by Steven Brust
"Yeah. Me, too."
I left Morrolan and Aliera there and walked around the deck until I found Cawti. She was studying the ocean ahead as I'd been watching behind. There was even more spray here; heavy droplets instead of a fine mist. Night was sneaking up behind day, ready to strike.
"You seem not to trust your friend," she said.
"I don't."
"Then why did you bring him along?"
"If they aren't playing some kind of game, then I owe him."
"I see. You always pay your debts, don't you, Vlad?"
"I detect a note of irony in your voice."
She gave me no answer.
"You rescued me," I said after a while.
"Did you doubt we would?"
"I didn't know you could. I didn't know Loiosh would be able to cross that much water."
"It must have been hard for you."
"Not as hard as—" I stopped, studied my fingernails, and said, "It wasn't that bad."
She nodded, still not looking at me.
I said, "I'm glad the revolution could spare you for a few days."
"Don't be snide."
I bit my lip. "I hadn't actually intended that the way it sounded."
She nodded again. There was a splash off to the left. Probably more orca, but I'd missed them. She spoke softly, so I could hardly hear her over the creaking and wind.
"I watch the passing hours dress
Themselves in robes of twilight grey,
And sit here, pale and powerless
To halt the ending of the day.
A bitter tale it seemed to me
Who thought my lesson fully learned
To open wounds I deemed to be
Unfairly dealt, not truly earned.
But tomorrow we begin again
To open veins for words to say:
Enlightenment through common pain,
Dressed in robes of twilight grey."
After an interval of tossing ship and breaking waves I said, "Sounds Eastern."
"It's mine."
I looked at her. She didn't move. I said, "I didn't know you wrote poetry."
"There's a great deal that—no. Sorry. It came to me a few nights ago, as I was sitting there, worried about you.
Or maybe wondering if I should be more worried about you; I don't know which."
"A bitter tale," I agreed. "What does it mean?"
She shrugged. "How should I know?"
"You wrote it."
"Yes. Well, if there was something buried in it that I was trying to say, I don't know what it is."
"Let me know if you get any ideas."
The corner of her mouth twitched.
I watched the ocean do its ocean stuff some more. Up and down, and across, going nowhere. That kind of thing.
"I'm trying," said Cawti, "to think of something deep and philosophical to say about waves, but I'm not having any luck."
"You'll find something."
She shook her head. "No, but I ought to. About how they start somewhere, and keep coming closer, then they move you around and keep going, but we don't know what causes them, or where they come from, or, well, something like that."
"Mmmm."
"You made a lot of waves, didn't you, Vlad?"
"Are you speaking in general or in specific?"
"Both, I guess. No, in specific."
"Do you mean the whole business of the last few months, with the Organization, and the Empire, and your friend Kelly?"
"Yes."
"Yeah, I guess I made a lot of waves. I didn't have much choice."
"I suppose not."
"I wonder what Herth is up to."
"Word is, he's happily retired on what you gave him for South Adrilankha."
"South Adrilankha," I repeated. "The Easterners' ghetto."
"Yes."
"And now I'm the one who runs it."
"Not all of it."
"No. Just the illegal parts."
"Going to clean it up?"
"Do I detect a note of irony in your voice?"
"A note? No. A symphony, perhaps."
"You don't think I can, or you don't think I will?"
"I don't think you can."
"Who's to stop me?"
After perhaps a minute she said, "What do you mean, clean it up? Just what illegal activities do you intend to continue?"
"The ones they want. I'll make sure the gambling is fair, that the whorehouses are clean and the tags are treated well, that the loans are at reasonable rates, that—"
"How can gambling be fair for people who can't afford to gamble at all? How much does it help to give fair treatment to people who are selling their bodies? What is a reasonable loan rate to someone who has gone into debt because he lost everything at one of your tables, and how will you collect from those who can't pay?"
I shrugged. "It's going to go on, anyway. I'll be better than anyone else."
"I think I've made my point."
"I can't solve all the problems of the whole world. And neither can your friend Kelly, however much he thinks he can."
"Have you been paying attention lately? Haven't you seen it?"
"Seen what? Parades of Teckla through the streets? People in parks shouting at each other about things they already agree with? Posters that say—"
"And now there are Phoenix Guards watching them, Vlad. And I mean Phoenix Guards—not Teckla put into cloaks and given spears. That means they're scared, Vlad, and it means they don't dare use conscripts. Do you think maybe they know something you don't? Three weeks ago, even two weeks ago, none of that was going on except in South Adrilankha. Now you even see some of it on Lower Kieron. At this rate, what's going to happen in another two weeks? Another two months?"
"In my opinion, not much."
"I'm aware that you think so. But perhaps—"
"No, I don't want to argue about your damned revolution."
She shrugged "You brought it up."
"Can we talk about us?"
"Yes," she said, but I found I didn't have anything clever to say after that.
The ship plunged, the waves broke around it, to re-form in our wake as if we'd never been. I wanted to say something deep and philosophical about that, but nothing came to mind.
"I'm going to get some sleep," I said. "If Aibynn starts drumming, throw him overboard." I shifted with the waves until I found the tiny ladder that led to the area below the deck. I found a place to stretch out, located a blanket, and let the ship rock me to sleep.
It must have been about ten hours later that the same rocking woke me up. I stumbled up the ladder, banged my shoulder against something metal that some idiot had fastened to the wall (I think it was a hinge), scraped my shin when my feet slipped on the ladder, and made it onto the deck. Morrolan was still where I'd left him. The orange-red sky was hidden by low grey clouds, and the wind was vicious indeed. Morrolan's cloak whipped about him in a frenzy of romantic appeal. I was still wearing the shapeless robe I'd been given while imprisoned, or I'd have been romantic, too. Sure. I made my way along the railing until I was next to him.
"Rough sea," I said, almost shouting above the roar of water and wind and creaking wood. He nodded. I looked around, suddenly thinking how flimsy the ship was. I said, "Anything unnatural about the weather?" He gave me a funny look. "Why do you ask?"
"Tell you the truth, I don't know. Is there?" He shook his head.
Loiosh landed on my shoulder. "Think we 're in for a storm?" I asked him.
"How should I know ?"
"I thought animals had instincts about that kind of thing."
"Heh."
"What do you make of friend Aibynn?"
"I don't know, boss. He's funny.
"Yeah."
I checked the time through my link to the Orb, found out it was well before noon, but long past when I usually break my fast, and realized I was hungry. I started to ask Morrolan about food when it hit me. "I have my link to the Orb again."
; He nodded. Talkative son of a bitch.
"When did it happen?"
"During the night sometime."
"Well, that's a relief."
"Yes."
"What about food?"
"There's bread and cheese and whitefruit and dried kethna below."
"That'll do. Couldn't we just teleport home from here?"
"Go ahead. I'm in no hurry."
"If we run into a storm—"
"I've decided that we won't."
"Ah. Never mind, then."
I went below again, found the food, and did appropriate things with it.
As the next day's dawn spilled an orangish tint on the sea to our right, the city of Adrilankha peered down from the Whitecrest Hills and spread her port and docks like a lap to receive us. The sailors gave us, and Morrolan in particular, ugly looks, because they knew he'd managed the winds that had brought us home so quickly, and Orca, I've learned, believe that if one conjures fair winds, nature will respond with a storm as soon as she can manage it. Perhaps they're right. But Adrilankha, staring down at us like a great white bird, the cliffs her wings and her head the great manor of the Lyorn Daro, Countess of Whitecrest, didn't seem to care. Neither did I, for that matter.
As we passed Beacon Rock, the crew raised a bucket of water from the sea and spilled it on the deck, a ritual I've always wondered about, since I'm told that Adrilankha is the only port at which it is performed. They went through it mechanically, then prepared ropes and did other sailor things that I understood no better than I had the last time I saw them.
But I wasn't really watching then. Aliera was next to me, Morrolan next to her, with Aibynn on my other side, and Cawti a little further away. Loiosh was on my right shoulder. I wondered what was passing through their minds as the city grew before us, one building at a time: the Old Castle, where the Three Barons had practiced their strange magics during an Athyra reign a few cycles ago; Michaa-gu's, perhaps the best restaurant in the Empire except for Valabar's; the Wine Exchange, fat and brown, built of stone that plunged deep into the hill.
And behind them, the city. Or, rather, the cities, for we had each our own: Aliera and Morrolan, who didn't live there, knew the Imperial Palace and her surrounding Great Houses; a perpetually trimmed garden below the slopes of the Saddle Hills. Aibynn, perhaps, saw a place as strange and wild and unknown as his island was to me. Cawti would see South Adrilankha, the Easterners' ghetto, with her slums and her stench and her open-air markets and Easterners who walked always lightly, ready to run from the Phoenix Guards, or the occasional young Dzur adventurer, or damn near anyone else. I saw the city that held my special place along Lower Kieron Road
, where the! bitter of violence mixed with the sweet of luxury, and you walked with your eyes open, either to grab at a passing opportunity or to prevent yourself from becoming one.
These cities loomed before us, one and many, growing larger and more present as we watched; they took my eyes and held them as the dock lieutenant signaled to our ship with the black and yellow flags of safe harbor, and guided us in.
I was home, and I was afraid, and I didn't know why.
Book II
Business Considerations
Lesson Six
Dealing With Middle Management I
"People are starting to ask about you, Vlad," said Kragar, two minutes before the door blew down in front of us.
I was three days back from Greenaere. Cawti was off seeing her old friend Kelly and his merry band of nut cases and I had returned to running my business and trying to clean up South Adrilankha without filing Surrender of Debts to the Empire. (This is a joke; the Empire would not accept Jhereg debts. Just thought I should clarify that.)
Progress on all fronts was nil. That is, Cawti and I kept trying to talk and it kept going around in circles. I still didn't have an office in South Adrilankha, and I had no reliable reports coming in. I had not heard from Verra. I didn't know what Aibynn thought of Adrilankha because he didn't talk much; in fact, he wasn't around much. I still wondered if he was a spy. I had explained the situation to Kragar, who had suggested getting Daymar to probe his mind. The idea made me uncomfortable, and I wasn't sure if it would even work. We were discussing various alter-natives when Kragar suddenly said, "Never mind that. There are more pressing problems, anyway."
"Like what?" I said, which is when he said, "People are starting to ask about you, Vlad."
"What people?" I said.
"I don't know, but someone above you in the Organization."
"What's he asking about?"
"About that group of Easterners and your relationship with them."
"Kelly's people?"
"Yeah. Someone's afraid that you're involved with them."
"Can you find out—what was that? Did you just hear something?"
"I think so."
"Melestav, what's going on?"
"Commotion of some sort downstairs, boss. Should I check it out?"
"No, hang tight for now."
"Okay. I'll let you know if—" He broke the connection, or it was broken for him. I caught a quick flash of pain, as if he'd been hit.
I took a dagger into my right hand and held it out of sight below the desk. Then came a rumble, and Loiosh yelled into my mind, and the door blew down. There were six Jhereg standing in the doorway, all of them armed. Melestav hung limp between two of them. There was blood on his forehead. His eyes flickered open like a candle uncertain if it should ignite, but then they focused. He caught my eye, turned his head to the enforcers supporting him, taking a good hard look at each one, then he looked back at me. He made a weak attempt at a smile and said, "Someone here to see you, boss."
I kept my hands under the desk as I studied the intruders. They had to assume I was armed, but there were more of them than there was of me. I was puzzled. I knew that they had not come in here specifically to kill me, because there were too many of them for that. On the other hand, I doubted their intentions were friendly.
One of them, a relatively short Jhereg with curly red hair and puffy eyes, said, "Bring your hands up where we can see them."
I let another dagger fall into my left hand and said, "I'd just as soon not, thanks."
He looked significantly at Melestav. I made a significant shrug. He said, "There's someone who wants to see you."
I said, "Tell him I don't appreciate how he sends his invitations."
Puff-eyes looked at me for a moment, then said, "We haven't killed any of your people—yet. And the gentleman who wants to see you is in a hurry. It's probably in your best interest to let me see your hands." He sounded like he had something caught in his throat.
"All right," I said, and brought my hands up. I was still holding the daggers. I think they hadn't expected that.
Puff-eyes cleared his throat, which didn't help. He said, "You want to put those down, or should we settle things right now?"
Six of them, one of me. All right. I deliberately turned and threw the daggers, one at a time, into the center of the wall target. Then I turned back to them, folded my hands, and said, "Now what?"
"Come with us," he said, and nodded to a bony Jhereg who looked like he was made out of knotted rope. The latter made a few economical gestures with his hands, and I felt the teleport begin to take effect. I clenched my jaws against the nausea and wondered who could afford to casually hire a sorcerer who could teleport seven at once. Or maybe it wasn't as casual as it seemed. Maybe—but it was too late for that kind of speculation.
Body and mind went through the sieve and emerged, more or less unchanged, in a part of town I knew, in front of a lapidary's shop that I also knew. I said, "Toronnan."
They didn't bother to answer, but then I hadn't really phrased it as a question.
We made a parade into the shop where a fellow with the looks and in the dress of the House of the Chreotha did long-fingered things with thin silvery wire and a pair of curved pliers. I had it on good authority that this "Chreotha" had at least three ki
lls on his record; he played his role, however, and didn't give us a glance as we went by.
My stomach, which always flops around when I teleport, was settling down enough for me to be annoyed that Loiosh had been too far away when the teleport went into effect. On the other hand, what could he do? We came to a door at the end of a hallway of tan-colored wood paneling, and one of my escort clapped.
"Come ahead," came the muffled sound from inside, and he opened the door. Toronnan was my boss, if you will. That is, my area was inside of his, and he got a cut of everything I made. In exchange for this, I was rarely bothered by anyone trying to push his way into my area, and I got the benefits of the Jhereg connection inside the Imperial Palace. His office was neither terribly impressive nor revealing. He didn't have a knife target like I did, he didn't have any psiprints of his family or scenes of gently sloping hillsides with happy Teckla working the fields. Just a bookcase with a few folders neatly tucked into it, a wooden desk with a smooth top and a neat array of quill pens on one side, blotter, paper, and well on the other, a tray of sweetmeats on the right corner, a pitcher of water with a half-full glass next to it, a brandy decanter with six glasses near the pitcher. There was one other chair, although there would have been room for several. There were no windows, but that was hardly surprising. Jhereg custom forbids assassination in or around one's home; it says nothing about one's workplace.
Toronnan himself was a small, nervous-looking man, with almost invisible eyebrows and thin lips. His demeanor might make one think of him as weak and harmless, which he wasn't. As I walked in he stood up and put a folder into the bookshelf next to him and motioned me to sit. I did, he did, and he nodded to my escort. They closed the door behind them. I liked it that he put whatever he was working on away; sometimes people like to show how powerful they are by ignoring you for a while. I said, "You know, you could have wheels installed on that chair, so you could scoot over to the bookcase and not have to stand up. That's how I do it. Saves time, you know."
He said, "No, this is about the only exercise I get these days." His voice was smooth, like a minstrel's, and deep. It always made me want to hear him sing.