by Steven Brust
I nodded. “Yes. The amount should tell us if you’re right about there being something valuable about this piece of property. If it comes down to nothing more than finding a sum of money, there are ways to do that.”
I noticed Hwdfrjaanci looking at us. Vlad said, “That, of course, is my end of things. What do you want to do?”
“I want to find out just who Loftis is working for, what his orders are, what he knows, what he guesses, and what he plans to do about it,” I said.
“Good thinking,” said Vlad. “How do you plan to go about it?”
“I don’t know. I thought maybe I’d ask him.”
“I can’t see why that wouldn’t work.”
“Yeah.”
“Then let’s do it,” said Vlad.
I finished bandaging him, and he put his shirt on, then his cloak, then his sword belt. He petted Buddy, recommended the cottage to him, collected Loiosh, and left with a sweeping bow.
“They’re disgusting,” said Hwdf rjaanci.
“Who?”
“Easterners,” she said.
I said, “Ah. I’ll tell him you said so, Mother.”
“Oh don’t,” she said, looking suddenly distressed. “It would hurt his feelings.”
I collected my things and stepped out of the door. Unlike Vlad, I had no reason not to teleport, so I did, arriving at a place I knew where I could change my garb a little, which I did. I arrived outside of City Hall at just about the tenth hour, which was when things ought to begin moving there. I took a position across the street, became inconspicuous, and waited.
I’d been there for more than an hour when Vlad showed up and went in, and then nothing happened for quite some time, and I was beginning to think I’d missed Loftis—that he’d gotten in early—when I saw him on the other side of the street, just approaching; from Vlad’s description, it had to be Loftis. I crossed over and walked past him, and even that brief a glance was enough to confirm that Vlad was right—this wasn’t someone to mess around with casually. He was frowning as he walked, like he had something on his mind; it wasn’t hard to guess what it was.
I found an inn that let rooms by the hour and rented one—this is a good way to find a place where you won’t be disturbed and won’t be talked about, even if you don’t use the room for the reasons they expect you to. They had put in a real door, to ensure the guests had privacy, and I liked that, too. Instead of a tag, it was Loftis’s papers and possessions that I spread out on the bed; then I commenced to study them. He had not, in fact, been polite enough to be carrying a note that spelled out what he’d been asked to do, the reasons behind it, and the name of his superior officer, but we make do with what we have, and the pouch of an Imperial investigator can hardly fail to be revealing.
His name was, indeed, Loftis, a Dragonlord of the e’Drien line, same as Morrolan; and he was the Viscount of Clovenrocks Wood, which was in a far northeastern province, if I could trust a memory that wasn’t my own. He had three Signets. I knew he’d have at least one, I was counting on it—but three indicated he was, indeed, high up in the counsels of the great and powerful who ran the Empire. And the oldest of the Signets—which included authorization to make arrests—was two hundred years old, which meant he’d have to have been in the Imperial Service at least two hundred and fifty years, which is a long time to only be a lieutenant—unless, of course, he was in one of those branches of the service where traditional ranks were meaningless, which would explain the irony Vlad had detected when he and Domm had called each other by their ranks.
I knew about four such services, all of them more or less independent. Well, there was a fifth, but that hadn’t existed in some years except for one person—and whoever Loftis was, he wasn’t Sethra Lavode. I considered the four services I knew about, and speculated uncomfortably about the possibility of there being one I hadn’t heard of.
One of them was the Imperial Surveillance Corps. They were responsible to the Prime Minister, when there was one, or to the Minister of the Houses when there wasn’t. The Minister of the Houses was presently an Issola named Indus, and I’d play cards with her only as long as she never got near the deck. She was tricky, but she was loyal—she’d do something like this if she was ordered to, and it might well fall within her province, but the order would have to come from Zerika. If anyone but the Empress tried to use Indus ... well, anyone who knew enough about her to ask would know better than to try. So either it wasn’t Indus, or the order came from the Empress, and I was convinced the order hadn’t come from the Empress.
The same argument applied to “Third Floor Relic,” which was named for the room where they supposedly met with Her Majesty. There were only about twenty or thirty of them at any one time, and, while they were very good at what they did, it took the Empress’s orders to get them to do it. Also, it seemed unlikely that they’d be involved in something this widespread—narrow and specific objectives were more their style.
The other two units I knew about were both part of the military. One of them, the one that was publicly acknowledged to exist, was Division Six of the Imperial Army General Staff Consultants. They did most of their work on foreign soil, but could certainly be used in the Empire if the situation warranted. They were big, unwieldy, often confused, sometimes brilliant, and responsible to the Warlord. The Warlord wouldn’t allow them to be used this way if the Empress didn’t approve, but they were big enough that it just might be possible for someone in the hierarchy to have been corrupted. If it was Division Six, though, they’d be unlikely to be able to keep it secret very long—at least, not secret from those who knew where to look.
And then there was the Special Tasks Group, which was small, very well trained, easily capable of covering up mistakes by the other groups (and was often used for exactly that), and, in fact, perfect for jobs like this. But they reported to Lord Khaavren—he would never allow them to be used this way without orders from the Empress, and if the Empress did give such an order, he’d have another one of his temper tantrums and resign again.
I chewed it over as I put the contents of Loftis’s pouch back together. Then I sat on the bed (the only piece of furniture in the room) and continued thinking it over. There were good reasons why it couldn’t be any of those groups, but it seemed very unlikely that there was another team involved that I hadn’t heard of—I keep very well abreast of what’s happening around the Palace, on both sides of the walls, as they say.
I tried to remember everything Vlad had told me about his dealings with the group, including every nuance of expression he’d picked up. Of course, it isn’t easy when you’re twice removed from the conversation. And I didn’t have long to figure it out, either. I checked the time. No, I didn’t have long at all.
I went over all the information again and shook my head. If I had to guess, I’d say Surveillance, just because it involved the Empire and the House of the Orca and, above all, because under normal circumstances they’re the ones who would conduct such an investigation—being checked up on, no doubt, by the Third Floor group. But it still didn’t make sense. Could it be Division Six? While they were the most likely in that they’d think they could get away with it, they just didn’t have the reputation for switching so easily from pulling cover-up jobs to rough stuff—they were mostly a bunch of clerks with a big budget, some half-competent thieves, and a lot of people who knew how to spread money around. No, Surveillance was more likely, only I had trouble squaring that with what I knew about Lady Indus—if a request like that fell into her lap, she’d—
Now, what did that remind me of?
Or we could just dump the whole thing on Papa-cat’s lap.
That had been a threat. A threat to tell the man in charge what they were doing—which meant, first, that, although they were acting under orders, they weren’t acting under orders of their own chief. And, second, that the man in charge was, in fact, a man, which neatly eliminated Indus.
Papa-cat.
Cat.
Tiassa
.
Lord Khaavren.
As Vlad would say, “Ah ha.”
There was the sound of heavy boots outside the room, and the door went crashing down. I was looking at a man and a woman, both of whom had swords drawn and pointed at me. I tossed the purse to the man and said, “In the first place, Loftis, tell Timmer to go back to City Hall, it’s you I want to talk to. And in the second place, you’ll be paying for that door out of your own pocket; I don’t think Papa-cat will authorize it when he hears what it’s for—if he hears what it’s for.”
They stared at me.
I said, “Well? What are you waiting for? Lose your associate, come in here, and sit down. Oh, Ensign, on your way out, set up a sound field around this room—I assume you’re equipped for that, aren’t you? And take care of anyone who might be coming up to look into the noise of the door breaking. Tell the host it’s all right and your friend will pay for the damages. Which he will,” I added.
She looked at Loftis. He gave her a bit of a half-smile, as if to say, “Whatever this is, it’s bound to be good,” then nodded. She gave me one quick glance, and I could see her committing me to memory, then she was gone. Loftis came in and leaned against the far wall, still holding his sword.
I said, “Put that thing away.”
He said, “Sure. As soon as you explain why I shouldn’t arrest you.”
I rolled my eyes. “You think I’m a thief?”
He shook his head. “I know you’re a thief—and quite an accomplished one, since you got this off me just passing in the street. But I don’t know what else you are.”
I shrugged. “I’m a thief, Lieutenant. I’m a thief who happens to know your name, your rank, your associate’s name and rank, and that you work for Lord Khaavren’s Special Tasks Group; and I’m so stupid that I took your purse but didn’t bother with a spell to prevent you from tracing the Signets, didn’t ditch the Signets, but instead just sat here waiting for you to arrive so I could hand the purse back to you. That’s right, Lieutenant, I’m a thief.”
He shrugged. “When someone starts reeling off what he knows like that, it always makes me wonder if I’m supposed to be so impressed that I’ll start reeling things off, too. What do you say?”
He wasn’t stupid. “That you’re not stupid. But you’re still pointing a sword at me, and I find that irritating.”
“Learn to live with it. Who are you and what do you want? If you really went through all of that just to get me here, you’re either very foolish or you have some explanation that—”
“Do you remember a certain affair three or four years ago, that started out with Division Six looking into the activities of a wizard working for, uh, a foreign kingdom, and ending up with a Jenoine at Dzur Mountain.”
He stared at me, licked his lips, and said, “I’ve heard about it.”
“Do you remember what you—your group—was assigned to do after Division Six had bungled it?”
He watched me very closely. “Yes,” he said.
“That’s what I’m here to do, only this time it’s you who are making a mess of things.”
He was silent for a moment. “Possible,” he said.
“Then let’s talk. I’m not armed—”
He laughed. “Sure you’re not. And Temping had no reserves at the Battle of Plowman’s Bridge.”
I raised my eyebrows at him. He said, “Eighth Cycle, two hundred and fifth year of the Tiassa Reign, the Whetstone Rising. The Warlord was—”
“I am not, in fact, armed,” I cut him off. “At least, not with a conventional weapon.”
He raised his eyebrows back at me.
I said, “What I’ve got for armament is a letter, being held quite safely, that is ready to go to Her Majesty if I fail to appear. The object, in fact, doesn’t have anything to do with you, it’s to make sure certain influential parties are disassociated from this affair, and appear clean when it blows up. What it will do to your career is, in fact, just a side effect, but that won’t change how it hits you when Lord Khaavren learns what you’ve been up to. You know him better than I do, my dear lieutenant—what will he do? And it won’t help to try to keep the letter from reaching the Imperial Palace the way you, or your people, did in the Berdoign business, because the letter is already in the Palace. I think that’s better than a conventional weapon, under the circumstances, don’t you?”
“You are very well informed,” he said. I could see him wondering if I was lying, then deciding he couldn’t take the chance. He smiled, bowed his head slightly, and sheathed his sword. “Let’s talk, then,” he said. “I’m listening.”
“Good. We’ll start with the basics. You’ve been given an assignment that you dislike—”
He snorted. “ ‘Dislike’ would cover it,” he said, “if stretched very thin.”
“Nevertheless,” I continued, “you’re doing what you were instructed to do. Whatever else you are, you’re a soldier.”
He shrugged.
I said, “I represent, as I said, certain interests very close to, but not quite the same as, those who required you to carry out this mission. I would prefer that our efforts were combined, to a limited extent, because my job, to put it simply, is to clean up after your efforts to clean up. I have a certain hold on you, but not, I know, a strong one—”
“You got that right,” he said, smiling.
“—in that you’d prefer Lord Khaavren didn’t learn what you’re up to.”
“Don’t think you can push that too far, lady,” he said.
“I know how far I can push it.”
“Maybe. And what do I call you, by the way?”
“Margaret,” I said. “I fancy Eastern names.”
“Heh. You and Her Majesty.”
He’d thrown that out, I assumed, to see if I was up on current gossip; I gave him a slight smile to show that I was. He said, “Very well, then, Margaret. For whom do you work?”
“For whom do you work?”
“But you know that—or, at least, you laid out a theory which I haven’t disputed.”
“No, I’ve told you that I know the organization you work for, not where the orders came from to slide through the Fyres’s investigation.”
“So do you know who gave those orders?”
“Why don’t you tell me, Loftis?”
He smiled. “So we’ve found a piece of information you lack.”
“Maybe,” I said, returning his smile. “And maybe I’m just trying to find out if you’re planning to be straight with me.”
“Trade?” he suggested.
“No,” I said. “You’d lie. I’d lie. Besides, in point of fact, I know, anyway.”
“Oh?”
“There’s only one possibility.”
He looked inscrutable. “If you say so.”
I shrugged.
He said, “All right, then. What do you want?”
“As I told you before, cooperation.”
“What sort of cooperation? Be specific. You don’t want to share information, because we’d both lie, and because you don’t seem to need any, and because there’s really nothing I need to know. So what do you want, exactly?”
“Wrong on several counts,” I said.
“Oh?”
“As I told you, I’m here to keep this business from getting out of hand. I’ll blow the whistle on you if I have to, but I, and those who’ve given me this job, would prefer I didn’t. Now, what we have—”
“What cleanup are you talking about, Margaret?”
“Oh, come on, Loftis. Your security’s been broken all over town. Didn’t you just have someone show up out of nowhere, interrogate your interrogators, lead your shadows all over the region, pump them some more, and then almost kill them in a public inn? Is that your idea of secrecy?”
He studied me carefully, and I wondered if I’d gone too far. He grunted and said, “My compliments on your sources, Margaret.”
“Well?”
“Okay, you’ve made your point. What d
o you want?”
“Let’s start with the basics,” I said. “I have to know what I’m working with.”
“Heh,” he said. “There’s something you don’t know?”
I smiled. “How many on your team?”
“Six, with another three on standby.”
“How many know what you’re up to?”
“Domm and I.”
“And Timmer,” I added, “as of last night.”
He frowned. “Are you sure?”
I shrugged. “She may not know precisely, but she knows something’s up, and, if she thinks about it, she’ll probably figure out most of it. She isn’t stupid.”
He nodded. “Okay. What else do you want to know?”
“What actually happened to Fyres.”
Loftis shrugged. “He was murdered.”
I shook my head. “I know that. But who killed him?”
“An assassin. A good one. Hundred to one it was a Jhereg, and another hundred to one that we wouldn’t catch him even if we were trying to.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Okay. Who had it done?”
“I don’t know,” said Loftis. “That isn’t what we were trying to find out.”
“Sure, but you probably have an idea.”
“An idea? Hell, yeah. His wife hated him, his son loathed him, one daughter wants to be rich and the other one wants to be left alone. Is that good enough for a start?”
“No,” I said.
He looked at me, then turned away. “Yeah, it wasn’t them. Or, at least, it wasn’t just them.”
“Well, then?”
“The House of the Orca, I think. And the Jhereg. And someone, somewhere, high up in the Empire—like, maybe, whoever it was who hired you?” He’d slipped his right hand down behind his leg, where he was, no doubt, concealing something, and I hadn’t even seen him do it.
“No,” I said. “But good guess.”
He shrugged. “What else do you want to know?”
I wanted to know how Loftis had been conned, or pressured, into doing this in the first place, but this was the wrong time to ask. I said, “That’ll do for now. I’ll be in touch.”
“Okay. Pleasure meeting you, Margaret.”
“And you, Lieutenant.”