by Steven Brust
I continued to wait, while finishing up my soup. I still didn’t know why he was here, but I was quite sure that it wasn’t in order to compliment me on my information sources, or to give me information he could have had sent over by a courier.
He picked up his wineglass and looked into it, swirled it around a little, and sipped it. Crazily, he suddenly reminded me of the Necromancer. “Vlad,” he said, “I think we may have a possible conflict of interest developing here.”
“Indeed?”
“Well, it is known that you are a friend of Morrolan. Now, Morrolan is harboring Mellar. It would seem that our goals, and his goals, might not run along the same paths.”
I still didn’t say anything. The waiter showed up with the main course, and I checked it, and started in. The Demon pretended not to notice my gesture. I pretended not to notice when he did the same thing.
He continued, after swallowing and making the obligatory murmur of satisfaction. “Things could get very unpleasant for Morrolan.”
“I can’t imagine how,” I said, “unless you plan to start another Dragon-Jhereg war. And Mellar, no matter what he did, can’t be worth that much.”
Now it was the Demon who said nothing. I got a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I said slowly, “He can’t be worth another Dragon-Jhereg war.”
He still said nothing.
I shook my head. Would he really go ahead and try to nail Mellar right in Morrolan’s castle? Gods! He was saying that he would! He’d bring every Dragon on Dragaera down on our heads. This could be worse than the last one. It was the reign of the Phoenix, which made the Dragons correspondingly higher on the Cycle. The higher a House is, the more fate tends to favor it. I don’t know the why or how of that, but it works that way. The Demon knew it, too.
“Why?” I asked him.
“At this point,” he said slowly, “I don’t think that there is any need to start such a war. I think that it can be worked around, which is why I’m talking to you. But, I will say this: if I’m wrong, and the only options I can see are letting Mellar get away with this or starting another war, I’ll start the war. Why? Because if we have a war, things will get bad, yes, very bad, but then it will be over. We know what to expect this time, and we’ll be ready for it. Oh, sure, they’ll hurt us. Perhaps badly. But we will recover, eventually—in a few thousand years.
“On the other hand, if Mellar gets away with this, there won’t be an end to it. Ever. As long as House Jhereg lasts, we’ll have to contend with thieves plotting after our funds. We’ll be crippled forever.”
His eyes became thin lines, and I saw his teeth clench for a moment. “I built us up after Adron’s Disaster. I made a dispirited, broken House into a viable business again. I’m willing to see my work set back a thousand years, or ten thousand years if I have to, but I’m not willing to see us weakened forever.”
He sat back. I let his remarks sink in. The worst thing was, he was right. If I were in his position, I would probably find myself making the same decision. I shook my head.
“You’re right,” I told him. “We have a conflict of interest. If you give me enough time, I’ll finish my work. But I’m not going to let you nail someone in Castle Black. I’m sorry, but that’s how it is.”
He nodded, thoughtfully. “How much time do you need?”
“I don’t know. As soon as he leaves Castle Black, I can get him. But I haven’t come up with a way to get him to leave yet.”
“Will two days do it?”
I thought that over. “Maybe,” I said finally. “Probably not.”
He nodded and was silent.
I used a piece of only slightly stale bread to get the rest of the garlic butter (I never said it was a good restaurant for eating in), and asked him, “What is your idea for avoiding the Dragon-Jhereg war?”
He shook his head, slowly. He wasn’t going to give me anymore information about that. Instead, he signaled the waiter over and paid him. “I’m sorry,” he told me as the waiter walked away. “We’ll have to do it without your cooperation. You could have been very helpful.” He left the table and walked toward the door.
The waiter, I noticed, was returning with the change. I absently waved him away. That’s when it hit me. The Demon would have realized that this outcome was possible, but wanted to give me a chance to save myself. Oh, shit. I felt the waves of panic start up, but forced them down. I wouldn’t leave this place, I decided, until help arrived. I started to reach out for contact with Kragar.
The waiter hadn’t caught my signal and was still approaching. I started to gesture him away again when Loiosh screamed a warning into my mind. I caught the flicker of motion almost at the same time. I pushed the table away from me and reached for a dagger at the same moment that Loiosh left my shoulder to attack. But I also knew, in that instant, that both of us would be too late. The timing had been perfect, the setup professional. I turned, hoping to at least get the assassin.
There was a gurgling sound as I turned and stood up. Instead of lunging at me, the “waiter” fell against me, then continued on to the floor. There was a large kitchen cleaver in his hand, and the point of a dagger sticking out of his throat.
I looked around the room as the screams started. It took me a while, but I finally located Kragar, seated at a table a few feet from mine. He stood up and walked over to me. I felt myself start trembling, but I didn’t allow myself to fall back into my chair until I was sure the Demon had left.
He had. His bodyguards were gone, probably having been out the door before the assassin’s body had fallen. Wise, of course. Any of his people left here were dead. Loiosh returned to my shoulder, and I felt him glancing around the room, as if to make any guilty party cower in shame. There would be none of them left now. He’d taken his best shot, and it had almost worked.
I sat down and trembled for a while.
“Thanks, Kragar. Were you there the whole time?”
“Yeah. As a matter of fact, you looked right through me a couple of times. So did the Demon. So did the waiters,” he added sourly.
“Kragar, the next time you feel like ignoring my orders, do it.”
He gave me his Kragar smile. “Vlad,” he said, “never trust anyone who calls himself a demon.”
“I’ll remember that.”
The Imperial guards would be showing up in a few minutes, and there were a few things I had to get done before they arrived. I was still trembling with unused adrenaline as I walked over to the kitchen, through it, and into the back office. The owner, a Dragaeran named Nethrond, was sitting behind his desk. He had been my partner in this place since I’d taken half-ownership of it in exchange for canceling out a rather impressive sum he owed me. I suppose he had no real reason to love me, but still . . .
I walked in, and he looked at me as if he were seeing Death personified. Which, of course, he was. Kragar was behind me and stopped at the door to make sure no one came in to ask Nethrond to sign for an order of parsley or something.
I noticed he was trembling. Good. I no longer was.
“How much did he pay you, dead man?”
(Gulp) “Pay me? Who—?”
“You know,” I said conversationally, “you’ve been a rotten gambler for as long as I’ve known you. That’s what got you into this in the first place. Now, how much did he pay you?”
“B-b-b-but no one—”
I reached forward suddenly and grabbed his throat with my left hand. I felt my lips drawing up into a classic Jhereg sneer. “You are the only one, besides me, authorized to hire anyone in this place. There was a new waiter here today. I didn’t hire him, therefore you did. It happened that he was an assassin. As a waiter, he was even worse than the fools you usually hire to drive customers away. Now, I think his main qualifications as a waiter were the gold Imperials you got for hiring him. I want to know how much.”
He tried to shake his head in denial, but I was holding it too tightly. He started to speak the denial, but I squeez
ed that option shut. He tried to swallow; I relaxed enough to let him. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and then opened it and said, “I don’t know what you—”
I discovered, with some surprise, that I had never resheathed the dagger that I’d drawn when first attacked. It was a nice tool; mostly point, and about seven inches long. It fitted well into my right hand, which is moderately rare for a Dragaeran weapon. I used it to poke him in the sternum. A small spot of blood appeared, soaking through the white chef’s garment. He gave a small scream and seemed about to pass out. I was strongly reminded of our first conversation, when I’d let him know that I was his new partner and carefully outlined what would happen if the partnership didn’t work out. His House was Jhegaala, but he was doing a good Teckla imitation.
He nodded, then, and managed to hand me a purse from next to him. I didn’t touch it.
“How much is in it?” I asked.
He gurgled and said, “A th-thousand gold, M-milord.”
I laughed shortly. “That isn’t even enough to buy me out,” I said. “Who approached you? Was it the assassin, the Demon, or a flunky?”
He closed his eyes as if he wanted me to disappear. I’d oblige him momentarily.
“It was the Demon,” he said in a whisper.
“Really!” I said. “Well, I’m flattered that he takes such an interest in me.”
He started whimpering.
“And he guaranteed that I’d be dead, right?”
He nodded miserably.
“And he guaranteed protection?”
He nodded again.
I shook my head sadly.
* * *
I called Kragar in to teleport us back to the office. He glanced at the body, his face expressionless.
“Shame about that fellow killing himself, isn’t it?” he said.
I had to agree.
“Any sign of guards?”
“No. They’ll get here eventually, but no one is in any hurry to call them, and this isn’t their favorite neighborhood to patrol.”
“Good. Let’s get back home.”
He started working the teleport. I turned back to the body.
“Never,” I told it, “trust anyone who calls himself a demon.”
The walls vanished around us.
9
“You can’t put it together again unless you’ve torn it apart first.”
OVER THE YEARS, I have developed a ritual that I go through after an attempt has been made to assassinate me. First, I return to my office by the fastest available means. Then I sit at my desk and stare off into space for a little while. After that I get very, very sick. Then I return to my desk and shake for a long time.
Sometime in there, while I’m alone and shaking, Cawti shows up, and she takes me home. If I haven’t eaten, she feeds me. If it is practical, she puts me to bed.
This was the fourth time that I had almost had my tale of years snipped at the buttocks. It wasn’t possible for me to sleep this time, since Aliera was expecting me. When I had recovered sufficiently to actually move, I went into the back room to do the teleport. I am a good enough sorcerer to do it myself when I have to, although generally I don’t bother. This time I didn’t feel like calling in anyone else. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust them. . . . Well, maybe it was.
I took out my enchanted dagger (a cheap, over-the-counter enchanted dagger, but better than plain steel), and began carefully drawing the diagrams and symbols that aren’t at all necessary for a teleport, but do help settle one’s mind down when one is feeling that one’s magic might not be all it ought to be.
Cawti kissed me before I left and seemed to hang on to me a bit more than she had to. Or maybe not. I was feeling extraordinarily sensitive, just at the moment.
The teleport worked smoothly and left me in the courtyard. I spun quickly as I arrived, almost losing lunch in the process. No, there wasn’t anyone behind me.
I walked toward the great double doors of the castle, looking carefully around. The doors swung open before me, and I had to repress an urge to dive away from them.
“Boss, would you settle down?”
“No.”
“No one is going to attack you at Castle Black.”
“So what?”
“So what’s the point in being so jumpy?”
“It makes me feel better.”
“Well, it bothers the hell out of me.”
“Tough.”
“Take it easy, all right? I’ll take care of you.”
“I’m not doubting you, it’s just that I feel like being jumpy, all right?”
“Not really.”
“Then lump it.”
He was right, however. I resolved to relax just a bit as I nodded to Lady Teldra. She pretended that there was nothing odd in my having her walk in front of me by five paces. I trusted Lady Teldra, of course, but this could be an impostor, after all. Well, it could, couldn’t it?
I found myself in front of Aliera’s chambers. Lady Teldra bowed to me and left. I clapped, and Aliera called to me to come in. I opened the door, letting it swing fully open, while stepping to the side. Nothing came out at me, so I risked a look inside.
Aliera was sitting by the back of the bed, staring off into space. I noted that, curled up as she was, she could still draw Pathfinder. I scanned the room carefully.
Entering, I moved a chair so my back was against the wall. Aliera’s eyes focused on me, and she looked puzzled.
“Is something wrong, Vlad?”
“No.”
She looked bemused, then quizzical. “You’re quite sure,” she said.
I nodded. If I were going to take someone out from that position, I thought, how would I go about it? Let’s see. . . .
Aliera raised her hand suddenly, and I recognized the gesture as the casting of a spell.
Loiosh hissed with indignation as I hit the floor rolling, and Spellbreaker snapped out.
I didn’t feel any of the tingling that normally accompanies Spellbreaker’s intercepting magic aimed at me, however. I lay there, looking at Aliera, who was watching me carefully.
“What’s gotten into you, anyway?” asked Aliera.
“What was that spell?”
“I wanted to check your genetic background,” she said drily. “I thought I’d look for some latent Teckla genes.”
I cracked up. This just broke me up completely. I sat on the floor, my body shaking with laughter, and felt tears stream down my face. Aliera, I’m sure, was trying to figure out whether to join me, or to cure me.
I settled down, finally, feeling much better. I got back into the chair and caught my breath. I wiped the tears from my face, still chuckling. Loiosh flew quickly over to Aliera, licked her right ear, and returned to my shoulder.
“Thanks,” I said, “that helped.”
“What was the problem, anyway?”
I shook my head, then shrugged. “Someone just tried to kill me,” I explained.
She looked more puzzled than ever. “So?”
That almost broke me up again, but I contained it, with great effort.
“It’s my latent Teckla genes,” I said.
“I see.”
Gods! What a nightmare! I was pulling out of it, though. I started to think about business again. I had to make sure that Mellar didn’t go through what I’d just gone through. “Were you able to do whatever it is you do on Mellar?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Did he detect it?”
“No chance,” she said.
“Good. And did you learn anything of interest?”
She looked strange again, just as she had when I first walked in. “Vlad,” she asked me, “what made you ask about his genes? I mean, it is a little specialty of mine, but everyone has his little specialties. Why did you happen to ask about this?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t been able to learn anything about his background, and I thought you might be able to learn something about his parents that would help. It isn’t somethin
g that’s easily found out, you know. Normally, I don’t have any trouble finding everything I need to about a person, but this guy isn’t normal.”
“I’ll agree with you there!” she said fervently.
“What does that mean? You found something?”
She nodded significantly in the direction of the wine cabinet. I rose and fetched a bottle of Ailour dessert wine, and presented it to her. She held it for a moment, did a quick spell to chill it down, and returned it to me. I opened it and poured. She sipped hers.
“I found out something, all right.”
“You’re sure he didn’t detect it?”
“He had no protection spells up, and it’s really quite easy to do.”
“Good! So, what is it?”
She shook her head. “Gods, but it’s weird!”
“What is? Will you tell me already? You’re as bad as Loiosh.”
“Remember that crack next time you roll over in bed and find a dead teckla on your pillow.”
I ignored him. Aliera didn’t rise to the bait. She just shook her head in puzzlement. “Vlad,” she said slowly, “he has Dragon genes.”
I digested that. “You’re sure? No possible doubt?”
“None. If I’d wanted to take more time, I could have told you which line of the Dragons. But that isn’t all—he’s a cross-breed.”
“Indeed?” was all I said. Cross-breeds were rare, and almost never accepted by any House except the Jhereg. On the other hand, they had an easier time of it than Easterners, so I wasn’t about to get all teary-eyed for the fellow.
She nodded. “He’s clearly got three Houses in his genes. Dragon and Dzur on one side, and Jhereg on the other.”
“Hmmm. I see. I wasn’t aware that you could identify Jhereg genes as such. I’d thought that they were just a mish-mash of all the other Houses.”
She smiled. “If you get a mish-mash, as you put it, together for enough generations, it becomes identifiable as something in and of itself.”
I shook my head. “This is all beyond me, anyway. I don’t even know how you can pick out a gene, much less recognize it as being associated with a particular House.”
She shrugged. “It’s something like a mind-probe,” she said, “except that you aren’t looking for the mind. And, of course, you have to go much deeper. That’s why it’s so hard to detect, in fact. Anyone can tell when his mind is being examined, unless the examiner is an expert, but having your finger mind-probed is a bit trickier to spot.”