by Steven Brust
I sat back in the chair, crossed my legs. “But all right. I don’t run her life. If she wants to waste her time this way, there’s nothing I can do about it.” I paused, waiting for him to make some sort of interjection. When he didn’t, I said, “What bothers me is this business of teaching reading classes—that’s what Franz was doing, wasn’t it?”
“That, and other things,” he said, tight-lipped.
“Well then, I’m offering you a deal. I’ll find out who killed Franz and why, if you drop these classes, or get someone else to teach them.”
He never took his eyes off me. “And if not?”
I started to get irritated, probably because he was making me feel uncomfortable and I don’t like that. I clenched my teeth together, stifling the urge to say what I thought of him. I finally said, “Don’t make me threaten you. I dislike threatening people.”
He leaned over the desk, and his eyes were narrowed more than usual, his lips were pressed tightly together. He said, “You come in here, on the heels of the death of a man who was martyred to—”
“Spare me.”
“Quiet! I said martyred and I meant it. He was fighting for what he believed in, and he was killed for it.”
He stared hard at me for a moment, then he continued in a tone of voice that was softer but cutting. “I know what you do for a living,” he said. “You don’t even realize the depths to which you’ve sunk.”
I touched the hilt of a dagger but didn’t draw it. “You’re right,” I said. “I don’t realize the depths to which I’ve sunk. It would be really stupid of you to tell me about it.”
“Don’t tell me what is and is not stupid. You’re incapable of judging that, or anything else that falls outside the experience of your tiny world. It doesn’t even occur to you that there could be anything wrong with selling death as if it were any commodity on the market.”
“No,” I said. “It doesn’t. And if you’re quite finished—”
“But it isn’t just you. Think of this, Lord Killer: How much of what anyone does is something he’d do willingly, if he didn’t have to? You accept that without thinking about it or questioning it, don’t you? While Easterners and Teckla are forced to sell half their children to feed the rest. You think it doesn’t happen, or do you just refuse to look at it?”
He shook his head, and I could see his teeth were clenched in his jowls and his eyes were so narrow I’m surprised he could see out of them. “What you do—mankind doesn’t get any lower. I don’t know if you do it because you have no choice, or because you’ve been so twisted that you like it, but it doesn’t matter. In this building you will find men and women who can be proud of what they do, because they know there will be a better future for it. And you, with your snide, cynical wit, not only refuse to look at it, but try to tell us how to go about it. We have no time for you or for your deals. And your threats don’t impress us either.”
He paused, maybe to see if I had anything to say. I didn’t.
He said, “Get out of here.”
I stood up and left.
* * *
“The difference between winning and losing is whether you feel like going home afterwards.”
“Not bad, boss. So where are we going?”
“I don’t know.”
“We could go back to Herth’s place, spit in his soup and see what he says about that.”
I didn’t think this was at all a good idea.
It was still afternoon, and the Easterners’ section was in full swing. There were markets every few blocks, and each was different. This one was yellow, orange, red, and green with vegetables and smelled like fresh things and the sound was a low hum. That one was pale and pink and smelled of meat, most of it still good, and it was quieter, so you could even hear the wind rattling around inside your ear. The next one was mostly fabrics and the loudest, because no one bargains like a fabric merchant, with screams and yells and pleading. They don’t ever seem to tire of it, either. I get tired of things. I get tired of lots of things. I get tired of walking around Morrolan’s castle to check up on his guards, traps, and alarms. I get tired of talking to my associates in codes that even I don’t understand half the time. I get tired of breaking out in a sweat every time I see the uniform of the Phoenix Guards. I get tired of being treated with contempt for being a Jhereg by other Houses, and for being an Easterner by Jhereg. And I was getting tired, every time I thought of Cawti, of a tightening in my middle instead of that warm, dropping, glowing feeling I used to have.
“You have to find an answer, boss.”
“I know. I just tried.”
“So try something else.”
“Yeah.”
I found that I had wandered over to the area near where my grandfather lived, which couldn’t have been an accident although it felt like one. I walked through his doorway and set the chimes ringing. They were cheerful. I actually started feeling better as I stepped over the threshold. Chimes. Now, there’s a witch for you.
He was sitting at his table, writing or drawing with a quill pen on a big piece of parchment. He was old, but very healthy. A big man. If Kelly was chubby, my grandfather was portly. His head was almost completely bald, so it reflected the little lamps of the shop. He looked up when he heard the chimes and gave me a big grin with his remaining teeth.
“Vladimir!”
“Hello, Noish-pa.”
We hugged and he kissed my cheek. Loiosh flew off my shoulder onto a shelf until we were done, then flew to Noish-pa’s arm for some chin-scratching. His familiar, a large furry cat named Ambrus, jumped into my lap when I sat down and poked his nose at me. We got reacquainted. Noish-pa hooked a small card onto the string that held the chimes and motioned me into his back room. I smelled herb tea and started feeling even better.
He served us, tsking when I put honey in mine. I sipped it. Rose hip.
“So, how is my grandson?”
“So-so, I guess, Noish-pa.”
“Only so-so?”
I nodded.
“You have a problem,” he said.
“Yeah. It’s complicated.”
“Simple things are never problems, Vladimir. Some simple things are sad, but never problems.”
“Yeah.”
“So, how did this problem start?”
“How did it start? Someone named Franz was killed.”
“Ah! Yes. A terrible thing.”
I stared at him. “You know about it?”
“It is on everyone’s tongue.”
“It is?”
“Well, these people, his . . . what is the word? Elvtarsok?”
“Friends? Associates?”
“Well, these people are everywhere, and they talk about it.”
“I see.”
“But you, Vladimir. You are not one of these people, are you?”
I shook my head. “Cawti is.”
He sighed. “Vlad, Vlad, Vlad. It is silliness. If a revolution comes along, of course you support it. But to go out of your way like this is to put your head on the block.”
“When has revolution come along?”
“Eh? In two twenty-one.”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.”
“Yes. We fought then, because it was what we did, but some can’t forget that and think we should be always fighting.”
I said, “What do you know about these people?”
“Oh, I hear things. Their leader, this Kelly, he is a fighter they say.”
“A fighter? A brawler?”
“No, no. I mean he never quits, that is what I hear. And they are getting bigger, you know. I remember I heard of them a few years ago when they had a parade of twenty people, and now they have thousands.”
“Why do people go there?”
“Oh, there are always those who aren’t happy. And there has been violence here; beatings and robbing of people, and they say the Phoenix Guards of the Empire don’t stop it. And some landlords raise their rent because some of their houses burn down, and people
are unhappy about that, too.”
“But none of that has anything to do with Cawti. We don’t even live around here.”
He shook his head and tsked. “It is silliness,” he repeated.
I said, “What can I do?”
He shrugged. “Your grandmother did things I didn’t like, Vladimir. There is nothing to be done. Perhaps she will lose interest.” He frowned. “No, that is unlikely. Cawti does not lose interest when she becomes interested. But there, it is her life, not yours.”
“But Noish-pa, that’s just it. It’s her life. Someone killed this Franz, and now Cawti is doing just what he was doing. If she wants to run around with these people and stir up trouble, or whatever they’re doing, that’s fine, but if she were killed, I couldn’t stand it. But I can’t stop her, or she’ll leave me.”
He frowned again and nodded. “Have you tried things?”
“Yes. I tried talking to Kelly, but that didn’t do anything.”
“Do you know who it was who killed this Franz fellow?”
“Yeah, I know who.”
“And why?”
I paused. “No, I don’t really know that.”
“Then you must find out. Perhaps you will find that there is nothing to worry about, after all. If there is, perhaps you will find a way to solve it without risk to your wife.”
Your wife he said. Not Cawti this time, it was your wife. That was how he thought. Family. Everything was family, and we were all the family he had. It suddenly occurred to me that he was probably disappointed in me; I don’t think he approved of assassins, but I was family so that was that.
“What do you think of my work, Noish-pa?”
He shook his head. “It is terrible, what you do. It is not good for a man to live by killing. It hurts you.”
“Okay.” I was sorry I had asked. I said, “Thank you, Noish-pa. I have to go now.”
“It was good to see you again, Vladimir.”
I hugged him, collected Loiosh, and walked out of his shop. The way back to my side of town was long, and I still didn’t feel like teleporting.
* * *
When Cawti came home that evening, I was soaking my feet.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“My feet hurt.”
She gave me a half-smile. “Somehow this doesn’t surprise me. I mean, why do your feet hurt?”
“I’ve been walking a lot the last few days.”
She sat down across from me and stretched out. She was wearing high-waisted grey slacks with a wide black belt, a grey jerkin and a black vest. She’d hung up her half-cloak. “Anywhere in particular?”
“The Easterners’ section, mostly.”
She turned her head to the side a bit, which was one of my favorite things to see her do. It made her eyes seem huge in that beautiful, thin face with her perfectly sculpted cheekbones. “Doing what?”
“I went in to see Kelly.”
Her eyes widened. “Why?”
“I explained that he should make sure you weren’t doing anything that might put you in danger. I implied that I’d kill him if he did.”
The look of curiosity changed to disbelief, then anger. “Did you really,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“You don’t seem nervous about telling me about it.”
“Thank you.”
“And what did Kelly say?”
“He said that, as a human being, I rated somewhere between worthless scum and wretched garbage.”
She looked startled. Not upset, startled. “He said that?”
“Not in so many words. Quite.”
“Hmmm,” she said.
“I’m glad to see that this outrage against your husband fills you with such a righteous indignation.”
“Hmmm,” she said.
“Trying to decide if he was right?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “I know he’s right. I was wondering how he could tell.”
“Cawti—” I said, and stopped because my voice broke.
She came over, sat beside me, and put her hand on my leg. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean that and I shouldn’t have joked about it. I know he’s wrong. But you shouldn’t have done what you did.”
“I know,” I said, almost whispering.
We were silent for a time. She said, “What are you going to do now?”
“I think,” I said, “that I’m going to wait until my feet feel better. Then I’m going to go out and kill someone.”
She stared at me. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. No. I’m not sure. Half, I guess.”
“This is hard for you. I’m sorry.”
I nodded.
She said, “It’s going to get harder.”
“Yeah.”
“I wish I could help you.”
“You have. You’d do more if you could.”
She nodded. After that there wasn’t anymore to say, so she just sat next to me for a while. Presently, we went into the bedroom and slept.
* * *
I was in the office early the next morning, with Loiosh and Rocza. I let them out my window so Loiosh could continue showing Rocza around. He had gradually been teaching her the ins and outs of the city. He enjoyed it, too. I wondered what that would do to a marriage—one having to train the other. With those two it could become strained, too—Loiosh did the teaching, but the jhereg female is dominant.
“Hey, Loiosh—”
“None of your Verra-be-damned business, boss.”
That was hardly fair; he’d been butting into my marriage. Besides, I had a right to know if I was going to be subjected to more cheap North Hill theater than what I was generating. But I didn’t push it.
By the time they returned, a couple of hours later, I knew what I was going to do. I got an address from Kragar, along with a dirty look for not telling him why I wanted it. Loiosh and Rocza attached themselves to my shoulders and I went down the stairs and out of the office.
Lower Kieron Road, near Malak Circle, is the widest street in this part of town and is filled with inns set back from it and markets jutting out into it and hotels, some with small business inside of them. I owned all the small businesses. Lower Kieron took me south and west. It got gradually narrower, and more and more tenements appeared. Most of them had once been green but were now painted dirty. I abandoned Lower Kieron to follow a narrow little street called Ulor.
Ulor widened after a bit, and about there I turned onto Copper Street, which was different from the Copper Lane near my place, or the Copper Street to the east or the Copper Street even farther east or the others that I don’t remember. After a few paces, I turned left into a fairly nice looking inn with long tables of polished wood and long benches. I found the host and said, “Do you have a private room?”
He allowed as to how he did, although his look implied it wasn’t normally polluted by the presence of Easterners. I said, “My name is Vlad. Tell Bajinok that I’m here.”
He nodded and called for a serving man to carry the message. I spotted where the back room must be and entered it. It was empty. I was pleased that it had a real door. I closed it and sat, back to the door (Loiosh was watching), on one of the benches at a table that was a shorter version of the ones in the main room. I wondered how many people Bajinok would bring along. If it was more than one, this probably wouldn’t work. But then, he might not bring anyone. I decided I had pretty good odds.
Presently, the door opened and Bajinok came in along with another Jhereg I hadn’t seen before. I stood up before they could sit down.
“Good morning,” I said. “I hope I didn’t disturb you.”
Bajinok scowled a little. “What?” he said.
“A man of few words,” I told him. “I like that.” Loiosh hissed, which he might have thought was agreement.
“What do you want?”
“I thought we might continue our discussion of the other day.”
The Jhereg who was with Bajinok rolled his shoulders and scratch
ed his stomach. Bajinok wiped his hands on his cloak. I checked the clasp of my cloak with one hand and brushed my hair back with the other. I didn’t know about them, but all of my weapons were ready.
He said, “If you have something to say, say it.”
“I want to know why Herth wanted that Easterner killed.”
Bajinok said, “Drop dead, Whiskers.”
I gestured with my right hand as if I were about to say something important. I suppose in a way I was. The gesture produced a dagger that went straight up under the unknown’s chin and into his head. He crumbled, fell against me and slid to the floor. By the time he hit, I had taken another dagger from my cloak and was holding the point of it directly in front of Bajinok’s left eye.
I said, “The instant anyone appears in this room, or opens the door, or you even look like you’re in psionic communication with someone, I’m going to kill you.”
He said, “Okay.”
“I thought you might want to tell me a few things about Herth and why he wanted that Easterner killed.”
Without moving his head, he glanced down at the corpse. Then he looked back up the blade of the dagger. “You know,” he said, “I just might at that.”
“Good,” I said cheerfully.
“Mind if I sit down?”
“No. Go ahead.”
He did, and I moved behind him and held my blade against the back of his neck. He said, “This is going to get you killed, you know.”
“We all have to die sometime. And we Easterners don’t live that long anyway. Of course, that’s a good reason not to rush things, I suppose. Which brings us back to Franz.” I increased the pressure against the back of his neck. I felt him flinch. I stayed alert for any attempt to teleport out. I could kill him before he was gone if I was quick.
He said, “Yes. Franz. He was a member of some kind of group—”
“I know about it.”
“Okay. Then there isn’t much more I can tell you.”
I pressed the knife against his neck again. “Try. Were you told to kill him in particular, or just some member of the group?”
“I was given his name.”
“Have you been keeping tabs on what these people have been doing?”
“Herth has.”
“I know that, idiot. I mean, are you the one who’s been watching them?”