Phoenix

by Steven Brust

  "Why don't you tell him so?"

  "I have. He doesn't believe me."

  "Why don't you kill him?"

  "You don't kill ideas like that by killing the one who espouses them. As fertilizer aids the growth of the tree, so does blood—"

  "So," I said, "you decided to start a war, thinking they'd march off and forget their grievances so they could fight for their homeland? That doesn't—"

  "Kelly," she said, "is smarter than I thought he was, curse him. He's smart enough to destroy every Easterner, and most of the Teckla, in South Adrilankha."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Consider the matter," she said.

  "And what do you want me to do?"

  "I'm sending you home at once. I need to consider this." She gestured with her right hand, and I found myself, once more, before a window in Morrolan's tower. The window looked upon the face of the Demon Goddess, who stared at me and said, "Try to stay out of trouble, will you?"

  The window faded to black.

  Lesson Nine

  Making Friends I

  Morrolan and Aliera were where I'd left them, Norathar had gone. I checked through the Orb and discovered that I'd been gone less than two hours, and most of that time had been taken up walking to and from the tower. I sat down and said, "I'll take that refill of wine now."

  Morrolan poured it and said, "Well?"

  "Well what?"

  "What happened? I should judge that you have just had a moving experience of some sort."

  "Yes. Well. I suppose. I haven't discovered anything that will help get Cawti out of the Imperial Dungeons."

  Aliera shifted. "Did you see Verra?"

  "Yes."

  "What did she say, then?"

  "Many things, Aliera. It doesn't matter."

  Morrolan considered me, probably wondering whether he ought to push for more information. I guess he decided not to. Aliera was frowning.

  "Well, then," said Aliera, after a moment. "We're back to planning another jailbreak. We've been doing quite a bit of that lately. I wonder if the Cards would have predicted it, had I thought to attempt a reading."

  "I don't think a jailbreak is in order," I said.

  Aliera turned her blue eyes on me. "Why not?"

  "If Cawti won't accept an Imperial pardon, what makes you think she'll accept being broken out by force?"

  Aliera shrugged. "We'll have to get the whole batch of them, that's all."

  I shook my head. "I don't think they'll go. I think they want to stay in prison until they're all released together."

  "What makes you think so?"

  "I've spoken to them. That's how they think."

  "They're nuts," said Aliera.

  "That's more true than you know," I said. "Or less."

  "And so," said Morrolan, who had never looked happy about the notion of breaking into the Imperial Dungeons, "what do you suggest?"

  "I'm not certain. I'll have to think about it. But I know what I'm going to do first: find out just what, by the blood on Verra's floor, is going on in South Adrilankha."

  "Blood on Verra's floor?" said Morrolan. "I don't think I've heard that oath before."

  "No," I said. "You probably haven't."

  The next day was going to be short. That is, it was the day before the Festival of the New Year, so most people quit working around noon. I kept all of my people working, since Holy Days are some of our best times, but I gave them all bonuses. I had no idea if either of the people I needed to see was going to be working all day, some of the day, or not at all, so I awoke much earlier than usual. I broke my fast and spent some time throwing things for the jhereg to snatch out of the air and fight over. "Loiosh, Rocza seems funny. Is she pregnant?" "Huh? No, boss. At least, I don't think so. I mean, the way things work—"

  "Never mind. What is it, then?"

  "Well you know she's been a little closer to Cawti than I have, so, I mean-"

  "Oh, I get it. All right."

  I slugged down my klava, dressed, collected Loiosh and Rocza, and headed out for my first errand. Aibynn was in the blue room but hadn't stirred. I envied him.

  Kelly's group had moved twice since the last time I'd visited their headquarters, and this last place was a great deal different from the others. Up until now they'd met in a flat that two or three of them lived in, but they'd recently found an empty storefront not too far from one of the farmer's markets that appeared irregularly all over South Adrilankha. Whatever windows it once had were boarded up, either as a painfully inadequate defensive gesture or because they couldn't afford oiled paper or window glass. I stood there for a while and considered. As always when visiting the Easterners' part of town, I felt a slight relaxation of tension, but this time it was hardly noticeable as I studied the low, wood-frame building.

  It was pretty obvious, once you got near it, both for the banner hung across the front that read "Stop Press Gangs!" and for the troop of Phoenix Guards who stood across the street from it, silent and ominous, ignoring the dirty looks they got from passersby. As Cawti had said, they all seemed to be Dragonlords and Dzur. That is, they were professionals, not conscripted Teckla, which meant there'd be no reasoning with them, and they'd fight well.

  But never mind that. I watched from down the street where I could keep an eye on both the Phoenix Guards and whoever went through the door of the storefront. Eventually someone I recognized went in. I left my place, waved cheerfully to the goldcloaks, and followed him in.

  He greeted me with all the warmth I remembered from our previous encounters. "You," he said.

  "My dear Paresh," I told him. "How is it that they didn't arrest you, too? No, no, let me guess. They only hauled in the Easterners. Either they decided that a Dragaeran, even if a Teckla, doesn't deserve prison, or they decided that a Teckla, even if a Dragaeran, must be harmless. Am I right?"

  "What do you want?"

  "My wife back. How do you propose to get her out of prison?"

  "We will be giving a demonstration of our strength tomorrow. We expect five thousand Easterners and Teckla, all of them committed to fighting until conscription stops and our friends are released. Many of them are determined to fight until the Empire itself is run by us, and for us. Do you have all that, or shall I repeat it?"

  "I'll read it back to you: You aren't doing anything except shouting at each other about how mad you are and hoping the Empress laughs herself to death."

  "She didn't laugh much a few weeks ago, when she pulled the troops out of South Adrilankha."

  "They are, however, back."

  "For the moment. But if we have to shut down—"

  "Shut down your mouth, Paresh. I came here to find out if you had any plans for getting my wife out of the Imperial Dungeons. It seems you don't. That's all I wanted to know. Good day."

  As I turned away, he said, "Baronet Taltos," and put such scorn into my title that I almost dropped him right then and there. I didn't, but I did stop and turn back to; face him. He said, "Consider how your wife will react if I you find some way to yendi her out of prison, while everyone else stays there. Think it over."

  I felt a sneer growing on my face, but I didn't give him the satisfaction of letting him see it. I walked out the door and headed back toward my own side of town, where everyone hated me for reasons I was more comfortable with.

  All right, so I couldn't count on them. I hadn't really thought I could, but they deserved to be asked. Where did that leave me? Nowhere, probably. I stopped my walk long enough to make contact with Kragar. "Any news?"

  "Those minstrels sure hear things, Vlad. They're better than the street tags. They play the court, and they listen, and they gossip. That was a great idea. "

  "Save the praise, Kragar. Have we learned anything?" "We sure have. The big arrest of Easterners was—urn, I'm not certain you 're going to like this. " "Let's have it. "

  "Okay. It was by request of and based on information supplied by the Imperial representative of House Jhereg. " I took a deep
breath and, for no reason I'm aware of, my hands went through the automatic gestures that check to make sure my various concealed weapons are in their proper places.

  "Okay, Kragar. Thanks. Anything else?" "Nothing out of the ordinary." "I'll be in touch."

  I was wearing my usual cloak, but it was clean. The grey tunic I'd put on was in good shape, and my trousers, while not really suitable for court, weren't bad. My boots were a bit scuffed and dirty, so I stopped when I was back in Dragaeran country and had a Teckla clean and polish, them, for which I tipped him well. Then, to keep them clean, I carefully teleported to the vicinity of the Imperial Palace.

  I leaned against the nearest wall and counted passersby until my stomach felt well again, then made my way around to the path which led to the Jhereg Wing. There were two old men standing outside it pretending to be guards (who in his right mind would break into the Jhereg Wing?), to whom I nodded as I went by. Inside, a cheerful young man in grey and black was sitting behind a short oak table. He asked my business.

  "Count Soffta," I said.

  "Have you an appointment, my lord?"

  "Naturally."

  "Very well. That door, up the stairs, all the way to the back."

  "Quite."

  "A pleasant afternoon, my lord."

  "Yes."

  Every inch the nobleman, that's what I am. Heh. The cheerful young man's identical twin was sitting behind the table's identical twin. He asked my business. The table remained mute.

  "Count Soffta," I said.

  "Have you an appointment, my lord?"

  "No."

  "What name shall I give?"

  "Baronet Taltos."

  There was a bit of a twinge to his eyebrows, as if maybe he'd heard the name, but that was all. "A moment, if you please" and he was silent for a few heartbeats. Then he said, "You may go in, my lord."

  "Thank you."

  There's a saying that goes, "Only Issola live in the Palace," and it may be true. That is, if it were possible for a Jhereg to look like an Issola, Soffta did. His build was a bit chest-heavy, his face was regular, with the narrow forehead and peaked crown, and his movements were smooth and slow, and seemed practiced. No, he didn't really look like an Issola, but about as close as a Jhereg can come. His office had four comfortable-looking chairs and a view of the courtyard. Each chair had its own round, three-legged table on which the guest could set his drink, made from the bar at the far end of the room. All very nice and non-threatening, it was.

  He motioned me to a seat. "Baronet Taltos," he said. "A pleasure. Drink? I have some Fenarian wine."

  Issola. "That would be nice," I said. I saw the bottle and realized he meant brandy. "Clear and clean," I said. The chair was as soft as it looked. Not very good for getting out of in a hurry. I wondered if that was deliberate, if I had designed the room, it would have been.

  He poured me a drink, and the same thing for himself. I wondered if he really cared for it, at least served the right way, or if he was being polite. I'd probably never know. It was Tuzviz, probably the most commonly available Fenarian brandy; good if not remarkable. At least I could tell there were peaches in its ancestry.

  When we were both sitting and enjoying the fire on our tongues he said, "How may I serve you, Baronet?"

  "The Empire has mistakenly arrested my wife while clearing out some Eastern rabble from South Adrilankha. I'd like to see about obtaining her release."

  He nodded sympathetically. "I see. Most unfortunate. Her name?"

  "The Lady Cawti. Taltos of course. She's the Countess of, let me see ... Lostguard Cleft, I think."

  "Yes. Bide a moment, enjoy the wine. I'll see what I can do."

  "Very well."

  He left the room. I got up and stared out the window. Off to the side I could just make out the vast hall of the lorich Wing, beneath which were the dungeons. It was completely walled in, dark and solemn, with their banner flying above it and Dragonlords in the gold cloaks of the Phoenix Guards walking along the walls. No, on reflection, it would have been damn hard to break her out.

  Directly below me was a rock garden in blue and white, and strips of neatly manicured lawn dotted with stunted trees. Directly in front of me, on a tall, lone flagpole, flew the banner of the House, stylized Jhereg, sinister, wings spread, claws outstretched, black on a field of grey. It filled me with no emotion whatsoever.

  Presently Soffta returned and sat down behind his desk again. He was looking very grave indeed. "It seems," he said, "that someone has already intervened on behalf of the Lady Cawti, and she refused release. Do you know anything about this?"

  "Mmmm," I said. "What would it take to procure her release in spite of her refusal?"

  "Why, I'm not sure, Lord Taltos. Such a refusal is almost unheard-of, and forcing a release, well, I imagine an order of the Empress would do it."

  "No doubt, no doubt," I said. I stood up and strolled back over to the window, looked out of it. I paced a bit, and my pacing took me behind Soffta's chair. He let me get behind him, but I saw the tension in his neck muscles. Court representative or not, he was a Jhereg, not an Issola. "A difficult situation," I said. "Perhaps there is nothing to be done."

  "Perhaps not," he said, still not looking at me. "Although I'm certainly willing to help as much as I can."

  "Good, good," I said. "Perhaps, then, you could tell me something." As I spoke, I placed my hand casually on his shoulder. There was tension there now, but he kept his hands relaxed, in plain sight on his desk. We were ten feet from the door. "Just out of curiosity, how long has it been since blood has been spilled here, in the Jhereg Wing?"

  "Not since the Interregnum, Lord Taltos."

  "It would be bad for the Organization interests to have any sort of violence take place here, wouldn't it?"

  "Very bad. I hope you aren't suggesting any."

  I leaned on his shoulder, very slightly. "I? No, no, not at all. I wouldn't think of such a thing. I was just making conversation."

  "I see. What was it you wanted to know?"

  "Who arranged to have those Easterners arrested?"

  There was the faintest hint of a tightening of muscles, but no more. "Why, the Empress, Baronet Taltos."

  "At your request, Count Soffta. And I'm very anxious to learn which of my colleagues asked you to make the request."

  "I believe you have been misinformed, Baronet Taltos."

  "Have you heard of me, Count Soffta?"

  My hand didn't leave his shoulder, but neither did it tighten, nor did I make any other movement. He said nothing for two or three heartbeats, then he said, "It may take me some time to find out, and I'm expecting a rather large number of visitors very soon."

  "Yes, I imagine you are. But under the circumstances, I'm willing to let it take as much time as necessary. I'm sure your visitors will understand."

  "It could be very expensive."

  "I'm prepared to pay. It is my wife, you know"

  "Yes. . . ."

  "So the cost is irrelevant."

  "I guess it is."

  "Perhaps it would be best if you could gather the information?

  I could almost feel him weighing the odds, attempting to select the best thing to say, the best thing to do. "There may be repercussions—"

  "I have absolutely no doubt that there will be. I accept them."

  "All of them?"

  "Whatever may happen. But I hope your information is complete and accurate, or there could be consequences you don't foresee."

  "Yes. Toronnan."

  "I'm not surprised. Do you know why?"

  "No."

  "Very well. Will you do me the honor of accompanying me out to the street?"

  "I should be glad to, Lord Taltos."

  "Then let us walk together."

  We did so, smiling, my hand resting gently on his back. When we reached the street, I made certain there was no one nearby and composed my mind for a teleport. I let Spellbreaker fall into my left hand, just in case. "Count Soffta, I wish to
thank you for your help."

  "The fruits of your inquiry will be my reward, Baronet Taltos."

  "No doubt. One thing, though."

  "Yes."

  "The Tuzviz you served me. It was quite good, but it is brandy, not wine. You should remember that."

  "Thank you, Lord Taltos. I shall."

  I released him and let the teleport take effect.

  An unusual sight, not explained by the celebrations prepared for the next couple of days, greeted me when I walked into my office: Sticks was there, holding his clubs lightly, as if tossing them around, and next to him, looking quite out of place in his bright island clothing and norska hat, was Aibynn. They were speaking quietly about something arcane, Aibynn pointing to the clubs, and Sticks gesturing with them. Perhaps they were comparing the arts of battery and drumming. On reflection, that isn't that strange an idea: Both require relaxation and tension in the right degree, speed and suppleness, and good understanding of timing, control of the body, and concentration of the mind. Interesting notion.

  But at the time I wasn't thinking about that. I said, "Aibynn, what are you doing here?"

  He spoke, as always, slowly, as if he were constantly being distracted by the ultimate rhythms of the universe. "To say thanks for lining up that job for me."

  "Oh. Think nothing of it. It's going well, I take it."

  "Well? We've played one night together and we've be summoned to play for the Empress tomorrow."

  "For the Imperial New Year's celebration?"

  "Yeah, I guess so. Odd time to call it New Year, though. On the island, the year begins in the winter."

  "Spring makes more sense, doesn't it?"

  He shrugged.

  "In any case," I went on, "the New Year is a big deal at the Palace. I'm very impre—hmmm."

  "What is it?"

  "Eh? Nothing." It had suddenly occurred to me that I had slain his King, and here he was about to appear before my Empress. If he were, in fact, an assassin himself, I had just set her up as elegantly as if I'd planned it. I briefly considered whether to do anything about it, then decided that it was none of my business. It may be that if he was an assassin I'd have to clear out before they traced the connection between Aibynn and me, but other than that, so what?