by Steven Brust
I was glad the room was empty. Meeting the Jhereg representative would have been awkward. We passed through it to a door at the other end, and stepped into a hallway. He nodded to the right. “That way, following it around to the right, you’ll come back to the Imperial Audience Chamber, on the other side. Unfortunately, this is the fastest way without going through the Chamber, which is inappropriate.”
“I understand,” I lied.
He pretended to believe me and we turned left. There were a few doors on the right, and farther up the hallway split, but before that point he stopped outside one of the doors and clapped. There was the symbol of the Iorich above it. By then I hadn’t eaten anything except a little dried fruit in about three years, and I was in a wretched mood. I resolved not to take it out on Lord Delwick.
“I can’t wait—”
“Don’t.”
Rocza gave a little shiver that I’m pretty sure was laughter.
The door opened, and an elderly Dragaeran with severe eyebrows and thin lips was looking at us, with the smile of the diplomatist—that is, a smile that means nothing.
“Well met, Delwick.”
“And you, Harnwood.” He looked an inquiry at me.
“This is Lord Taltos, of House Jhereg, and he wishes a few words with you.”
“Of course,” he said. “Please come in and sit down.” If he’d ever heard of me, he concealed it well.
Harnwood took his leave amid the usual polite noises and gestures all around, after which I accompanied Delwick into his room—or actually suite, because there were a couple of doors that presumably went to his private quarters or something. It was nice enough: a thick purple carpet of the sort that comes from Keresh or thereabouts, with complex interlocking patterns that took longer to make than a human usually lives. There was no desk, which somehow struck me as significant; there were just several stuffed chairs with tables next to them, as if to say, “We’re only having a little chat here, nothing to worry about.”
Heh.
He pointed to a chair, excused himself, and went through one of the doors, returning in a moment with a plate of biscuits and cheese. I could have kissed him.
I said, “I hope you don’t mind if I feed a bit to my friends here.”
“Of course not, my lord.”
I fed them, and myself, trying not to appear greedy, but also not worrying about it too much; there are times when the Dragaeran prejudices about humans can work for us. I didn’t eat enough to be satisfied, but a few biscuits with even an excessively subtle (read: bland) cheese helped. He ate a few as well to keep company with me, as it were, while he waited for me to state my business.
I found the coin Perisil had given me, and showed it.
“Hmmm,” he said. “All right.” He looked up at me and nodded. “Very well.” He sat back. “Tell me about it.”
“Why is the prosecution of Aliera e’Kieron happening so quickly?”
He nodded a little. “I’ve wondered myself. So then, you have an advocate for her?”
“Perisil,” I said.
“Hmmm. I’m afraid I don’t recognize the name.”
“He has a basement office.”
“Where?”
“In the House.”
“Ah, I see.”
It seemed that the best advocates had quarters outside of the House. Maybe that should have shaken my confidence in Perisil, but I trusted his advice, and I’d liked him, and Loiosh hadn’t made any especially nasty comments on him.
“I asked Her Majesty, and—”
“Pardon?”
“I asked Her Majesty about it, and she wouldn’t answer.”
Delwick caught himself and stopped staring. “I see.”
“I hope my effort doesn’t make your task more difficult.”
He smiled politely. “We shall see,” he said.
“So, you’ll look into it?”
“Of course.” He seemed genuinely startled that I’d even ask. Those little coins must have some serious authority. In which case, why did an advocate with offices in the basement of the House have one to throw around, or choose to use it on me?
Later. Note it, and set it aside.
“How shall I reach you?”
“Either through Perisil, or at Castle Black.”
“Castle Black? Lord Mordran?”
“Morrolan.”
“Of course. All right. You’ll be hearing from me.”
“Thank you,” I said, standing. “Ah . . .”
“Yes?”
“Is there anywhere to eat here, in the Palace? I mean, for those of us who don’t work here?”
He smiled. “Scores. The nearest is just out my door to the right, follow the jog to the right, down the stairs, first left.”
“Thank you,” I said, meaning it.
He nodded as if he couldn’t tell the difference. I suppose if you hang around the Court long enough, you lose your ability to detect sincerity.
There was, indeed, food after a fashion; a room with space enough for a battalion held about four people, like a lonely jisweed on a rocky hill, and they were eating something dispensed by a tiny old Chreotha who seemed to be half asleep. I had unidentifiable soup that was too salty, yesterday’s bread, and something that had once been roast beef. I had water because I didn’t trust her wine. She charged too much. I couldn’t figure why the place seemed so empty.
Loiosh didn’t much like the stuff either, but he and Rocza ate it happily enough. Well, so did I, come to think of it. To be fair, it was, by this time, mid-afternoon; I imagined around lunchtime the place would be busier, and maybe the food fresher.
I finished up and left with a glare at the merchant—I won’t call her a cook—that she missed entirely, and headed back to see my advocate. Aliera’s advocate. The advocate.
At this point, I wish to make the observation that I had been spending the last several years wearing my feet out walking about the countryside, and I’ve known villages separated by mountain, river, and forest that weren’t as far apart as a place within the Imperial Palace and another within the House of the Iorich located next to it. Loiosh says I’m speaking figuratively, and he may be right, but I wouldn’t bet against the house on it.
I did get there eventually, and, wonder of wonders, he was still there, the door open, looking like he never moved. Maybe he didn’t; maybe he had flunkies to do all his running around. I used to have flunkies to do all my running around. I liked it.
I walked in and before I could ask him anything he said, “It’s all set up. Would you like to visit Aliera?”
Now that, as it happened, wasn’t as easy a question as it might have sounded. But after hesitating only a moment I said, “Sure. The worst she can do is kill me.”
That earned me an inquiring look which I ignored. “Are you coming along?” I asked him.
“No, you have to convince her to see me.”
“Okay. How did you work it?”
“Her alleged refusal to see either a friend or an advocate could have indicated deliberate isolation on the part of the Empire with the cooperation of the Justicers.”
I stared. “You think so?”
“I said it could.”
“Oh. But you don’t really think so?”
“I am most certainly not going to answer that, and don’t ask it again.”
“Oh. All right. But they believed it?”
“They believed I had grounds for an investigation.”
“Ah. All right.”
He nodded. “Now, go and see her.”
“Um. Where? How?”
“Up one level, follow wrongwise until—here, I’ll write out the directions; they’re a bit involved.”
They were. His scripting was painfully neat and precise, though he’d been fast enough writing it out. And I must have looked like an idiot, walking down the hall with two jhereg on my shoulders repeatedly stopping and reading the note and looking around. But those I passed were either as polite as Issola or as obliviou
s as Athyra, and eventually I got there: a pair of marble pillars guarded a pair of tall, wide doors engraved so splendidly with cavorting iorich that you might not notice the doors were bound in iron. You should go see them someday; cavorting iorich aren’t something one sees depicted every day, and for good reason. Before them were four guards who looked like they had no sense of humor, and a corporal whose job it was to find out if you had good reason for wanting them open.
I convinced him by showing him that same coin I’d used before, and there was a “clang” followed by invisible servants pulling invisible ropes and the doors opened for me. Morrolan worked things better.
It was a little odd to walk through those portals. For one thing, the other side was more what I was used to; I’d been there before, and a cold shiver went through me as I set foot on the plain stone floors. I’m not going to talk about the last time I was in the Iorich dungeons. And I’m certainly not going to talk about the time before that.
Just inside was a guard station, like a small hut with glass windows inside the wide corridor. There were a couple of couches there, I guess for them to sleep, and a table where the sergeant sat. There was a thick leather-bound book in front of him. He said, “Your business?”
“To see Aliera e’Kieron, by request of her advocate.”
“Name?”
“Mine, or the advocate’s?”
“Yours.”
“Szurke.”
“Seal?”
I dug it out and showed it to him. He nodded. “I was told you’d be by. You must either leave your weapons here, or sign and seal these documents and take an oath promising—”
“I know. I’ll sign the documents and take the oath.”
He nodded, and we went through the procedure that permitted me to keep Lady Teldra, whom I was not about to give up. When everything was finally done, he said, “Limper, show him to number eight.”
The woman who stood up and gestured to me was a bit short and had a pale complexion and showed no signs of limping; no doubt there was a story there.
One thing about the dungeons is that unlike the rest of the Iorich Wing, they were pretty simple: a big square of doors, guard stations at all four corners, stairways in the middle. It might involve a lot of walking, but you wouldn’t get lost.
We took a stairway up. I’d never gone up from the main level before. The first thing I noticed was that the cells, though still made of the same iron-bound wood, were much farther apart than the ones I’d had residence in. And they had clapper ropes, for all love.
Limper used the rope, then dug out a key and used that without waiting for a response. I guess they felt that the occupants of these elite cells deserved warning about visitors, but still didn’t get a choice about whether they were admitted. That made me feel a little better.
She opened the door and said, “You have an hour. If you want to leave sooner, pull the knob attached to the inside of the door.” I stepped inside and the door closed behind me with a thud. I heard the bolt slide into place while I looked around.
When I was growing up, the flat where my father and I lived was a great deal smaller than the “cell” Aliera was in, and considerably less luxurious. The floor was thick Serioli carpet, with wavy patterns and hard-angled lines all formed out of dots. The furnishings were all of the same blond hardwood, and the light was from a chandelier with enough candles to have illuminated about fifty of the kind of cells I’d stayed in. I refer, of course, only to the room I could see; there were at least two doors leading off to other rooms. Maybe one was a privy, and it was only a two-room suite.
I didn’t see Aliera at first; she was lounging on a long couch that her plain, black military garb blended into; although I really ought to have seen the sparks shooting from her eyes as she gave me the sort of kind, friendly, welcoming look I expected.
“What, by the thorns in Barlen’s ass, do you want?”
“Can we just let that oath stay unexamined, Boss?”
“It’s already gone, Loiosh.”
It was, too; because while I was still searching for an answer, she said, “I didn’t give you permission to visit.”
“Your advocate arranged it.”
“I don’t have an advocate.”
“Turns out you do.”
“Indeed?” she said in a tone that would have put a layer of frost on Wynak’s burning private parts.
“Some legal trick involved. I don’t understand that stuff.”
“And I have no say in the matter?”
“You had no say in being put here,” I said, shrugging.
“Very well,” she said. “Since they have taken Pathfinder from me, if he dares show his face, I shall have to see what I can do with my bare hands.”
I nodded. “I knew you’d show sense.”
She glared. “Do you know why I don’t kill you right now?”
“Yes,” I said. “Because to do so, you’d have to stand up. Once entering the Iorich dungeons, you are cut off from the Orb, and so you can’t levitate, so I’d see how short you really are, and you couldn’t take the humiliation. Going to offer me something to drink?” Just so you know, it had been years since she’d done that levitating bit; I just said it to annoy her.
She gestured with her head. “On the buffet. Help yourself.”
I did, to a hard cider that was pretty good, though it wanted to be colder. I took a chair across from her and smiled pleasantly into her glare.
“So,” I said. “What’s new?”
Her response was more martial than ladylike.
“Yes,” I said. “That part I sort of picked up on. But I was wondering about the details.”
“Details.” She said it like the word tasted bad.
“You were arrested,” I said, “for the illegal study and practice—”
She had some suggestions about what I could do with my summary of her case.
I was coming to the conclusion that she wasn’t in the best of moods for conversation. I sipped some cider, let it roll around on my tongue, and looked around the room. She even had windows. They had bars on them, but they were real windows. When I was in “Jhereg storage” I didn’t have any windows. And they had done something that prevented psychic communication, though I’d still been able to talk to Loiosh, which put me in a better position than most.
“There is, I think, more going on here than just the violation of a law.”
She stared at me.
I said, “You’ve been doing this for years, and everyone knows it. Why arrest you for it now? There has to be something political going on.”
“You think?”
I said, “Just catching myself up out loud.”
“Fine. Can you do it elsewhere? If there is anyone I want to see right now, it isn’t you.”
“Who is it?”
“Pathfinder.”
“Oh. Well, yes.” I could imagine one missing one’s Great Weapon. I touched the hilt of Lady Teldra.
“Please leave,” she said.
“Naw,” I said.
She glared.
I said, “I need to get the details if I’m going to do anything about it. And I am going to do something about it.”
“Why?” She pretty much spat the word.
“Don’t be stupid,” I said. “You know why. To gain the moral high ground on you. It’s what I live for. Just the idea of you owing me—”
“Oh, shut up.”
I did, and took the opportunity to ponder. I needed another way in. Once, years ago, I’d seen the room in Castle Black where the Necromancer lived, if it could be called a room. It could hardly be called a closet. There was space for her to stand, and that was it. I couldn’t help but comment on how small it was, and she looked puzzled for a moment, then said, “Oh, but you only perceive three dimensions, don’t you?” Yes, I’m afraid that’s all I perceive. And my usual way of perceiving wasn’t going to convince Aliera to tell me what was going on.
“What are they feeding you here?”
<
br /> She looked at me.
I said, “When I was here, I got this sort of soup with a few bread crusts floating in it. I think they may have waved a chicken at it. I was just wondering if they were treating you any better.”
“When were you here?”
“A few times. Not here, exactly. Same building, different suite. Mine wasn’t so well appointed.”
“What, that gives you moral superiority?”
“No, I get my moral superiority from having been guilty of what they arrested me for, and walking out free a bit later.”
She sniffed.
I said, “Well, a kind of moral superiority anyway.”
She muttered something about Jhereg. I imagine it wasn’t complimentary.
“But then,” I said, “you’re guilty too. Technically, anyway. So I guess—”
“You know so much about it, don’t you?”
I got one of those quick flashes of memory you get, this one of me lying on my back, unable to move, while bits and pieces of the world turned into something that ought not to exist. “Not so much,” I said, “but more than I should.”
“I’ll agree with that.”
“The point is, what would make the Empress suddenly decide that a law she was turning a blind eye to was now—”
“Ask her.”
“She probably won’t answer me,” I said.
“And you think I will?”
“Why not?”
“I assume the question is rhetorical,” said Aliera.
She looked away and I waited. I had some more cider. I love having a drink in my hand, because it gives me something to do while I’m waiting, and because I look really good holding it, shifting from foot to foot, like the waiter when the customer can’t decide between the shrimp soufflé and the lamb Fenarian. Okay, maybe I don’t look so good after all. I went over and sat down in a chair facing her, and took another sip. Much better.
“Yes,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“The question was rhetorical.”
“Oh.” Then, “Mine wasn’t.”
She settled back a little onto the couch. I let the silence continue to see if she’d finally say something. She did. “I don’t know.” She sounded quiet, reflective. It was unusual for her. I kept my mouth shut, sort of in honor of the novelty and to see if anything else would emerge.