Vaughn Heppner - Assassin of the Damned

“My guards will hear whatever you do.”

“Now you threaten me?” I asked.

“I just want you to have all the facts.”

I tapped her cheek again. I liked the way it made her flinch. “This knife is all the facts you need, milady. Now…tell me. How is this army supposed to take the Tower of the East?”

“Signor Hawkwood has sent messengers back to Milan. He wants siege engines.”

“How will these engines cross the lake?”

“You’ve seen the tower?” she asked.

“You mean you haven’t?”

“Erasmo’s magic guards against mine. We’ve sent scouts, but none has returned. If you’ve seen the tower, you need to speak to Signor Hawkwood. You can tell us what to expect.”

“I expect Ofelia to show up sooner or later,” I said. “What exactly does she see in the pendant?”

“Have you spoken with the Moon Lady lately? I truly believe it would be in your best interest. You shouldn’t let Lorelei guide you. She doesn’t understand all the complications. The Moon Lady can-”

As the priestess spoke, I sheathed the deathblade and drew the knife I’d picked up from a dead octo-man. I pricked the tip under her chin, made her arch.

“You talk too much,” I said.

“I know you need silk,” she whispered, “enough to make a really long rope.”

I kept the pressure under her chin.

“I have old weapons,” she said. “Ones a former Darkling used. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“How would you know that?”

“I have a chest. It’s over there. I can open it for you.”

“Why do you think I need a rope?”

“The Moon Lady told me.”

“What else is in the chest?”

“Tools of former Darklings,” she said.

“And you’ll simply give them to me?”

“I’m bargaining for my life, aren’t I?”

I wondered if they feared Erasmo and his trumpet more than my being free. The Moon Lady must understand that this army had no chance of breaking into the Tower of the East. I removed the knife.

The priestess felt under her chin and rubbed her fingers together as if testing if I’d made her bleed.

I thrust a robe at her and realized she couldn’t see it. Or she was a wonderful actress. I pressed the robe onto her.

She slid it under the blanket, wriggled into it and then drew back the covers. “Can I light a candle?”

“You know where the chest is,” I said. “Crawl to it.”

She did crawl, felt around. When she finally knelt at a small bronze chest, she frowned, with her hands on top of it.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I forgot where I put the key. Isn’t that silly?”

I found the deathblade in my hand. This woman was a viper. She could strike in an instant, or maybe she simply played for time, hoping for Ofelia or others to show up. I sheathed the knife and looked around for rope.

“I suppose I’ll need a candle after all. Oh!” she said.

I swung her arms behind her back and lashed her wrists tight. She opened her mouth at my command and I stuffed in a wadded cloth. I gagged her, lashed her feet and laid her out on a rug. Anger colored her cheeks. She stared with concentration. I suspected she listened hard.

I wondered then if this was a subtler trick than I realized. Maybe she wanted me to open the chest. Maybe that was the point. Out of it would spring…something deadly, something to trap me. I inspected the chest. It was bronze, with bronze hinges. Odd engravings decorated it. The lock seemed intricate. I doubt I could force it open. An axe would dent it before it broke, and that would make a din. I needed the key.

She knew where it was. She might tell me if I knocked her around, but that might prove too noisy. Maybe I could just carry it out. No. I would look like a thief hunched over with that.

I searched the tent and discovered a small iron pin.

The priestess made “hmmm, hmmm,” noises.

I knelt by the chest and inserted the pin. I felt tumblers through it. Click, click-snap! I grinned, removed the pin and made ready to lift the lid. A premonition warned me. I hesitated. Then I shifted around to behind the chest and raised the lid.

Pfft! Something sharp flew out. Thunk! It hit a tent pole. I crept to the pole. There was a tiny dart. A foul-smelling green poison stained the wood. I glanced at the priestess.

She lay perfectly still, with her eyes wide and as she listened intently. I had crept to the pole. I crept back to the chest. I suppose she waited for a body to thump to the ground. I lifted the lid. The hinges were soundless. I saw a coil of silk rope. The strand was fine, too fine for a man to climb. I took it out. It was of lightweight.

“Hmmm, hmmm?” she mumbled. And she squirmed.

I let her squirm. It might be interesting to see what she would do.

There was a silver case. I took it out and raised the lid. There were metal bars inside that seemed designed to hook together. There were also three…they looked like crossbow bolts. I found a bag with little contraptions that made no sense. I found another case that had a long, thin pipe in three sections. Maybe fifteen puff-tipped darts like the one in the tent pole lay in tiny rows. A vial of green liquid was there, too. A blowpipe and poison darts-just what a Darkling needed. Lastly was a belt with the strangest device attached. It had a long handle and a spindle. I had no idea what its purpose was. Maybe I could figure it out later.

The priestess had worm-crawled and rolled three-quarters of the way to the entrance before I intercepted her.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She stiffened with fright.

“I survived your little trap,” I whispered.

I carried her to the cot and lashed her to it. It would take her time to free herself from that.

“Hmmm, hmmm, hmmm,” she said.

I patted the top of her head. “Yes,” I said, “I’m making a dreadful mistake. I’m sure there’re a dozen more lies you would like to tell me. And I know you’ll repay me horribly for these indignities.”

She shook her head. “Hmmm, hmmm.”

“You’re very earnest, and convincing. Here, lift your head so I can untie your gag.”

Relief showed in her eyes. She lifted her head.

As she did so, I went to the edge of her tent. I heard a commotion outside, shouting. It sounded like Ofelia argued with a guard. Before anyone entered the tent, I rolled outside.

I strolled to the inner palisade with my loot of ancient tools. I climbed it and motioned to several crossbowmen. They hurried to me. I clouted each with a small bag filled with sand and laid them down on the rampart. A gong rang then, an alarm. Guards began to shout.

“He’s on the wall!” Ofelia cried. “I see him.”

I had time to watch crossbowmen aim. Then I dropped over the palisade and began to stroll through the main camp.

Loud rumbles shook the Tower of the East. It sounded like an angry storm cloud. Strange lights flickered above the fortress. Did this mean that Erasmo had finally begun his Grand Conjuration?

The previous night, I’d examined my new Darkling tools. Each presently rested in a sealskin bag, wedged among cloth so they wouldn’t clink and give me away. There were sounds of battle from the distant causeway, while in the surrounding jungle altered men and a lycanthrope searched for someone, likely me.

I’d climbed a giant jungle tree. It was a massive old thing. It must have grown for hundreds of years. It made me wonder how Erasmo had put the jungle around Venice, or the ruins of dead Venice. There simply wasn’t enough time for the trees to have naturally grown this large. I climbed like a shadow, and I pondered the problem. I think the answer was that Erasmo had transported the entire jungle. The warm water, the crocodiles…those came from a hot clime. They were unnatural for ruined Venice.