by Steven Brust
“Yeah,” I said. “Like this.”
“Anything else, m’lord?”
“How did you know—Kragar?”
“Got the message before you showed up, m’lord.”
“Fast work,” I said.
“A good number of us on it, in pieces.”
“He’s gotten good at this,” I remarked. Deragar nodded. I didn’t say so, but I was also thinking that it was a bit scary, how well Kragar knew me.
“All right,” I said. “Let me look this stuff over and get back to you. It was Deragar, right?”
He nodded.
I went into Kragar’s office, started to sit behind his desk, then changed my mind and took the chair on the other side. I studied the information Deragar had gotten.
“What do you think, Boss?”
“I wish Kragar were feeling better. Then I’d ask him to talk to Mario.”
“That bad?”
“Yeah. Bodyguards I can’t buy, sorcery protection, he avoids regular patterns. May be open to witchcraft attacks, but it wouldn’t be easy because he has psychic protections. Very tough.”
“You’ve handled tough before, Boss.”
“I’m out of practice.”
“Yeah, you are.”
I went over the intelligence again.
“Do you think if I asked Aliera very nicely, she’d put me in touch with Mario?”
“Knowing you’d want him to assassinate someone? Not a chance, Boss.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Okay, next idea: Maybe I can pull the deal with the Jhereg without handling Terion.”
“Maybe,” said Loiosh, sounding deeply and passionately convinced.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Okay, I guess not. But my focus still has to be on pulling off this move.”
“Be harder if you’re dead.”
“Yeah, it—wait. Maybe not.”
“Seriously, Boss? The whole faking-your-own-death thing? Do you really think that will work with these people?”
“What if it isn’t faked?”
“Boss, what are you—you mean like Mellar?”
“Yeah.”
“That seems like a really, really bad idea.”
“Yeah.”
Many years ago—seems like lifetimes ago—when everything was simpler, I had dealt with a complicated problem by arranging for Aliera to be killed by a Morganti blade, gambling that Aliera’s Great Weapon, Pathfinder, would protect her soul. It had worked. Now I had a Great Weapon, Lady Teldra, and I was thinking that I could do the same thing. Faking my death would buy me time to put my plan into action without worrying about the Jhereg trying to kill me.
I tried not to think about the fact that I would have to kind of let myself get stabbed with a Morganti blade to pull it off. I mean, Aliera had done that without blinking; was she any braver than me?
Yes, in fact. A lot braver. But maybe I could do it. Maybe.
“You know, Boss. If that will work, then it will work any time. You don’t have to go out of your way—”
“Aliera said she had to communicate with Pathfinder, to prepare her.”
“Boss, can you communicate with Lady Teldra?”
“Well, no, not exactly. I mean, sometimes it seems like—”
“Boss.”
“You’re saying it’s a bad risk.”
“Boss, even by your usual standards of bad risks, this one is just stupid.”
Okay, well, the fact is I was kind of happy to be talked out of it. “Loiosh, I have to do something. This sitting around waiting to be shined, right here in the middle of Adrilankha, is—”
“Not much different than it’s been for the last several months?”
I exhaled slowly. “I suppose you’re right. It’s just now there’s a chance to end it, to get out of this mess.”
“I know.”
I sighed. “It’s the hard way, isn’t it?”
“Always is, Boss.”
9
MAKING MAGIC OR MAKING TROUBLE
The hard way. Yeah.
The put-it-together-a-piece-at-a-time, taking-my-chances-of-being-shined, and just-fight-it-through way.
All right, then.
“Let me guess, Boss: You need to talk to Daymar again.”
“Soon. I want to make sure I’m clear on what to do next. And I need that hawk’s egg. And the wand.”
“For what?”
“The egg? I don’t have enough power for the spell—the eavesdropping spell. I need a burst of psychic power.”
“And the wand?”
“One way things might go down involves a sleep spell. The wand will prevent several of those from working.”
“‘Several of those,’” he repeated. “And the others?”
“Koelsch leaves.”
“Oh.”
“Also, when we take the next step, things are liable to start popping. We won’t be able to control the pace.”
“Right, Boss. Because, up until now, we’ve had perfect control of everything.”
“Shut up.”
So, okay: I had enough clinking stuff, and the lockpick, and the hawk’s egg and the wand should arrive soon. I opened up the book of Imperial trade laws (volume nine, it said) I’d gotten from Perisil, and went over the significant passage again. It was not exciting.
I was still doing that when I received word that Daymar had arrived in the office, and would like to see me. I offered up a silent prayer of thanks to Verra and told them to send him in.
Daymar entered, ignoring the various tough guys standing around, and walked up to me. He declined refreshment, and placed a brown egg, mostly round, and about a quarter of the diameter of my palm, on the table in front of me.
“That’s it?” I said.
“No,” said Daymar. “That’s a wood carving of a dragon, actual size.”
“Wow, Boss. Sarcasm from Daymar.”
“I know. My whole view of the world is turned on its head.”
I picked up the egg and studied it. It was warm, reminding me of Loiosh’s egg, so very long ago. It was almost weightless in my hand, and felt fragile; like I might break it if my finger twitched. I set it down again.
“Loiosh, can you feel anything from it?”
“Oh, yes.”
“You can feel a lot of—of whatever it is? Energy? Latent psychic power?”
“Yeah, Boss. A lot.”
“It won’t retain its potency more than a few days,” said Daymar.
“That’ll be enough,” I said. “Um. Any chance you got two? I’d like to practice this spell.”
“How soon?”
“A day?”
He shook his head.
“Okay. It should work. Thanks.”
“Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“The wand?”
“I ought to be able to get, uh, to get it by tomorrow. I didn’t forget about it. Is that all?”
I hesitated, wishing I’d remembered to do the spell when I had the amulet off. I could remove the amulet yet again, or I could ask Morrolan to do it.
But Daymar was here, and—
“I’m not sure if this is something you can do,” I said.
He an arched an eyebrow at me.
“I mean,” I said, “that it’s a witch thing. It’s the sort of thing witchcraft is really good at. But I can’t do any because of this amulet.”
“You took it off a few hours ago,” observed Daymar.
“Yeah, I was mad.”
“Oh. Couldn’t you have done this other thing then, since you had it off anyway?”
“No, it would have been an inauspicious time, because of the mystical fields of, well, it’s an Eastern religious thing.”
“I see. Well, what would you like me to do?”
“Exert a subtle influence on someone, without his being aware of it.”
“Ah,” said Daymar. He considered for a moment. “Just invade his mind enough to help him make a decision the way you want?”
“Sort of
. To come up with an idea and make him think he thought of it.”
Daymar looked intrigued. “I think I can do that. Who is it you want it done to?”
I reached in my pocket and handed him the handkerchief I’d stolen from the Demon’s desk. He studied it. “What idea do you want him to have?”
“There’s a building right at the point where Kieron’s Watch used to be. It would be the perfect place for him to meet me. Think you can suggest that without alerting him?”
Daymar looked directly at me. “Vlad, I think I can do it, but I’m not sure. I’d really appreciate it if you’d let me try. This is, well, this is exciting.”
I did kind of owe him.
“Of course,” I said.
About two minutes later, Daymar went out the way he’d come in: walking, just like a normal person. I wondered if that annoyed him. I hoped it did, at least a little. Yeah, I’m a bad man.
“All right,” I told Loiosh. “Let’s assume it worked. Time to visit the jeweler.”
I declined the offer of an escort, and took the tunnel. I made sure my rapier was loose, and checked a couple of the unsurprising surprises I keep around me, then waited just a bit longer to let my eyes adjust. Loiosh and Rocza flew out, reported that everything looked all right, and I stepped out once more onto the busy, dirty, terrifying streets of Adrilankha. I cut across a street, down an alley, then left, then right a good distance, and stepped into a storefront shop in the middle of a row of cheap yellow brick rooming houses.
Athek is and always has been a dealer in high-end stolen merchandise, especially jewelry. I know it, the Empire knows it, and I’m sure the dirty kids playing bones-and-muffins on the street outside know it. And he knows me; Kiera introduced us years ago. He wasn’t her favorite fence, but he was close to my office. Which was not, in fact, why I was there today.
“Lord Taltos,” he said, looking nervous enough to confirm that he knew I was marked for a shine. He was a Jhegaala, with a full head of white hair and a permanent squint.
“Close up,” I told him.
He nodded nervously, and walked around the counter to the door, locked it, and went back to the counter, sort of edging past me as if I were a poisonous reptile. Of course, I did have a couple of poisonous reptiles on my shoulders, which might have had something to do with it.
“My lord?” he said.
“I need a plain unadorned, platinum ring.”
“Yes, my lord. I have—”
“No, I need a particular one,” I told him, and watched his expression carefully.
* * *
On the third floor of the Imperial Wing of the Palace is a dusty room in which, by tradition, ancient Imperial relics are stored. Three doors lead out of it. One is the hall; one is a closet where janitor’s tools are stored; the other is to the tiny room where, once a year, the Master of Upper Repositories spreads out the paperwork that corresponds to the relics, and makes sure that it does, in fact, correspond to the relics on hand.
The rest of the time, that room is used by a small group of Imperial operatives. The leader—whose identity is kept strictly secret—reports directly to Her Majesty. The group carries no identification, except that each wears a simple, unadorned platinum ring on the middle finger of his left hand.
The rings have no special magic on them except for a unique, imprinted identification mark. The spell was designed and each ring treated personally by Kosadr. According to the best arcane knowledge, there is no way to duplicate this spell. When I first learned about them—that’s its own story—I asked Sethra, and even she agreed. I don’t know about you, but I find that convincing.
On the first Homeday of the month of the Vallista in the two hundred and fifty-first year of the reign of Zerika the Fourth, Lord Bristoe-Camfor, House of the Dzur, of the Third Floor Relic group, was found dead behind a pawnshop a mile and a half from the Imperial Palace. A dagger had been driven up under his chin into his brain. Other than the wound, he had not been disturbed, except that his ring was missing.
Third Floor Relic carried on its own investigation, as did the Special Tasks group (commanded by a guy nicknamed “Papa Cat,” an old acquaintance who didn’t like me much). As usual with such matters, each group was more worried about the other group finding it than they were about not finding it themselves. It took several weeks, but the trail being followed by Third Floor Relic eventually led to the Jhereg owner of the pawnshop. Fittra of Third Floor Relic knew that it was unheard-of for a Jhereg to knowingly kill an Imperial operative. Furthermore, no Jhereg would ever let a body be found near his own place of business if he had anything to do with it. All of which, taken together, meant that something else was going on. Meanwhile, at this same time, Special Tasks bowed out of the investigation.
Maybe the Jhereg hadn’t known he was an Imperial operative. Maybe someone else had arranged the whole thing, using the Jhereg as a tool. Maybe.
But when one of their own is killed, the Empire is not fussy about who gets hurt during the investigation. In this case, a lot of people were hurt, starting with the owner of the pawnshop.
Eventually Third Floor Relic got its answer: Bristoe-Camfor’s future brother-in-law killed him in a dispute over table settings for his sister’s upcoming wedding. The ring, they assumed, had been taken from the body by a passing stranger, and there was nothing to be done except wait and hope that it would turn up somewhere.
Now, here’s what really happened: The business with the Dzurlord’s future brother-in-law was nonsense. The murder and robbery had, in fact, been planned and executed by a Jhereg—one of the very rare instances of the Organization killing any Imperial representative of any kind. There were personal motives involved, and special circumstances that I won’t go into, and, though some years ago I did learn of the whole thing, there were a lot of details I never discovered, such as exactly how they managed to conceal it from the Empire.
I learned about it at all because I know Kiera, and Kiera knows everything. The point is, the ring had vanished, and, while the Jhereg were happy to have it remain missing, it didn’t matter, because no one knew where it was.
Well, not no one.
* * *
He turned a little pale. “I—”
“Careful, Athek. If you lie, I’ll be unhappy.”
He swallowed, and shut up. He looked like he had no intention of speaking. Ever again.
“Obviously,” I said, “you know which ring I’m talking about.”
He nodded.
“And obviously,” I went on, “since everyone knows it’s on the waves, you have some idea which wave it’s on.”
He hesitated, then nodded again.
“And for one last obvious statement, you have a reason for not wanting me to have it. Perhaps, if you tell me what that reason is, we can work something out.”
I gave him my warmest, friendliest smile.
“My lord,” he said, which was respectful but not responsive.
“Go on,” I suggested.
He seemed incapable.
I said, “Did someone tell you not to give it to me?”
He shook his head.
“Did someone tell you to keep it hidden?”
He shook his head again.
“Go ahead, Boss. Ask him if it’s physical, magical, or spiritual.”
“Shut up, Loiosh.”
“Is it being held by someone you’re afraid of?”
He nodded.
“Yes for a copper.”
“Shut up, Loiosh.”
“Is it a Jhereg?”
He nodded again.
“Yes for two—”
“Loiosh!”
My next question was, “Does this Jhereg scare you more than I do?”
He had to consider that. It took him some time. I started to feel a bit jealous.
“No,” he said at last.
“So, who has it?”
He clamped his mouth shut, as if daring me to pry it open. I considered doing just that.
I had to decide carefully what to do next. Putting too much pressure on Athek would piss people off; but, to the left, how much more could they do to me than they wanted to already? I thought it over, while he stood there, waiting to see what I’d do.
I knew very well that mere possession of the thing was a capital crime. So did he, and, maybe, so did the person who had it. I know you’re asking yourself why, if the thing was so dangerous, and if Athek knew who had it, did whoever it was let Athek live? I asked myself the same question. I mean, it’s true: You don’t go around casually shining people like him—they always have protection or they wouldn’t be in business. But still, this was a dangerous secret.
Unless the guy who had it didn’t know Athek knew he had it.
Yeah, that would account for everything. Well, for him not wanting to tell me and him still being above the Falls, at least. So, someone who might have it, someone scary, someone Athek would know had it, someone who didn’t know Athek knew he had it.…
“So,” I said. “The Left Hand of the Jhereg puts in an appearance, does it?”
He didn’t answer; but the look on his face was answer enough.
Yeah, had to be the Left Hand: the sorceresses. They wouldn’t know how Athek operated, about his contacts among all things jewelry-related. They’d see him as merely a corrupt merchant. And he, of course, would be terrified of his own knowledge—afraid someone would let it be known that he had information that could get him killed.
And here I was, right on schedule.
“Who in the Left Hand?” I said. “Now that I know, you might as well—”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“How did you find it?”
“The Imperials questioned me, made me look for it.”
“Sorcery?”
He nodded. “I have a thing for jewelry. I can find it when no one else in town can. I could find a—”
“Yeah, I know. So you found it?”
“I found it. Got a face and a location. I didn’t get a name, but I recognized her as Left Hand.”
“Then why didn’t you tell the Imperials?”
“It didn’t seem safe.” He sniffed. “And besides, I didn’t like how they asked me.”