Weapon of Flesh (21 page)

“Look at me, Mister Joanis.”  He shook the man by the hair, the jingling jewelry louder than the man’s weak moans of pain.  “Open your eyes and look at me.  Tell me you’ve learned your lesson for today and I’ll let you go back to your shop.”

One swollen eye cracked open; the white, shot with the red of a burst blood vessel, was barely visible between the puffy purple of the lids.  “I’ve learned...” the man croaked miserably.

“Good.”  Joanis’ head lolled forward as Jingles let go of his hair.  “Get him out of here, Burke.  And don’t forget to get my money from him.  He owes me for two months, and another twenty gold for the inconvenience of having to have this little talk.”

“Straight away, Jingles.”  Burke lifted the bloody rag of a man from the chair and dragged him out of the room.

“And send someone in to clean this mess up!” he shouted, stepping back behind his desk and sitting down carefully.  “One damn problem after another,” he muttered, rifling through the pages of his ledger. 

He wet the tip of his quill and checked off the note he’d made beside Joanis’ name, then ran a finger down the long list of his sources of income.  Jingles was only a sub-boss, and his area of influence was relatively small, about a dozen blocks in a rough radius around his headquarters.  The list included the names of every shopkeeper, innkeeper, pimp and wholesaler in his district, and now, after dealing with Joanis, there was only one name without a check mark beside it to indicate that their payment had been made.

“Forbish,” he mumbled.  There was a note that he’d dispatched one of his enforcers to take care of that stubborn old man, but there was no check.  Urik wasn’t back yet.  “Damn cocky bastard better not be crossin’ me.”

There was a tap at his door and his assistant Dragel came in with a bucket and mop.

“After you’ve finished there, Dragel, send a runner to Urik.  I want to find out why he hasn’t brought me the payment he was supposed to collect.”

“Sure, Jingles.”

Dragel wiped down the chair with a rag and moved it out of the way, then mopped up the spattered blood.  He was done in less than a minute and out the door.  Jingles watched the wet patch of floor for a while, enjoying the patterns of moisture glistening in the lamplight as it dried.  His wrist twitched absently, the musical chime of his jewelry bringing a smile to his cruel lips.

“I wanted to thank you again, Lad,” Wiggen said as they walked across the courtyard.  Evening’s twilight was fading to night, the crimson and orange of a blazing sunset deepening to purple.  In the east, over the crest of the inn, the first stars were peeking out from the shroud of darkness that enveloped the land.

“You saved my life today.”  Her voice shook with the memory of the assault, the horror of helplessness that had paralyzed her.  “They were the same ones, Urik and his gang.  They were the ones who killed Tam, and...”  Her hand moved unconsciously to the scar, her fingertips brushing it, kindling the memory.  “I don’t think I could have taken that again.”

“I do not understand why these men came here.  Why did they try to hurt you, Wiggen?  Forbish said they were here for money.”

“Blood money.  They’re outlaws, thieves, I guess.”  Lad didn’t answer so she tried a simpler approach.  “They threaten all the shopkeepers.  They say they’re providing protection for the money, but that’s a lie.  If the shopkeepers don’t pay, they’re hurt, or their businesses are broken into and looted or burned.  Sometimes people are taken, killed or beaten, held for ransom.  It’s illegal, but the constables say that they can’t prove it.  It happens everywhere.  Most people pay, but Father is stubborn.  He hates them for what they did when I was little, and more now, for what happened to Tam... and me.”  They stopped just inside the barn door; Wiggen leaned against the foot-thick wooden beam of the old building’s frame and sighed.

“I do not understand.”  Lad’s voice was that same calm tone.  She wondered if
anything
ever changed the tone of his voice.  Sometimes it was infuriating, but most of the time she found his voice comforting.  “They threaten you, and hurt or kill if you do not pay.  It makes no sense.”

“You’re not
supposed
to understand, Lad.  You weren’t
made
to understand, and that’s what I really wanted to talk to you about.”  She looked up to him, realizing for the first time that he was actually slightly taller than her.  His sandy hair was askew, as always, and she fought the desire to straighten it.  His eyes were so strange, so deep, but showing no emotion.  She wondered if he was
made
to feel emotion, and realized that he probably was not.  Killing would be easier if he didn’t feel. “I’m worried about you, Lad.”

“Why?”  His head cocked to the side, the curiosity written on his face.  “I am in no danger.”

“I think you are, Lad.”  His eyes flashed left and right, and she knew he had misunderstood.  “No.  Not right now.  Let me explain.”

“Yes.  Explain what danger I am in.”  He was tense now, wound tight; he looked calm, but she knew better.

“I think I know why your master made you the way you are, and I don’t just mean the way you fight, and how you’re so fast and strong.  I mean the way you don’t know how you should feel about people; the way you were never taught what family or friends are, all the things that most of us learn when we’re little children and take for granted.”  She paused, biting her lip, wondering if she should continue.

“Go on, Wiggen.  I want to know what you think.”

“Okay, but try to understand... you scare me, Lad.  I like you, but... you scare me.”

“Do not fear me, Wiggen.”  He raised a hand, and for a moment, she thought he would touch her, but he pulled away again.  She could see the strain in him now; the quickening pulse in his neck, the flush of heat that she could actually feel from a foot away.

“Okay.”  She steeled her nerve and continued, heedless.  She owed it to him.  “You were made to kill, Lad.”

“Yes.  I know this, Wiggen.”

“No, you
don’t
know.  Listen.”  She reached out slowly and took his hand.  “Your purpose, this destiny you are looking for... You were made to be someone’s assassin, Lad.  You were made to kill for someone who doesn’t want to do it for themselves… or can’t.  You were made to follow orders and kill who ever they want, without feeling anything, without knowing you were doing anything wrong.”

“Wrong?”  She felt a quiver of tension in his grip.  “Killing is wrong?”

“Yes, Lad.  Killing is wrong.  It is the worst crime you can commit.  Unless you are protecting someone, like today, killing makes you bad, evil.  Like Urik and his men.  They would have killed me today.  You were made to be like them, but worse, without feeling.”

“I --”  Lad’s eyes were wide with his tumultuous thoughts; she could see the confusion, the denial.  “I do not want to be like they were, Wiggen.  They were going to hurt you.  I would not hurt you.  I
could
not.”

“Not me, Lad.  I know you wouldn’t hurt me, at least not intentionally.  I’m talking about other people.  Someone went to a lot of trouble to... well, to have you made the way you are.  They could use you to kill anyone, anywhere, and you’d do it without remorse or fear or hate even.  They took those feelings away from you, Lad; I don’t know how, probably magic, but...  you don’t....”  She didn’t know how to put it into words.  She knew there was something holding him back, something suppressing his humanity, but she couldn’t say what was missing.  She squeezed his hand harder, part frustration, part willing him to understand.

“I do not want to be evil.”  The words were an affirmation to everything she was trying to tell him.

“Then
don’t
be!”  She gripped his hand with hysterical strength, trying to make him feel something.  Anything.  “You don’t have to follow this path your master put you on, Lad!  You could run away, find another way to live.”

“But today,” he said, his voice calm, his body strained, “I killed those men.  You said that was not evil.”

“Yes, Lad.  That was good.  You helped us.”

“So, my destiny
could
be to protect, to prevent harm.”  She could see that his mind had latched onto this explanation like a drowning man reaching for any floating object.  She couldn’t make herself tell him that she thought he was wrong and dash his hopes.

“Yes, Lad.  That could be your destiny.”

“Then I will stay in Twailin.  I will find my destiny.  If it is evil, I will leave.  If it is not, I will stay and fulfill what my master intended for me.”

“You must be careful, Lad.  I’m afraid...”

“I will not let anyone make me evil, Wiggen.  Do not be afraid for me.”

“I know you don’t
want
to be evil, but you might not be given a choice.  You
must
be careful!”  She brought her other hand up slowly to his face.  He tensed, but didn’t withdraw.  Her palm brushed his cheek and his whole body quivered at an incredibly high pitch, almost a vibration.  His skin was very warm as she let her hand caress up to his ear, and into his hair to twine the sandy strands between her fingers.  “Just be careful, Lad.  For me.”

“I will be careful, Wiggen.”  His face was still a blank slate, devoid of emotion, but his body sang with suppressed power.

“Thank you,” she said as she brought her face up to his.

She pressed her lips to his, feeling his warmth now even more, his skin tingling with heat.  His lips were soft, but unmoving, passive.  When she opened her eyes, she found him staring into her soul with that bottomless gaze of his.  She withdrew, dropped his hand and took a step back.

“This,” Lad said, his fingers drifting up to his lips, his head cocked in a question, “is something that friends do?”

“Yes.”  She didn’t know how to explain what a kiss was, let alone what she was beginning to feel toward him.  “It’s called a kiss.  It’s a way for our friendship to grow.”

“This kiss felt strange to me, Wiggen.  I felt like I should defend myself, or flee, but I wanted to stay, too.”  His fingers touched his lips and his brow furrowed in thought.  “I’m glad you are my friend, Wiggen.  I have learned many things from you.”

“Don’t tell Father about the kiss, okay?”  She bit her lip, wondering if she’d made a horrible mistake.  “He wouldn’t understand.”

“Forbish doesn’t know what a kiss is?”

“He knows, Lad. Just don’t tell him I kissed you.  Please.”

“If you do not want me to, then I will not.”

“Thank you.”  She found that her fingers were wound into her hair, pulling it down over her scar.  She felt ashamed, like she’d taken advantage of him, like she’d ruined their friendship.  “I better get back to the inn.  Goodnight, Lad.”  She turned to go.

“Goodnight, Wiggen,” she heard him say from behind her, but she wasn’t sure if he said anything else.  Her heart was pounding too loudly in her ears.

 Chapter
XIV

T
argus’ nostrils twitched at the heavy odor of death that pervaded the enclosed space of the stable.  He sniffed carefully, thinking,
a fortnight at the least
.  Death in all its forms and stages was something with which he was intimately familiar; it was his business.  But that didn’t mean he liked the smell.  He wetted a long kerchief from his belt and tied it around his face.