Weapon of Flesh (30 page)

“Guess I thought wrong,” he said to himself as he stepped past the hysterical Count Dovek into the man’s bedchamber.  He closed the door carefully, stifling the wailing gibberish that was coming from the Count.  The man might be able to give an accurate account later, but not now.  He surveyed the room at a glance and his lip curled back involuntarily.

“Good morning Captain,” one of his sergeants said, turning from his work to salute.  Two other guardsmen who were helping the sergeant examine the crime scene saluted and returned to their work.

“What’s good about it, Sergeant Tamir?” Norwood growled, letting his gaze smolder into the man for a moment before moving on.

“My da always used to say that any morning you could get out of bed was a good morning, so...”  He nodded to the bed.  “Ain’t exactly her best morning now is it, Sir?”

“No it’s not, Sergeant.”  He cringed as the wailing from beyond the door rose in pitch then subsided again.  “The Count’s a complete wreck.  We won’t get anything out of him today.”

“Aye, Sir.  I can’t say as I blame him, though.  Said he woke up before first light wondering why his wife was so cold.  Did what any husband might, I guess, trying to warm her.  He didn’t know until he opened his eyes.”

“Damn,” Norwood muttered.  They’d be lucky if the man
ever
recovered.

He stepped up to the bed and looked down at the young Countess.  She was a beautiful woman, but that beauty had been marred somewhat by the stiletto thrust through her eye.  Her head was wreathed in crimson; her beautiful blond hair and the silken pillow to which she was pinned were both saturated with blood.  There was only a slight look of surprise on her features, and the tip of the blade had actually passed through the lid of her eye.  She’d been killed in her sleep.  Death had been instantaneous.

“Like a butterfly pinned in a case,” the Captain murmured, clenching his jaw against his tumultuous thoughts.

Back to work!
he thought venomously, forcing himself to examine the knife.  The early-morning sun shone through the window at a sharp angle, illuminating the scene all too clearly.  The blade was well made—double-edged and narrow, meant for stabbing, its crosspiece short and dark.  He couldn’t see the hilt because a ribbon-bound roll of parchment had been slipped over it.  The parchment wasn’t wrinkled, so it had been put there after the woman was dead.  What really had the Captain scratching his chin, however, was not the fact that the Count’s wife had been stabbed through the brain while he slept next to her, nor the note left behind.  He positioned himself so that his face was aligned with that of the dead woman and read the single word that had been written upon her forehead in her own blood.

“What the --?  ‘Sorry’?  That’s odd.”

“What’s that, Captain?”  The sergeant paused in his inspection of the window and moved up beside his commander.  “Oh, that.  Yeah, that’s a real brain tease, ain’t it?”

“The dagger, the note or the apology?”

“I was thinkin’ you meant the blood on her forehead, Sir.  I’ve seen the like before, usually from some crazy sap who don’t know what he’s doin’.  But this job’s all pro.  This was a pressure hit or I’m a doxy, but I never seen a professional apologize.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Sergeant.”  Captain Norwood stood straight, his blunt nails raking at his gray stubble again, reminding him that he’d been in too much of a hurry to shave this morning.  “Well, I guess we should see what else this apologetic assassin has to say besides ‘Sorry,’ hadn’t we?”

“Aye, Sir,” he agreed as his commander carefully slipped the rolled parchment off of the dagger’s hilt, untied the ribbon and read it.

“Damn.”  It was a list of names and dates.  Every single one of them was a relative or loved one of Count Dovek.  They all lived in Twailin and all the dates save one were in the future.  The top name was that of the Count’s late wife, and there was a single line through it, and yesterday’s date. “You hit that one on the head, Sergeant.  Pressure.  But from whom, and to do what?”

“Well, my guess would be to use his influence with the Duke, but to what end, beats me all to hell.”  He looked at the distinguished list of names.  “Pretty cocky to put dates there.  They can’t be stupid enough to follow through with that schedule.  We’ll be watchin’.”

“Damn right we’ll be watching them.  The next is his son the Viscount, and the date is only two days away.”

“Do you think we should show it to the Count?”

“He’d go catatonic, Sergeant.”  He pocketed the scroll and glanced around the room.  “Okay, let’s have the rest of the details.  What have you got?”

“Well, Sir, you’re not going to believe this, but the assassin came in through that window there.  There’s no evidence that he used a rope or hook, or came down from the roof.  The stonework’s sound, and tightly fit, so I don’t see how anyone could climb up.  Magic maybe.  He opened the window with a wire hook; you can see where the metal’s scratched, but there’s one thing I don’t get.”

“What’s that, Sergeant?”

“There’s blood on the hinges.  Just the ones on the left side there, see?”

“Yeah.”  The Captain looked closely at the hinges.  “Take a sample of that and give it to his Lordship’s mage.  I want to know if it’s hers,” he indicated the deceased countess with a nod, “or someone else’s.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I want two guards on Count Dovek every minute of every day until I say to stop.  Is that clear, Sergeant?”

“Crystal, Sir.”

“I’m also putting you in charge of the duty roster for this.  I’ll have to have some men pulling double shifts, but we’ve got to make sure this stops here.  Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Make sure this room is examined carefully.  I don’t want to miss anything on this one.”  He continued speaking as he moved toward the door.  “I’ll be in my office, working out a watch schedule for the Duke’s Court, and wondering where I’m going to get enough men to watch all these people.”  He patted the rolled parchment in his belt and left the sergeant to his work.

In the outer chamber, the scene had devolved into one of mildly suppressed chaos; the Count was red faced and hysterical and a woman he recognized as the count’s younger sister was holding his arm, trying to calm him.
There’s number three on the list
, he thought.  Two additional guards were at the door to the hall, holding several more royals at bay.  Concerned neighbors, friends and relatives were already descending to offer support and condolences, as well as to make sure there wasn’t some inheritance or title transfer they were missing out on, no doubt.

I wonder how many of them are on the list?
he wondered before pushing his way through the crowd.

“Wiggen?”

Forbish tapped on his daughter’s door timidly.  The usual hour of her rising had passed, but he had let her sleep late on purpose.  There were only two guests staying at the inn, and Josie was now back at work and could handle the morning chores easily enough.  Besides, what he had to tell Wiggen would be hard, and he was putting it off as long as he could.  He knew he had to tell her what he’d found out the night before, but
how
?  How does a father tell his only daughter, a daughter who had been through so much already, that the young man she loved was dead?

“Wiggen?” he called softly, cracking the door and peering into her room.  She rustled beneath the blankets of her bed, hair tousled, eyes blinking away sleep as they peeked over the thick down comforter.

“What?  Oh!”  She noticed the angle of the sun coming through her window and instantly sat up.  “I’m sorry, Father.  I just didn’t wake up, I guess.  Why didn’t you wake me?

“Because I wanted to let you sleep, Wiggen.”  He entered the room and shut the door quietly behind him.  “I’ve got something to tell you, Honey, and I don’t know where to start.”  He stood there wringing his hands, not knowing whether he should just blurt it out, or if there was some way he could break the news more gently.

“It’s about Lad, isn’t it?”  Her voice was cold, her hands clenched white on the blankets.

“Yes.  It’s about Lad.”  He stepped over to the bed and sat at the foot, his broad hand covering hers on the blanket.  “The man I talked to last night said he knew who had taken him.”

“
Who
?” Wiggen asked, eyes wide.

“He wouldn’t tell me.  Not for any amount of money.”

“What?  Why not?  Why wouldn’t he?”

“He was afraid, Wiggen.”  Forbish hadn’t really realized that fact until he said it.  Hensen was terrified of whoever had taken Lad, and that was enough to terrify Forbish.  “He is a very powerful man, powerful in ways that have nothing to do with law or royalty.  The people he works for have their fingers in every gambling hall, tavern, brothel and shipping business in the city, and they don’t scare easy.”

“So why was he scared, if he is so powerful?”

“Because there are people who are even more powerful, more ruthless...”  Forbish sighed and gripped his daughter’s hand.  “He had a portrait of Lad, Wiggen.  This other bunch of...  of people were looking for him, and they were paying a lot of people to help them look.”

“And they found him, didn’t they?”  Her voice quivered, shaking with the horror of what he was telling her, but he couldn’t lie to her.  She had to know the truth.

“Yes, Wiggen.  They found him, and they took him.”

“But he knows!  This man knows who it was!” she snapped accusatively.  “We can tell the constables, and they can
make
him tell who took Lad.  They can get him back!”

“No, Wiggen.  We can’t tell anyone what we think happened to Lad, and I’ll tell you exactly why.”

“But Father, I --”

“I know, Wiggen, but listen.  Just listen.”  He took another deep breath.  “The people who took Lad are killers.  Maybe they’re the same ones who threaten us, maybe not.  I don’t know, but I
do
know that they won’t hesitate for a moment to kill anyone and everyone who tries to interfere with them.  They killed Tam because he went to the authorities, and they hurt you because I was going to go to the Duke’s Guard.  If we tell anyone about Lad, neither of us will live another day.”

“But what about Lad?”  Tears hovered in the crescents of her eyes, held back by sheer will.  She wouldn’t cry for him; he could see her holding it back.  Crying would be admitting he was gone.

“I don’t know, Wiggen.”  Forbish shook his head in sorrow.  He knew Lad was as good as dead, but maybe there was a chance he could get away from these murderers.  “Lad’s an amazing young man, Honey.  We know he was made to be a killer, and it’s my bet that they plan to use him for that.  But they never intended him to get away from his master.  He’s not as blind as they wanted him to be.  He won’t do their killing for them.  If he has a chance, he’ll get away from them.”

“Or they’ll kill him.”  Her lip trembled with the words, her voice cracking with pain.

“They might if they can’t control him, which is one more reason we have to stay quiet about all this.  If they find out Lad cares about you, they’ll use you to get to him.”

“But what do we do?”  One tear escaped, but she wiped it away before it could make its track halfway down her scarred cheek.  “We can’t just leave him!”

“We can’t do anything, Wiggen.  I’m sorry.”  She tore her hand out of his grasp and rolled over, shutting him out.  Her breath was deep and ragged, but still she would not cry.  Still, she wouldn’t let him go.  “I’m sorry.”

Mya descended the stairs from the Grandfather’s private rooms in a rush, her stomach knotting on her breakfast and her jaw clenched so tightly that her head pounded with her racing pulse.  This was
not
what she had hoped it would be, that much was certain.  The boy had performed flawlessly, eliminating both targets he’d been told to kill the night before just as easily as the one the first night, but so far her job had been nothing more than giving instructions that the Grandfather had worked out to the most minute detail months ago.  She had done no reconnaissance, no investigation, no tracking...  no
hunting
at all!  She should have known that the intended targets had been well researched ahead of time; he’d been planning this for
years
!  Now she was nothing but a baby-sitter!