by Steven Brust
“What do you think, Loiosh?”
“I don’t like it, boss. There’s no one hanging around outside, but he had plenty of time to set something up before we got here.”
“Good point.”
“If you want to make a break, I can keep him busy.”
“No. I’m going to run with it.”
“Boss—”
“Stay alert.”
The ceiling was low, the stone walls were damp, and the place was dark enough to be irritating—I suspected that, except for sinking, it hadn’t changed much in quite some time. There was a big table with two long benches, about half of which were occupied by tradesmen, and a few isolated tables scattered about the room. We sat at one of those. It was toward the back, and Loftis could watch the front door while I watched the curtained-off doorway that presumably led to a private room of some sort. I could have made an issue about this—in fact, I was almost tempted to since I didn’t have Loiosh with me—but I still had some faint hopes of convincing him that the story we’d given was true.
“What do you recommend?” I asked.
“I don’t know; I’ve never been here before.”
After too long, we realized that no one was going to bring us anything, so we went up to the bar and acquired a bottle of wine, a loaf of bread, two bowls of fish stew, glasses, spoons, a wooden platter to carry them all on. I did the paying, he did the carrying. We brought the stuff back to the table, sat down, poured, and sampled.
“The stew is too salty,” suggested Loftis.
“The bread’s all right.”
“Better than the stew,” he agreed.
“Or the wine,” I added.
“I was thinking about bringing you in,” he said.
“Do you have better wine than this?”
“A little better. Not enough to get excited about. The trouble is, we can’t find your friend.”
“You just haven’t looked hard enough.”
“Oh?”
“I know some excellent Eastern wines.”
“Make a list of them for me. And while you’re filling it out, maybe you can write down an address where I can find dear Margaret.”
“I’ll be sure to do that. But I don’t feel too bad for you. You can’t have been looking for more than half an hour. What do you expect? Searches and wines take time to mature.”
“Wines do, certainly. But searches can be helped. And I’d take it as a personal favor.”
“How about if I just pay for the next bottle of wine, instead?”
“That’s a thought. You don’t seem worried, Padraic. Is that your real name, by the way?”
“I don’t remember anymore.”
“Too much wine can do that to one’s memory.” He poured me some more. “You probably should be worried, though. Because, when I say that I might have to bring you in—”
“Please,” I said. “Don’t ruin the surprise. Or the meal, for that matter.”
“You know, I can’t even eat this stew. I wonder if they have anything else.”
“I wouldn’t risk it if they did. We got what they recommended; what do you suppose the inferior stuff is like?”
“Good point. Who did you say you’re working for?”
“An unnamed Imperial group, devoted to the interests of the State.”
“Excellent. I believe you, too. Only, I will require some form of identification, or a contact in the Imperial Palace, or a Signet.”
I poured him some wine. “That could be problematical,” I said.
“Yes. What exactly are you trying to do?”
“There’s an old lady whose land is being taken away from her. We’re trying to find out who owns the land so we can buy it for her, but the company is out of business. She’s being evicted, you see—”
He held up his hand. “Say no more,” he said. “Just give me her name, and I’ll see that it’s taken care of.”
The worst of it was that he might be able to, and perhaps he even would; but I couldn’t count on it, and I certainly couldn’t give him any help in tracking you down, Kiera; especially after all the work I’d just gone through to destroy all the work you’d done in setting this up. I said, “I can’t seem to remember, just at the moment. It must be the wine.”
“Probably.”
“Boss, there are a couple of blades I don’t recognize outside the door.”
“Outside the door? What are they doing?”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were getting ready to go charging in.”
“Oh.”
Loftis sighed and pushed the food away. “Execrable,” he said. “What am I going to do with you?”
Under the table, I let a dagger fall into my left hand, and made sure my sword was loose in its sheath. “You could paint me blue and trade me for bagpipes.”
“Yes, that would be an option. But I’m afraid, as much as I’ve enjoyed sharing a meal with you, I’m going to have to insist on your accompanying me back to a place where I’m better equipped to get answers to questions.”
“Damn,” I said. “I just remembered. My niece is getting married this evening, and I have to pick out some new clothes, so I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it today.”
“Oh, I’m sure your niece will understand. Just what was her name, and where might I find her?” He smiled, then the smile went away and he looked at me very hard. “There are really only a couple of questions I need answered, but I do need them answered. Do you understand?”
I matched his stare.
He said, “Who do you work for, and what are you trying to accomplish? If you give me those answers, maybe we can work something out. If you don’t, I’m going to have to start squeezing you.”
“It isn’t going to happen,” I said.
“Boss, they’re coming in!”
I rose to my feet, and I had my weapon halfway out when two men came through the curtain I was facing. I stepped to the side so Loftis couldn’t get an easy shot at me and flipped my dagger at one of them; when he flinched, I lunged for the other one, knocking his weapon out of line and nailing him in the throat. I risked a quick glance toward the door, and then saw the other two, who were looking a little startled to see me noticing them and smiling; Loftis was now on his feet, too, and he had a weapon out, but he was looking at the pair who’d come through the door. He was facing away from me, so I couldn’t see his expression, nor did I have time for a close look, because there was still the one I’d thrown my knife at. But Loftis did take the time to look at me, and there was no particular expression in that look. He said, “He didn’t break the stick,” which was just damned informative, but I didn’t have the time to ask for an explanation.
As I turned back to the one I’d distracted, he made a break to get past me; that was fine, they could all run away as far as I was concerned.
Only he didn’t run away.
He got past me, then he buried his sword in Loftis’s skull, then he kept running out the door. The other two followed behind; they were gone before I realized it.
“Boss?”
“Don’t worry, Loiosh. They weren’t after me.”
“They weren’t?”
“Right. On the other hand, I suppose that means you can go ahead and worry.”
Everyone in the room was staring at Loftis, and there was no sound, until the Dragonlord dropped his weapon, which made an appalling clamor as it hit the floor.
He turned very slowly and looked at me; there was an expression of surprise on his face. He opened his mouth, then closed it. I could see the muscles of his neck straining, and realized that it was hard work for him to keep his head straight with the weight of a sword attached to it.
Loftis sank to his knees, then he fell forward onto his face, looking absurd and pitiful with the sword still sticking out of the back of his head.
11
I GOT OUT of there in a hurry, before anyone in the place could think to stop me.
Loiosh said, “Should I follow them?
Oh, never mind; they’ve just teleported. I can show you where they teleported from if you want.”
“I have no intention of tracing anyone’s teleport, Loiosh; I just want to get out of here. Keep watching.”
“Okay, boss.”
I crossed the street and turned right at the first corner I came to, then right again, then left, then left again, and then right, then I went straight for a while, then I stopped and looked around, having gotten myself lost enough to have a chance of confusing anyone else.”
“Well?”
“All clear, boss.”
“Okay, back home, then.”
“I’ll keep watching.”
We made it back to the cottage, both of us looking around fairly often. Buddy seemed happy to see me, Rocza seemed happy to see Loiosh, the old woman didn’t seem happy about anything, and Savn didn’t seem to care one way or another. I sat down at the table, closed my eyes, and took my first deep breath in what seemed like a year or so.
The old woman looked at me and didn’t ask any questions, wherefore I gave her no answers. I really wished you were here, Kiera, because I felt the need to confess and to have some help sorting out what had just happened. It had all made sense—Loftis figuring it out, sitting me down where he could give me one chance to come clean, and then having his people arrest me—up to the point where they’d killed him.
They’d killed him.
Had he been surprised by who came through the door? Or that anyone showed up? Or only by what they did?
He didn’t break the stick.
That was a good one; I’d love to have found out what it meant, but there was no one around to ask. If I’d understood it, no doubt it would turn out to be the code phrase that made everything clear, and indicated exactly what I should do next. More probably, it went back to his childhood and had something to do with being hurt—at least, that’s the sort of thing that went through my head when I decided I was about to become damaged, or maybe dead.
I regretted him. He was an honest son of a bitch, in spite of what he was doing, and he’d struck me as good at his job, although the only trace of evidence for that was that he’d hit you the same way, Kiera, so maybe he was really just a fool who knew how to impress people like us.
I wished his last meal had been better, though.
I said, “How’s the boy, Mother?”
“No change,” she said.
I said, “Savn?” He didn’t seem to hear me. He was staring into the hearth as if it was the only thing in the world. At least there weren’t any knives in it. I said, “Do you have any great ideas?”
She glared at me, then stood up, which took her quite a while. She came over and sat beside me, saying in a low voice, “I don’t think I’m going to attempt the dreamwalk; at least, not for a while. He is responding, in a way, so that’s some improvement. I want to know how far we’ll get. I want to know if we can get him talking about something other than knives.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“I’ve been talking to him. You could try it too.”
“Just talking to him?”
“Yes.”
“Even though he doesn’t respond?”
“Yes.”
“All right,” I said.
She nodded, and I went over and sat down next to him. “So how are you, boy?” I said. He didn’t respond. “I hope you’re feeling well physically, at least.” I felt like an idiot. The old woman got up and went outside, taking Buddy with her.
“It’s been about a year now, Savn.” I said. “Look, I hope you know that I’m sorry about what happened. You were never supposed to get involved in it.”
He stared at the hearth and didn’t move.
“You saved my life, you know. Twice. First, when I was injured, and then again. That isn’t something I forget. And all those things you said to me, they were hard to hear, but it was probably good for me.” I laughed a little. “Most things that are good for you hurt, maybe. To the left, though, most things that hurt aren’t good for you. There’s a nice riddle, if you want one. Do you like riddles? Do you like puzzles? I’m working on a puzzle now, Savn, and it has me pretty thoroughly stumped. I’d like to talk it over with you. You’re a pretty sharp kid, you know.
“Why was Loftis killed? That’s a puzzler, isn’t it? He was working for someone in the Empire who was trying to hide the fact that Fyres was murdered, because if Fyres was murdered, they’d have to look into who killed him, and they’d probably never find out, but they would find out who wanted him dead, and that was a lot of people with a lot of connections to some of the people who keep our Empire chugging along. So maybe someone didn’t want the information hidden. I can imagine that, Savn. But that’s no reason to kill Loftis—it would be much easier, and probably cheaper, just to let someone, say the Warlord, or Lord Khaavren, or even Her Majesty, know what was going on. Killing Loftis doesn’t make any sense.
“And it couldn’t be to help hide what he was doing, because now they’re going to have to investigate that, and that will almost certainly lead them to find out everything. But if that was the goal, it was going about it the hard way, and the dangerous way, and people don’t do that when there’s a safe way and an easy way to do things—except maybe Dzurlords, and they don’t get into the sort of subtle thinking that goes along with it. I just can’t make it fit, Savn. What do you think?”
Evidently he thought the hearth was fascinating.
“There’s got to be a piece of this I’m not seeing—a piece of information I don’t have. I wish I had more sources, like I used to. It used to be I could just snap my fingers and people would go scurrying to discover everything I needed to know. Now all I’ve got is what I can learn myself (with the help of Loiosh and Rocza, and a few minstrels). Should I go find a minstrel and talk to him, Savn? You were there the last time I did that, and I got some useful information, too. Remember her? She was quite something, wasn’t she? I remember thinking you were getting a crush on her, and I couldn’t blame you. I was, too, if truth be known, but she’s Dragaeran, and I’m an Easterner, and there you have it. Besides, I imagine she doesn’t think much of me now, with what I’ve done to you. I suspect she blames me, and she’s right to. I blame me, too.”
I sat next to him and stared at the hearth. It was getting a bit chilly; maybe I should get a fire started. Back where Savn had come from, they were harvesting flax about now. They probably missed him.
“All right,” I told him. “I’ll go find a minstrel, and I’ll see what the word is about Fyres, and about the investigation, and about the banks. Maybe I’ll learn something. At least it’ll keep me busy.”
I stood up. “I’ll talk to you later, all right?” He didn’t object, so I headed out the door. The old woman was sitting on a wicker chair in front of the house, Buddy curled up beside her. I had the uncomfortable feeling she’d heard everything I said. I wondered if her whole reason for having me talk to him was so she could listen in, but I dismissed the thought; if there was one person in the whole mess who wasn’t devious, it was her. But this affair was enough to make anyone paranoid, so I acquitted myself of paranoia and wrapped my cloak a little tighter around myself, because it was getting cold. Why is it you notice the weather more when you’re out of town? I don’t remember paying much attention to the weather when I lived in Adrilankha, even though I spent a lot of time walking around outside.
Minstrels, I’ve found, are rather like boot hooks—you keep running into them every time you go into your closet to find something else, but the minute you realize you need one they vanish without a trace. After walking all the way into Northport, I must have spent three hours going from one inn to another, and nowhere was there anyone singing for his supper, or telling stories in exchange for a room, or even sitting passed-out in the corner with a reed-pipe on his lap.
But diligence is sometimes rewarded. Seven times I asked locals where I might find some music. One didn’t know, three didn’t bother talking to me, and two
were rude enough that I felt obligated to give them some minor damage as a lesson in courtesy. The seventh, however, was a pleasant young Teckla woman with flowing skirts and amazing black eyes who directed me to a public house about half a mile away, with feathers on its sign. I found it with no trouble (which surprised me just a little, as I’d become pessimistic about the whole adventure by that point) and I made my way into the small, smoke-filled little inn, in amongst a large crowd of mostly Teckla, with a couple of Orca and Chreotha surrounded by the entourage the minor nobility invariably attracts in such places, and, at the far end, a middle-aged Teckla playing a fretted gordstring as softly as such a twangy instrument can be played, and actually fairly well.
One part of a bench in the middle of the room was open, and I took it. Loiosh was with me, which may have accounted for some of the looks I got, but more likely they just weren’t used to Easterners in there. The singer’s voice was high and probably would have been unpleasant, but he picked songs that fit it—I suppose that’s part of being a minstrel, just like part of being an assassin is knowing which jobs to take and which ones to leave alone. Eventually someone came by and brought me some wine, which I drank quickly because it wasn’t very good, and some time later the minstrel stopped playing.
He stayed where he was and drank, and after a while I approached him. He looked at me, looked at Loiosh, and seemed uncomfortable, which was only natural. I said quietly, “My name is Vlad,” and watched his face very closely for any sign of recognition.
“Yes?” he said. No, he didn’t seem to recognize the name, which was good news. The first time a minstrel recognizes my name is the last time I can pull this stunt.
“Can we talk for a few minutes?”
“About what?”
I showed him the ring, then quickly put it away. The ring, by the way, represented one of the last things I arranged before I left Adrilankha; its design is a recognition symbol for the Minstrels’ Guild, so when I showed it to him, he just said, “I see” and “Yes.”