Weapon of Blood (23 page)

Norwood’s anger abated at the tremor in the
guardsman’s voice.  He’d just lost his partner, probably a close friend.  And
if the man’s account was accurate, his friend may have died from some kind of
curse.  Corporal Nix was rightfully shaken, but Norwood needed more details. 

“Nobody’s touched the bodies since?”

“No, sir!  We just blocked off the alley
and sent for the captain.”

“And when I learned the details, and that
there might be magic involved, I sent messengers for you and the duke’s
wizard.”

“Rightly so, Captain.”

Norwood stepped closer and peered down at
the woman.  There was no blood, or at least, none that the rain hadn’t washed
away.  The split lip was not scabbed, and there was no bruising, so she’d
probably been beaten right before she died.  But had the beating killed her? 
Most beating victims were found curled up, trying to protect themselves from
their assailants, but this woman seemed to have been staring straight up at her
attacker, with a wide-eyed expression of surprise on her face rather than a
grimace of pain.  In his experience, these elements didn’t support the idea
that she’d been beaten to death.

“So, Corporal, your partner approached,
reached down to touch the victim, then died.”

“Well, first he poked her with his stick,
sir,” the corporal said.  “To make sure she wasn’t…um…well, to make sure she
was dead-dead, you know.”

Norwood nodded absently.  Legends of the
walking dead were still alive among Twailin’s superstitious lower classes, even
though it had been decades since the last of the necromancers had been rooted
out and put to the torch.

“Give me your truncheon, Sergeant.”

Tamir lifted the two-foot length of
hardwood from his belt and handed it over.  The stick was heavy, weighted with
lead to give it more stopping power.

“Shouldn’t we wait for the duke’s
wizard?” the City Guard captain asked.

“It’ll take Master Woefler hours to get
here.  Don’t worry, Captain.  If I drop dead, you can tell the duke I said it
was my own fault.”

“You bet your sweet pension I will,
Captain Norwood.”  The man folded his arms and took a long step back, glowering
his disapproval.

Warily, Norwood tried to turn the woman’s
head with the tip of the stick, and found that rigor mortis had stiffened her
neck enough that he couldn’t. 
More than a few hours dead
, he thought. 
He had noted only one rat bite on the corpse, and assumed that she had died not
too long ago.  Curious now, he looked her over carefully.  A fleck of black on
her neck contrasted starkly with her pale, waxy skin.  He’d thought was a bit
of detritus or soot until he considered her sodden clothing. 
Odd that the
rain didn’t wash that away
.  Norwood leaned in for a closer look.

“Ah, sir, do you think that’s wise?”

Ignoring Tamir’s warning, Norwood saw
that the fleck wasn’t dirt at all, but a tiny tuft of feathers.  He drew his
dagger and poked the tuft with the tip, but it remained stuck to the woman’s
neck.  Delicately, trying to not touch the woman’s bare skin in case she did
bear some kind of curse, he pinched the tuft between thumb and finger and
pulled.  A dart the length of the last two joints of his index finger slid out
of the sheath of flesh.  The dart’s shaft shone black in the dim morning light,
its tip beveled and hollow.

“Well, I don’t know how your man died,
Captain, but this woman was poisoned, or I’m a court jester.”  He held up the
dart for them to see.  “Got an evidence bottle, Tam?”

“Right here, sir.”  Tamir held out a
small glass jar.  Norwood dropped the dart into it, and the sergeant stoppered
it and sealed it with a smear of soft wax.

“That goes to Woefler.  He knows every
alchemist in the city.  Depending on what kind of poison was used, we could
potentially track down the supplier and maybe find out who killed her.  It may
not put a dent in the violence, but it’s a start.  The duke has been pressing
for progress on this.”  He turned back to the corporal.  “So, your partner
poked her with his stick.  What next?”

“He reached down and lifted her arm to
see how stiff she was.  Then, like I said, he gave a little yelp, like, and
snatched his hand back.  Then he turned to me with a strange look on his face,
took one step, gasped, and fell flat, just like you see him.”

“Which hand did he touch her with?”

“Uh, his right, I think, sir.”

The man had collapsed without even trying
to break his fall, sprawled with his hands palm up at his sides.  Norwood
examined his right hand, moving the fingers with the tip of his dagger, still
wary of some type of magic.  The constable had died less than two hours ago, so
his fingers were still pliant.  In the center of his palm, a single spot of
blood caught the captain’s eye.  It had not yet rained this morning, so the hand
hadn’t been washed clean.  Norwood scraped the edge of his dagger across the
man’s palm, shaving away the clotted blood.  There, barely visible, a tiny
pinprick marred the tough callus.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”  Norwood stood
and sheathed his dagger.  “Where did he grab her?”

“I don’t really remember, sir.  I think
he just grabbed her hand to see if her fingers had gone stiff.”

Norwood peered at the dead woman’s hand,
and spied a ring on her index finger.  Using Tamir’s truncheon to lift her
thumb out of the way, he saw the long needle set into the underside of the
ring.

“Have a look, Captain.  Your man was
murdered by a dead woman.  The ring on her finger has a needle on the underside
that was undoubtedly poisoned.  Whoever killed her with that dart also used
poison.  It seems pretty clear that we’re dealing with professionals here.”

“Professionals.  You mean assassins.”

The captain’s tone was hard, but Norwood
could hear the underlying fear, and couldn’t blame the man.  He considered
telling him what he had learned from his midnight visitor about the source of
the violence, but didn’t want the entire City Guard to know.  No, he’d keep
that information to himself for the time being.  Better to stick with hints for
now.

“Yes, I mean assassins, Captain.  This
murder is a puzzle, more sophisticated than most, and poses some interesting
questions.  Who killed the killer, and who was the killer supposed to kill? 
Either she didn’t succeed, or someone took that body away.”  He scratched his
stubbled jaw and sighed.  “I’ll be interested to hear what Master Woefler
thinks of this scene.”

“But you said they were both poisoned.  Do
we still need to bring the wizard in?”

“As I said, Master Woefler knows every
alchemist in the city.  Besides, just because they were poisoned doesn’t mean
magic is out of the question.”  Norwood gave the captain a thin smile.

“Master Woefler’s welcome to look all he
wants, Captain Norwood, and good luck to him.”  The City Guard captain nodded
to his men.  “We’ll share anything we find out from the pub owner and his
staff, of course.”

“Thank you, Captain.”  Norwood turned and
headed out of the alley, Tamir at his side.  Pointing to the bottle containing
the dart, he said, “Give that to Master Woefler first thing, Tam, and don’t
forget to tell him about the poisoned ring.  I’d hate to have him drop dead,
too.”

“You want me to stay here and help him, I
suppose.”  Tamir didn’t sound happy about the arrangement.

“Is there a problem with that, Sergeant?”

“No problem, sir.”

“Good.”

“I just wonder why you hate me so much.”

Norwood couldn’t suppress a smile as he
boarded his carriage and ordered the driver to take him to his office.

Hensen looked up as the door to the
breakfast room opened, smiling at his assistant as she strode gracefully in,
blue dress glittering in the morning sun, ledger in hand.  A complex coif left
tendrils of hair curling down the nape of her exquisite neck.

Lovely
…

“Since you are alive and looking quite
beautiful this morning, I venture a guess that last night’s operation was a
success.”  He speared a tiny bit of sausage and popped it into his mouth.

“Yes, sir.  Lad is still alive.”  She
curtsied at his compliment in a manner that showed off her new dress nicely. 
“I had to intervene, so he undoubtedly knows someone is protecting him, but he
lives.”

“So, Sereth’s information was accurate?”

“Perfectly accurate.  My people located
the teams of assassins before Lad even left the inn.  I waited until he came
out, saw which direction he took, then made sure I got there before him.”

“So, he knows someone is protecting
him.”  Hensen sipped his tea and narrowed his eyes at her.  “Did he see you?”

“No, sir.  I stayed behind the roof edge,
and left immediately after I shot the assassin.”

“How do you know you were successful if
you didn’t stay around?”

Kiesha shrugged away his concern.  “I
don’t miss, sir.  Besides, I couldn’t tarry and risk a chase.  I’d have lost. 
Our operatives watching the
Tap and Kettle
reported that Lad returned
home safe, and all was quiet for the rest of the night.”

Hensen smiled, picturing the puzzled
expression that must have crossed that sweet young man’s face after Kiesha’s
life-saving intervention.  “Good.  Let him wonder who his mysterious guardian
is.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hensen sipped his tea and smiled at his
beautiful assistant.  “You’ve done quite well.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And this confirms that Sereth is being
forthright with us, despite his recent obstinacy.”

“It does, sir.”

“And the dress is quite lovely.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Continue to keep both Mya and Lad under
observation and alive, but keep our people hidden.  If any of our operatives
feel that they have been spotted, they are to retreat, and under
no
circumstances are they to allow themselves to be captured.  We can’t allow anyone
to track them back to us.”

“Of course, sir.”

Hensen sipped his tea and ate a few more
bites of breakfast while he considered the next step.  Kiesha stood and waited
patiently; she was well-trained.

“Send a message to Sereth.  Thank him for
this information, and tell him to inform us immediately of any other plots
against Master Hunter Mya or her bodyguard.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Also, contact our operative at the
Golden
Cockerel
.  I’d like to know if Mya has sent any letters to Tsing yet.”

“Yes, sir.”  Kiesha made a note in her
ledger.

“Excellent.”  Hensen ate the last of his
sausage and wiped his mouth with his silk-embroidered napkin.  “So, what else is
on the agenda for today?”

“We received a report from our operatives
assigned to investigate Baron Patino.”  Kiesha placed a single sheet of
parchment beside his plate.  “It would appear that our benefactor is who and
what he says he is.”

“Hmm, yes.”  Hensen read the document
carefully.  “Third generation nobility, ample funds, and three country
estates.  Well, he can certainly
afford
to contract us.”

“Yes, sir.”

The report also stated that the baron
paid his taxes, liked to socialize, had two mistresses who didn’t know about
one another, though his wife knew about both of them, and had no known
affiliation with any element of organized crime.  This meant one of two things:
either he was extremely subtle in his underworld business transactions, or he
was a front for some yet unknown person interested in the Assassins Guild.

“I want him kept under surveillance, but
at a distance.  And find out who handles his correspondence.  If Patino is
indeed as innocent as he appears to be, it could be an underling sending out
letters and embezzling funds under the good baron’s nose without his
knowledge.”

“Very good, sir.”  Kiesha scratched
another note in her ledger, then handed him an envelope.  “This for you
specifically, sir.  It’s been examined.”