Jhegaala

by Steven Brust

  "The Merss family? I don't know. The Count doesn't know. He doesn't think you did."

  "Yeah, I don't I think did either."

  "But he isn't sure."

  "Who is supposed to be finding out?"

  "I'm sorry?"

  "When something like this happens, when someone is killed, who is supposed to be finding out who did it? Who is responsible?"

  "Oh. Ah, the Count, I imagine. Or maybe the King. I'm not sure."

  "And the Count, who would he assign it to?"

  "Well, I guess that would be me."

  "You?"

  "I guess."

  "And instead, he has you following me around and proposing alliances in the dark."

  "You have to admit, it was dramatic."

  "Not good enough, Dahni. Why there and then?"

  "Well, I saw you heading out there. I thought it might give me an edge. I didn't know about your familiars."

  "Yeah. How long had you been following me, waiting for an opportunity?"

  "Not long. A couple of days."

  "A couple of days?"

  He nodded.

  "Well. Now you've hurt my pride."

  "And mine, Boss. I think he may be lying."

  "I always think that, Loiosh. And look where it's gotten me."

  "You're still breathing."

  "You really followed me for two days?"

  He nodded. .

  "Mind if I test you on it?"

  "Go ahead."

  I asked some questions about where I'd gone and who I'd seen, and he knew most of the answers. I'd rather not dwell on it. It was humiliating.

  "All right," I said when I'd heard enough. "And what conclusions did you come to?"

  "My lord?"

  "You spent two days following me. What do you think I'm up to?"

  He shrugged. "You're good. I haven't been able to come to any conclusions."

  "And you told the Count that?"

  He nodded.

  "And that," I said, "would have relieved any suspicions he might have had."

  Dahni looked uncomfortable.

  "What if I'd accepted?"

  "It was a legitimate offer."

  "Was it?"

  "Yes."

  "Is it still on the table?"

  "Not if you slit my throat. That's a deal-breaker."

  "Yeah? Tough bargainer."

  "Not me. It's the Count. He's pretty hard-nosed about that sort of thing."

  I put the knife away. "All right," I said. "If he wants to find and—to find whoever killed the Merss family, I'll help. You know where to find me."

  He rubbed his throat. "In the middle of a field in the dark?"

  "I was thinking of the inn, myself."

  "That'll work."

  "Good. Don't get up. I'll let myself out."

  I turned my back on him with complete confidence. And I did have complete confidence—complete confidence that Loiosh was watching.

  "Well, well. We've learned something, I think."

  "Seems like, Boss. I'm surprised."

  "I'm slightly stunned myself."

  We made it back to the inn without undue incident. It was busy enough that my entrance wasn't remarked. My table was occupied, so I got another, feeling unreasonably resentful about it. The lamb stew hadn't changed, however, and I felt better with a good bowl of it inside of me.

  As I scraped up the last bits of stew with good, warm bread (one of my favorite parts of eating stew, and yours too if you have any sense), I ignored the hum of conversation around me and tried to consider what I'd just learned.

  A fair bit, really, depending on whether and how much Dahni was telling the truth. I was inclined to believe him on at least a number of points. At any rate, I now understood more of what he was up to. Was he acting on his own? Of course he was; working for Saekeresh, and running a little free-lance business on the side. On a certain level, I couldn't blame him. The question was, what to do about it.

  Could I make a good guess on timing? No, not really. At least a day, no matter what. Probably not more than a week. Could be anywhere in that range. Damn, damn, damn.

  Yeah, no question, I was going to hurt someone very badly. And I was beginning to get a pretty good idea who it was going to be. In any case, it was best not to mention my latest conclusions to Loiosh, who was already upset at sticking around this place.

  He picked up a bit of that thought, I guess. He said, "We should be getting out of here, Boss."

  "I know."

  "We aren't going to, are we?"

  "No. You'll just have to stay alert."

  "Can we at least get out of this inn?"

  "Where would you suggest we go?"

  "The other inn?”

  "I just told Dahni he could get a message to me here."

  "Boss.”

  "Yeah, all right. I'll see if there are any rooms at the other inn."

  Presently I did. Either the wind was blowing the stench elsewhere, or I really was getting used to it, because it was a pleasant walk, from one end of the little town to the other. The place wasn't too crowded, and the hostess, a delightfully rotund woman of middle years, was pleased to let me a room at reason able cost. After some consideration, I decided not to tell the host at the Hat that I'd checked out. Loiosh was annoyed because I'd had to consider it. Money changed hands, and a drab little man wearing clothes that were too big for him showed me upstairs.

  I got a room with a window that looked out onto the street, and was assured that the Furnace (actually, the "nawp," but I figured out what she meant) wouldn't wake me in the morning, even if I forgot to close the shutter. The bed was narrow and too short, but soft and free of wildlife. There was also a washbasin and a chamber pot right in the room, and I was told that if I opened my door and rang that little bell there, someone would come up and bring me hot water in the morning. Could the person also bring me klava? No, but there was coffee, and it would be cheerfully delivered. Yes, coffee would do, with heavy cream and honey, although I said it with a sigh I couldn't quite repress.

  10

  First Student (whispering): I believe our hosts are drunk.

  Second Student (whispering): What should we do?

  Nurse: In the first place, stop whispering. It annoys them when they're passed out.

  —Miersen, Six Parts Water Day One, Act III, Scene 2

  I have to give this one to Loiosh: Even if no one was going to hit me in the head if I'd stayed at the Hat, I must have been worried about it, because I relaxed that night and I slept hard and long and until nearly noon. The same drab little guy in almost the same clothing brought me hot water and coffee klava and made no comments about the hours I kept.

  Having a kettle of coffee brought up to me was so pleasant it almost made up for it being coffee. I drank it all, staring out at the street watching a couple of dogs chase each other. Eventually I dressed, then went down, and the hostess was there, chatting with a couple of middle-aged gentlemen who had that indefinable something that told you they were from somewhere else. She gave me a gap-toothed smile and said, "Good morning, Lord Merss."

  "Good morning," I said. I sniffed. Hickory. "Something smells good. Lunch?"

  She nodded. "Pig eatin's. We make 'em like nowhere else."

  "I'll be back to try them, then." I touched my forehead with the tips of four fingers and went out and into the day. First thing was to visit the Hat and see if any messages had come in. No, no messages, unless the speculative look from the host was a message about the propriety of spending the night away. If so, I chose to disregard it. The lamb stew smelled good, but my loyalty had shifted. I'm just fickle, I guess.

  I went back to the Mouse and had lunch. It was good, though I wouldn't have used quite so much hickory, myself. But I took my time with it, letting what I'd learned the night before bounce around in my head, trying to decide how much of whom I should believe. I actually felt pretty good. The anger was still there, but I knew that sooner or later—probably sooner—I was going to
track down whoever it was that had caused that anger. Things hadn't come together, but I had enough pieces that eventually I'd see how they fit.

  I got another glass of wine—it was a particularly harsh and acidic red that tasted better than it should have—and nursed it while I considered things.

  An hour or so of that got me nowhere, so I went back to the Hat, and as I walked through the door, the host looked at me, frowning.

  "Message for you," he said. Obviously, to him there was something very suspicious about me having asked if there were any messages this morning, and then had one delivered in the afternoon. Obviously, I was up to something.

  I returned to the Mouse, found an ugly brown chair, and sat. Then I broke the seal, unfolded the heavy pink parchment, and read. It was, unlike the last missive, very simple and straightforward, with no excess words. It suggested I visit His Lordship tomorrow early in the afternoon.

  "Looks like we have a deal, Loiosh."

  "Or a trap.”

  "Or a trap. Right now, I'll be happy with a trap. It'll give me something to break out of. There's nothing worse than wanting to push and not having anything to push against."

  He started naming things that were worse until I told him to shut up. There's nothing worse than a smartass who pretends not to understand hyperbole.

  The more important question was: Were there any ways to protect myself in case it was a trap? Were there any arrangements worth making?

  "Go armed, Boss."

  "Good thinking."

  After a while, I noticed the place had pretty much emptied out. The hostess, whose name was Mahri, came over and poured me another glass of wine and asked if something was troubling me.

  "No," I said. "Just making plans for an errand I need to run tomorrow."

  "Plans?"

  I nodded. "So far, I've picked the horse I'm going to ride."

  "Well, may it prosper you," she said.

  "Indeed." I passed a coin across the table. "Drink with me to that sentiment."

  She smiled big and nodded, and went behind the bar and poured something golden into a small glass and lifted it to me, drank. I did too. She said, "Well, you think about your plans, then. I won't disturb you."

  "I appreciate that," I said.

  Usually when people say that, it's a prelude to an ongoing stream of disturbance, but she was as good as her word, and said nothing while I sat there beating into a headwind, as the Orca say. I wondered if she was the only one in town as good as her word. Which brought up the question of whether she was in on it too. I didn't really think so (and, just for the record, no she wasn't), but it gives you an idea of how my mind was working.

  Eventually I sighed and raised my glass for more wine. I couldn't think of any steps to make this safer; I was just going to have to do it. As she brought the wine, I said, "Do you know a light-haired, freckle-faced foreigner named Dahni?"

  She nodded. "He's been in a few times."

  "Do you trust him?"

  She frowned. I had the feeling she was one of those people who trusted everyone, and didn't understand why one wouldn't. "I don't understand."

  I smiled. "He's made a business proposition to me, and I'm wondering if he's the sort who can be depended on to be honest in his dealings."

  The question seemed to make her unhappy, like she didn't want to consider that the answer might be no. "I'm afraid I don't know him that well," she said.

  "What have you heard?"

  "Heard?"

  "Gossip? Rumors?"

  She looked even more uncomfortable.

  "I don't know as I should say anything."

  "I'd take it as a kindness."

  "It isn't a kindness to pass on ill-tongue."

  "It would be this time."

  She studied me, squinting through troubled dark brown eyes. "Well," she said at last, "some say he works for His Lordship, the Count."

  I had the feeling that that, in itself, wasn't necessarily something she might be reluctant to say about someone, so I just nodded and waited.

  "Well some say...you know the Count is an old man."

  I nodded, having not only heard but seen it.

  "Well, he…" She coughed, and I noticed she was turning red, and I was suddenly convinced that whatever I was about to hear would be of no interest to me at all. "Well, I'm not saying there's anything wrong, mind, but they say he has girls who, you know, who do things for him. And Dahni, they say he's the one who finds them for him."

  She finished quickly, blushing furiously, and I was pleased to know my instincts were still intact. I put forth all of my effort, all of my power, all of my will that had been hardened in the fires of death and crime—and I didn't laugh.

  "Thank you," I said. "That is of great importance to me, and you have done me great good. I assure you, no one will hear of this through me."

  She nodded and returned to the bar. I said, "Pardon me, hostess."

  "My lord?" she said, looking worried.

  I held up my glass.

  "Oh," she said, blushing even more, if that were possible, and quickly filled it. "This is on me," she said, with a sheepish grin.

  "Thank you," I said, passing over a coin. "Then call this a gratuity." She accepted it gratefully and found something to do in the back room while she recovered from her embarrassment.

  "Damn good thing I'm so skilled at investigation, Loiosh. Some' one else might never have uncovered that vital scrap of information."

  "You're just saying that because if you don't you know I will, aren't you, Boss?"

  "See there? You have the makings of a skilled investigator yourself.”

  If you can imagine the mental equivalent of the sound a horse makes when it exhales loudly through its nose, that's what I received then.

  I drank my wine and thought many thoughts, none of them having anything to do with the Count's love life. Eventually I made my way back to the Hat, spoke with the stable-boy, and said I wanted to make sure Marsi would be available tomorrow. He agreed Marsi would be ready, and I almost thought I saw a flicker of something like amusement in his eyes. If I'd been sure, I'd have hit him. Not for mocking me, but for the implied insult to Marsi, that fine, fine beast.

  "So, that's it, Boss? That's all we're going to do?"

  "I'm open to suggestions."

  He made muttering sounds.

  I left the place and found another merchant, this one a bookseller, hoping to find something entertaining to kill the time until tomorrow afternoon. I'd left all my books with Cawti. I missed them. I missed sitting around with her, reading; listening to her giggle while indulging her weakness for light verse; reading favorite passages to each other.

  They didn't have anything good in the place, so I left and walked around the town until I felt tired; then I went back to the Mouse and went to bed. I'd now been almost a week in the village of Burz, paper-making center of Fenario, if not the world. I'd come here looking for family, and I guess I'd found them, after a fashion.

  My thoughts on waking were not excessively cheerful. But I still liked the part where hot water and coffee were brought to me at the pull of a bell; that was something I decided I could get used to. I wondered why Cawti and I had never hired a servant. We could have afforded one, and I'd obliquely brought up the subject now and then. I tried to remember her reaction on those occasions, and how the subject had been put aside, but I couldn't.

  As I drank that harsh, bitter stuff, I removed the daggers and throwing knives I carried about my person, and took out my whetstone (practically new, I'd bought it on the way out of Adrilankha), and carefully sharpened and honed each one, then my rapier. It felt like it might turn into that sort of day. Dragons don't seem so concerned with getting a fine edge on a weapon; I guess because the way they fight they'll bludgeon you to death as much as cut you. My approach is more elegant and precise. And elegance and precision are important because, uh, because they're important.

  Yeah.

  Coffeed, cleaned, dressed, and armed,
I went down the stairs, ready to face anything the world threw at me. That's more hyperbole, just in case you were wondering. Loiosh was on my left shoulder, Rocza on my right, and they both scanned the room, fully alert for assassins, hostile citizens, or pieces of sausage that had been left on the floor. It was a reasonably dramatic entrance; too bad the room was empty.

  I went straight out onto the street, walking past a pair of dogs that looked like hornless lyorns, and turned left toward the Hat. There were lots of people around today, many of them looking like they worked at the mill, which was strange because it wasn't Endweek. Seems they had a different Endweek here. Well, why not? Everything else about the place was strange.

  I stopped near the docks and looked across the river. Yeah, (here was no smoke coming from the thing, and the boats were all pulled up on this side. All of the shops were busy, even the bookseller's. The Guild, whatever it was, was prospering today. It was odd how I seemed to fit right in among all the passersby; I wasn't used to that.

  "About how long do I have until I should leave for the Count's?"

  "Boss, you have better time sense than I do. How should I know if you don't?"

  Noish-pa had told me he used to be able to look at the position of the Furnace and judge the time to within five minutes. I glanced up at it, and looked at the shadows. Yeah, it was definitely daytime.

  I thought about asking someone, but I had the feeling I'd sound like an idiot, and feeling like an idiot is bad enough. Muttering to myself, I went back to the Mouse, and found the hostess at her station. She greeted me with a warm smile; she apparently held no ill-will over my coercing her into revealing deep, dark, and vital secrets about one of her patrons. I said, "Pardon me, good hostess, but do you happen to know what time it is?"

  She glanced quickly out the window. "Almost half past the twelfth hour," she said.

  I thanked her, got more coffee, and sat down to drink it.

  "It never used to matter, they tell me."

  I looked up. Her hands were out of sight below the bar; I guessed she was cleaning something.

  "The time of day never used to be so important, they tell me."

  "Oh?"

  "I mean, before the mill."

  I said, "I'm told that was a long, long time ago."