Clean Sweep

I brought a cup of Lemon Zinger to Caldenia. She accepted it with a nod.



"We could try an armor-piercing round," Sean said.



"If I may." Caldenia stirred her tea. "You're asking the wrong questions."



"And what would be the right question, Your Grace?" Arland asked.



"Have any of you ever hired an assassin?" Caldenia raised her teacup to her lips, holding it with her long fingers. Her nails, manicured and carefully shaped, still resembled claws.



"No," Arland said.



Sean shook his head.



"A messy business. If you do hire one for something sensitive, then you have to have him killed, and then you have to get someone else to kill the killer... It's like dominoes. There is no end to it." Caldenia shrugged. "A good assassin always keeps insurance. Some sort of token, some evidence that will permit him to threaten his employer should he find himself in danger of being eliminated, which aforementioned employer, if he is smart, should definitely attempt."



"It's a Catch-22," Sean said.



"A dilemma," Caldenia said. "Most employers seek to eliminate the assassin after the job is completed, and most assassins, predictably, wish to remain alive. With that in mind, ask yourself why is the dahaka here?"



"I don't follow." Arland frowned.



"Why hasn't he returned to his planet, filled with other dahakas?"



"We don't know if it's a he," I murmured.



"Always assign a gender to an adversary," Caldenia said. "It keeps you from thinking you're dealing with a dumb animal. Why does he remain here on a neutral world, risking discovery, when he could be enjoying the fruits of his labor on his own planet where he is untouchable?"



Good question. "Perhaps he can't go home? Maybe he's banished, but even then, he should be moving on, not hanging around."



Caldenia nodded and glanced at Arland. "Remind me, what happens when a craft enters the atmosphere of your particular planet?"



"The procedure is the same for all six planets in the Holy Anocracy," Arland said. "The orbital defenses challenge the craft, which then transmits a passcode by means of a House crest. As the craft descends into the territory of a particular House, the air defenses challenge it in turn. Again, the crest transmits a passcode. For example, we temporarily permitted members of House Gron to enter our atmosphere for the week it took to attend the wedding festivities."



Oh no. "Can the House crest be duplicated?" I asked.



"No. It's genetically coded to each ranking member of the House and it evolves with the deeds of the bearer. It's a communication unit, an emergency power supply, and many other things. A vampire would never part with..."



Caldenia smiled at her tea.



Arland fell silent. "I'm an idiot."



"The dahaka has a House crest," Sean guessed.



"That's the only way he could have passed through the House air defenses. We thought he was smuggled in, but we couldn't find any record of a ship returning or taking off in the specific window of the murder. Of course, if he had a crest, we wouldn't know. The transmissions from House crests work like a key: they unlock the safe passage, but there is no record of which ones are activated when."



"Seems like a security oversight," Sean said.



"We don't like to be tracked. If the dahaka has a crest, he could've dropped into the wilderness, walked out, killed my aunt, and taken off again."



Muscles flexed along Arland's frame. He looked like a cat about to pounce. His eyes shone with red. "To sink so low as to let an outsider have possession of your crest. It is akin to a violation of the House. Whoever did it had to be desperate."



"That's right," Caldenia said. "You are finally thinking in the right direction."



"He still has it," Arland snarled. "He still has the crest or he couldn't have left the planet."



"If you get ahold of it, would you know who it belongs to?" Sean asked.



"Yes."



Arland flashed his fangs and I felt an urge to move back. Beast snarled under my chair. There it was, the real vampire. An unstoppable, furious killer. That's what made them so good at war. If they didn't fight between themselves so much, they could've conquered their corner of the galaxy a long time ago.



"On Earth when we hire contractors, we pay them half up front," I said. "And half later, when the job is done."



"We have the same practice," Arland said.



"So if he still has the House crest...," I began.



"He's waiting for the owner to come and pick it up," Sean said. "The crest is his insurance. He trades it for the rest of the money and departs. That's why he's hanging around here. He can't go home because the vampires won't follow him there and he wants his money."



"And he can't stay in the Holy Anocracy, because any dahaka sighted would be instantly detained," Arland said. "Whose crest does he have, that is the question. Is it Gron or is it Krahr?"



Caldenia leaned forward, her face suddenly sharp. "Think. Think about your uncle."



Arland's eyes narrowed. "The dahaka wanted to kill him. Why...? It couldn't be a kill of conquest. The dahaka had already bested my uncle and had nothing to prove. It couldn't be a trophy hunt, because being an assassin requires discipline beyond collecting trophies and nothing was taken from my aunt's body. The dahaka kills for money."



The pieces clicked in my head. I glanced at Caldenia. "Bonus."



She nodded.



Arland paced. "The dahaka would be paid extra for my uncle. Soren was a specific target. If a third party wanted to drive a wedge between Krahr and Gron, they had already succeeded. Why pay extra for my uncle? For the same reason, if Gron was responsible for the murder, killing Soren makes no sense. He is pro-Gron and he stands firmly with me and the leadership of the House, but he isn't the main policy maker. If someone from Gron wanted Soren eliminated for personal reasons, they would've challenged him directly. There is no honor in assassination."



Arland stared into space. I could almost feel his brain straining.



"If Soren is removed, his assets and control of his troops pass to Renadra. She's young and doesn't have the seniority, so under normal circumstances she would likely support whatever decision the leadership of the House makes, but she also adores her father, so if he were killed and Gron were blamed, she would seek retribution. Her maternal grandmother is the Blood Archimandrite of the Crimson Abbey. Before the war between Gron and Krahr could begin, the Pact has to be broken. It takes a dispensation from a high knight of the church to dissolve a Pact of Brotherhood. Renadra's grandmother would qualify. Renadra is the only female grandchild she has and she is very fond of her. She would grant her this favor. The Archimandrite would bless this war."



"Would Gron know this?" Sean asked.



"No." Arland's voice was quiet and vicious. "They wouldn't."



"You know who it is," Caldenia said, her voice confidential, persuasive. "You've avoided the answer because it's painful to contemplate. The person is a relative, a friend. But you've seen the signs, the small things, the whispers of discontent, the wrong expression on someone's face. Let it come to you. You can't prove it, but this isn't about proving it, it's about knowing it."



Arland stared at her. His eyes glowed with pure, intense red, like the eyes of a nightmarish jungle cat staring from the gloom at the intruder into his territory. The hairs on the back of my neck rose.



"The dahaka is expecting to be paid," Arland said. "The traitor won't have his crest, but he can send a code that would make the crest respond. So can I. That's how we find our dead."



Caldenia nodded. "There is hope for you yet, my boy."



"What if I am wrong?"



She shrugged. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained. But do be right."



"It's still only the two of us against him and his stalkers," Sean said.



"Three," I told him.



The vampire and werewolf stared at me with an identical expression on their faces.



"No," Sean said.



"Absolutely not," Arland agreed. "You are at your weakest away from the inn."



"Then don't let him lure you too far from the inn," I said. "You will need me."



"Dina, it will take the two of us to keep him occupied," Sean said quietly. "The stalkers will be swarming us. Arland's wearing armor and I have enhanced regeneration. You have neither. They will key on you and there is not a lot I can do about it."



"I might have something that will help with stalkers," I said. "Depending on how much money I can pool together."



"House Krahr is not without means," Arland said.



"I'll let you know if I exhaust my own."



Arland nodded. "If we are to lure the dahaka, we'll need someplace secluded, away from witnesses and with room to move, but not too far from the inn."



"There's a field behind her orchard." Sean said. "It's secluded and hidden by the trees from all sides."



"Yes, it used to be a horse pasture a long time ago. The fence is gone, but I keep the grass mowed," I said. "How do you know about it?"



"I've mapped your entire property," Sean said. "It's in my territory."



Of course.



Arland rose. "I would like to examine this pasture."



"I'll come with you," Sean said.



Good idea. There was no telling where Arland would end up if left to his own devices.



The vampire headed to the door. Sean stopped by my chair. "I don't want you to get hurt."



"I appreciate your concern."



He frowned. "We need to talk about this. In private."



"I'm going shopping in half an hour or so. You're welcome to join me."