to open it.”

“But
why?”

“I’m
not at liberty to say.  Now please move along.”

Hoseph
smiled.  This boded well.  Something had clearly happened within the palace. 
The gates had also been closed when Tynean Tsing II died. 

Back
in the alley, Hoseph once again stepped into a mist of shadows, emerging this
time in Lady T’s sitting room.  After blinking away momentary dizziness, he
noted that the room was empty.  A careful check of her dressing room and
bedroom revealed the same.  He pulled the bell rope in the sitting room and
paced.  Presently, the door opened to admit an assassin dressed as a butler, a
man well-used to Hoseph’s unannounced visits.

“Where
is she?”

“The
lady is out, Master Hoseph.”

Generally,
Hoseph would simply return at a more convenient time, but this was too
important to wait for.  “Tell me where she is.”

Hoseph
could see the butler weighing the wrath of Hoseph against that of his
guildmaster.  Finally, the more prominent threat won out.

“She’s
meeting with Master Lakshmi.”

“Excellent!” 
Hoseph visualized his destination and disappeared.

He
arrived in a narrow dead-end alley from which he could observe Master
Inquisitor Lakshmi’s bath house.  He reeled with sudden dizziness and the
twinge of a headache, undoubtedly from the change of lighting.  Ignoring the
dull ache, he settled down to wait.

Shortly,
Lady T’s distinctive carriage pulled up to the front door of the
establishment.  The driver and footmen—all assassins, of course—glared down
from the grand conveyance, quelling the jealous glances of passing commoners. 
The ornate double doors of the bath house opened, and Lady T emerged and
boarded her carriage.

Through
the window, Hoseph saw her settle into her seat, and the conveyance rumbled
away from the curb.  Focusing on the interior, Hoseph ghosted through the
shadows and materialized in the carriage.

Lady
T jerked, steel flashing into her hand, but her features transformed quickly
from anxiety to anger.  "Hoseph!  You’ll get yourself
killed
someday doing that!”  She tucked away the dagger.  “What’s so important that
you have to disturb my work?”

“Work?” 
Hoseph wrinkled his nose at the scents of exotic bath oils and perfumes that
permeated the carriage.  “It seems to me that
I’m
working while you
enjoy a relaxing morning bath!”

Lady
T rolled her eyes.  “I’m
not
relaxing.  I’m conducting the day-to-day
business of my guild.  In fact, I’m checking on our progress with Duke
Tessifus’ sons.  The youngest has potential.  Now, what’s so important?”

“I
believe your man has completed his task.  The palace has been closed to all
traffic.”

She
shrugged.  “That might mean something’s happened, but there’s no way to know
until we get confirmation.”

“The
reins of the empire are all but back in our hands!  How can you do nothing but
sit and wait?”

“There
is nothing to do
but
wait!  You need to learn patience.  If the attempt
succeeded, we’ll know soon enough.  If not, we’ll learn that, too, but we’ll
learn
nothing
until the news breaks through normal channels.  If we
start asking questions, we’ll draw attention.”

It
galled Hoseph to admit that the woman had a point.  He was used to more direct
action.

“I’ll
visit you this evening.”  He flicked the silver skull into his hand.  “Your
people should have picked up some news by then.”

“No
later than sunset.  I have an appointment.”

Hoseph
nodded. “Sunset, then.”  Invoking Demia’s gift, he faded into his shroud of
shadows.