by Steven Brust
“Yes, my lord.”
“All right. Blades. More than one?”
“We’ll have surprise, certainly. But you know about his familiars?”
“How many do you want?”
“At least three.”
“Three!”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Can’t get professionals; no one will work that way. I can find you muscle.”
“Make it five, then.”
“All right. What else?”
“A sorcerer to teleport the blades once we have the fix, and a note from you asking the Imperial representative to help get me what I want.”
Rynend didn’t look happy. “You need the representative?”
“I’m afraid so, my lord.”
“Why?”
“We’ll need someone close to the Orb to pull the location and transfer it to the sorcerer to do the teleport. It should be done right away; if we wait even half a minute, he might have moved, and then things don’t go so smooth. We have to catch him flat.”
“What if the Empress refuses?”
“Legally, she can’t.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“It sounds complicated.”
“It is.”
Rynend shook his head. “I don’t like complicated.”
Dathaani waited.
“All right,” said Rynend. “You don’t go near the rep. Tell me what you need, and when you need it, and I’ll arrange it.”
“Yes, my lord. I’ve met with someone from the Left Hand. Once I have the name—”
“Make sure whoever you find is able to appear at court.”
Dathaani nodded.
“So, the set-up. You like it?”
“It was a tough problem, my lord, but I think I’ve solved it. As I said, I like our odds.”
“But it’s complicated.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“So, how are you getting him?”
“I’ve recruited help finding him.”
“Help. From who?”
“The Empress.”
After a moment, Rynend said, “You’d better explain. No, forget that. Don’t explain. I don’t want to know. You have a time and a place?”
“A place and a day; the time is iffy, but I’ll have some warning before we get his location. And then we move instantly. The blades have to be ready.”
“How much warning?”
“Between half an hour and an hour.”
“All right,” said Rynend. “I’ll get you the blades, send them to you. You have a meeting place?”
Dathaani told him where to meet.
“All right. Next I want to hear, this problem is solved. You understand?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Anything else?”
Dathaani hesitated. “There is, my lord. You have to know, this is going to raise a stink. A big stink. If word gets out that the Organization is behind this, and we did it just to get this guy, they’re going to come down on us hard. The Empire. I need to know you’ll back me if this works.”
“Back you how?”
“I’d be very sad if heat came down, and the Organization decided to use me for ice.”
Rynend sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers.
“How bad will the heat be?”
“My lord, we are making it look as if there is about to be a major attack by Jenoine. They’ll pull out everything they can: troops, sorcerers, everything. If things work the way I want, nothing will come of it. But if they find out, it’ll be bad. Very bad.”
“Okay, then. If you get this bastard, I’ll protect you from any heat that comes down. You’ll be a rich man, and I’ll see to it you live to spend it. But if you miss him, you’re on your own. Clear enough?”
“Yes, my lord. Very clear.”
“And you’re good with that?”
“I’m good with that.”
“All right. Anything else?”
“No, my lord.”
“You can find your own way out.”
Dathaani stood, bowed, and found his own way out, the hairs on the back of his neck still standing up.
Relax, he told himself. You’ll either be rich, or you won’t need to worry about it.
Still and all, he really did like the odds.
CHAPTER FIVE
NORATHAR
The Dragon Heir was admitted to Rynend’s home by a burly, narrow-eyed man who looked—and no doubt was—much more bodyguard than butler.
“I have business with Lord Rynend,” she said.
“He isn’t expecting you,” stated the other.
“Show him this,” she said, and handed over the ring with the mark of the Heir on it.
The bodyguard walked out to deliver the errand, just as another, cut from the same mold, though a little shorter and burlier, came in to take his place. Norathar had nothing to say to him; he evidently felt the same.
A short time later, the first returned along with Rynend himself, who could have been from the same family as his bodyguards, except that the cut of his clothes spoke of substantially greater wealth.
“What do you want?” he said, handing back her token.
She accepted it and put it away. “A few minutes of your time, if you can spare it.”
“Concerning what?
“Imperial politics, conspiracies, saving your life and reputation.”
He frowned and studied her. “I recognized the seal. But you look like a … who are you, anyway?”
“I’m called the Sword of the Jhereg.” She couldn’t help being pleased to see his eyes widen.
“Well,” he said. “Come in.”
She followed him into a room that could have belonged to a successful advocate: dark woodwork, small sculptures on ledges, cut-glass decanters, a very large desk, bookcases full of heavy-looking volumes. With the delicacy of an Issola, Rynend sat in front of the desk, rather than behind it, motioning Norathar to a stuffed chair facing it. There was a small table between them; he asked if she wanted wine, or perhaps an ice.
“I don’t want to take up that much of your time,” she said.
“All right then. I’m listening.”
“Just to state the obvious, I’m not here to do you any favors. It’s a case of my interest running with yours.”
“What are we talking about?”
“The failed assassination attempt on Lord Taltos, and the catastrophe that will fall on your head when your assassin is found and the Empire traces it back to you.”
There was not a flicker of response from him, unless his blank expression itself was a response; Norathar was inclined to think it was. She let the silence build itself. Eventually Rynend said, “Not that I’m admitting anything, but—failed?”
Norathar forced herself not to smile. First try! “Five people showed up to attack Lord Taltos an hour ago. He wasn’t there. Four of them are dead. None of them were especially good, by the way.”
“What do you want?”
“First, let’s be clear on your situation. The Empire is liable to find out what happened, and why. If—as I suspect—there really is no threat from the Jenoine, then think about all of the expense and disruption this has caused, and consider how they’ll feel when they put it together.”
“Are you threatening to go to the Empire?”
“No. I’ve no need to go to the Empire. They’ll investigate and either learn about you, or they won’t learn and will take it out on the Organization. Then what will your position be?”
Rynend smiled without humor. “You making an offer?”
“Yes. I keep your name out of it, of course. And I can’t guarantee that the Empire will be satisfied with what I give them, but I think it’s a good possibility.”
“What are you going to give them?”
“The body of the guy who put it all together. I know it wasn’t you. You don’t work on that level.”
“His body.”
Norathar nodded.
“I see. And how will they know he’s the guy who did it?”
I’m still working that out, she thought. “You’ll have to trust me on that.”
“Trust you.”
Norathar nodded.
“Well, you have a good reputation. And I don’t have much choice.”
“I wasn’t going to say that.”
“No need. What do you want?”
“Who did it?”
“No, I mean: What is it you want for clearing this matter up for me?”
“Oh. That’s personal. I have my own reasons; you owe me nothing.”
He didn’t even pause. “His name is Dathaani.”
“How do I know he’s the one?”
“You’ll have to trust me.”
Norathar frowned. “Give me something.”
“I’ve nothing to give. Have someone talk to him, drop some hints and see how he reacts.”
“It’s a possibility.”
“I got nothing else.”
“All right. Where is he?”
“His home is on Garden, in the Cliffs. But he’s more likely to be at an abandoned inn on Newalter and Slate. That’s his rendezvous during the operation.”
Norathar stood. “I know the place. All right. If everything works out, I won’t be in touch.”
Rynend rose and nodded. “Then I look forward to not hearing from you.”
He escorted her to the door. She walked a hundred feet down the street and teleported.
Cawti was still waiting on the bench. Norathar approached her.
“What are you looking at?” said Cawti.
“Trying to decide if you’re pale.”
“Compared to whom?”
“Compared to how you look when you haven’t lost blood.”
“I’m fine.”
“All right.”
“Shall we take a coach?”
“Why not ride in comfort?”
Cawti took a step, then hesitated. “Norathar?”
“Hmmm?”
“Is this going to leave you vulnerable?”
“What do you mean?”
“Will it give the Jhereg leverage on you? They can threaten to tell what you’ve done—”
“They’re smart enough to know what will happen if they threaten me.”
Cawti nodded.
Norathar checked the time and said, “Sixteen minutes after the hour. One and six is seven.”
Cawti nodded, and they went to the seventh coach in line, earning dirty looks from the first six coachmen. They climbed in; the poor coachman was so startled that he had been selected that he had no chance to open the door for them, and only barely remembered to close it. Norathar gave him the streets.
The coach shook as the coachman climbed into his seat; then he made the “yip-ha” of his profession, and the team of horses—Norathar had thought they looked tired—put the coach into motion.
Newalter and Slate, she thought. I know the area. It’s just over the Stone Bridge, near the old refinery. Not much Jhereg activity. Not much of anything, in fact. She looked at Cawti, who was looking at her, probably thinking the same thing. Cawti’s hands were in her lap, but a finger tapped the hilt of the dagger at her left hip.
It was a long ride; they settled in. Norathar faced forward, Cawti sat facing her. As they passed through Little Deathgate the coachman whistled, and the horses began to trot. Norathar chuckled, and noticed Cawti doing the same. At least he didn’t drive around it, she thought.
“You know the area better than me,” said Cawti. “When we arrive, what will we find?”
“Not much, anymore. There was a refinery there, years ago. It blew up.”
“I remember hearing about that.”
Norathar nodded. “No one lives there, few go there. The inn is called Antlers. I doubt it does any business, except for letting out the space to private parties once in a while.”
“Dathaani,” said Cawti.
Norathar nodded.
“You’ve heard of him?”
“The name sounds familiar, but I can’t recall from where.”
“We could take some time to learn about him,” said Cawti.
“We could,” said Norathar. “Except that we risk Her Majesty learning his name before we can act.”
“I keep forgetting that you care about that now.”
Norathar nodded, accepting the words at face value.
“So how do we play it?” asked her partner. “Make the body vanish? The Empire won’t be able to learn anything if he just vanishes.”
Norathar frowned. “I can’t say I like it much. Usually, there’s no one looking for your target until after the job. With this, lots of ways for things to go wrong.”
“I know. What do you suggest?”
“You’re the one with the ideas.”
Cawti laughed a little. “My idea is to kill him. We’ll worry about after, after.”
Norathar sighed. “I’d object if I had a better idea.” She hesitated. “There’s also another issue: making sure it’s the right guy.”
“My,” said Cawti. “That’s a problem we’ve never addressed before. Better tell me about it.”
Norathar related the conversation. Cawti listened, then was quiet for a while. “I don’t know,” she said at last.
“We could talk to him,” said Norathar.
Cawti scowled.
“Let’s think about it,” she said.
Norathar nodded.
Cawti turned her head and watched Adrilankha roll past. After a moment, Norathar did the same.
Eventually they arrived. The coachman dismounted and assisted Norathar out the door; Cawti managed on her own. Norathar paid him and said, “Wait for us; we shouldn’t be long.”
He bowed and climbed up to his seat, looking as if he were prepared to wait indefinitely.
There were few structures still standing in the area—the rubble had been cleared from what had once been the petroleum refinery, but there remained an empty lot surrounded by a few houses that appeared deserted. The inn was easily identified—the sign appeared freshly painted. It was a tall, thin wooden structure, and Norathar wondered how it had survived the explosion.
They approached the building and Cawti said, “Shall I…?”
“Yes.”
Her partner walked around the side of the building. Norathar waited until she had disappeared around the corner, then approached the front door. Norathar always took the front.
“Ready,” said Cawti into her mind.
“Go,” Norathar said, and stepped through the door.
The sound of the door opening echoed loudly, so any thought of surprise was gone at once. “Drawing,” she said, and did so.
To her right was a stairway, to her left and ahead was a single, large room. A bar on the right ran from near the stairway to the far wall, which had a single door, which, as she watched, flung open to reveal her partner, a dagger in each hand.
There was no sign of a host—nor was there any sign of bottles behind the bar. The room was full of small, round tables, with chairs upended on them, as if to clear the floor for sweeping. After a long fraction of a second, she saw that one table was occupied, its chairs set upright. The figure was, it seemed, looking at her from under a hood. As she watched, he reached up and pulled the hood back, revealing a head full of curly brown hair, and bright, sharp eyes. He carefully set his hands on the table, and waited.
Norathar approached, aware of Cawti closing the distance as well. She stopped just a bit more than her sword’s length away. The table was between them, but Cawti was behind him.
“You,” he said, “are not who I was expecting.”
Cawti looked at her; she mentally shrugged. “I imagine not.”
“Mind if I ask who you are?”
“We’re the ones who killed the assassins you sent after Lord Taltos.”
“Oh,” he said. He glanced behind him, seeing Cawti for the first time, then turned back to Norathar and said, “Who is the Lyorn?
” Norathar saw Cawti’s eyes widen, but her partner gave no hint that there was danger, so she kept her eyes on the target.
“Actually,” said Whitecrest from behind Norathar’s right shoulder, “I’m a Tiassa.”
Norathar said, “You are Dathaani?”
“That’s my name, yes.”
Without turning, Norathar said, “Perhaps you should wait outside, Countess.”
“I won’t be a party to anything illegal.”
“That,” said Norathar patiently, “is why I suggested you wait outside.”
“No,” said the Countess. “I don’t play those sorts of games.”
From behind Dathaani, Cawti was expressionless; she was waiting for a signal, or to get an indication of what the play was.
Norathar wished she knew. “Why did you come, Countess?” she said.
“To speak to Dathaani. To find out if he really did what I think he did, for the reason I think he did it.”
“You think he’ll tell you?”
“You know, I’m sitting right here,” said Dathaani.
“Very well,” said the Countess. “Will you answer some questions?”
“Depends on the questions.”
Cawti shifted, just a little—Norathar read it as a question: Shouldn’t we just kill him and be done with it?
She barely shook her head, and waited.
“Is the Jenoine invasion real?” said the Countess.
“Perhaps,” said Dathaani, “you could give me some reason why I should answer?”
Norathar cleared her throat. “I can. It didn’t work. Four of the idiots—that is, the assassins—you sent after Lord Taltos are dead. If the Empire learns of your plan, and the Jhereg learns that the Empire has learned, what do you suppose will happen to you?”
Dathaani sat back in his chair. “I see your point.”
“We can, if nothing else, offer you a cleaner death.”
He nodded. “Yes, I suppose that’s something.” He sighed. “It’s irritating. I thought I had everything worked out.”
“I know the feeling,” said Cawti dryly.
“So,” said Norathar. “Care to answer her questions?”
He cleared his throat. “What was … I remember. No, it isn’t real.”
“How did you manage that?” said the Countess. “No, never mind. It isn’t important now. Later, maybe. It was all just a set-up to kill Lord Taltos?”
Dathaani coughed. “If I admit that—”