Weapon of Fear (31 page)

Seoli
barked a laugh.  “Only every noble there!  Ledwig’s execution didn’t sit well
with any of them.”

“Not
every
noble there,” Duchess Ingstrom said with a frown.  “There were
some…”

“Oh,
Arbuckle gave his rote speech about justice, and some of them seemed convinced
that he’s right.  They’re fools!”

The
duchess pursed her lips.  “Arbuckle dismissed the captain of the Imperial Guard
some days ago, and in public, no less.  I should think that he’s disgruntled,
and he might have access to the palace through some of his former associates.”

“And
there’s Toffey,” added Seoli.  “Tynean Tsing’s former valet was let go out of
hand.  My valet tells me that Toffey was crushed by the implication that he was
less than loyal to the throne.  The poor man’s drinking himself to death.”

Lady
T’s eyes narrowed with interest, but she maintained her casual tone.  “This is
good information, but perhaps you can think of someone who
still
has
access to the palace and Arbuckle.”

“Tennison?”
suggested Seoli.

The
duchess waved as if flicking a pesky fly.  “Phah!  I thought he might be
chafing under Arbuckle’s righteous arrogance, but when I tried to schedule tea
to introduce Arbuckle to my daughter, he just smiled at me and said that the
crown prince had more important things on his mind right now than
courting
. 
What’s more important than ensuring that the emperor has an heir?”

Hoseph
gritted his teeth against his pounding headache and the frustration of dealing
with these self-centered idiots.  Not one had the foresight to consider what
was needed here: access, opportunity, and ability.  They were all caught up in
their own tiny worlds of court politics.

Graving
raised a finger, as if not to be outdone by the nobles.  “I heard that Archmage
Duveau was unhappy with the crown prince.”

Hoseph’s
eyebrows arched with interest.  “Duveau?”

The
chief magistrate nodded, his chins jiggling.  “Apparently, Arbuckle’s
overworking the fellow dreadfully.  Has him running around doing maintenance on
the palace wards, interrogating menials, all kinds of nonsense.  He won’t let
Duveau delegate anything to the junior members of the retinue, insisting that
the archmage do all the work himself.”

Archmage
Duveau
…  In
Hoseph’s years of service to the emperor, he had met Duveau numerous times. 
The man was arrogant and self-centered, but also clever and talented.  As
archmage, he had unquestioningly provided the emperor with many a potion and
magical favor that would be considered dubious, if not outright illegal, on the
open market.  In return, Tynean Tsing had allowed the man to do as he pleased, sparing
no expense to acquire whatever magical tome or implement the archmage desired. 
What pleased Duveau most was magical research, dabbling in whichever realm of
arcane study struck his fancy. 
And I know just what will strike his fancy
…

“I
must meet with Archmage Duveau.”  Hoseph’s statement met with blank stares
except for Lady T, who shot him a sharp glance.  “I need someone to deliver a
message to him.”

 “How
did we go from giving information to delivering messages?”  Seoli shook his
head.  “This risks not only the message bearer’s life, but the rest of ours, as
well.  Duveau can compel the truth with a wave of his hand!”

Hoseph
knew that all too well.

“There
would be little danger of discovery.”  Lady T assumed the argument in her most
persuasive manner.  “The message would be worded carefully to be non-incriminating,
and sealed before we give it to the message bearer.  If Duveau refuses our
offer, the deliverer of the message can truthfully disavow knowledge of its
content and origin.”

Graving
frowned.  “Legally, that might not—”

“This
is
ridiculous
.”  Duchess Ingstrom put down her wine glass and surged up
from her seat with an alacrity that belied her years.  “I’ll deliver your
message to Archmage Duveau, and to all Nine Hells with the consequences!  Now
take me home, Master Hoseph.  I have an appointment with a glass of
decent
wine and a book of poetry that I simply cannot forego.”  Scowling, she held out
a hand to him.

“Very
well, Duchess.”  He gently grasped her hand, smiling in satisfaction.  “Thank
you for—”

“Thank
me by making gods-
damned
sure that Duveau takes your offer, Master
Hoseph.  Otherwise, our heads will all roll into the same basket as Baron
Ludwig’s.”

Hoseph
nodded politely as he invoked Demia’s gift, already pondering the best way to
convince Archmage Duveau to betray his master.

Dee
peeled the last of the sweet pulp from an orange wedge and pitched the peel
into the growing pile in the middle of the ring of grimy children.  He
considered the motley collection of street urchins sitting in the straw as they
nibbled on their fruit, unexpected treats that they had accepted with a
reverence more worthy of a priceless gem than a simple orange.  He couldn’t
believe the tales Mya told of them, how she’d trained them to spy for her, and
how they’d saved the life of the crown prince.

“
They
thwarted a professional assassin?”  He hadn’t thought it was possible.

“They
did.” She grinned and tousled one boy’s hair.  “Luck, more than skill, no
doubt, but the prince’s heart beats today due to their heroism.”

The
children all beamed with pride.

Only
a little less surprising was the pride in Mya’s voice when she spoke of their
deeds.  He’d expected her to be alive, maybe even in charge of the guild by
now, but this… 
Leave it to Mya to build an army out of nothing
. 

Employing
street children as spies was a stroke of genius.  They could go anywhere
without being noticed, and cost only food to fill their bellies.  Mya had
adapted the kids’ skills to meet her needs, and they had responded amazingly. 
She would make a fine Grandmaster…if the Tsing guildmaster would only accept
her.

Dee
sighed and wiped his hands on his trousers.  A month ago he was living in a
mansion, assistant to the Twailin guildmaster.  Now he stood in a filthy,
abandoned stable surrounded by filthy, abandoned children. 
Not exactly
moving up in the world, are you?

“Does
seem like you’re paddlin’ upstream until you can off this priest fella.”  Paxal
picked his teeth with a splinter he’d whittled into a toothpick.  Next to him,
a boy with a nail-studded stick—Nails, Mya had appropriately called him—picked
up the knife Paxal had laid aside, and started whittling his own toothpick.

“Finding
him’s the problem.”  Mya flicked her finger and thumb, her nails ticking
faintly.

Dee
understood her problem, having seen Hoseph fade into mist in the blink of an
eye, but thought she might be missing the real issue.  “I hate to say it, but I
don’t think it’s a matter of finding Hoseph as much as making sure that he
doesn’t find you.”

“So
far, I seem to have dodged him.”  She shrugged.  “Lady T promised to set him up
for me, but I’m not sure yet if she’s on my side or his.”

Dee
paced as he thought, until his foot encountered a noisome lump in the straw. 
Cringing, he scraped the bottom of his boot on a board.  “The first order of
business, Miss Mya, should be to find a better base of operations.  If you want
any hope of earning the respect of the guild, you shouldn’t be living in a
third-class inn and conducting business in squalor.”

“They
don’t know where I live or do business,” Mya protested.  “That would be an
invitation for Hoseph to kill me.”

“I
understand that, but in time the guild will come to recognize you as
Grandmaster.”  Dee hoped he sounded more confident than he felt about that
eventuality.  “By that time, you’ll need to be well-established somewhere…well…better
than this.  Someplace north of the river would be best, a nicer neighborhood,
and certainly more convenient for the work you’re doing now.”

“A
better headquarters would help,” Mya conceded. “And now we have the money.  An
inn, maybe.  Someplace like the
Cockerel
back in Twailin.”

“How
we gonna do that?”  Digger looked down at his grimy hands.  “Street kids ain’t
welcome in fancy inns.”

Dee
was about to suggest that the urchins were fine where they were, when Mya
nodded in acknowledgement.  “Don’t worry, Digger, we’ll find someplace we can
all stay together.”

“Everyone
can wash and get new clothes like me!”  The pretty little Kit twirled to make
her skirt spin out around her.

“Problem
is, street kids stick out anywhere they’re not on the street.  You put us in
some fancy house, and everyone’s gonna know somethin’s up.  You pretty us all
up like Kit, and we stick out on the street unless we’re walkin’ with a
grown-up.”  Digger shrugged.  “Seems to me yer buggered either way.”

“And
it seems to me,” Paxal flicked his toothpick into the straw and plucked his
knife from Nails’ unwilling fingers, “that you’re already runnin’ an
orphanage.  Why not make it official?”

“An
orphanage?”  Mya’s eyebrows arched.

Dee
considered the idea and sighed.  He’d never been partial to children, but it
looked like Mya wasn’t going anywhere without her army of urchins.  To be
honest, it made sense.  He and Paxal might be here to help, but the two of them
couldn’t do much, and certainly not what these children did.  His job should be
to advise her, not thwart what she’d already built.

“An
orphanage sounds good.  We clean some of the kids up for times when you need
them for cover, like you did with Kit today.  Others we can leave…as is…so they
can continue to do what they’re doing.”

“Easy
enough to dirty up for street work.”  The little girl, Gimp, wiped her nose
with her arm.  “Harder to stay clean than it is to get dirty.”

“We
might be able to lease an inn that’s been abandoned.”  Paxal’s forehead
wrinkled above raised eyebrows.  “Quite a few folks left the city when the
trouble started, if the traffic on the road was any indication.  I’ll find you
a place.”

Mya
bit her lip.  Dee had seen her like this before, weighing the pros and cons of
a plan.  “We’ll have to think up a cover story.  Who am I and why am I doing
this?”

“That’s
simple.”  Paxal levered himself up off the floor and dusted off his trousers. 
“You can be the widow of some landed gentry who never liked the country.  You
come back to Tsing to find so many kids on the street that it broke your
heart.  You want to change things, but kids have to work to support themselves,
right?”

“Work?” 
Nails sat up straight.  “I ain’t gonna—”

“Not
real work, boy.  We just tell ’em what they want to hear, ay?”  Paxal tousled
the boy’s grimy hair.  Turning back to Mya, he said, “The powers that be will
be thrilled to have the kids off the street, and you and your little army of
spies can come and go as you please without a hitch.”  With a wave, he started
for the door.

“Pax!” 
Mya looked dubious.  “Are you sure you want to get so involved in this?”

“Sure
as rain falls and taxes rise, Miss Mya.”  Paxal left without another word.

“Well! 
It looks like we’re going to have a new home.”  Mya stood, brushing the straw
and dust from her skirt.

“Knock!” 
The half-breed girl’s face twisted into a misshapen frown.

Kit
frowned and patted her friend on the shoulder.  “Knock thinks she’ll stick out
like a turd on a silver platter north of the river.”

Dee
chuckled at the girl’s language.  Even dressed up, she was still a street
urchin.

Mya
smiled reassuringly and ruffled Knock’s hair.  “Don’t worry, we’ll figure
something out.”

The
kids clustered around her, chattering and smiling and tugging on her skirts.

Dee
bit his lip to keep from laughing at the sight of Mya, the stone-cold killer,
holding hands with a little girl with ribbons in her hair and affectionately
teasing the other children.  He thought at first that it was an act put on for
the kids’ benefit, but she actually seemed sincere.  He’d sooner have expected
her to be hobnobbing with nobles and gentry, plying her assassin skills amid
the political turmoil that inevitably followed assassination, than setting up
an orphanage for street children.

Dee
wondered what he’d gotten himself into and where it would take him.  Knowing
Mya, it would be someplace dangerous.

M
ya stepped down from the carriage
and looked uncertainly at her new home.  Pax had returned the previous evening
with a lease in hand.  A former inn, its proprietors had fled during the Night
of Flame.  The place might have been pleasant once, but hadn’t seen a new coat
of paint in years, and the boards on the lower windows made it look mean.  It
wasn’t even as nice as the
Twin Dulcimer
.  A nondescript building on a
nondescript street in a nondescript Midtown neighborhood.  It was perfect for
their needs, but Mya felt vaguely disquieted.

So
much for moving up in the world.

As
delighted as she had been when Dee had up-ended his heavy saddlebags onto her
bed at the
Tin Dulcimer
, she knew the money would go quickly.  Rent,
food, whatever payment the Gnome demanded for plans to the palace…  They
couldn’t afford to be frivolous.

“Problem,
Mistress?” Dee asked as he climbed down from the driver’s seat.

“It’s
just so…dreary.”  She kept her voice low.

“Paxal
thought it best if we didn’t draw attention, and I agree.  Besides, it was
inexpensive, and he said the inside was clean, with hardly any rats.”

“Wonderful.” 
Mya knew Dee was right, but the place looked like a worn pair of shoes, with no
character or charm.

It’s
supposed to be an orphanage, not a brothel, Mya.  Get over it!

“I
like it!”  Little Kit hopped down from the carriage, showing off her pretty
dress.  “Mommy.”  She grinned up at Mya and grasped her hand.  Kit had flatly
refused to take the dress off, so they’d decided it best if she posed as the
head mistress’ daughter.  She seemed to be enjoying her role a little too much.

“Whoa,
you mangy critter!”

Paxal’s
hoarse cry and several stifled giggles drew her attention to the rented wagon
pulling up behind her rented carriage.  The mule pulling the contrivance had
proven difficult, especially at the bridge, where it balked and refused to
cross.  Paxal had proven even more determined, however, convincing the
recalcitrant beast to proceed with much cursing, lashing of reins, and finally
bribing it with a carrot.  Mya’s urchins found it all very entertaining.

“Time
to play our parts.”  Mya had noticed curious glances from the shops lining the
streets, and she didn’t want to arouse suspicions.  Tugging her plain black
dress straight, she cracked the tip of her parasol hard on the cobbles.  “All
right, you lot.  Out of the wagon and line up.  No nonsense!”  She bustled
forward, finding the padding beneath the dress both restricting and
cumbersome.  That, along with a hat, a lace veil, and some simple makeup to age
her youthful features, transformed her into the middle-aged widow she was
attempting to portray.  “Paxal, get the door.  Dee, my bags.”

“Yes,
Mistress Bouchard.”  Dee opened the boot of the carriage while children lined
up.  Paxal hurried to the door with his ring of keys and opened the door.

“Caps
comin’,” Kit whispered, squeezing her hand.

“It’s
all right.”  Mya stepped forward and regarded her urchins.  They’d cleaned up a
bit, but still looked rough, which was exactly how she wanted them to look. 
Let’s
see how well this cover story holds up
.  “Now remember.  You’re here at my
pleasure, so if you misbehave, you’re right back across the river.  Our first
order of business is to make this place livable.”

“You’ve
got quite a passel here, ma’am.”

Mya
turned and craned her neck to look the tall constable in the face.  “Good
morning, Constable.  Is there a problem?”

“Just
wondering where you’re goin’ with so many…” He surveyed the children with a
skeptical eye, “…young ones.”

“My
name is Bouchard, and these are my charges.”  She waved at the urchins.  “I’ve
leased this inn with the intent to begin an orphanage.”

“An
orphanage?”  He looked dubiously at her, the children, and the building.  The
five bored caps behind him chuckled and shook their heads.  “You’re taking on
quite a responsibility.”

Nosey
nuisance
, she
thought, fixing him with a glare.  “Yes, I am, Constable.  My late husband left
me with a child to support, finite funds, and a limited set of skills.  I am
quite
capable of disciplining children, however, as well as teaching them to read,
write, and do their sums.”  She cracked the tip of her parasol on the cobbles. 
“Inside now, all of you!  Paxal, put them to work.”

“Yes,
ma’am.”  Paxal herded the children inside.

“No
offense meant, ma’am, but how are you going to support such a…your orphanage if
you have limited funds?”  The constable rubbed his stubbled jaw, obviously
puzzled.

 “The
children will work, of course, as all children must.”  She cracked her parasol
on the street again with an exasperated sigh.  “As you know, many children
traverse the bridges every day to work in the shops and factories here in
Midtown, only to go back across to live in squalor every night, barely earning
enough to survive.  Here, I’ll pool their meager pay and provide a roof, food,
and education.  Everybody wins.”

“I
see.”  He arched an eyebrow.  “Well, as long as you understand that you’re
accountable for their behavior while their under your roof.  If we catch any of
them stealing, you’ll be held responsible.”

“I
understand, Constable.  Now, if that’s all, I have children to attend to.”

“That’s
all, ma’am.  Have a good day.”  He touched his cap in deference, and waved his
patrol on.

“Thank
you.”  Mya turned to go, but not before she caught Kit sticking her tongue out
at the constables.  “Kit!  Behave now.”

“Yes,
mother
.”

Mya
hurried the little girl up the steps and into the inn.  She cast a glance at
the constables as Paxal closed the door behind her, but none of them were
watching.  In the entry hall stood all of her urchins, grinning like fiends in
the dim light.

“He
bought it hook line and sinker, ma’am.”  Digger patted Knock on the back.  The
girl had simply kept her head down and gone along with the crowd.

“They
did.”  Mya looked around at the drab but clean interior.  “Well, let’s get to
work.  Boards off the windows first, and let’s air things out.  Dee, check the
place over and assign rooms, then return the carriage and wagon.  The cook and
scullery maid won’t arrive until this afternoon, and I’d like us to look like
an orphanage by then.  Remember, I’m Mistress Bouchard, and if I’m not wearing
this getup when someone comes to the door, then you tell them I’m out on
business.”

“I’ll
tend to the kitchen and stock the larder, Miss Mya.”  Paxal headed to the
back.  He knew more about running a place like this than anyone else.

“Good. 
Supper at sundown.  We won’t bother with a watch on Lady T’s house tonight.” 
Her spies had not seen anything untoward through the guildmaster’s windows
lately, though Mya knew she and Hoseph must be having fits over the thwarted
assassination attempt.  “We’ll sleep in three rooms, each adult with two
children in the room, one awake at all times.  Two more down here will keep
watch on the doors.”

“Yes,
Miss Mya.”

Dee
lifted Mya’s trunk and started up the stairs.  “Would you like to pick out your
room?”

“Pick
one for me on the third floor.”  She looked around.  “Where’s the office Pax
told us about?  I need to draft a letter.”

Dee
stopped and nodded toward the back hall.  “Through there and left.  Who are you
writing to?”

“Lady
T.”  Mya took off her hat and scratched under it.  She hated disguises, and
planned to wear this one only when necessary.  “I’m going to hit her up for a
donation to support our fine charity work here.”

“You’re
kidding.”  He gaped at her as if she’d told him she was planning to steal the
crown jewels.

“Yes,
I am.”  She flashed a grin and started for the office.  Gods, it felt good to
have an adult around who she could joke with.  “I don’t want to barge into her
home again, and I need to speak with her.  She needs to know why she shouldn’t
be trying to kill the crown prince.”

“You’re
not inviting her
here
, are you?”

“Don’t
worry, Dee.”  Mya raised her voice over the banging of hammers as the urchins began
removing the boards covering the windows.  “I’m still not sure she’s on my side. 
The last thing I want is for her to know where I live.”

Arbuckle
sipped chilled lemonade as he watched the small contingent approach his table
across the lawn.  Halting, the herald bowed, then announced his charge.

“Duke
Nythes of Miravore, Sovereign of the Southern Province.”

“Crown
Prince Arbuckle.”  Nythes bowed low.

“Please
join me for some refreshment, my good cousin.”  Arbuckle gestured to the chair
across the small table.

With
little support from the local nobility, the crown prince had shifted his
attention farther afield to the provincial sovereigns who had begun to arrive
for his coronation.  Nythes seemed a likely hope for an alliance, second cousin
on his mother’s side, and Arbuckle’s childhood companion during his infrequent
visits to Tsing.  He had inherited his dukedom ten years ago when his father died
in a hunting accident.  Arbuckle now doubted it had been a hunting accident after
all, considering his father’s association with the Assassins Guild, but hoped
that Nethys would support him.

“I’m
sorry I wasn’t able to greet you personally upon your arrival, but the affairs
of state are drowning me.”

“Thank
you, milord.  You’ve been most welcoming.”  Nythes sat stiffly.

“I
hope your trip was uneventful.”

“It
was fine, milord.”

“How
are things in the south?”  Up close, Arbuckle noticed the fine lines around Nethes’
eyes, his wan features, hair gray at the temples.  The man boasted only a few
years more than Arbuckle, but he seemed to have aged drastically since they’d last
met only a few years ago.

A
far cry from the dashing figure of his youth
…

Arbuckle
recalled his tenth birthday party, when they first met.  Nythes had seemed such
an adult then, strong and straight, blissfully ignorant of the onus of his
title.  They had had such a good time until—

The
remembrance dredged up another memory.  That was the birthday when Arbuckle’s
father had presented him with a live elephant.  The young prince had been
elated until the next gift arrived—a gilded hornbow.

“Aim
here!” his father had instructed, prodding the restrained beast with a long
pole.  “Kill it!”

Horrified,
Arbuckle had dropped the bow and refused, only to see the elephant slaughtered
anyway. 
Another memory of dear father
.

His
stomach roiled.  He wondered if part of Nythes’ discomfort were his own
memories of the day.  His cousin’s voice cut off his musing.

“We
are having some…difficulty in the south, milord.  Your edicts,” Nythes paused,
looking increasingly uncomfortable, “have caused unrest among the upper
classes, and elicited violence from the commoners.”

“Revenge
violence, I assume.”  Arbuckle sighed.  “Yes, we’ve seen a bit of that here,
but it’s settling down.  You’ll see the same, I’m sure.”

“I
doubt it, milord.”  Nythes eyes slipped sideways toward Arbuckle’s guards
standing at his shoulders.  He licked his lips and sipped his lemonade.  “There’s
too much hatred among the commoners.  I fear we can’t keep order without
drastic action.  The rebels must be put down.”

“Force
is not the answer, cousin.”  Arbuckle looked curiously at the man.  He could
see his fear as plain as day, and he sounded as if he were reciting words that he
had learned by rote.

“We…” 
The duke’s eyes flashed up to Arbuckle’s for the first time, then at the guards
behind the prince.  He looked away.  “As you say, milord.”