Hawk (Vlad)

by Steven Brust

  “I feel like I should give a speech about how, once we do this, we’re committed.”

  “You mean we weren’t committed when you spoke to the Demon?”

  “Yeah, we were. That’s why I’m not giving the speech.”

  I drank some of the wine and was pleased that my hands weren’t shaking.

  Daymar has never been known for punctuality; it was most of an hour before he showed up, as before, floating cross-legged two feet off the floor. I jumped, of course, but was lucky enough not to be holding my wineglass.

  “Have some,” I said, pouring. “Thanks for showing up.”

  Daymar picked up his wine and studied it through the glass, holding it up to the light. I’ve seen Morrolan do the same thing. When Morrolan does it, I get the feeling he’s enjoying how pretty the light is through the wine; when Daymar does it, I can’t help but thinking he’s wondering what sort of prism spell would be required to isolate that color from pure white. He lowered the glass and drank a gulp like he was thirsty; I’m pretty sure if I’d bought a bottle of the good stuff it would have been the same.

  “So, Vlad. What is it you need?”

  “How would you go about acquiring a hawk’s egg?”

  He frowned. “A hawk’s egg? Well, I’d find a nest—”

  “No, a hawk’s egg.”

  “Oh. Why do you want it?”

  I just waited.

  “Right. It has to do with what you asked me about before.”

  “Yeah,” I told him.

  “I’ve gotten them before,” he said.

  “Can you again?”

  “Certainly,” said Daymar. “It may take some time. Where can I find you?”

  “Remember my offices?”

  “Yes. Isn’t Kragar there now?”

  “He’s offered me his hospitality.”

  “Oh, I see. I’ll bring it there, then.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. Ever heard of the Wand of Ucerics?”

  His eyes widened. “Why yes, certainly. In fact, it’s in my possession.”

  “Really?” I said putting on a surprised look.

  “Indeed.”

  “Well, that’s convenient. Might I borrow it for a few days?”

  “It’ll take me some time to fetch it. It’s in,” he frowned, thought for a moment, then continued, “an inconvenient place.”

  I didn’t want to think about what sort of extra-dimensional or imaginary place Daymar would consider inconvenient. I said, “No hurry. If you can get it to me in the next day or two, that’ll be fine.”

  “All right,” he said. “Anything else?”

  “Yes. Talk to me.”

  That Daymar quizzical expression appeared. “About what?”

  “Anything. About things that have nothing to do with any of this, with the Jhereg, with hawk’s eggs, with, I don’t care. Just talk to me.”

  “Um. I don’t know what to say,” he said. I wondered if those words had ever before passed his lips.

  “Try anyway,” I said.

  He was quiet for a little longer, then he said, “Could you, um, ask me questions, or something?”

  I guess that was only fair. “All right,” I said, and considered. “What do you care about, Daymar?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What matters to you?”

  “Why would you want to know that?”

  “Pretend it’s important.”

  “Um.” He got a strange expression on his face. “Is it really important?”

  “Yeah. Really.”

  “What I like is learning things.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “Almost anything. Anything that—” He paused. “Anything that makes me sit up straight.”

  “I think I understand that.”

  Daymar nodded.

  “So, it’s about that moment when you suddenly understand something?”

  “Not just that,” he said. “It’s also about getting there. Gathering facts, and the connections between them. I like that, too. You know I’m a desecrator?”

  “No, I didn’t know that.”

  He nodded. “That’s what I like about it. Finding pieces of the past and figuring out how things happened.”

  I asked more questions; he answered them. After a while I said, “That helps.”

  “Helps what?”

  “My project. We talked about it yesterday.”

  “I remember. But what part of the project does it help?”

  I guess his desire to draw conclusions stopped when it was a conclusion about what I didn’t want to talk about. Or he didn’t care that I didn’t want to talk about it. Or he hadn’t noticed. All of the possibilities equally likely.

  “I need someone to think like a Hawk,” I said. “I figure there’s more to it than being randomly irritating and profoundly oblivious.”

  Daymar considered. “No,” he said. “That’s most of it.”

  “Who’d have thought he had a sense of humor, Boss?”

  “You sure he’s joking?”

  “Um.”

  “You’ve been a lot of help,” I said. “Thanks.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked—such a tiny thing I wasn’t entirely sure I’d seen it. “You’re welcome,” he said, and, without changing expression, vanished with an irritating pop of displaced air.

  “So, that was useful, Boss.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “If you say so. What’s next?”

  “Next I seek legal advice.”

  “Seriously?”

  “No. Sort of.”

  “This will be good,” he said.

  7

  MAKING SMALL TALK OR MAKING WAVES

  It wasn’t, really. I mean, it wasn’t anything exciting, dangerous, or even terribly interesting. I made my way to the Palace district and looked up an advocate named Perisil I’d had dealings with before. After a few pleasantries, he asked what I wanted.

  I said, “I’ve come up with a way to eavesdrop on psychic communication. I need to make sure it’s illegal.”

  He blinked at me. “You need it to be illegal?”

  “If I’m going to sell it to—never mind. Can you find a way in which it’s against the law?”

  He coughed. “Several, probably.”

  “Good. I like having options. Run them down for me?”

  “This is outside my field.”

  “I know. But I need help.”

  We went back and forth for a while, until he said, “I think what you want will be in the Imperial trade laws.”

  “All right. Can you point me toward an expert on Imperial trade laws?”

  He shook his head. “There aren’t any experts. It’s too complicated.”

  “Then—”

  “Here. Let me look something up.”

  He found a book among his shelves, paged through it, nodded, and showed me a passage.

  “Um.”

  “I’ll explain,” he said.

  He explained about the relationship between Imperial Secrets and commerce, and I nodded. “That’ll do it,” I said. “Can I borrow that?”

  He put a bookmark in the page and handed me the book. I thanked him, and paid him for his time. I’d never before paid so much to sit and listen to someone talk. On the other hand, I had employed tags who made more for that service.

  Loiosh and Rocza guided me back to the tunnel into my—that is, Kragar’s office.

  Kragar said, “Should I order in some food? Sorry.”

  “Bastard,” I said, and sat down again. “Yes. I’ll cover it. Jesco’s?”

  “Someplace you’ve never eaten. Just in case.”

  “Good idea.”

  We ended up with a big bowl of rice with saffron and duck. I’d never had it before, and liked it a lot; Loiosh expressed the opinion that we should never eat anything else ever again. We sat around, ate, talked, and it h
it me that I missed the times Kragar and I used to just sit and talk; and that, whatever happened, there wouldn’t be many more occasions like this. Then I stopped thinking about it—that’s the sort of crap that can get you killed. Kragar came up with a bottle of a white wine from Guinchen that I’d never had before. He put his feet up on my desk.

  “We’ve been through some shit here, haven’t we?” he said.

  “Shut up.”

  He looked amused but didn’t say anything.

  “I need to figure out a way to see my kid,” I said.

  He rubbed his lower lip. “Shouldn’t it wait until this is over?”

  “Too much chance I’ll be dead by then.”

  “That doesn’t sound like you, Vlad.”

  “What, fatalistic? I’ve always been a fatalist.”

  “No, you’ve always talked like a fatalist. You’ve never acted like one.”

  “Asshole,” I said.

  He smirked and poured wine, then shut up and let me think.

  Every time something in the Jhereg changes, everyone gets nervous and starts looking around. All negotiations come down to a balancing act between making trouble you don’t need and can’t afford, and looking weak. How much do you let someone push you around? How much pushing do you do? Where do you draw the line? Once negotiations are over and settled, everyone relaxes, because then you can get back to just doing business—until another ripple comes through that means there’s more or less of some limited and valuable thing, and everyone has to settle who gets how much.

  I intended to cause a pretty big splash.

  A little later Kragar raised his glass to me, drained it, and left me to decide on the next step.

  Sorry. Left us to decide on the next step. Loiosh, as it happened, had a lot to say on the subject, none of it productive. I’ll spare you the details. In the end, we went out through the tunnel and I found Kiera’s drop spot, and, as promised, the lockpick was there. It fit neatly into my palm—just a pretty usual-looking hook pick, very small. It felt a little cold, and I might have sensed some magic in it if I weren’t wearing the Phoenix Stone. I was sure it would work; I could find my own torsion wrench easily enough. I wanted to take a moment to study it, but I was outside and nervous, so I went back into the tunnel, and emerged once more in Kragar’s office.

  There were a couple of lounging toughs keeping track of the place. They nodded to me and I nodded back. I turned toward the room I was sleeping in and stopped, staring. After a moment, I said, “Hello, Cawti.”

  “Hello, Vlad.”

  “How did you know to find me here?”

  “Kragar sent me a message.”

  “Oh. Where is—”

  “Norathar is watching him.”

  I nodded, then wasn’t sure what to say.

  She said, “We’re going to try to set up a time for you to see him, but I wanted—”

  “I understand,” I said. “All right. Uh, should we sit down?”

  “Probably.”

  We found a couple of chairs. I was weirdly aware of the distance between us as we carried them into an empty room.

  “You had an Imperial Guardsman outside your house.”

  Her lips tightened and she nodded. “I’m working on that.”

  “There were also a couple of Jhereg.”

  “Wait. You were there?”

  “Yeah. Three days ago.”

  “They tried to kill you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Outside of my house?”

  I nodded. “Where my son lives.” I released the arm of the chair and flexed my hand.

  Her nostrils flared. I could see her register the information—the threat to her, the threat to Vlad Norathar. Her jaw tightened.

  I said, “I’m working on it, but—”

  I broke off and waited. After a moment, she said, “I’m sorry, Vladimir, but it isn’t safe for you to try to see him anymore.”

  I nodded.

  Her eyes were deep-set, and such a warm brown. I said, “I’m starting a project. I need to fix this.”

  “Is this project related to the rumors I’ve heard?”

  “What do the rumors say?”

  “There’s a lot of money involved.”

  After working to get the rumors started, I guess I couldn’t complain that they were floating around. “And that’s what brought you here?”

  “No, seeing you brought me here.”

  “All right.”

  “Vladimir, what are you working on?”

  “A plan. If it works, it’ll get the Jhereg off me. For good.”

  It crossed my mind that, even if this didn’t work, it was worth the effort just for the look on the face of everyone I told.

  “Can you do it?” she said.

  “I think so.”

  “Can I help?”

  “Yes. Go somewhere safe until this is over. Don’t let anything happen to the boy, or yourself. That will take a huge load off my mind. It will help.”

  I’m pretty sure that isn’t what she had in mind when she offered to help, but after a moment, she nodded. “I’ll go stay with Norathar.”

  “Perfect,” I said. Then, “How’s the boy?”

  “As well as he was a month ago. He may be starting to miss you.”

  I felt a smile grow. “Good.”

  She gave me that pressed-lip smile that means she’s pretending to think it isn’t funny. There was a moment, but then I looked away and so did she.

  Let’s just not dwell on it, okay?

  “What else is going on?”

  She filled me in on details, mostly antics about Vlad Norathar, which I’d tell you about, because they prove what a remarkable kid he is, but they’re private so you’ll just have to trust me. Eventually, Cawti said that she should be going.

  I nodded. “I’m glad you came.”

  “Me too,” she said.

  I avoided watching her walk away, because that would have just made everything worse. After she’d left, I sat there for a while. I could have thanked Loiosh for not saying anything, but it wasn’t necessary. Once again, though for different reasons, it took me a long time to fall asleep.

  * * *

  Look at it this way: An organization like the Jhereg operates by supplying things that people want but the law doesn’t want them to have, or that are cheaper or better in their illegal versions. The Jhereg has a reputation for using violence casually and effectively. Speaking as someone who spent years providing that violence, I can say that the effectively part is true, but the casually part is a little exaggerated.

  There are reasons for the violence, and also reasons for it to be exaggerated. People who break the law every day tend to be a bit casual about smacking someone with the hilt of a dagger or breaking his leg with a lepip. You learn to be casual about it by being around it, or you’re around it because you’re the sort of person who doesn’t mind that, or both. Also, since we—pardon me, they—can’t count on the Empire to make sure everyone in the organization follows the rules, they have to do it themselves. Last, on the rare occasions someone not in the Jhereg comes into conflict with their interests, it’s useful to have a reputation for ruthlessness. If you scare someone enough, you usually don’t have to do the thing he’s afraid of.

  That’s where the violence comes from, and why it serves the Jhereg’s interest for it to be exaggerated. But remember that violence costs money—either because you’re paying someone to commit the violence, or because the existence of violence is bad for business, or both.

  See, what a Jhereg wants is money. Money lets you live better, keeps you safe, and lets everyone know how good or important you are in case that’s what matters to you. You need violence—or the threat of violence—to protect the money, but it’s the money that matters. That’s what I was counting on.

  It isn’t that simple, though.

  Suppose you’re running a few gambling operations and maybe a brothel or two and handling some loans. Someone comes into your area and mess
es up a game, robs a brothel, and threatens your people. If he then comes up to you and wants to make it right by paying you money, you aren’t going to be inclined to take it. Money’s good, but not if everyone around sees him pushing you around and getting away with it—that sort of thing will see you out of business fast. And maybe out of business in the permanent, embalming-gloss-on-your-skin sort of way.

  Of course, the guy might offer you so much money that you’d consider taking it anyway. But it would have to be boatloads of gold. I mean big boats: the real cargo skybenders, not the canal skiffs.

  That was, more or less, the position I’d gotten myself into, except that I didn’t have big boatloads of gold. Instead, I had something I hoped was just as good.

  If I was wrong, I’d find out.

  * * *

  I slept well enough to make me realize that sleep had been rough for the last few years. It was good. I smelled klava, which brought me into Kragar’s office, where he grunted and pointed me to a covered glass. It was still hot.

  I didn’t remember Kragar being unpleasant in the morning, but that may have been because I’d been the boss, or else because he never used to get in that early. In any case, he didn’t say a word, so I took my klava off and spent some quality time sharpening my cutlery. When I was done, I practiced a few draws—left sleeve to right hand, left boot, cloak both sides, and right-hand shoulder. I was horribly out of practice.

  A couple of hours later I was less out of practice—some things come back pretty quickly. Kragar had a target set up, which let me throw some knives at things that weren’t trying to hurt me, and I did all right.

  All in all, I was feeling a little better about my ability to survive. I was considering what my next move should be when the Jhereg made it for me.

  I mean, as horribly unsafe places go, I figured I was in a fairly safe one: they couldn’t get at me while I was in Kragar’s office except by buying someone or infiltrating someone. Oh, I suppose they could have staged a military-style assault or blown up the building, but, seriously, they don’t do that kind of thing. The Empire gets touchy about it. So, yeah, I figured I was fairly safe, Loiosh’s snide remarks to the contrary.