Vallista--A Novel of Vlad Taltos

by Steven Brust

  “I’m not much for farming.”

  “They hire servants at the castle, sometimes.”

  “Oh? Did you ever work there?”

  “My youngest did.”

  “And my sister,” said the guy.

  The other woman said, “When I was a little girl I waited on Her Ladyship.”

  “Her Ladyship,” I repeated.

  She nodded.

  “I’ve heard she passed away,” I said.

  The other two nodded, but Ouffach squinted at me and said, “How did you hear that?”

  Her face was wrinkled, and her skin looked like it would have the consistency of leather.

  “I pick things up here and there.”

  She wasn’t having it. “You were at the castle.”

  I nodded.

  “Who?”

  “Gormin.”

  She nodded slowly. “He talks too much.”

  “For a Teckla, or an Issola?”

  “He’s no Issola anymore.”

  “Why not? What happened?”

  “None of your business, or mine.”

  Well, that didn’t leave a lot of room for discussion. When discussion fails, try negotiation, that’s what I always say. Sometimes say. Have said at least once before.

  I reached into my pouch and found three imperials. I passed one to the woman whose name I didn’t know, and one to the young man. “Take a walk,” I said. Their eyes widened, they took the coins, then they looked at Ouffach. She nodded. They got up and moved to a table on the other side of the room. When they’d left, I pushed the third coin over to her.

  She picked it up and studied it, tapped her fingernail against it, then frowned. “Who is this?” she said, pointing to the portrait of an Empress who hadn’t yet taken the throne. Oops.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But it’s gold.”

  She tapped it again, nodded, and set it down.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  I fished around and found another imperial, set it next to the first. “Good enough reason?”

  She smiled. She didn’t have many teeth, and the ones she had were yellow. I suddenly realized that, during the Interregnum, Dragaerans’ teeth looked like the teeth of Easterners in my own time. I couldn’t decide if that was funny or sad. I also wondered how much the blacksmith would charge to make her some new ones.

  “I don’t know a lot,” she said. “I know it happened a hundred years or so after the Disaster.”

  She drank some more beer and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. I nodded and waited for her to continue.

  “There’s a dancer, also an Issola. Hevlika.”

  I nodded, but inside, all of my ah ha’s were going off.

  “It seemed that she and Gormin were sweeping the straw.”

  That was an expression I’d never heard before, but it was easy enough to figure out. “Involved,” I said.

  She squinted at me with one eye, I guess to see if I was only pretending to misunderstand in order to embarrass her, which I was, but it didn’t work. I flashed her a smile and nodded.

  “Of course, they were discovered.”

  “Pardon the ignorance of a poor Easterner, but was such a dalliance forbidden?”

  For a moment, she looked at me as if I were an alien species, which I was. Then her face cleared and she said, “At the time, Gormin was His Lordship’s steward.”

  “Is that like seneschal?” I asked, thinking of Lady Teldra.

  She nodded. “He was in charge of the household.”

  “Which means?”

  “The dancer was part of the household. Surely such a thing is improper among your people?”

  “We don’t have stewards. At least, I’ve never met one in an Eastern household.”

  “Then who is in charge of the servants?”

  “Who is in charge of your servants?”

  “The steward, as I said.”

  “Yours? In your house?”

  “My house?” She laughed. “I don’t have servants.”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  She glanced at the two imperial coins in front of her, then back at me as if she didn’t entirely believe me. I guess I could see her point: how could someone who could toss around imperials like copper not have servants? Fine. Let it be a mystery.

  “So, they were caught, and he was booted out of his House.”

  “And ordered into the Teckla.”

  “Heh. I’ll bet you made him feel welcome.”

  Her lips twitched. “We didn’t make it pleasant for him. But he took it well, and never got above himself, so we stopped. Eventually.”

  “And now?”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “What is he doing now?”

  “Oh. The same as he did before, only as a Teckla.”

  “And the dancer?”

  “She is still there.” Some expression crossed her features too quickly for me to read.

  “What?” I said.

  “Hmm?”

  “What was that look for?”

  She looked down. I waited. After a moment, she said softly, “It was cruel.”

  I drew circles on the table in the condensation from the beer. “What was?”

  Her head came up. “You don’t see? He made Gormin stay there, where he saw her every day, only now he was a Teckla.”

  I put that together with what I knew of Dragaerans in general and Issola in particular—he was no longer an Issola, or even an aristocrat. She wouldn’t have anything to do with him, and he’d never consider asking her to. Dragaerans are idiots. “He did that just to be cruel?”

  She nodded.

  “This was Zhayin?”

  She winced a little—I guess the local lord is too important to be called by his name—but then she nodded.

  “I’m starting to take a dislike to this guy,” I said.

  “He’s been through a lot,” she said.

  “You mean his son.”

  She nodded.

  “And then, his daughter.”

  She frowned. “His daughter? He has no daughter.”

  “Ah,” said. “My mistake.” And let’s have another “ah ha!” In case that went too fast for you, I’d just learned that her mother was already dead, but the woman who was an adult and a ghost in my age had never been heard of by the townspeople. I didn’t know what that meant, but it meant something.

  A few people came in and found tables; I guess it was still pretty early as Teckla saw things. And then, a number of them probably had to walk in from miles away once the work was done. I remembered from my travels that Teckla did a lot of walking. So far, all of them were Teckla; I had the feeling that if an aristocrat were to walk in here no one would know what to do.

  I cleared my throat. “We were talking,” I said, “about Zhayin’s wife. What was her name?”

  “Her Ladyship.”

  “That was her name?”

  “The only name I knew.”

  I nodded. “So, what happened to her?”

  “I don’t know. We were never told.”

  “What was the gossip?”

  She laughed. “That one of His Lordship’s experiments had gotten out of control. That she had killed herself in despair at his violating the laws of nature. That a god had appeared and taken her to be his bride. That he had killed her when she threatened to go to the Duke about his illegal magic. That he had sacrificed her to gain power. Would you like me to go on?”

  “No, no. I get the idea. Who would know?”

  “His Lordship.”

  “Thanks so much.”

  She shrugged.

  “All right, who else would know?”

  She considered. “Maybe Hevlika.”

  I nodded. “Maybe there’s some way I could meet her.”

  “She should be along soon.”

  “What? Here? She drinks here?”

  “She dances here, two or three times a week.”

  “Oh. I thought she only danced for Zhayin.”
/>   She frowned. “Why would you think that?”

  “No reason.”

  She gave me a look and grunted, and a few more people came in. I’d been at events—plays and concerts—where there was a lot of excitement as the opening drew close, and this didn’t feel like that. It was more relaxed, like, what was going to happen was a part of the evening, less a special event, more like an Endweek dinner: anticipated, but nothing to burn the chairs for.

  I got us another round of drinks. I should add that the hostess collected from me when she brought the drinks; for everyone else, she just made marks on a board behind the bar. To be fair, I don’t know if that was because I was human or because I was a stranger.

  I waited for the show to start.

  13

  THE STAR OF THE SEVEN JEWELS

  A few more people came in and found seats; then a few more, who stood against the wall because they’d run out of chairs. The hostess was moving like a Dzur in battle getting everyone drinks.

  And then she arrived: Hevlika, looking just as I remembered her. She smiled and nodded as she walked toward the stage. A man was with her, a Teckla, and he carried an instrument I recognized as a lant. He found a stool that had been set aside near the side of the stage, and began tuning while Hevlika went around the room saying hello to people and generally being gracious as only an Issola can. I touched Lady Teldra’s hilt and remembered things I don’t feel like talking about.

  Eventually she made her way to the stage, had a whispered conversation with the lant player, and started.

  I’ve described her dancing before, I won’t try to do it again. I will say it wasn’t until she was done that I realized she’d done all of that on a stage barely big enough for a full split (that’s what they call it when they spread their legs and smack their crotch on the stage; I know stuff). Just the fact that I never noticed how cramped she must have been is a testament. I wish I knew more about dance so I could describe it better. I’ll say the Teckla liked it: they all seemed to be holding their breath, and everyone’s eyes got as big and round as Ouffach’s. I think Hevlika must have danced for an hour or more without a break, although it didn’t seem like it at the time. When she was done, they all yelled and cried and stomped their feet, and I did, too, and I sat there wondering how many thousands of hours it takes to get every little muscle in your body to be able to do exactly what you want, down to the tiniest flutter, and then to coordinate it to music. You want to talk magic, that’s magic.

  It calmed down, and they left the stage, but no one left—it seemed that after the show they went around and talked to everyone again, saying hello, laughing and smiling a lot. She was an Issola; I should get used to it.

  As she finished speaking to people, the ones who had said hello to her would slowly say their good-byes and make their way out the door, like this was a regular part of the festivities. Eventually, Hevlika and the Teckla made their way to our table. They looked a little startled to see me, but smiled, and then greeted Ouffach by name. They received our compliments on the performance with modest grace, and made sure we understood how much they enjoyed it.

  When they moved on to the next table, Ouffach stood up with a grunt and said, “Have I earned the coins?”

  “Oh, yes,” I said.

  She nodded. “Then I’ll bid you a good evening, Easterner. I have kethna to feed in the morning.”

  “‘Or there will be no bacon for Endweek.’” I completed. Her lips twitched. I stood up and bowed, which seemed to charm her. It’s what comes of hanging around with Issola. She left; I sat down and waited.

  “How long, Boss?”

  “A while yet. Sorry.”

  “All right.”

  I ordered another beer. Compared to the wine, it was spectacular. I waited until Hevlika and the musician had spoken to everyone, by which time the place was empty except for them, the tired-looking hostess, and one old guy snoring behind a wall of empty cups. As Hevlika went by me, I said, “May I trouble you for a moment’s conversation, my lady?”

  This is not the kind of question an Issola finds it easy to say no to; she nodded with no hesitation and sat down. The musician picked up that I was interested in talking to her rather than them, so he smiled to both of us and headed out, instrument over his shoulder like a Dragonlord carries his pike.

  “Can I buy you a beer? I’d offer you wine, but believe me, you don’t want it.”

  She smiled and turned to the hostess, who nodded and returned with a wine bottle and two glasses. She poured it for us. It was a very, very dark red, but after raising a glass in thanks to Hevlika, I tasted it, and was pleasantly surprised. The hostess stood there and waited until I paid her, then grunted, left the bottle, and shuffled off.

  “I guess they keep this around for you,” I said.

  She smiled. “I’m Hevlika.”

  “I’m … Szurke.”

  She caught the hesitation and I shrugged. “I pick among several different names,” I said. “I decided you deserved the best.”

  “You’re very kind. What did you wish to talk about?”

  “The late wife of Lord Zhayin.”

  There should have been at least a small sense of triumph in shocking an Issola, but in fact I felt sort of bad. I waited while she drank some wine and recovered.

  “Her Ladyship,” she said at last. I guess that really was her name. Must have been interesting when she was a child.

  I nodded. “I’ve heard that something happened to her. What was it?”

  “May I ask why you wish to know?”

  That’s the thing about Issola: because you know how hard it is for them to say no, you have just as much trouble saying no to them. “It’s complicated,” I said at last. “It involves a big house near Adrilankha, the Halls of Judgment, passages through ti—”

  “The Halls of Judgment,” she repeated.

  I nodded.

  She drank some more wine. “That’s where it happened,” she said at last. Her eyes lost focus.

  “What happened?” I said after a moment.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. No one knows, exactly.”

  “But Her Ladyship visited the Halls while living?”

  She nodded. At one time I had thought Zerika and I were the only ones. Now it was starting to seem like an official Imperial pastime.

  “And she was with child at the time?”

  The dancer tilted her head curiously. “I hadn’t heard that.”

  “Ah,” I said. “Perhaps I was misinformed.”

  “You are well spoken,” she said.

  “For an Easterner, you mean?” She nodded. “I read a lot,” I told her. “You see us as like Teckla, but we’re really outside of the rules.”

  “I see. Of course, most of what I know I’ve picked up from poems, folktales, the theatre. It’s one thing to know those are unreliable, it’s another to know what to put in their place.”

  “Yeah, I get that.”

  “I hope I didn’t give offense.”

  I laughed. “I get offended when people try to kill me. And it hurts my feelings when they swing blunt objects at me. Other than that, I don’t worry about it.”

  “I understand. Do you have love poetry?”

  “Me? No.”

  “I mean your people.”

  “Oh. Sure. Also love songs, erotic paintings, and ribald stories.”

  “We have those, too.”

  “Issola? I find that hard to believe. I mean, ribald stories.”

  She laughed. “You should hear us when no one is around.” She winked.

  “I’d give pure gold to.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind if we meet again.”

  “Oh, we’ll meet again.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m an Easterner, we can tell these things.”

  She smiled politely without making it look like she was smiling politely. “You should try your hand at love poetry,” she said.

  “I don’t think so. There’s enough bad poet
ry in the world without my contribution.”

  “Very well.”

  “Why, though?”

  “It’ll help.”

  I snorted. “Help with what?”

  “Your grief.”

  “What grief?”

  “You know what I mean, Lord Szurke.”

  “I really don’t.”

  “You mean you don’t keep composing letters to her in your head? You don’t keep wanting to tell her how wretched you are, but then you don’t send them, because what if she took you back because you were wretched? How terrible that would be, you tell yourself. When something happens—something funny, or interesting, or sad—you look around to tell her about it, then you remember. And you want to tell her that is going on, but you don’t, because you don’t want to add to her burdens, only you do want to add to her burdens, and you hate that you want to add to her burdens. You wonder if she’s seeing someone else, and you hope she is, and you hope she isn’t, and you hate that it matters so much. And maybe you’ve found someone else yourself, but you worry that it isn’t fair to her, and then you worry that you shouldn’t worry about that, and then it infuriates you that you’re spending so much time thinking about it, and so it all turns into aimless grief.”

  “Oh, that grief.”

  She nodded.

  “Loiosh, you didn’t hear any of that.”

  “Any of what?”

  “Exactly.”

  “How did you do that? Also, why?”

  “How is easy, Szurke. You carry it in how you walk and in the set of your shoulders, but mostly in how you watched me dance.”

  “Bloody Issola.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Nothing.”

  “As for why, because I can, and because I felt I owed it to you for my rudeness.”

  “Heh. Thanks so much.”

  “You’d really have preferred I said nothing?”

  “I’ll tell you something,” I said. “You people live thousands of years. We live fifty or sixty. And I’ll bet you couldn’t find any one of you, or any one of us, who didn’t have something like that going on. It’s just what happens when you live. Spending all your time worrying about it just means getting so wrapped up in your head that you never do anything. Yeah, sad sh—sad stuff happens, it hurts, and you move on.”

  “And what are you doing?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Of what does your moving on consist?”