by Steven Brust
“Working for the Jhereg can be dangerous.”
“I beat up Dragaerans anyway, every chance I get. Why not get paid for it?”
She studied my face. “Do you hate us so much?”
“Them, not you.”
“I am Dragaeran.”
“You still aren’t one of them.”
“Perhaps not.”
“In any case, I need to make money if I’m going to stay out of the Easterners’ ghetto.”
“I know.” I saw the flash of her teeth. “It wouldn’t be proper for you to live there. You are a nobleman, after all.” I smiled back.
She said, “There are things I can teach you that will help.”
“I’d like that,” I said. “You’re very kind.”
“I like you.” She’d said that before. I often wondered why. I wondered how old she was, too. But these were questions I didn’t ask.
I said, “Well, wish me luck.”
“Yes. There are a few things I should tell you now, though.”
I was anxious to get going, but I’m not stupid. Kiera the Thief doesn’t waste words. I said, “All right.”
“The important thing is this, Vlad: Don’t let your anger get the best of you. Dead men can’t pay, and you won’t earn if you don’t deliver. And if you can get what you want without hurting someone, your employer will appreciate it. You may not realize it, but every time a Jhereg has to use violence, he’s taking chances. They don’t like that. Okay?”
“Okay.” As she spoke, it struck me that in less than an hour, probably, I was going to be facing down and perhaps attacking someone I’d never met before. It seemed awfully cold-blooded. But, well, tough. I said, “What else?”
“Do you know anything about the Left Hand of the Jhereg?”
“Ummm ... the what?”
“You don’t, then. Okay. The Organization as you know it makes its money by providing goods and services that are either illegal or highly taxed, right?”
“I guess so. I’d never thought of it that way, but sure.”
“Think of it that way. Now, the one exception is sorcery. There are sorcerous activities that are, as you know, illegal. Sorcerously aiding another illegal act, bending someone’s will, and so forth.” She spread her palms. “As the Demon says, ‘Whenever they make a new law, they create a new business.’”
“Who said that?”
“The Demon.”
“Who’s he?”
“Never mind. In any case, the Left Hand of the Jhereg is mostly made up of women—I’m not sure why. They deal in illegal magic.”
“I see.”
“Stay away from them. You aren’t up to fighting them, and you don’t know enough to protect yourself from their machinations.”
I said, “Yeah. I’ll remember. Thanks, Kiera.”
Her cowl nodded. She peered at me from within, then said, “Good luck, Vlad.” She merged with the shadow of the building and was gone.
* * * *
How ought one to prepare for a journey to the land of the dead?
I mean, I know how to get ready to go out on the town, and I know how to get ready to kill someone, and I even have some idea of how to prepare for a night spent in the jungle. But if you’re going to visit the shades of the once living, the servitors of the dead, and the gods, what do you want to bring with you? How ought you to dress?
I wore my Jhereg colors, with a stylized jhereg on the back of the grey cloak I wear when I want to carry concealed this and that with me, and black Eastern riding boots that are comfortable, even if I wasn’t going to be doing any riding—which was just as well. I’ve been on horseback before and if I never am again, that’ll be fine. Just don’t tell my grandfather I said that. He thinks Fenarians are supposed to be naturally great horsemen.
I wondered at Morrolan’s agreement to accompany me. From everything I understood, his chances of emerging alive were worse than mine, and mine didn’t seem to be all that good. I mean, Sethra had never actually said I’d be safe from the gods.
The gods. This was silly. I had occasionally joined my grandfather in our private family rituals, asking for the protection of Verra, the Demon Goddess, but I’d never been more than half convinced of her existence. Many Easterners I knew believed in one or more of the gods, and even those who didn’t dropped their voices when naming them. But all Dragaerans seemed to believe in them, and spoke about them in such matter-of-fact tones that I wondered if, to a Dragaeran, the term “god” was all but meaningless. Someday, I decided, I’d have to investigate this.
Or perhaps I was going to find out during this journey. Which thought reminded me that I ought to be preparing. Morrolan had said the journey there should only take a few days, as we would teleport to a point fairly close to DeathgateFalls. Water would be available as we walked, as would food. The weather was unpredictable, but my cloak was fairly warm when pulled around me, fairly cool when thrown back, and, waterproof.
“Any thoughts about what I should bring along?”
“An enchanted dagger, boss.Just in case.”
“I always carry one. What else?”
“That chain thing.”
“Hmmm. Yeah. Good idea.”
“Witch supplies?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I’m asking you.”
“No, I mean, are you going to bring supplies for spells? “
“Oh. I guess so.”
So I got these things together, threw in some eddiberries in case I needed to sleep, some kelsch leaves in case I needed to stay awake, then reached out for contact with Morrolan. It took quite a while since I didn’t know him terribly well, but at last we were in touch.
“I’ll be ready in an hour,” I told him.
“That will be fine,” he said. “Where should we meet?”
I thought about this, then told him, “There’s this tavern called Ferenk’s in South Adrilankha.”
* * * *
Every time I visit a shoemaker I’m given to wonder how anyone’s shoes can come out well. That is, I’ve never seen a shoemaker’s place that wasn’t as dark as Verra’s Hell, nor a shoemaker who didn’t squint as if he were half blind.
The remains of the clothing on this particular shoemaker claimed him for the House of the Chreotha, as did his longish face and stubby fingers. The amount of grime under his nails would have been sufficient for a garden. The hair on his head was thin and grey; his eyebrows were thick and dark. The room smelled heavily of leather and various oils and I can’t say what it looked like save that it was dark and gloomy.
The Chreotha gave me a silent grunt (I can’t describe it any better that that) and indicated a spot of gloom that turned out to contain a chair made of pieces of leather stretched across a wooden frame. I sat down in it carefully, but it didn’t seem about to collapse, so I relaxed. It was a bit small for a Dragaeran, which was pleasant since Dragaerans are taller than humans and it’s annoying to sit in a chair designed for someone larger.
The shoemaker shuffled out of the room, presumably to let Nielar know I was there. Nielar was the guy who had hired me, after an unpleasant introduction involving a game of shereba that ran in the back of his building. Kiera had, I had gathered, intervened on my behalf, so I was showing up to work for him. I was also supposed to be meeting a partner.
“You must be Vlad Taltos,” he said.
I jumped and almost drew the dagger from my sleeve.
“Mama?”
“It’s all right, Loiosh.”
He was sitting right across from me, and I’d somehow missed him in the dim light. He had a bit of a smirk on his face, probably from seeing me jump, but I resolved not to hate him right away. “Yes,” I said. “I believe your name is Kragar?”
“I believe so, also. Since we both believe it, we might as well assume it’s true.”
“Ummm ... right.”
He watched me, still with the same sardonic expression. I wondered if he was trying to make me mad enough to attack him, to see if I coul
d control myself. If so, I resented being tested. If not, he was just a jerk.
He said, “There’s a guy who owes Nielar some money. Not all that much; forty imperials. But he’s being stubborn. If we can get it, we split four imperials.” I kept my face blank, while being amazed that my co-worker didn’t think forty imperials was much money. This, I decided, might bode well for my future.
He continued, “Shall we go?” As he said this, he handed me what turned out to be a smooth, round stick, maybe an inch and a half in diameter and two feet long. I wrapped my hand around it. It was heavy enough to hurt someone. He continued, “Nielar said you already know how to use this.”
“I guess so,” I said, hefting the thing. “It is rather like a chair leg.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” I smirked back at him, feeling a bit cocky all of a sudden. “Let’s go.”
“Right.”
As we headed out the door I said, “You’ll do the talking, right?”
“No,” he said. “You will.”
* * * *
“How long will you be gone, Vlad?”
“I don’t know, Kragar. You’re just going to have to take care of things as best you can. If I’m lucky, I’ll be back in three or four days. If I’m not, I won’t be back at all.”
He chewed on his lip, a gesture I think he picked up from me. “I hope you’re getting something for this.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Me, too.”
“Well, good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Loiosh and I made our way to Ferenk’s. The host recognized me at once and managed to keep a scowl off his face. When Morrolan came in, however, I could see that he drew his lips back and almost hissed. I smiled and said, “Two, please. We want dead bodies and seaweed. I’m sure you still know how to pour them.”
He did, and I was pleased that Morrolan liked Fenarian peach brandy, but a little disappointed that he already knew about it, and even called it by its Fenarian name. However, he hadn’t known that Ferenk’s existed. I think he enjoyed being the only Dragaeran in the place, too. I remembered meeting Kiera there (by chance? Ha!) and wondered how the regulars would take to having Dragaerans drop by, and what sort of reputation I’d acquire at the place. At any rate, Morrolan enjoyed the experience more than Ferenk did.
Tough.
We walked out the door after a couple of glasses each. Then Morrolan stopped. I stood next to him. He closed his eyes and held himself still, then nodded to me. I braced myself, and South Adrilankha vanished. I expected to feel nauseous, and I was.
I hate that.
* * * *
The target lived about half a mile away. To kill time as we walked, I asked Kragar to tell me about him.
“I don’t know much, Vlad. He’s an Orca, and he’s owed Nielar the money for quite a while.”
“An Orca? That’s nice to hear.”
“Why?”
“Nothing,” I said. He glanced at me quickly but didn’t comment. “Is he big?”
Kragar shrugged. “What’s the difference? Hit him hard enough and he’ll go down.”
“Is that what we want to do?” I asked, remembering Kiera’s advice. “Start swinging?” I discovered I was feeling nervous. When I’d taken to beating up the Dragaerans who’d been beating me up, it always happened suddenly. I’d never actually set out to get one. It makes a difference.
Kragar said, “Up to you.”
I stopped. “What is this? You’ve done this before; I haven’t. Why am I making all the decisions?”
“That was my deal when I agreed to work for Nielar—that I never have to give an order.”
“Huh? Why?”
“None of your business.”
I stared at him. Then I noticed that the House of the Dragon was so clearly marked on his face I couldn’t understand how I’d missed it before. There was almost certainly a story there.
As we resumed our walk, I pondered Kragar. He was almost exactly seven feet tall, had medium straight brown hair, brown eyes, and, well, really nothing else to distinguish him. Questions buzzed around my head, without attending answers. Where had he come from? How had he found himself in the Jhereg?
He touched my shoulder and pointed to a building. It bore the insignia of a wolf howling and seemed to be a pretty nice place from the outside. The inside was also in good repair. We walked through the main room, earning some scowls from patrons who didn’t like Easterners, Jhereg, or both. We went up the stairs. As we climbed the three flights and turned to the left, I was still wondering about Kragar, and I continued to wonder until we had clapped outside the door and it had opened.
The Orca looked at me and blinked. He said, “Yeah, whiskers?”
Oh. Here I was. I’d been so distracted thinking about Kragar that I hadn’t considered how to approach the Orca. Well, since I didn’t know what to say, I hit him in the stomach with the stick. He said something like “Oooph” and buckled over. I think I might have cracked a couple of ribs; my aim wasn’t all that good. I wondered if he was the right guy.
In any case, the top of his head was right below me. I almost brought the club down, but I remembered Kiera’s words and didn’t. Instead I put my foot against him and pushed. He fell over backward and it occurred to me how easy it had been to take the guy when he wasn’t expecting an attack.
He rolled over onto his stomach, coughing. I’d gotten him pretty good, but Orca are tough. I put my foot on his back. Kragar came up next to me and put a foot on the guy’s neck. I removed my foot and walked around, then knelt down in front of him. He seemed startled and craned his neck, looking around. I guess he hadn’t realized there were two of us. Then he glared at me.
On impulse I reached into my cloak, pulled out my jhereg, and held him in front of the guy. I said, “Hungry, Loiosh?”
“Mama?”
“It’s okay.”
Loiosh flicked a tongue out toward the Orca, whose eyes were now wide with fear. I said to him, “You owe people money.”
“Let me up,” he croaked. “I’ll give it to you.”
“No. I don’t want it. I want you to pay it. If you don’t, we’ll come back. You have twenty-four hours. Do you understand?”
He managed to nod.
“Good.” I stood up and put Loiosh away. I headed out to the stairs, Kragar behind me.
Once we’d left, Kragar said, “Why didn’t you take the money?”
I said, “Huh? I don’t know. I guess it would have felt like robbing him.”
Kragar laughed. Well, I suppose on reflection it was funny. I was trembling a bit. If Kragar had commented on it I would have smashed his face in, but he didn’t.
I had settled down by the time we were back where we’d started. The shoemaker wasn’t around when we returned, but Nielar was. He studied me, ignoring Kragar, and said, “Well?”
I said, “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“Does the guy have dark hair that he wears plastered straight back, kind of a wide face, big shoulders, a short neck, and a little white scar across his nose?”
“I’ve never noticed the scar, but, yeah, that sounds right.”
“Then we talked to the right guy.”
“That’s good. What did you talk about?”
“We asked him if he wouldn’t mind paying what he owes.”
“What did he say?”
“He seemed to consider the matter carefully.”
Nielar nodded slowly. “Okay. Where’s Kragar?”
“Right here,” said Kragar, sounding amused.
“Oh. What do you think?”
“He’ll pay. We gave him a day.” He paused, then, “Vlad does good work.”
Nielar studied me for a moment. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll be in touch with you guys.”
I nodded and walked out of the shop. I wanted to thank Kragar, but I couldn’t find him. I shrugged and went home to feed Loiosh and wait.
I got home feeling a bit exhausted, but go
od. I was pretty pleased with life for a change. I fed Loiosh some cow’s milk and fell asleep on the couch with him on my stomach. Perhaps I was smiling.
* * * *
The first thing I noticed was the sky. It was still the ugly reddish, orangish thing that hangs over the Empire, but it was higher and somehow cleaner. We were surrounded by grasses that reached my waist. There was not a tree or a mountain or a building in sight.
We stood there for a few minutes, Morrolan politely remaining silent while I took several deep breaths, trying to recover from the aftereffects of the teleport. I looked around, and something occurred to me. I tried to figure it out, then said, “All right, I give up. How did you get a teleport fix on a spot with absolutely no distinguishing features?”
He smiled. “I didn’t. I just fixed on approximately where I wanted to go, visualized the area, and hoped nothing would be there.”
I stared at him. He smiled back at me. “Well,” I said after a while. “I guess it worked.”
“I guess so. Shall we begin walking?”
“What direction?”
“Oh. Right.” He closed his eyes and turned his head slowly from side to side. He finally pointed off in a direction that looked like any other. “That way,” he said.
Loiosh flew overhead. The breeze was cool but not chilly. Morrolan cut back on the length of his strides so he wouldn’t keep getting ahead of me.
I tried not to think of the whithers or the wherefores of the journey, but the staff in Morrolan’ s left hand kept reminding me.
Chapter 9
The object of my desire was there, and I needed it here. I had forged most of those links already: there was represented by a quivering knife, here was the glowing rune. But more, I had to break a spatial barrier and cause a thing to exist that did not, while destroying a thing that did, yet in fact do neither of these, merely cause a spatial readjustment.
If that sounds confusing to listen to, try doing it.
I had become a thing of rhythm and wave, sight and sound, of a wavering landscape and a humming knife and a glowing rune and a pulse.
They were united in my will and in the symbols before me. Think of it as a cosmic juggling act in the mind, and you’ll have about the right idea.
I was getting to the hard part.