by Steven Brust
“He seems somewhat slight for one of his race. He has grown hair above his lip, but none on his chin. His cheekbones are high, like those of a Dzurlord. His ears are round, and close to his head. He has thick eyebrows and long lashes, and his chin has a crease, as if it were cut, but there is no scar. He does have a faint scar to the left of his nose and another beneath his right ear, and he is missing the fifth finger of his left hand.”
Khaavren nodded. “Is his hair dark? That is to say, black?”
“It is, my lord,” said Shirip.
“His brows are thick, his chin strong with no trace of point?”
“You have described him, Captain,” said Shirip, with a raised brow.
The captain answered the question implied by the look: “I believe I know him.”
“And then?” said the ensign.
“I must see him.”
“But, does he in fact hold an Imperial title?”
Khaavren replied with a brusque nod, informing Shirip that, not only was her question answered in the affirmative, but, moreover, that the captain no longer wished to continue the conversation. Shirip understood both of the messages her superior officer did her the honor to convey, and so asked no more questions.
For his part, Khaavren at once made arrangements for a carriage to bring him to where the wounded Easterner was. We should note in passing that the Khaavren of two hundred years before would have ridden a horse rather than a carriage; but we should also note that the Khaavren of two hundred years before was younger; and younger, we should add, by the amount of two hundred years.
Thanks to the efficiency demanded by the good Tiassa of all of those whom he commanded, it was only moments before he was informed that carriage and driver were ready. With another of his expressive nods, he invited Shirip to accompany him in the conveyance.
They climbed into the coach, reaching it, as the reader will no doubt deduce, by the door which we have earlier had the honor to describe, and settled in for the brief ride. Khaavren, having no wish for conversation, initiated none. Shirip took this as a cue, and also remained silent for the duration.
After some little time, they arrived at the North Central Guard Station, where the coachman—a private soldier detailed for this duty because of his skill with horses—alighted and held the door for the captain and the ensign. Khaavren led the way into the station with the ease and command that came naturally to him. He at once went to the infirmary, politely clapping outside of the door. The reader should understand that even the Captain of the Phoenix Guards ought not to enter an infirmary before being assured that no one was in the midst of a delicate procedure; while interrupting a physicker in the midst of an operation is less hazardous than interrupting a sorcerer in the midst of a complex spell, it is not less discourteous.
On this occasion, rather than a call to enter, the door opened and the physicker emerged. She was an Athyra, of medium height and middle years, with what appeared to be a permanent crease in her brow, and a proud nose of the type usually associated with Hawklords. She closed the door softly behind her before bowing to Khaavren and saying, “I have been expecting you, my lord.”
“Well, and here I am.”
“No doubt, you wish to know of my patient’s condition?”
“You have guessed the precise nature of my errand.”
“Then I will tell you what you wish to know.”
“And you will be right to do so.”
“In the first place, you must know he has been badly wounded.”
“That much I had already deduced.”
“Moreover, I am unable to cast the usual spells to prevent mortification.”
“How, unable?”
“Exactly.”
“But, what prevents you?”
“I am uncertain. Yet my efforts have failed.”
“Well, and then?”
The physicker frowned, the creases in her forehead deepening. “I have used older, more primitive methods of cleaning the wounds, and if these are successful, I would expect him to live.”
“Is he awake?”
“Not as yet.”
“Can you tell when he will regain consciousness?”
“No more than I can prevent mortification; that spell, too, fails.”
Khaavren frowned. “Then I will wait here until—”
He was interrupted by a sound not unlike that the wind makes when passing through a hollow cavern—a sound which seemed to emanate from the other side of the door near which they stood. Without another word, the physicker opened the door and entered, Khaavren at her heels.
CHAPTER THE SECOND
How the Captain Spoke
to the Easterner, and the
Easterner Received a Visit
Inside was a high, thin bed, upon which lay the Easterner, covered by a sheet and a blanket. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, but opened as Khaavren and the physicker approached. He looked at the black silken scarf about her neck and whispered, “If you have something for the pain, I would be not ungrateful.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “My spells will not work on you.”
He closed his eyes again. “Opium?” he said.
The physicker frowned. “I am not familiar with this term.”
The Easterner appeared to sigh. “Of course you are not,” he said, putting something of a sarcastic twang to his voice. His eyes then turned to the captain and he said, “To what do I owe the honor, my good lord, of a visit from—” He stopped here, coughed, winced, and then continued. “—such a high official of Her Majesty’s elite personal guard?” We should add that, to judge from the tone, this question was also not devoid of a sarcastic, or at least an ironic, element.
Khaavren, for his part, ignored the tone, and merely responded to the words, saying, “It is of some concern to Her Majesty when an Imperial nobleman is found to be injured, and questions naturally arise.”
“How,” said the other, “then I am not under arrest?”
“Not at all, I assure you,” said Khaavren coolly.
The Easterner squeezed his eyes shut again, then opened them once more. “I know you,” he said. “You are Lord Khaavren, are you not? Brigadier of the Phoenix Guards?”
“Captain,” said Khaavren, both by way of affirmation and correction, thus conveying the maximum amount of information in the fewest possible words; a custom of his, and one that this historian has, in fact, adopted for himself, holding efficiency of language to be a high virtue in all written works without exception.
“Captain of the Phoenix Guards,” agreed the Easterner. “Brigadier of—”
“We’ll not speak of that,” said Khaavren.
“Very well.”
“But if I might know your name, my lord?”
“Vladimir, Count of Szurke. If you wish for conversation with me—”
“I do, if you are able to talk.”
“I will make the effort.”
“Very well, then. We have met before, have we not?”
“Your memory is excellent, Captain. Although at that time, I was called by another name.”
“Vladimir of Taltos, was it not?”
“If you will permit a small correction, there is no ‘of.’ It is a patronymic; a custom of my people.” The Easterner, we perceive, did not follow the captain’s maxim of efficiency in use of language, a fact we will endeavor not to hold against him.
“I understand,” said Khaavren.
“What is it you wish to know?”
“What do I wish to know? Why, I wish to know what happened to you! You perceive, an attack on an Imperial nobleman is not a matter about which there can be any question of joking. I wish to know who attacked you, and what led to it.”
“I understand.”
“So then, if you would, tell me precisely what happened to you.”
“I would be glad to do so, only—”
“Yes?”
“I have not the least idea in the world, I assure you.”
“Ho
w, you don’t know what happened to you?”
“I do not.”
“What is it you remember?”
“I was walking north along the riverbank, and then I was here.”
“And so, you do not know how you became injured?”
“I suspect I was set upon.”
“Yes, that is my suspicion as well. And, if that is so—as seems almost certain—it is my duty to find the miscreants and see them brought before the justicers.”
“Captain, I note you say, ‘them.’”
“Well, and is it not a perfectly good word?”
“Oh, I have nothing whatever against the word, depending upon its use.”
“Well then?”
“But to me, it seems to imply that there are more than one of these, as you call them, miscreants.”
“Yes, that is true,” said Khaavren, struck by the extreme justice of this observation.
The Easterner continued, “Do you, then, believe there were two or more?”
“I put the number at four or five,” said Khaavren.
“So many? I am astonished that I survived such an attack.”
“Well,” said Khaavren laconically.
“If, as you say, you know nothing of this incident—”
“I do say that, and, what is more, I even repeat it.”
“—then how is it you know the number of attackers?”
“From the number and the nature of your wounds, as well as certain rents in your clothing, which I took the liberty of inspecting.”
“Ah. Well, in your place, I should have done the same.”
“No doubt that is true.”
“Speaking of my weapon—”
“The weapon that fits the scabbard was not found.”
“But other weapons?”
“Your belongings are in the trunk under the bed.”
“Very good.”
“But, to return to the subject—”
“Yes, let us do so, by all means.”
“You say that you have no memory of what befell you.”
“None whatsoever. In fact, it would be good of you to tell me what you know.”
“You wish to know that?”
“It concerns me greatly, I assure you.”
“I can see that it would. Well, this is what happened, to the best of my belief: You were attacked, you defended yourself, and, as you were nearly overwhelmed, you threw yourself into the river to escape. You did manage to escape, but lost consciousness shortly thereafter, no doubt from the loss of blood, and the exertion, and perhaps the shock of the cold water.”
“I see. What you tell me is most interesting, and I appreciate it very much. Only it seems odd that—”
“Yes, that?”
“That I survived immersion in the river, which is exceptionally wide and deep, as well as cold and fast.”
“That is true, as far as it goes.”
“Well?”
“But there are often places where portions of the river, as it were, meander off on their own, for one reason or another. These places are shallower, and slower, and narrower; perhaps even warmer, I could not say. It was in such a place that you were found.”
“I comprehend. You have explained perfectly. Except—”
“Yes?”
“Why would I have been attacked?”
“Oh, as to that—”
“Well?”
“Perhaps they attempted to rob you.”
“Ah, that is possible. The roads are not safe.”
“We do what we can.”
“I had not meant to imply criticism.”
Khaavren bowed to indicate he was not offended, and continued. “As we both wish the same thing—that is, to determine exactly what happened to you, and who did it—there are, perhaps, ways of learning this.”
“Oh, are there indeed? Tell me more, Captain, for you interest me extremely.”
“There are sorceries that are sometimes able to enter the mind and recover lost memories.”
“Ah, you say sorceries.”
“Yes.”
“Well—” The Easterner broke off, appearing to be in some confusion. After a moment, he said, “Yes, well, I am afraid sorcery will not, that is to say, it is impossible.”
“Impossible?”
“It is, I assure you.”
“And would still be impossible if you were to remove that amulet that is hanging about your neck?”
The Easterner’s eyes widened somewhat, then he said, “You are observant, and have some skill at deduction.”
“Well?”
“In any event, I will not remove the amulet; I require it for my safety.”
“If I may ask, safety from what?”
“Ah, you wish to know that?”
“I do.”
“Well, from any who would do me harm; and I nearly think there are those who would wish to do me harm.”
“Oh, I do not deny that—indeed, we have very nearly proven it.”
“That is my opinion as well.”
“And yet, you have no opinion on who might have wished to harm you?”
“None whatsoever.”
“That is remarkable.”
“Well.”
“It couldn’t be the Jhereg?”
The Easterner returned Khaavren’s bland look and said, “How the Jhereg? What have I to do with them?”
“In one sense, nothing anymore. In another, a great deal. For example, they would like you dead.”
“You think so?”
“I am reliably informed of this.”
“Well, I do not deny it.”
“It is best you do not, I assure you.”
“Yet I promise that whoever attacked me, my good Captain, it was not the Jhereg.”
“You confuse me.”
“That is not my intention.”
“You pretend to know the attack was not carried out by the Jhereg.”
“And if I do?”
“And yet you claim to have no memory of the attack. How is this possible?”
“How is it you know how many attacked me, when you weren’t there?”
“A simple deduction from facts.”
“Precisely. As is my conclusion that I was not attacked by the Jhereg.”
“Ah, is that it? Then, what is this famous deduction?”
“Tell me yours, first.”
Khaavren shrugged. “There were marks of three distinct weapons on you.”
“And if there were?”
“You were not surprised, or you’d have been killed.”
“Well, that makes sense.”
“A man able to survive an attack by three individuals is certain to have dispatched at least one of them before that one was able to harm him.”
“Your logic is admirable.”
“My logic thanks you. Now, as to your deduction?”
“The Jhereg rarely employs gangs in such matters; one is sufficient, or two at the most. Moreover—”
“Yes?”
The Easterner smiled coldly. “It is not simply death they wish for me.”
Khaavren, after a moment’s thought, understood what he had been told, and was unable to repress a shudder. “Well,” he said at last, “I am convinced.”
“It is good that you are.”
“But if you will permit another question.”
“Yes?”
“If you are attempting to avoid the Jhereg—”
“So you have said.”
“—why have you returned to Adrilankha?”
“In fact, I have not returned, but rather was on my way out after returning for a visit.”
“A visit?”
“I have family here.”
“Ah, I comprehend. I, too, have family, and it grieves me when I must be apart from them for any length of time.”
“Yes. And so I return when I can.”
“I would do the same.”
“I am gratified that you understand.”
Khaavren c
oughed. “Then let us move on to details.”
“Yes, let us. I am always in favor of details.”
“That is good. Then tell me this, if you would: Where were you, when you last remember?”
“Near the river, some nine or ten miles north of Profimyn.”
Khaavren nodded. “And your reason for being there?”
“My lord?”
“I asked your reason—”
“I heard you, good Captain. But I do not understand why you do me the honor to ask this question.”
“It is my duty,” replied Khaavren laconically.
“Ah, your duty.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, I have nothing to say against duty.”
“I am glad you do not.”
“But I do not understand how your duty requires you to inquire into my personal affairs.”
“How can you know if your personal affairs are not, in some way, related to the attack you suffered? These things can happen; I have seen it.”
“I do not doubt you.”
“And then?”
“My affairs are, nevertheless, personal.”
“If you question my discretion—”
“Oh, not in the slightest!”
“And then?”
“Nevertheless, am I obligated to speak of matters important only to myself? It is unusual for the Empire to require this.”
“Oh, it is not unusual at all, under the circumstances.”
“Circumstances? What are these circumstances?”
“Why, the circumstances that you have been the victim of a crime. Surely you would like to see the perpetrators brought to justice, would you not?”
“Why, I care very little about it, I assure you.”
“You astonish me.”
“Do I?”
“Very much.”
The Easterner shrugged his shoulders. “No doubt they had reasons having to do with social maladjustment and childhood neglect. And, after all, are not all crimes addressed in the Halls of Judgment? And if they are never brought there, well, that is a judgment itself, is it not?”
Khaavren studied the Easterner after this remarkable speech, as if unable to find the words with which to reply. At last he said, “You are very complacent, my lord.”
“It is my nature,” said the Easterner.
“I comprehend,” said Khaavren, who was especially skilled at comprehension. “Nevertheless, you perceive how useful this intelligence would be to me in the performance of my duty.”