by Steven Brust
“Precisely.”
“Pel? Why am I only now being informed?”
“I was conducting my own investigation, until today.”
“What happened today to change your mind?”
“I saw the connection between the two investigations.”
Khaavren studied his friend for a moment, wondering, as he always did with the Yendi, what he hadn’t been told. He said, “Well, I will certainly look into the matter.”
“I am confident you will find whatever there is to be found.”
Khaavren sighed. “Very well, then. But of course, with so little to go on, I can promise nothing.”
“I believe we understand each other. I do not expect promises or guarantees.”
Khaavren smiled. “At any rate, you understand me, and that is sufficient.”
When his friend had left, Khaavren settled back to consider his next move. The file concerning the investigation into the attack on Count Szurke was still before him; he therefore took a few minutes to refresh his mind on the details. After this time had passed, he put the file down and rang the bell for his confidential servant—not to be confused with his private secretary.
The individual, then, who responded to this bell was a man whom we have already met briefly—that is, the individual who went by the name of Borteliff. Physically, there was nothing unusual about him: he had the round face and stocky build of the House of the Teckla; his nose was short and snubbed, his mouth rather thin and pinched. Now this worthy had been employed by the Empire—that is to say, by Khaavren—for several years. Khaavren had discovered him while on a mission in the duchy of Tildhome, where the Teckla had been employed as a procurator for a textile manufacturer. Borteliff, a Teckla of middle years, had so impressed the captain with his organizational abilities and discretion, and above all his reticence, that he had at once offered him a new post, a post which the procurator had accepted with all the more alacrity as Khaavren’s mission had resulted in the destruction of his previous employment.
Many of those who worked with or near Borteliff believed he was mute. In fact, he was capable of speech; it is merely that he had discovered many years before that, as a servant, the less he spoke, the more he was valued. He therefore developed the habit of saying little. Having adopted this laudable custom, he then found that the less he spoke, the better he was able to listen, and the better he listened, the more precisely he could carry out the tasks entrusted to him. This, quite naturally, increased his value to his employer still further; and thus, the less he spoke, the more he was valued, and the less he spoke; with the result that, at the time of this history, he’d scarcely uttered a word in a year.
In addition to his laconicity, the worthy Borteliff had many other virtues: he was precise, careful, had a remarkable head for details, and was disposed to obey orders at once and without question. The reader will not be astonished to learn that, with this list of qualifications, Khaavren not only depended on this servant, but considered him invaluable.
Borteliff, then, appeared at once upon hearing the bell, and presented himself before the captain with a slight bow, which he used to indicate that he was prepared to receive any instructions with which he might be honored.
Khaavren, unusual though this may be in a Tiassa, considered each word to be a precious commodity, and he thus hoarded them as the proprietor of a counting-house hoards his coins and notes. On this occasion, he doled out the following: “Attempt to learn the present and recent whereabouts of a bard named Saruchka, House of the Issola. Inform the Countess that I will sup at home. Any information arriving is to be forwarded to me there. Take this file and have copies made, and see that each member of the Tasks group has one. They are to be informed that the group will meet to-morrow at the tenth hour. That is all.”
Borteliff bowed to indicate that he understood, and turned and set about his errands.
With complete confidence in the Teckla, Khaavren gave no more thought to the tasks he had assigned this worthy; instead he simply returned home, where his sword and cloak were taken by Cyl, an elderly servant who had been with the Manor since before the Interregnum, and who, by this time, understood the complex relationships between Imperial service, county service, and family life better than did any of the others who lived there, particularly including the Countess and Lord Khaavren. Accordingly, as he relieved the captain of the aforementioned burdens, he said, “The Countess is on the Terrace.”
“Thank you, Cyl,” said Khaavren, and brought himself to one of the two terraces that had been built to provide a view of the ocean-sea; one of them was frequently used by the Countess to see to Imperial business on fine days; the other was referred to by all as the breakfast terrace, for the reason that it was most often used for outdoor repasts on fine mornings.
Khaavren found her at once, and she looked up from her work and greeted him with that smile that, as the captain had said more than once, would lighten up a dark room. “My lord,” she said, extending a hand, “you are home early. How delightful!”
He kissed her hand and took a chair beside her. “Yes, madam, to make up for what I fear will be a long day to-morrow, and perhaps more long days after.”
“Ah, is there excitement at the Palace?”
“Two old investigations have come together, and thus must be renewed. Apropos, you may know something of one of them.”
“Ah, indeed? You know I am eager to be of help in your work, as you are always helpful in mine. What does it concern that I may know something of?”
“It concerns Lord Feorae, a silver tiassa, and the matter of the false Jenoine invasion of some years ago—which invasion, as you know, was never thoroughly understood by Her Majesty.”
“Ah, yes,” said the Countess. “I may, indeed, have information on that matter.”
“Information that you never gave me before, madam?”
“Ah, my lord, do I hear a hint of reproach in your voice?”
“Merely curiosity, madam. It seems unlike you to withhold information that could be useful in my work.”
“The circumstances were unusual.”
“But you will explain them?”
“Certainly, and this very moment, if you wish.”
“I would be very pleased to hear this explanation.”
“Then I will tell you.”
“I am listening.”
“You know that the supposed invasion was merely a plot by the Jhereg.”
“Yes, madam, I am not unacquainted with this circumstance.”
“Do you know the object of this plot?”
“That was never revealed.”
“Yes, my lord. Because to reveal it would have led to unfortunate circumstances for the Empire.”
“How unfortunate?”
“Her Majesty would have been forced to take official notice, and this, in turn, would have required legal, and possibly violent, attacks on the Jhereg, and the Jhereg would, of course, have responded. Her Majesty thought it best, after having foiled their intentions and executed the perpetrator, to let the matter lie. Lord Feorae cooperated by not reporting the theft of his sculpture, and I filled out the forms to see he was, at least, reimbursed for it.”
“It was Her Majesty’s decision not to press the investigation further?”
“It was.”
“Very well. What was the plot intended to accomplish?”
“The assassination of a certain Lord Taltos.”
“Taltos! Count Szurke?”
“The same.”
“I had not been aware of how badly the Jhereg wants this Easterner.”
“Nor was I, my lord.”
“How was this plot to work?”
“The intention was to trick Her Majesty into locating this Easterner, at which time Jhereg assassins would kill him.”
“And how is Feorae involved?”
“By chance, he held the object that the Jhereg were using as a pretext to convince Her Majesty to locate Lord Taltos.”
“The
silver tiassa.”
“Exactly.”
“What became of the object?”
“As to that, I do not know. It was stolen from Feorae, and evidence left pointing to Lord Taltos. But it is clear that the Easterner did not, in fact, steal it. And so it is unknown what in fact became of it.”
“I see.”
“It may also prove useful to know that Lord Taltos is married.”
“Ah, is he?”
“That is, he was. His estranged wife lives in South Adrilankha, and still cares sufficiently for him to take great risks in order to save him.”
“That is good to know.”
“My lord, I’m sorry that I didn’t inform you of this before. Her Majesty—”
“I understand completely, madam. I would have done the same, had Her Majesty made the request of me.” He kissed her hand again, and smiled.
“Thank you, my lord. What will you do now?”
“To begin, I will attempt to locate the silver tiassa. It is possible that whoever has it will prove to be the key to this matter.”
“I hope so indeed, my lord.”
“But first—”
“Yes? First?”
“First, madam, I plan to spend a relaxing evening with my adored wife.”
“Permit me to say, my lord, that I am in entire agreement with this plan.”
“If you wish, we can even venture out-of-doors. Might an evening of music be to your taste?”
“My lord knows how I love music.”
“As do I. There is always an entertainer at the Fingers.”
“That would be lovely. But is it not the case that there is a performance tonight at the Adrilankha Concert Hall?”
“That is true, madam; and yet I know that you prefer social to compositional music.”
“I enjoy both, my lord, as do you, though I’m aware of your preference for the latter. Yet—”
“Well?”
“I believe that, today, the notion of dressing in all the finery Noli can find, and even doing my nails and my jewelry, would be a particular treat.”
Khaavren smiled. “And I will dress as the Count of Whitecrest, with a blue silk cloak and a feathered cap, and you will be on my arm, and I will be the envy of all. And when I have had my fill of that pleasure—”
“Yes? What then?”
“Why, then we will pass within and treat our senses to Jengi’s ‘Symphony of the Northern Sea,’ conducted by Jengi himself.”
“I can think of nothing more pleasurable.”
“Nor can I conceive of a better way to relax before diving into a task that, I assure you, will have me as busy as I have been in some little time.”
“Let us not think of that now!”
“With this I agree.”
“But is there time?”
“The concert does not begin until the ninth hour. An hour to dress, an hour for a leisurely drive, a few minutes for a late supper at the Boiled Hen, and we will still have time to mingle.”
“Then it is a plan!”
This plan, unlike those of a military nature, in the event worked out exactly as intended. They arrived at the concert hall and entered, smiling and speaking with casual acquaintances. Khaavren, of course, noticed with great pleasure the glances, open or covert, cast on the Countess, who, according to her custom, wore Lyorn red in the form of a low-cut gown with a long train, bunched sleeves, and no shortage of lace. Her jewelry, diamond ear-rings and a ruby brooch, completed the outfit. These external features, however, paled in comparison to her wit and charm, which were on full display to anyone who joined what quickly became a large group that formed around them awaiting the bell that signaled the concert was to begin.
The bell sounded, and the massive doors were opened by servants in the blue and gold livery affected by the hall. Khaavren, Daro, the Lord Mayor, and her husband all went to the box reserved for them, relaxing into the plush velvet seats while a servant hurried to see to any refreshments they wished. Below them, the orchestra was spread out, awaiting the lowering of the lights and the arrival of the conductor.
“Do you know,” said Khaavren, “I had never before remarked upon the number of nobles who make up the orchestra. To be sure, most of the performers are of the merchants classes—Chreotha and Jhegaala—but I see a Tiassa in the horn section, and another playing the organophone; and I am certain that there are two Issola in the string section, another among the singers, and yet a fourth playing percussion.”
The Lord Mayor’s husband, a Hawklord named Cellith, said, “You are very observant, my lord. And it is true; Issola especially are often called to a musical life. Compositional music only, of course.”
“Why only compositional music?”
“Because social music would be beneath the dignity of an Issola; none of them would consider such a life, and, to be sure, the House would be outraged.”
“Well,” said Khaavren. “That would normally be interesting information. In fact, there is only one circumstance which keeps it from being of interest.”
“And what is that circumstance, my lord?” asked Cellith.
“That I have promised not to think about work until tomorrow,” said Khaavren.
Daro pressed his hand as he made this enigmatic remark, and, just at that moment, the house lights dimmed as the conductor entered, and, as nothing else that happened that evening has any bearing on our history, we will say no more about it.
CHAPTER THE FOURTH
How Khaavren Met with the
Special Tasks Group, and a
Matter That Has, Perhaps, Been
Puzzling the Reader
Is Finally Explained
The next day, Khaavren arrived at the ninth hour and rang the bell for Borteliff, who indicated with the merest inclination of his head that the captain’s instructions had been carried out.
“Then, a search has begun for the bard, Saruchka?”
Borteliff nodded.
“Has any trace of her yet been found?”
Borteliff gave a negative indication. Khaavren accepted this, dismissed Borteliff, and made certain that there was nothing that required his immediate attention. This being established, Khaavren checked the time, then went through the door that, yester-day, his friend had entered from. He followed it until at last he reached the special conference room that had been set aside for his use. Taking a position at the head of the long table, he awaited the arrival of the Special Tasks group.
Khaavren had been waiting less than five minutes when the door at the far end opened, and in came a Dragonlord with short hair and light eyebrows. Without a word, she walked to the second chair from the right on the far end, and sat down. As she was sitting, another entered, this one a Dzurlord who wore a silver band about his forehead, setting off the black of his hair; he took a seat next to the Dragonlord. Another Dragonlord arrived at about this time—an older man with a barrel chest and powerful arms; he sat next to Khaavren. Next came a man, hooded, in the colors of the Athyra; he sat on the other side of the first Dragonlord to have arrived. Last to arrive, directly on the heels of the hooded man, was yet another of the House of the Dragon, this the youngest of them, a woman who seemed to have hardly reached her four hundredth year, and who still had the clear eye and bright smile of youth. She sat at the far end of the table, at which time Khaavren said, “That is all of us; the others are away on missions.”
They nodded, and awaited his further words. As it falls out that they are waiting, we cannot see any harm in saying two words about the individuals whom we have mentioned, as some of them will play no insignificant role in the remainder of our history.
The short-haired Dragonlord was called Timmer. She had been born into the impoverished nobility, which similarity with Khaavren gave him a certain sympathy with her. Upon leaving home, she had joined Combrack’s mercenary army, and had there risen to sergeant. She sustained an injury from a poorly aimed spell at Cook’s Bluff, and so was in hospital when the army, as is well known, went mi
ssing in the Gevlin Pass. Without employment, she joined the Phoenix Guards for, as she thought, temporary duty. However, she discovered she had a talent for investigations—in particular for learning more from witnesses than the witnesses were aware that they knew. When Khaavren became aware that this talent extended to supervising investigators, the captain—that is to say, the brigadier—enlisted her in the Special Tasks group. She had, therefore, two commanders: both of them Khaavren.
The Dzurlord was called Dinaand. He had studied sorcery under Brestin, who had also trained Kosadr, who was, at present, the court wizard. While Kosadr studied arcana associated with the Orb, with a further specialty in defenses against the Jenoine, Dinaand became fascinated with the sorceries of identity and location. This was unusual for a Dzurlord—they being more the sort of studies favored by Hawklords, while a Dzur will generally prefer to specialize in the offensive and, occasionally, defensive uses of magic. When Khaavren learned that there was a Dzurlord with these skills, he—after his usual close investigation into the individual’s background—at once offered him a position which would permit him to put his training into practice; an offer that was accepted at once.
The man in the cowl who appeared to be an Athyra was, as the reader has no doubt realized, none other than Khaavren’s friend Pel, a Yendi. As prime minister, he was not actually a member of the group, but attended as a representative of Her Majesty, and, of course, to keep himself informed.
The older Dragonlord was called Cialdi, and, though he looked old, he was, in fact, older. He had achieved the post of Superintendent of Investigations for the Adrilankha Police as far back as the Interregnum. After the Interregnum, he had come so near to identifying and gathering sufficient evidence to convict the mysterious Blue Fox, that Piro, the Viscount of Adrilankha, had recommended Cialdi to Piro’s father, who was, as the reader is no doubt aware, Khaavren. Cialdi was an expert on Jhereg operations, having taken the lead in bringing down Lord Hiyechin’s palm-steel operation, as well as having discovered the means whereby stolen jewelry was being smuggled out of the city. Cialdi, then, worked for both Khaavren and Piro (as well as reporting to the Lord Mayor of Adrilankha, and the Chief City Constable). It should be added that, as no conclusive evidence had been found, the matter of the Blue Fox was never mentioned by any of them (except, occasionally, the Chief City Constable, who remained utterly oblivious to what the others, and, of course the reader, all knew). Cialdi was perfectly aware of the general contempt in which police were held, and cared not at all unless it was mentioned to him in an offensive manner; he was also renowned as a duelist.