by Steven Brust
"Can I send Rocza back to you?"
"All right.”
A few minutes later she came back through the window and landed on the bed. She twisted her neck around as if to look into my eyes, then, very gently, bit the bridge of my nose. Then she curled up by my ear. When Loiosh wasn't busy, I'd have to ask him what that meant.
"He's heading out of town to the east, Boss. Strolling, really. It's odd. Like he's taking a walk to enjoy the day. I suppose he might be.”
I glanced out the window to see what sort of day it was. Seemed bright, and the breeze through my window wasn't excessively hot or cold.
"Any chance he's spotted you?"
"No."
"Anyone around?"
"Not so far. He's near where you and Dahni had that talk.”
"Doesn't the wood come bumping up against the road right about there?"
"Just ahead.”
"Two dead Teckla against one sincere compliment he turns off into the woods.”
"No bet. I couldn't afford to lose. And . . . yes, there he goes, off the left. It's harder to stay with him here, but less chance he'll see me.”
"Okay. I just need to know.”
"To know? Boss, is he going to meet an assassin?"
"Eh? I hope not! For one thing, I don't want there to be an assassin this close yet.
More important, it would mean everything I've figured is wrong. There's no way he ought to be able to get in touch with the Jhereg.”
"Then, Boss, what is he going to do?"
"Wait and see."
"Is this any way to treat your familiar and best friend?"
"Evidently.”
He used a few adjectives he's known for a long time and some nouns I hadn't realized he'd picked up. I found that I was smiling for the first time in longer than I could remember.
"Okay now he's looking around and I'm being all secretive and stuff so he won't see me so I can carry out your orders which is more than you deserve."
"But you're so good at it."
"You're going to find out how good I can be at—hey! He's gone!"
"Look carefully. There should be a cave, or a, I don't know, a concealed something."
"I don't know, Boss. He's just gone."
"Keep looking."
Then, "Found it. It's a cave, lots of shrubs around it. I can't fly in, but I can slither."
"I didn't know you slithered."
"I save it for special occasions."
"Be careful.”
A little later he said, "This would be a bad place for someone with poor night vision."
"Can you see anything?"
"A little bit leaks in from the outside. After that I'm not sure."
"Can you smell anything?"
"Dammit, Boss, I'm a jhereg, not a bloodhound."
"Sorry.”
"I can see a box of torches, but, you know, there's the whole opposable thumb problem. Not to mention lighting them. I—wait. Something just . . . okay, there's a doorway at the far end. Just a curtain over it. People moving.”
"Careful, careful.”
"No worries, Boss. There's a place right above it where I can perch and listen, if there's anything to listen to."
A little later I said, "Anything going on, Loiosh?"
"Voices, Boss. Can't make out what they're saying."
"Anything from the tones?"
"It sounds just like conversation, Boss. At least six or seven voices and they're, well, gabbing.”
"They won't be for much longer. Stay with it."
"Boss, what—"
"Just wait. I need to be sure.”
"All right, I’ll . . . they're quiet now."
"Yeah.”
"Okay, now I'm hearing... Boss! It's a Coven!"
"Had to be."
"And Orbahn—"
"Yeah. And Orbahn."
"How did you know?"
"I didn't."
"Does that mean he—"
"No, he isn't behind all of this. No one is behind all of this. There are too many different interests working for any one person to be behind all of this. I know most of them, and so do you. The only question is how they fit together. We just got a piece of that."
"Okay, Boss. Whatever you say. What do I do now?"
"It's almost suppertime. Come on back and share it with me."
"What if they've started letting you eat good food?"
"Then you won't get quite so much.”
15
Boraan: Gracious! Could there be two different plots at work here?
Lefitt: Impossible.
Boraan: You're certain?
Lefitt: Quite certain. I can see four at the least.
—Miersen, Six Parts Water Day Two, Act III, Scene 2
He won, I lost.
Supper was the same lamb stew as before, but it included everything this time, and I was allowed an entire glass of wine. I enjoyed it very much.
"Boss, how did you know Orbahn was going to a Coven? And that there was a Coven? And—"
"Not now, Loiosh."
"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Parts of it, yes. Other parts, not so much."
"I didn't mean that, I meant showing off how clever you are."
"If I were clever, Loiosh, I wouldn't be in this position."
"You couldn't have known—"
"Of course I could. I'm an idiot not to have seen it."
"How, Boss?"
"Just exactly what was a tag doing on the street at that time of day, when all the workmen were at the mill? She was there to see me, to find me, which means someone had set her on me. I should have figured it out and followed her and been ready when they made the move on me. But then, at that point, I had no idea what any of it meant. There's just one question left about her. Hmmm."
"What's that, Boss?"
I didn't respond; I was thinking about Tereza, trying to figure exactly how she fit into this.
"Another thing, Boss. If you didn't know then, when did you figure it out?"
"The questions they asked me," I said. "Now let me concentrate on this."
This whole thing should be a lesson to me, and it would have been if I'd known what the lesson was. Come to think of it, I still don't know.
"I don't see what you're hesitating about, Boss. You know you want me to find her and see where she goes and who she talks to."
"Uh, yeah.”
"See you soon," he said, and flew out the window, startling poor Meehayi, who happened to be there seeing to it I didn't stab myself in the mouth with my fork.
Meehayi said, "Where is he going?"
"I'm tired of lamb. He's going to bring me back a cow."
He shook his head. "No one raises cattle nearby. He'd have to go-"
"I was kidding, Meehayi."
"I know," he said.
I sighed. If I kept underestimating people, I'd never make it out of this bed. "Meehayi, do you know a family called Saabo?"
"Huh? Sure. A town this size, you know everyone."
"Tell me about them."
"What do you want to know?"
"For starters, how big is it?"
"Four. Er, six, I mean. Three boys, one girl. The oldest is Yanosh. He's a year younger than me."
"Does he farm?"
"Oh, no, no. They work in the mill. All of them."
"All of them?"
"Except the baby, Chilla. She's only four."
"How old is the youngest who works in the mill?"
"That would be Foolop. He's nine."
"Nine."
He nodded.
"And the father?"
He frowned. "I don't know. Forty? Forty-five?"
"No, I mean, what is his name?"
"Oh. Venchel. I don't know his wife's name, everyone calls her Sis. Vlad?"
"Hmmm?"
"You aren't going to get them, get them, involved in this, are you?"
I studied him. "Just what do you know about what 'this' is?"
The blood rushed to his face and his mouth opened and closed. If he was planning to conceal something, he could give it up right away. I've known Dzurlords who could dissemble better than this guy.
I waited him out. He finally said, "I guess I know what everybody knows. I hear what they say."
"Uh huh," I said. "Let's hear it."
"Well, you wanted to see your—to see the Mersses, and they're dead. And you talked to Zollie, and he's dead."
"And why did I come to town, Meehayi? What are 'they' saying about that?"
"No one seems to know."
"But there are theories. There are always theories."
"That you came to kill His Lordship. That's one."
"Heh. If I had, he'd be dead. What else?"
"That you are a spirit of the Evil Baron, returned for revenge."
"Oh, I like that. Whose opinion is that?"
He looked uncomfortable. "It was Inchay who said it,"
"The host at the Pointy Hat?"
"The what?"
"The inn."
"Oh, why do you call it the Pointy Hat?"
"I don't know. What do you call it?"
"Inchay's."
"I see."
"Anyway, yeah, him."
"He thinks I'm going to kill Count Saekeresh. Well. Yeah, that answers a lot of nagging questions. And asks a few more. And what's your opinion?"
"I don't know. But—" He shrugged. "His Lordship likes you, and wants to protect you. So I guess maybe you're working with him against the Guild?"
"Yeah, he loves me," I said. "He'll do anything for me."
He frowned at that.
I said, trying to sound casual, "I understand about the Guild and Sae—and His Lordship. But how does the Coven fit into?"
"I don't know," he said. "I've never even been certain that, you know, there was a Coven."
I nodded.
"Is there?" he said.
"I think so," I told him.
"How do you know?"
"I'll tell you what, Meehayi. I like you. On the off chance that we're both alive when this is all over, I'll explain it all to you."
"Both alive?"
"Yeah, well, not to scare you, but right now I don't like either of our chances much."
"Don't worry," he said. "His Lordship is protecting you. And he's let people know that—"
"Yeah, yeah. He's put the word out not to kill me. I'm now under the same protection Zollie was."
He looked down. I guess I'd hurt his feelings again. It's a damned good thing Cawti and I never had kids; I'm just no good with them.
After a few minutes, he said, "Do you want me to ask Mr. Saabo to come see you?"
"Yes, please," I said. '
"I don't know if he will."
"If he won't, he won't. I wonder which rumors about me he believes."
Meehayi shrugged.
Loiosh returned several hours later, not having found Tereza. Each day that passed made me a little stronger. It also brought the next assassin that much closer. It occurred to me that I should be grateful the Dagger of the Jhereg was no longer in business; she'd have been perfect for this job. If you see the irony in that thought you can enjoy it with me. If not, sorry; I don't feel like explaining.
The next morning, Loiosh resumed his search of the city, while I waited to hear if I'd have company. The physicker and the witch returned shortly after the noon hour, and once more I was poked, prodded, and muttered over as they changed my dressings and inspected the damage. "There shouldn't be much scarring," he said at one point.
I informed him, through clenched teeth, just how little I cared one way or the other about scars. He appeared not to care about whether I cared about scars; I guess it was a question of professional pride with him. I cared just about as much about his professional pride as my own "patients" cared about mine.
When the examination was finally over he and the witch fussed over me a little longer, and had a few more murmured conversations, then went off to speak to Meehayi about the care and feeding of maltreated itinerant assassins.
"I think you're out of danger," said Aybrahmis, which almost made me burst out into laughter.
Then it hit me, and I said, "Wait, you thought I might have been about to die?"
"Your body has been through a lot."
"I don't die that easy," I said.
He grunted, as if to say bravado is cheap. Yeah, I guess it is; that was a stupid thing to say. But then, he's a physicker; he's probably heard a lot of stupid things said. That's one advantage of my profession, or my ex-profession I should say: If you do it right, the "patient" doesn't have a chance to say anything stupid.
Loiosh didn't find Tereza, and talked me out of sending Rocza to help him. She stayed with me, curled up by my ear. The entire day passed that way—little happened that I care to talk about, or to think about, come to that—until the evening, when I was hearing the faint echoes of laughter and conversation from the inn below, and there came a hesitant tap at the door.
Rocza was instantly alert, like a koovash scenting a wolf. Anyone coming to kill me wouldn't have tapped at the door, and it wouldn't matter if I said to go away, so I called out for the person to enter freely.
He was a small man, dressed in some sort of brown tunic and loose pantaloons that I think had been black once. He had a sharply angled jaw, and a beard that he obviously took great pride in. It was a little chin growth that continued the jaw angle to a sharp point about an inch and a half below his chin. He half looked at me, and half looked down, and in his hand was a faded blue cap.
"Come in," I said again, and he did. Deferentially. He didn't look like a peasant—a peasant would never shape his beard— but he acted like one.
"Greetings, my lord," he said. He oozed deference. It was revolting.
"Find a place to sit," I told him. "I'd stand and bow; only I'm not quite able to manage."
He didn't know quite what to say to that, so he sat down and stared at his cap.
"I am Merss Vladimir," I told him.
"Yes, my lord."
"I understand that we're related."
He nodded, suddenly looking a little afraid. Of me? Or what being related to me might mean? Probably not the latter; apparently not many people believed that my name was really Merss. Which it wasn't, so I guess they were right.
"You know, of course, about what happened? To the family?"
He nodded tersely, still looking at his cap. If I hadn't been unable to move, I'd have slapped him.
"That was your family once, you know. You are related to them."
He nodded, and it was obvious he didn't like where this was going.
I said, "It doesn't bother you, what happened to them?"
He looked up at me for the first time, and I caught a flash of something in his eyes, very quickly, that I hadn't suspected would be there. Then he looked down at his cap again and said, "It does, my lord."
"Well, it's my intention to do something about it."
"My lord?" He looked like I had just announced plans to grow another head.
"It is not my intention to permit someone to feel my family may be slaughtered with impunity. Do you think this should be permitted?"
His mouth opened and closed a few times, then he said, No, my lord, but—"
"But what?"
"What can I—?"
"If you're willing, you can help me."
He very badly wanted to ask, "What if I say no?" but he didn't dare. I don't mind cowardice. I can respect cowardice. I practice it whenever possible. But craven I have no use for. No, I mean, I don't like it; quite often I find I have use for it.
"What can I do?" he finally asked; asking it with the tone, of, "What use could I possibly be?" rather than, "I am offering to help."
I said, "Well, I'm not going to ask you to kill anyone."
Once again, he lifted his head briefly, and I saw that look; but it didn't last.
"What do you want of me?"
"I've told you what
I'm doing. Are you willing to help me, or not?"
He clamped his jaws shut. Finally, still staring at his cap, he said, "Not without knowing what you want me to do."
Well! Good on him. I was impressed in spite of myself. "Fair enough," I told him. "I want answers to some questions."
He nodded. "That I will do."
"We'll see," I told him. "How much of your family history do you know?"
"My lord? I already said we were related to—"
"Yes. But why was your name changed?"
"M'lord? It wasn't."
"Eh?"
"No, sir. Old Matyawsh changed the name. My great grandfather, Matyawsh's brother, kept the name he was born with."
"All right," I said. That much, at least, agreed with what I'd been told by Father Noij. I like having things confirmed. It gives me such a warm, comfortable feeling.
"And do you believe what was said about them?"
"Meaning what?"
"About being evil, about summoning demons."
"Oh, that. I'm no peasant, Lord Merss. I was educated. At the school. I can read, and write, and do sums, and think. No, I don't believe that."
"What school?"
"There's been a school in Burz for years and years, to teach symbols and sums and citizenship."
"Citizenship?"
"Doing your duty to your country and county."
"Um. And what is your duty to your country and county?"
He made a face, and for the first time smiled a little. "That part didn't take so well. If they want me to fight their war they'll have to drag me there."
"I see. So the peasants here can read?"
"Peasants? No. It's not open to the peasants. Just children of mill workers."
"Mmm. What about children of merchants?"
He sniffed. "Father Noij teaches them."
"All right, then. So you don't believe in summoning demons, or groups of evil witches. Then why did most of the Merss family leave?"
"Because the peasants believed in those things."
"You don't think much of peasants, do you?"
"They're ignorant. It isn't their fault," he added magnanimously.
Most people seem to take pleasure in feeling superior to someone. I'm not like that, which pleases me because it makes me feel superior.
"Why?" I said.
"Hmm?"
"Count Saekeresh. Why did he start a school?"
"It wasn't him, it was his grandfather. Because you have to be able to read to work in the mill, you see. It isn't just brawn; you need to use your head to make paper. At least, to make it right. The process—"