by Steven Brust
I took in a breath, let it out, then touched Iceflame’s blade with Lady Teldra’s.
Sethra picked herself up from the far wall.
All around me, the mountain shook, and I was convinced that I’d have fallen over if I’d had legs.
I felt awful. I mean, really really awful, in both senses of the term.
“I didn’t mean to do that,” I said.
She picked herself up, wide-eyed, and said, “Vlad?”
“Sethra,” I said. “What happened?”
“I was going to ask you that. Did you just go flying across the room, and did the whole mountain tremble?”
She seemed shaken; seeing her shaken shook me. We both looked at Morrolan, who said, “Yes.”
“That’s what happened, then,” I told Sethra. I could hear my own voice quivering, so I decided not to speak any more. I wondered if my legs would support me yet.
“Boss?”
“You can’t blame me for this one, Loiosh. It was Sethra’s idea.”
“Sethra,” I said, “what did you expect to happen?” So much for not speaking any more.
“I was hoping to get a feel for Godslayer.”
“Her name,” I said, “is—”
“Lady Teldra,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
I nodded.
Sethra said, “When you said you didn’t mean to do that—”
“I didn’t.”
“I believe you. But—”
“No, I mean, I didn’t say that.” I got to my feet and made it to a chair.
“Oh,” she said. She sat down next to me. “Interesting,” she added, which has to go down as one of the great understatements of all time.
Yeah. Interesting.
I put Lady Teldra into her sheath.
I didn’t want to think too much about what had just happened, or about how I hadn’t died earlier, or, well, I didn’t want to think about much of anything except the task I’d set myself. It seemed like the universe wanted me to be thinking about other stuff.
“The universe,” I told Sethra, “is welcome to commit various improbable sexual acts on itself.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Morrolan coughed, and we both looked at him. “Yes?” I said.
“I wish to suggest,” he said, speaking slowly, “that whatever you did that flung you both against opposite walls and made the mountain shake, you not do again.”
“Good thinking,” I muttered.
11
MAKING PROGRESS OR MAKING THREATS
“I don’t have to,” said Sethra. “I got what I wanted.”
“Thrown against a wall?” I said. “I could have done that.”
“No, you couldn’t.”
“What did you get?” said Morrolan.
Sethra looked at him, and her eyes were glistening. My heart suddenly started hammering as if I were in danger. I had never seen Sethra Lavode with tears in her eyes, nor had I ever thought to see such a thing, and it shook me like the mountain just had.
Morrolan met her eyes.
If at that moment someone had asked me what I wanted most in the world, getting out of trouble with the Jhereg would have been my second answer; my first would have been to not be in the room. But standing up and walking out felt a little too awkward.
“Teldra is really in there,” said Morrolan.
Sethra nodded.
“We knew that already,” he said.
“I know, but…”
“All right,” said Morrolan, and looked away. It seemed like he was working very hard not to look at me, and I was fine with that. There was a silence that I have to record as among the most uncomfortable ten seconds of my life—and remember that I’ve died a couple of times.
“Okay,” said Morrolan at last. “I’m sorry. It just hit me.”
“I know,” said Sethra. “Me, too.”
I thought the wall at the far end of the room was distressingly bare. It needed some art. What sort of art would go there? Maybe a ship at sea. Storm-tossed. Yeah, that would be good.
“All right,” said Morrolan, and I could see him put the whole matter on a shelf in his mind for later consideration. I wish I could do that. I guess I can do that. He said, “Let’s talk about Vlad’s problem.”
“Are you planning to help me too?”
“Of course not,” he said. “Now, what do you need?” There was a smirk hanging around the edge of his lips, but he kept it under wraps.
“As I said, I need rest. I have everything else pretty well covered. Especially now that Sethra’s pointed me to an artificer.”
“You have everything else you need for whatever it is you’re going to do?”
“No, not quite. I’ve been working with Daymar to collect things.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.”
“What else do you need?”
“Something to make a thick cloud of smoke that doesn’t get blown away by the first gust of wind someone conjures up.”
“How big an area?”
“Not big. Diameter of forty feet should do it.”
“What form?”
“Something Loiosh can drop from a claw.”
“How long do you need it to last?”
“As long as possible.”
“Anything more than a couple of minutes would be difficult.”
“That’ll have to do, then.”
“Mind telling me why you need it?”
I shrugged. “Doing the spell is hard, but I should be able to manage it with the hawk’s egg and the sorcerous euphonium. But—”
“The which?” said Morrolan
“Never mind. Another thing. But there are ways things could go wrong, and I’m trying to come up with a means of staying alive if they do. Having a big cloud of smoke at hand might be useful.”
“All right. I can get that.”
“Thanks.”
“What else?”
“A cloak.”
“But you have—oh. What’s special about this one?”
“It needs to have a stiffened frame.”
“Vlad, if you’re trying to fly without sorcery, I can tell you—”
“Not fly; just not land so hard if I jump off a cliff. I probably won’t need it. I have an enchanted lockpick, and I can’t think of any way this will play out that I’ll need both of them; but I’m trying not to take chances. I’d rather not say more because if I tell you, you’ll laugh at me, call me an idiot, and refuse to have anything more to do with it.”
“All right,” he said. “A cloak that will slow a fall. All you need is a cloak with reinforced hems and throat closure, and a little padding or stiffening around the neck.”
“All right.”
“Does it need any other special features?”
He was asking about places to conceal weapons, and as he didn’t approve of concealing weapons, I allowed as to how that wasn’t important in this.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said. “I know someone.”
“Thank you.”
“When do you need it?”
“Soon. Tomorrow or early—what day is it?”
“Farmday.”
“Or early Endweek.”
He nodded. “That won’t be a problem,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Anything else?”
I shook my head.
“Boss?”
“There’s nothing else I’m willing to ask Morrolan for.”
“If you say so.”
“Vlad,” said Sethra.
“Yes?”
“Are you going to survive this?”
I hesitated, and decided she deserved an honest answer. “I need to be out and about to set this thing up, and there are a lot of Jhereg after me. For the most part, the ones who know enough about me to be a threat aren’t the ones who are willing to take any shot that presents itself; and the ones who are willing to take a shot, I can catch by surprise. But I don’t know how long th
is state of affairs will hold. I need a day or two. I think I have a pretty good chance.”
“You know, Vlad,” said Sethra, “one of us could hang around with you. Sort of help keep you alive.”
“There are things I’m doing that I couldn’t do if you or Morrolan were there.”
“All right. Is it really better than running, Vlad?”
“Obviously, I think it is, Sethra.”
“All right.”
Morrolan shifted uncomfortably, but didn’t speak.
I told him, “Yeah, I know. I’m being stubborn, and I’m being stupid.”
“You’re being an Easterner,” said Sethra.
“A Dragaeran wouldn’t do that?”
“A Dzurlord would,” said Morrolan. “Or a Dragonlord.”
I said, “If you’re saying I’m failing to behave like a Teckla, that isn’t a good way to change my actions.”
“I’m not sure I want to change your actions,” said Sethra.
“So, you like the idea of trying to end this?”
“If there’s a reasonable chance of it working.”
I didn’t ask her to define “reasonable.”
She chewed her lip. After a moment I said, “Well? What is it?”
“I wish I could help more,” she said.
I stood up and walked to the far end of the room, then came back. On a shelf to my right was a display of ceramic goblets of many colors, from many cultures, all of them imprinted with a symbol I’d never seen before. No doubt it was important and significant for something. I studied them for a little while. I noticed that I was drinking out of one of them now—a sort of deep purple mug, slightly tall and thin, with an elaborate handle.
I drank some more wine and turned around. Sethra and Morrolan were having some quiet conversation that didn’t concern me. I yawned. It hit me around then how very, very long it had been since I’d slept in a place where I was both comfortable and safe at the same time. It had been a long while. And I was more tired than I had any business being.
Aloud I said, “About that room—”
“Of course,” she said. Then, “Tukko, show Lord Taltos to a room, please.”
He didn’t look at me; just turned and led the way. He shuffled rather than walked, and didn’t appear to be hurrying; but I never had to wait for him. We walked down several short hallways, and eventually came to a door. He opened it and grunted at me.
I said, “I’ve never quite figured it out. Do you prefer to be called Chaz, or Tukko?”
In a voice like gravel, he said, “Depends who you’re talking to.”
“I mean, you.”
“They’re both me.”
“I don’t get it,” I said.
“I know,” he said, and turned back the way he came. I stepped out of his way, but a little too slowly, and his shoulder brushed mine. Lady Teldra twitched in her sheath—I mean, really twitched; it wasn’t like she was trying to leap free, it was more like the whole sheath jumped and twisted against my leg. At the same time, Rocza leapt from my shoulder, flew a few feet behind me, then came back. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that her head was moving and swaying furiously.
Tukko took a step back, his beady eyes wider than I’d ever seen them before. Rocza settled down on my shoulder with a halfhearted hiss.
“Who are you?” I said.
“Rest well, Lord Taltos,” he said, saying my name as if it were vaguely distasteful. I watched him as he shuffled his way down the hall.
“Boss?”
“I have no idea. What was up with Rocza?”
“I don’t know. It isn’t something she can communicate about.”
“What can you get? It may be important.”
“Just that she felt like something hit her.”
“Physically?”
“No.”
I went into the room. Last time I stayed there, I was dead; or rather, had been recently. I looked around. The water pitcher was a blue and white mosaic, and the jhereg in the painting was still holding its own against the dzur. I have to assume I got undressed and climbed into the bed, but I don’t remember anything about it.
I woke up and the bed was soft and warm. Very soft, very warm. I didn’t know what time it was. I didn’t care. With a happy sigh, I went back to sleep.
The second time I woke up I felt just as good—you need to go for years sleeping on the ground, or in flophouses, or on a pile of bedding in the back of someone’s office, to appreciate just how good a bed can feel. If I’d stayed there another five minutes, I might have stayed there forever, so I got up.
The triumph of willpower: let none say I am weak.
Sometime during the night, someone had crept in and filled the basin with water, and put an enchantment on it to keep it hot. And brought a chamber pot. There was also soap—a very unusual, soft, pleasant soap—and a towel. Life was as close to perfect as I could imagine it being just then.
“It was Tukko.”
“What?”
“Who came in with the water and the soap.”
“I’d have been happier not knowing he was in my room while I was asleep.”
“Sorry, Boss.”
I got dressed, and spent some time making sure various knives, darts, and shuriken were where they were supposed to be, by which time Loiosh had breakfast on his mind. So did I, for that matter.
I opened the door, and there was a note pinned to the wall just opposite it. Vlad, it read, there’s breakfast set out in the small dining room. Sethra. P.S. Turn left, then take the first right, and it’s the first door on the right. S.
I did those things, and found bread, cheese, a bowl of apples, and a pitcher of iced sweetened coffee. I sat at the small table and had breakfast, feeding cheese to the jhereg from time to time. I wondered how I was going to get back to Adrilankha, but I didn’t worry about it a great deal; Sethra would have arranged something.
As I was considering that, Morrolan walked in and tossed me a bundle of cloth. I opened it up and looked at it. There was a glass bulb wrapped up in it.
* * *
Some things just naturally lend themselves to sorcery. There’s stuff I don’t know—there is a lot I don’t know—but if you want to make a lot of smoke, that’s pretty easy. Start a fire, get it smoking, direct it into whatever object you want to use to store it, and seal it.
It gets harder if you want the smoke to expand a certain amount, then stay there in spite of any breezes. I have no idea how to do that, but I’m told it isn’t difficult.
It certainly wasn’t difficult for Morrolan.
* * *
“That was fast,” I said.
He nodded.
“Can you show me how the cloak works?”
He did, and I got it, and that’s about all the time I’m going to spend on it, because, in the event, I might as well not have bothered. I’m including it, because it may matter to you that Morrolan procured it—it matters to me—but I never actually used it.
“Were you up all night?”
“No, my tailor was.”
“And it’s even Jhereg gray.”
He smiled. “Seemed appropriate.”
“I owe you,” I said.
“You say that as if this is the first or only time.”
“Bite me.”
“Would you care to return to Adrilankha?”
“The windows?”
He nodded.
“Yes, please. Unless you want some breakfast first.”
“No thanks. I’ve vowed that food shall not pass my lips until this matter is ended.”
“What?”
“I said I’ve already eaten.”
“Okay.”
A necromantic gate outlined in sparkling gold appeared before us. Morrolan vanished into it, and, a few seconds later, so did I.
We didn’t hang around his tower. He indicated the window that showed my temporary quarters in Kragar’s office and said, “I’ll be in touch, Vlad.”
I nodded and stepped through
, and this time there were no surprises. I prefer it that way.
I went out and looked for Deragar, but he wasn’t in yet. There was someone sitting at the desk I still thought of, a little sadly, as Melestav’s. I asked the guy at the desk how Kragar was, and he grunted something generally positive-sounding. There was no klava, but someone had brought in a steam-jug of coffee, and there was honey for it. I drank some and missed my klava.
I had another glass in spite of everything, and while I was drinking it Deragar came in. I led him into the little storage room I was using, and we pulled out a couple of chairs.
“You made it back, I see.”
“That time.” He passed me back my signet ring.
I nodded. “Figure anything out?”
“About what?”
I looked at him.
“Yeah,” he said. “The key is a guy named Chesha.”
“He’s handling Terion’s security?”
Deragar nodded. “He could set him up if he wanted to.”
“Any reason to think he wants to?”
“Maybe. I know a guy who knows a tag who thinks Chesha might be wanting to make a move of some kind someday.”
“Would you mind being a little more vague?”
“Sure. I might know a guy—”
“Shut up.”
He smiled; I guess my impression that he had no sense of humor was wrong. I had mixed feelings about this. He said, “Did you learn wisecracking from the boss, or did he learn from you?”
“We both learned from an ancient Serioli master. Anything else? Any other weak spots?”
“Not that I saw.”
“Well, okay. See if Chesha is willing to meet with me. Try to convince him.”
“Do you have a preferred method?”
“Use your powers of persuasion.”
“If I do that, he won’t be in any condition to help us.”
“Not those powers of persuasion.”
“They’re the only ones I have.”
“Tell him someone wants to meet with him, discreetly. Tell him it may be to his advantage, and that we’ll make sure it’s safe.”
“Safe for him?”
“Safe for us both.”
He frowned. “That’s hard to do.”
“I know.”
“Got any ideas for it?”