by Steven Brust
“Well, go on.”
“One of them said, ‘If you ask me, they didn’t get anything.’ And the other one said, ‘Oh, no? Well, I’ll tell you something, they got a lot, and it’s going on the market next week,’ and the first one said, ‘What’s it going for?’ and the other one said, ‘A lot. It has to be a lot. If someone is going to lighten Fyres, especially after he’s dead, and not take anything but a bunch of papers, they must be important.’ And the first one said, ‘Maybe that’s what he was killed for?’ And the other one said, ‘Killed? Naw, he just fell and hit his head.’ And then, my lord, I sort of figured out what they were saying, even though I was still maybe a bit woozy, and I knew I didn’t want to hear any more, so I moaned like I was just waking up, and they saw me, and they stopped talking right then. And I tumbled out of there, singing to myself like I was even drunker than I was, and I went out the back way and I beat it for home as quick as I could, and I didn’t even settle up with Trim until the next day. But, as I was walking out, just at the last minute, I took a quick look at the two gentlemen. I couldn’t see their faces too well, but I could see their colors, and they were both Jhereg. I’ll swear it. And that’s what I have, my lord.”
“That’s what you have?”
“Yes, my lord.”
He stared at me like I was a rotten pear and he’d just bit into me, and he thought for a while. “Why did you come and see us now, and not two weeks ago?”
“Well, because I heard of the reward, and I was thinking about my tools that got stole, and—”
“What reward?”
“The reward for anyone who gives evidence about how Fyres died.”
“There’s no reward.”
“There’s no reward?”
“Not at all. Where did you hear such a thing?”
“Why, just yesterday, down at the Riversend, a lady told me that she’d heard—”
“She was deceived, my friend. And so were you.”
“My lord?”
“There isn’t any reward for anything. We’re just trying to find out what happened.”
“Oh.” I tried to look disappointed.
He said, “How did you learn to come here, by the way?”
“How, my lord?”
“Yes.”
“Why, the lady, she was a Tsalmoth, and she told me.”
“I see. Who was this lady?”
“Well, I don’t know, my lord. I’d never seen her before, but she was—” I squinted as if I was trying to remember. “Oh, she was about eight hundred, and sort of tall, and her hair curled, and she was, you know, a Tsalmoth.”
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but there isn’t any reward.”
I looked disappointed but said, “Well, that’s all right, my lord; I’m just glad to have done the right thing.”
“Yes, indeed. Well, we know where to reach you if we have any more questions.”
I stood up and bowed. “Yes, my lord. Thank you.”
“Thank you,” he said, and that was it for the interview.
I walked out the door without seeing anyone except those who were waiting for their turn, and I took my time going down the stairs. As I went, I said, “Loiosh?”
“Right here, boss.”
“I’m going to be followed, so stay back for a while.”
“Okay. Who’s going to follow you, boss?”
“I don’t know, but I think the enemy.”
“Oh, we have an enemy now?”
“I think so. Maybe.”
“It’s nice to have an enemy, boss. Where are you taking them?”
“Good question,” I said. “I’ll let you know when we get there.”
Chapter Six
I stood on the street, just outside City Hall, not looking behind me and trying to stay in character while figuring out where to go and what to do. You don’t get tailed all that often, at least when you know it’s happening, and an opportunity like that ought not to be wasted.
“I’ve spotted ‘em, boss. Two of ‘em. Pros.”
“What are they doing?”
“Waiting for you to do something.”
“Good. Let them wait.”
I’d done what I actually set out to do, of course—it was easy to fill in the missing pieces of Loftis’s conversation with Domm, and the missing pieces said that they were faking their way through the investigation and putting out the results they were told to, and that was confirmed by the way the other one, Daythiefnest, had been more concerned with how I knew enough to find them and why I wanted to than with the information itself. But what now? Knowing the investigation was faked brought up the possibility (although not the certainty by any means) that Fyres was, in fact, murdered, but it got me no closer to learning who was pulling the financial strings, or who in the next few months and years would be.
But more than that, Kiera, I was bothered, just as you were when I first suggested it. Why would the Empire do something like that? I’d never heard of it being done, and it would take, well, someone very highly placed in the Empire, and a very strong need, to attempt it. The question was who—who in the Empire and who in Fyres’s world? And I didn’t know anyone who inhabited either realm.
I mentally ran through the notes I’d made when reading the files you lightened Fyres of. Based on what I picked up from the files, and based on what your friend Stony told you, I’d guess that Fyres’s children were somewhere near the center of things—that is, he was certainly going to leave his kids in charge of as much as possible, divided up according to his best guess about who could handle what and how much. He had a wife, one son, and two daughters, as well as a few other scattered relatives.
The wife, I heard somewhere, used to be third mate in a man-o’-war, which might indicate leadership qualities, but according to the files, he never seemed to trust her; and she never had anything to do with his business. There was just enough gossip floating around about his son for me to get the idea that everything he touched turned to mud; over the years, Fyres trusted him with less and less. If I had to guess about the will, I’d say Fyres left him with a house or two, a bunch of cash, and nothing else.
That left the daughters: the younger, Baroness of Reega, and the older, the Countess of Endra. It seemed from Fyres’s notes that, as time went on, he was giving them more and more responsibility and working them into his businesses. Right then, Kiera, I really wished I had my old organization, because I could have made one remark to Kragar—how’s he doing, by the way?—and in two days I would know everything possible about them. I hate doing the leg work myself, and, more important, I just didn’t have time to do it.
Well, if all I could do was blunder about, I might as well get to it, I decided, and I turned around and back into City Hall I went. I didn’t see those tailing me scramble out of my way; in fact, I didn’t see them at all.
The nice Lyorn didn’t recognize me and were far more helpful to Kaldor the Chreotha than they’d been to Padraic the Easterner—what they would have thought of Vlad the Jhereg I don’t even want to think about. Oh, and they weren’t all Lyorn, either, just for the record—but the ones who weren’t looked like they wanted to be. Enough said.
In two minutes I was in front of the collection of city maps, and it took me about half an hour to determine that neither a barony of Reega nor a county of Endra could be found in the area. So I puttered around some more and found out that neither one actually existed—they were titles without places to go with them, which I suppose I should have expected of Orca. I then dug into the citizen rolls, which took a fair bit of time. I could have done it faster by asking for help, but then, no doubt, my shadows would have been able to find out what I was up to and I wasn’t sure that was a good idea.
Endra—that is, the person—lived high on Vantage Hill, overlooking a little town called Harper on the outskirts of Northport. It was, I calculated, only an hour’s walk, and I liked the idea of Domm and Timmer getting blisters on their feet; besides,
you know how I feel about horses. So I set out. The day was nice, with a mild breeze blowing in from the sea. As I walked, I made a few minor but important adjustments to my costume—you know, I turned up the collar, I fixed my hair, I straightened my buttons, and, generally, I made myself appear more prosperous, because I figured I had to reach a certain social level before I’d have a chance that Endra—or, more likely, whoever answered the door for her—would even consider letting me see her.
One thing I’d forgotten when I set out was that, since I was still in my disguise, I was wearing the platform boots that didn’t fit me very well; about halfway there I started calling myself names, and Loiosh, trailing behind to keep an eye on my shadows, starting laughing at me. And I was a bit worried about not having my sword with me. And it made me nervous to know there were two people following me. In other words, I was not in a good mood by the time I reached Vantage Hill.
Endra’s place was pretty simple, actually. It was a plain house, standing by itself on a little hillock, but it was certainly well built, and it struck me as comfortable. The grounds were well manicured with some nicely behaved trees in a neat row and trimmed grass and patches of garden, but not molded and tended like the Imperial Palace, or like The Demon’s place, if you’ve ever been to—Oh, of course you’ve been there. Sorry.
I don’t know. As I approached it, I was thinking that maybe I’d been spoiled by Castle Black and Dzur Mountain, but I had expected something more—I guess ostentatious is the word. But then I remembered your description of Fyres’s place—the one he actually lived in as opposed to one of the places he used to impress people—and it wasn’t as big and impressive as it could have been either, was it? I figured maybe it’s a family trait. It was also interesting that there seemed to be no guards patrolling the area. Fyres’s place had had plenty, but did one generation cause that big a drop-off in the need for security? I hate dealing with things I don’t understand.
I pulled the door clapper and waited. Presently someone opened the door and frowned at me. I bowed and gave him Kaldor as a name, and asked if it would be possible for his mistress to spare me a few minutes of conversation.
He stared at me for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard me correctly. Then he said, “May I ask what your business is with the Countess?”
“I’m afraid it’s private,” I said.
He looked doubtful. I tried to look like I knew my business, which wasn’t as easy as a Chreotha as it would have been in my usual guise, nor was he responding as well as I’d have expected when I looked like myself; I’m not certain why that is. Maybe there’s more shock value in seeing an Easterner at one’s door. Maybe I’d have been better off pretending to be a Dragonlord, but then I probably wouldn’t have learned as much from the Imperial investigators.
Eventually, however, he let me in, and bid me wait while he found out if the Countess was available. I did what everyone has always done in that situation—I looked around. It was big, and it was impressive, and the stairway was white marble that swept up in a gracious curve and complemented the white, white walls broken by—ah, Kiera, my dear, if you’d been there, you’d still be drooling. I don’t have the disposition of a thief, but I was tempted. There were gold plates on the wall, marble busts, crystal sculpture, a tapestry made of bloody damn pearls that would have made you cry. Stained glass embedded with gems. The place didn’t speak of wealth, it screamed it. All of the ostentation I’d looked for on the outside was reserved for the inside, where it destroyed all my little notions about what a plain, simple, unassuming lifestyle this family chose. It was very strange, Kiera, and I couldn’t help wondering at the sort of mind that had produced it.
And then it occurred to me that there was a similarity between the outside and the inside—and that was how little they said. I mean, sure, they screamed money, but what else? You can tell a lot about someone by seeing his home, right? Well, not these people. The place said nothing, really, except that she was rich. Was that because she was shallow, or because she didn’t want anyone to know anything about her?
The servant appeared as I was considering this and said, “The Countess can spare you a few moments. She’s in the library. Please follow me.”
I did so.
The library. Yeah.
Remember those traps Morrolan has in his library? Oh, I imagine you do. Did you ever fall for them? No, I withdraw the question; sorry. But, yeah, everything in the library looked like Morrolan’s traps—great huge tomes with jewel-encrusted covers chained to pedestals. Well, okay, so I’m overstating it a bit. But that was how the library felt—everything looked good, but it didn’t give you the feeling you wanted to sit down and read anything. The library wasn’t for reading, it was for meeting people in an atmosphere that tried to be intellectual. Or that’s how it struck me, at any rate. I don’t know. Maybe I’ve just never known enough rich people to have an opinion—maybe they have their own rules, or maybe they’re trying to make up with money what they’ve been denied by birth; I don’t know. I’m just giving it to you as it hit me at the time.
She was sitting at a table—not a desk, for a change—and reading a book, or pretending to. She looked up as I came in and gave me a quizzical half-smile, then rose to greet me; she was quite thin and had very short, light-colored straight hair—a “warrior’s cut,” in fact, which went oddly with her dress, which was a flowing blue gown. She had the Orca eyebrows—almost invisible—a largish mouth and thin lips, narrow, wide-set eyes, and a strong chin.
Her voice had a bit of the twang of the region, but not as much as our hostess has, or most of the people we’ve been running into around here, and it was quite musical sounding. She said, “Your name again was—?”
“Kaldor, my lady.”
“You wished to speak to me?”
“Yes, my lady, if I may have a few moments.”
“You may. Please sit. Here. What is your business?”
And here, Kiera, is where I paid the price of deceit. Maybe. Because it occurred to me that I might just be able to come out and ask her if she’d be willing to let us buy this land, or at least plead the case. But if she said no, and she was then questioned by Domm, they’d have no trouble tracing me back, and that could be unhealthy.
I said, “My condolences, my lady, on the death of your father.”
She raised an eyebrow—it looked like a practiced maneuver—and said, “Yes, certainly.”
I said, “It is the death of your father that brings me here.”
She nodded again.
I said, “I have reason to believe the Empire is not looking into his death as seriously as they should.”
“That’s absurd.”
“I don’t think so, my lady.”
“Why?”
“I can’t tell you exactly.”
“You can’t tell me?”
I shook my head. I said, “If you would like, though, a friend of mine who knows something about it will come by, and he can tell you more—he just wanted me to find out if you cared.”
“I care,” she said. “But I don’t believe it.”
“But will you talk to my friend?”
She stared at me very hard, then said, “All right. When can I expect him?”
“I’m not sure.”
“What’s his name?”
“I’m not to say, my lady. He’ll identify himself as my friend, though.”
She looked at me for quite a while, then nodded and said, “All right.”
I stood up and bowed. “I’ve taken enough of your time, I think.”
She stood, which was a courtesy I hadn’t expected, and as I left, the servant came and escorted me to the door. I left the way I’d come and began walking back to town.
What had I accomplished? I’m not certain, but I had left a way open for me to return in some other guise, even as myself, if it seemed appropriate.
I considered the matter as I walked. The day was still young, and I had a long way to go to reach the Baroness
of Reega, and my feet were killing me.
Reega lived on a hill—I guess the rich always live on hills, maybe because the aristocrats do—called Winteroak, which was on the northern edge of Northport, overlooking the Kanefthali River Valley. It was quite a hike, so as soon as I was out of sight of Endra’s place I sat down long enough to remove the black Phoenix Stone and perform a quick spell to make my feet feel better. I couldn’t do a whole lot without letting the watchers know what I was up to, but it helped. I put the Phoenix Stone back on and continued. If they were like me when I was following someone, they would have noticed at once that they couldn’t locate me either psychically or sorcerously, and they’d wonder about that, but my luck would have to be awfully bad for them to pick that moment to try again. Sometimes it’s worth a certain amount of risk to alleviate discomfort.
This is a funny part of the world, Kiera. Have you noticed it? The landscape, I mean. Maybe it’s because we’re so far north of the equator, or because the Kanefthali Mountains start only a few hundred miles away—-though I don’t see how that can have anything to do with it. But it seems odd to me that you can walk from the east side of Northport to the west, or from hills overlooking the docks straight north, and you’ll have four completely different landscapes. I mean, along the coast, it might as well be Adrilankha—you’ve got the same kind of ugly red cliffs and the sort of dirt that makes you think nothing could ever grow there no matter what you did. But just a little ways to the east you have these prairies that look like the area around Castle Black and west of Dzur Mountain, and there’s lots of water and it looks like it might be good farmland. And the country around Endra’s is all rocky and hard and pretty in the same way the southern tip of Suntra is pretty—unforgiving, but attractive, anyway. So you head north, along the river to where Reega lives, and it’s like the big forests to the east of Dzur Mountain, almost jungle, only they’ve been cut back because there are a lot of people there, but it isn’t hard to imagine running into a dzur or a tiassa prowling around. Isn’t that strange? I wonder if there’s some magic about it, or if it just happened that way.