The Book of Jhereg

by Steven Brust

  Glowbug’s voice came from over my shoulder. “Got ’em all, Kragar.”

  “Good.” His voice came from right next to me, and I saw that he was working on the chains.

  “You all right, boss?”

  The chains fell off my arms, and I felt the ones around my legs being worked on. A lady in grey and black came into the room. Kragar said, “We’ll be ready in a moment, milady.” I thought, Left Hand. Sorceress. Hired to teleport us home.

  “Boss?”

  The chains were gone from my legs now. “Vlad?” said Kragar. “Can you stand up?”

  It would be nice to collapse into bed, I decided. I noticed Glowbug collecting my clothing.

  “Boss? Say something.”

  Sticks looked at me, then looked away. I think I saw him mouthing an obscenity.

  “Damn it, boss! What’s wrong?”

  “All right,” said Kragar. “Glowbug, help me get him standing. Gather round.” I felt Loiosh clutching my shoulder. I was dragged to my feet. “Go,” said Kragar.

  “Boss? Can’t you—”

  A twist in my gut, a massive disorientation and head-spinning, and the world went around and around inside of my skull.

  “—answer?”

  I threw up on the ground outside of my home. They held me, and Sticks, now holding the bundle of my belongings, stood close by. “Get him inside,” said Kragar. They tried to help me walk but I collapsed and almost fell.

  “Boss?”

  They tried again with no better results. Kragar said, “We’ll never get him up the stairs this way.”

  “I’ll dump these things inside the house, and—no, wait.” Sticks vanished from sight for a moment and I heard him speaking to someone in low tones. I heard the words, “drunk” and “brothel,” and what seemed to be a child’s voice answering him. Then he came back without the bundle and took my legs and they carried me into the house.

  Sticks dropped my legs at the top of the stairs and clapped. I heard a child say, “I’ll leave these here.” There was a rustling sound, and the child said, “No, that’s all right,” and there were soft footsteps descending. After waiting for someone to answer the clap, Sticks opened the door and I was dragged inside.

  “Now what?” said Glowbug.

  I could hear barely concealed distaste in Kragar’s voice as he said, “We need to get him cleaned up, I think, and—Cawti!”

  “Loiosh told me to come home right away. What—Vlad?”

  “He needs to be cleaned up and put to bed, I think.”

  “Are you all right, Vlad?”

  Loiosh flew off my shoulder. Probably to Cawti, but I was staring in the other direction just then so I couldn’t tell. Cawti was silent for a moment, then she said, “Put him in the bath. Through here.” It sounded as if she was having trouble keeping her voice steady.

  After a while there was hot water on me, and Cawti’s hands were gentle. I learned that I’d soiled myself somewhere in there, as well as throwing up all over my chest and stomach. Kragar came into the room and he and Cawti got me standing and dried me off, then got me into the bed and left me there. Loiosh, silent now, sat next to me, his head on my cheek. Rocza made scratching sounds on the bedpost to my left.

  From the next room, I could hear Cawti saying, “Thank you, Kragar.”

  Kragar said, “Thank Loiosh.” Then their voices dropped and I could only hear mutterings for a while.

  Later, the door to the flat closed and I heard Cawti make her way into the bathroom, and the sound of the pump. After a while she came back into the bedroom and put a damp cloth over my forehead. She put Spellbreaker around my left wrist and covered me with blankets. I settled back into the bedding and waited to die.

  It was funny. I’d always wondered what my last thoughts would be, if I had time to think them. It turned out that my last thoughts were of how I was thinking my last thoughts. That was funny. I chuckled somewhere, deep down inside of me where I can’t be hurt. If Aliera was right about reincarnation, perhaps my next life would be better. No. I knew Aliera was right. My next life probably wouldn’t be any better than this one. Well, I don’t know. Maybe you learn something each life. What had I learned in this lifetime? That it’s always the good guys against the bad guys, and you can never tell who the good guys are, so you settle for killing the bad guys. We’re all bad guys. No. Loiosh isn’t a bad guy. Cawti isn’t—well—oh, what’s the use? I should just—

  —I realized with some surprise that I was still alive. It occurred to me then that I might not die. I felt my heart speed up. Was it possible? A certain sense of what I could only call reality began to seep in then, and I knew I was going to live. I still couldn’t accept it emotionally—I didn’t really believe it—but I somehow knew it. I reached for my right sleeve dagger but it was gone. Then I remembered that I was naked. I lifted my head and saw the bundle of my clothing and weapons, with the rapier jutting out, over in the corner, and I knew I couldn’t reach it. I felt Spellbreaker around my left wrist. Would that do? How? I could hardly strangle myself. Maybe I could bash myself over the head.

  I worked my left arm free and stared at the thin gold chain. When I first found it, Sethra Lavode had suggested I find a name for it. She was evasive when I asked why. Now I looked at it closely, wrapped tightly about my wrist, clinging, but never squeezing. I let my arm fall off the side of the bed and it uncoiled and fell into my hand. I lifted it, and it worked itself into a pose, hanging in midair like a coiled yendi. As I moved my hand, the rest of it didn’t move, as if the other end was fixed in space, twelve inches above me.

  What are you? I asked it. You have saved my life more than once, but I don’t really know what you are. Are you a weapon? Can you kill me now?

  It coiled and uncoiled then, as if it were considering the matter. I had never seen it do that before. The trick of hanging in midair it had been doing when I had first found it, but that had been under Dzur Mountain, where strange things are normal. Or was it in the Paths of the Dead? I couldn’t remember anymore. Did it mean to take me back there now? Easterners aren’t allowed into the Paths of the Dead, but was I really an Easterner? What was an Easterner, really? Were they different from Dragaerans? Who cared? That was easy, Easterners cared and Dragaerans cared. Who didn’t care? Kelly didn’t care. Did the Lords of Judgment care?

  Spellbreaker formed shapes in the air before me, twisting and coiling like a dancer. I barely noticed when Loiosh flew out of the room. It was still dancing for me a few minutes later when Cawti returned, holding a steaming cup of tea.

  “Drink this, Vlad,” she said, her voice trembling. Spellbreaker dipped low, then climbed high. I wondered what would happen if I let go of the end I was holding, but didn’t want to take the chance that it would stop. I felt a cup pressed against my lip and hot tea dribbled into my mouth and onto my chest. I swallowed by reflex and noticed an odd taste. It occurred to me that perhaps Cawti was poisoning me. When the cup came again, I drank greedily, still watching Spellbreaker’s dance.

  When the cup was empty, I lay back, waiting for oblivion. There was some part of me that was mildly surprised when it came.

  7

  I pr black riding boots: remove reddish stain on toe of rt boot. . .

  I DON’T REMEMBER ACTUALLY waking up. I stared at the ceiling for a long time without focusing on it. Awareness of sensations increased slowly—the smooth linen of finely woven sheets, the scent of Cawti’s hair next to my face, her warm, dry hand in mine. With my other hand I touched myself, face and body, and I blinked. Loiosh’s tail was draped across my neck—feather-light and scaly.

  “Boss?” Tentative.

  “Yes, Loiosh. I’m here”

  He rested his head against my cheek. I smelled Adrilankha’s morning in the breeze through the window. I licked my lips, squeezed my eyes tightly shut, and opened them. Memory returned, piercing as a needle. I winced, then trembled. After a moment I turned toward Cawti. She was awake and looking at me. Her eyes were red. I said, “Some of
us will do anything for sympathy.” My voice cracked as I said it. She squeezed my hand.

  After a moment, she chuckled softly. “I’m trying to find a way to say, ‘Are you all right?’ that doesn’t sound like you ought to be put away somewhere.” I squeezed her hand. Loiosh stirred and flapped around the room once. Rocza stirred from somewhere and hissed.

  “If you mean am I about to kill myself, the answer is no.” Then I said, “You didn’t sleep, did you?” She made a gesture that I took as, “No, I didn’t.” I said, “Maybe you should.” She looked at me with swimming red eyes. I said, “You know, this doesn’t really solve anything.”

  “I know,” she said, and this time it was her voice that broke. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “About—what happened yesterday? No. It’s too close. What did you give me? It was a poison, wasn’t it?”

  “In the tea? Yes. Tsiolin, but just a mild dose so you’d sleep.”

  I nodded. She moved over next to me and I held her. I stared at the ceiling a while longer. It was made of beaded ceiling board, and Cawti had painted it a very pale green. “Green?” I had said at the time. “It represents growth and fertility,” she had explained. “Ah ha,” I had said and we went on to other things. Now it just looked green. But she was holding me. Make of this what you will.

  I got up and took care of morning things. When I looked back in, Cawti was sleeping. I went out with Loiosh and sat in Kigg’s for a while and drank klava. I was very careful to watch all around as I left home. I’ve never been attacked when I was ready for it; it’s always come unexpectedly. That’s odd only because of the amount of time I seem to spend expecting to be attacked. I wondered what it would be like not to have to worry about that. If these Easterners had their way, and their daydreams turned out real, that might happen. But it wouldn’t matter to me, anyway. I couldn’t remember a time when I wasn’t careful to watch around me as much as possible. Even when I was young there were too many kids who didn’t like Easterners. I was stuck as I was, whatever happened. But still—

  “I think you have too much on your mind, boss.”

  I nodded. “All right, chum. Tell me what to ignore.”

  “Heh.”

  “Right.”

  “About these Easterners—Kelly’s group . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “What if you didn’t have to worry about Cawti’s life, or about Herth, or any of it. How would you feel about them?”

  “How can I know that?”

  “How would you feel about Cawti being one of them?”

  Now that was a good question. I chewed it over. “I guess I just don’t think much of a group that’s so wrapped up in its ideals that it doesn’t care about people.”

  “But about Cawti—”

  “Yeah. I don’t know, Loiosh. There was never really the chance to find out what’s involved. How much time will it take? Am I going to see her at all? Is she going to want to give them money? How much? There are too many things I don’t know. She ought to have told me about it.”

  I drank some more klava and thought about things. I was very careful walking out of the place.

  * * *

  When I got into the office I didn’t stop long enough to say hello to Kragar and Melestav; I went straight into the basement. Next to the lab is a large, empty room with many lanterns. I lit them. I drew my rapier, saluted my shadow, and attacked it.

  Parry head. What had happened to me last night?

  Step in, step out. It was worse than being told I was a reincarnated Dragaeran. Or different, at least.

  Step in, cut flank, step out. Maybe I should just forget that I’d tried to kill myself. Except that I might try again, and maybe I’d succeed. But then, maybe it would have been best if I had.

  Step in, cut cheek, cut neck, step out. That was nonsense. On the other hand, there was no denying that I had actually wanted to kill myself last night; had tried to do so. It was hard to believe.

  Parry flank, parry head, step in, cut leg, thrust chest. The pain, though—that incredible pain. But it was over. I was going to have to get to Herth before he got to me, and it might not change how Cawti felt toward me anyway, and I wouldn’t even get paid for it. But no matter; I would have to make sure he couldn’t do that to me again. Ever.

  Step back, parry a thrust, disengage, stop-cut, step in, cut neck. I’m not the suicidal type. There are many assassins who don’t care if they live or die, but I’ve never been one. Or I never was one before. Forget it. I could spend the rest of my life trying to decide what it meant that I’d wanted to end it. There were things that I had to do and this was getting nowhere. I was going to have to kill Herth, and that was that.

  Salute. I just wished I didn’t have to.

  I also wished I’d installed a bath down here.

  * * *

  “Kragar.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m done mucking about.”

  “Good. It’s about time.”

  “Shut up. I want full details on Herth. I mean, everything. I want to know his mistress’s favorite color and how often she washes her hair. I want to know how much pepper he puts in his soup. I want to know how often he takes a—”

  “Right, boss. I’ll get on it.”

  “Can you get him before anything happens to Cawti?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know for sure that anything will happen to Cawti. But we can’t take chances. I’ll have to—” I paused as a thought hit me. I threw it away and it came back. There was one thing I could do that might help.

  “She isn’t going to like it if she finds out, boss.”

  “By Verra’s fingers, Loiosh! She hasn’t liked anything I’ve done since this mess started. So what? Do you have any other ideas?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Neither do I. I should have done this days ago. I haven’t been thinking. Is Rocza with her now?”

  He paused. “Yes.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  “What about protection for you?”

  I felt suddenly queasy as I remembered the day before. “I’m not going to be charging around like a blind man this time.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  That sounded rhetorical so I didn’t answer.

  I teleported directly from my office, just in case someone was waiting outside. The Easterners’ section was starting to look more and more familiar as I spent more and more time there. I had mixed feelings about this.

  I asked, “Is she moving?”

  “She was, boss. She stopped a while ago.”

  “How far are we?”

  “I could fly there in five minutes.”

  “Great. How far are we?”

  “Half an hour.”

  Streets curved and twisted like Verra’s sense of humor, and it was, in fact, a good half-hour before we found ourselves near a large park. A crowded park. There were thousands there, mostly human. I gawked. The last time I had seen that many people gathered in one place there was a battle being fought. I hadn’t liked it.

  I took a deep breath and began to make my way into and through the crowd, Loiosh steering. (“This way. Okay, now back to the right. Over there, somewhere.”) Loiosh was being careful not to let Rocza know he was in the area. He could have been unhappy about it, but I guess he chose to look at it as a game. I was being careful not to let Cawti know I was in the area, and there was nothing gamelike about it.

  I spotted her, standing on a platform that seemed to be the center of the crowd’s attention. She was scanning the crowd, although most people looking at her wouldn’t have known it. At first I thought she was looking for me, but then I understood and chuckled. Kelly was standing at the front of the platform, declaiming in a thundering voice about “their” fear of “us,” and Cawti was acting as his bodyguard. Great. I moved up toward the platform, shaking my head. I wanted to act as her bodyguard, without her seeing me. She was looking for someone trying to sneak up to the platform—in other words, she was looking f
or someone doing just what I was trying to do.

  When I realized that, I stopped where I was—about forty feet away—and watched. I really can’t tell you what the speech was about; I wasn’t listening. He didn’t turn the crowd into a raging mob, but they seemed interested, and there were occasional cheers. I felt lost. I’d never before been in a large group of people while trying to decide if one member of the group was going to kill another member. I assume there are ways of doing it, but I don’t know them. I checked back on the platform from time to time, but nothing was happening. I occasionally caught phrases from Kelly’s speech, things like, “historical necessity,” and “we aren’t going to them on our knees.” In addition to Kelly, Gregory was up there, and Natalia, and several Easterners and a few Teckla I didn’t recognize. They also seemed to be interested in whatever Kelly was talking about.

  Eventually the gathering broke up with much cheering. I tried to stay as close behind Cawti as I could without being spotted. It wasn’t very close. Groups formed, one around each of those who had been on the platform, except for Cawti. She was hanging around Kelly. As things thinned out I kept expecting to see someone else who, like me, was just sort of lagging behind, but I didn’t.

  After half an hour, Kelly, Gregory and Natalia left the area. Things were pretty quiet by then. I followed them. They returned to Kelly’s house and disappeared inside. I waited. The weather was good, for which I was grateful; I hate standing around waiting in the cold and rain.

  The trouble was, it left me with too much time to think, and I had too much to think about.

  I had actually tried to kill myself. Why? That had been the first time I’d been tortured, certainly, but I’d had information beaten out of me before; was it really all that different? I thought of the pain and heard myself screaming and a shudder ran through my body.

  Other times, when I’d been forced to give up information, I had been in control. I had been able to play with them—giving them this or that tidbit and holding back what I could. This time I had just spilled my guts. Okay, but that still didn’t account for it. I’m just not the suicidal type. Am I? Verra, what’s wrong with me?