No Rest for the Wicked: Part Fifteen

Something unpleasantly like a red-hot poker brushed Lady Sylvia's ribs, as the brave brunette placed herself between the knife-man and her brother. She heard someone scream, and felt hot blood soak her blouse. A punch to the jaw of the man sent him to the ground, where a couple of burly locals sat on him.

"Sylv!" Lord Ambrose grabbled his sister's arms, looking down at the spreading bloodstain on her front.

"Is this involved enough, bro?" she smiled proudly, her eyes looking up into his. "Tell you what, if you win this one, I'll even come down to the House for your maiden speech...." Her eyelids flickered, and she passed out in his arms.

Sparrowhawk, kneeling on a parapet not three feet away, muttered a curse. She could see Ms. Madison across the street, turning away from the scene she had been too late to prevent taking place.

"It happened before," she told Ms. Madison at the back of the railway station later. "Then it was a councillor. His wife was killed protecting him, and after the case was dismissed, he left the area. He was later found dead. The coroner reprted it as suicide, and the worst part is that he might have been right."

"Okay," Ms. Madison shrugged, "so there's something sinister going on here. Lady Sylvia's not dead, and it was her brother who was the target, anyway. The Green Man's watching over Lord Ambrose, and Sylvia's at Greyminster Park, where she can be properly guarded. The police have had to take this seriously, and the county constabulary aren't a part of this. More, on the strength of this, Lord Ambrose is bound to be the opposition candidate. Where do we fit in?"

"That's easy." Beneath her mask, Sparrowhawk's blue eyes narrowed. "We do what we should have done a long time ago."

"Single out the most plausible leaders and kill them?" Ms. Madison looked confused.

"Tempting but risky," Sparrowhawk smiled dangerously. "No, Lynette. "We go back to the source of all this. We go back to Tollholme Priory."

The gleam in Sparrowhawk's eyes was that of the moonlight on the brass plate of a coffin.