by Steven Brust
“Good, then.”
I hauled myself out and took myself to the public baths nearest the Iorich Wing; over-priced like the rest of the area, full of marble and sorcerously created hot springs. I wrapped my things in my cloak, which I kept next to my hand, and had an attendant have everything else cleaned while I soaked for a long time. It helped.
I dried myself off, picked up my cloak, slipped a hand onto Lady Teldra’s hilt, and went over to the attendant to pick up my clothes. I over-tipped, because I’m just that kind of guy. There was enough privacy near the privies that I could replace the surprises about my person—the few I still carried: dagger for each sleeve, throwing knife in a boot, garrote in the collar of the cloak, a couple of darts inside it, and so on. Then I strapped on my sword belt, with the rapier hanging from it in front of Lady Teldra, and the cloak covering the whole thing. There. Ready to face the world again. Assassins? Bring ’em on.
No, actually, don’t. Skip that. Just kidding.
“Breakfast?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Liar.”
“Okay, breakfast.”
I negotiated my way back to the Palace, figuring to grab something there and hoping to run into Poncer again. The dining area was much busier now, and those I’d noticed before were gone. I found a vendor selling fresh, hot potato bread with an orange-flavored mustard, about which you shouldn’t laugh until you’ve tried it. Loiosh and Rocza had theirs without mustard; I explained that the looks they kept getting were because of that, but I don’t think they bought it. There was no sign of Poncer.
I returned to the House of the Iorich and made my way to the advocate’s office. His door was open and there were no ambiguous notes on it, so I clapped and went in.
He glanced up from the tome he was reading, his finger guiding him, and said, “Lord Taltos.”
“High Counsel.”
He gestured to a chair. “What have you found out?”
“That was going to be my question,” I said.
He grunted and waited.
I sighed. “I’m not sure how much to tell you.”
He shrugged. “Don’t tell me anything you want kept secret. I’m not about to withhold information I’m compelled to disclose.”
“I was afraid you’d say something like that.”
“You can keep it hypothetical, if you want.”
“Hypothetically, what would happen if you were questioned about this conversation?”
“Hypothetically, I’d give evasive answers.”
“And then?”
“Hypothetically, either or both of us could find ourselves at the long end of a short slide.”
“Right. What if there were no hypothetical situations?”
“Eh?”
“Never mind. I don’t think telling you my current theory is a good idea.”
“I can’t argue, but it makes my work harder.”
“I know. What have you learned?”
“They’re skipping several steps.”
“Like what?”
“Seals on depositions, verification of psiprint maps, character vetting of witnesses—”
“So, that means they want to rush this through?”
“No, it isn’t that simple.” He frowned. “I’ve been reading some histories of prosecutions with political motives.”
“And?”
“They come in various forms, but they usually fall into two classes: the ones they try to rush through, so it’s over before there can be any outcry, and those that make certain all the formalities and niceties are observed, ah, scrupulously, so it can stand up to any examining among the nobles who may question it.”
“And the public?”
“Hmm? Oh, you were jesting.”
“So, this is the former?”
“Yes. And that’s what’s puzzling me.”
“Go on.”
“There’s no point in rushing through it when everything is already known, being talked about in every theater, written about in stock sheets.”
“I see your point. So, why are they doing it?”
“Just what I was wondering.”
“Any theories?”
He shook his head. “Could what you’re not telling me account for it?”
“I don’t see how. But I don’t know enough to have an intelligent opinion.”
“I do, but I don’t have the information you have.” He didn’t sound like he was making an accusation, just stating facts.
“I don’t have information,” I told him. “Just theories.”
He grunted. “Is there anything you can tell me?”
“I can ask you something. What’s up with the new Warlord?”
“Norathar? She’s also Dragon Heir. Unusual, though not unheard-of.”
“So I’m told. What does it mean?”
“You mean, aside from believing her the best choice?”
“Was she? Why? Her experience in the Jhereg?”
His eyebrows rose. “I heard something about that. Is it true?”
I shrugged. “What makes her the best choice?”
He spread his hands. “I know nothing about what makes a good Warlord. I was just assuming the choice was based on merit.”
“Is that how things work in the Iorich?”
“Yes. Well, no. Not entirely.” He frowned. “It’s complicated.”
“Involving patronage, family, wealth—”
“Let’s stay with the problem, shall we? If you’re right, and there is something odd about Norathar’s appointment as War-lord, then that’s something we should look into.”
“We?”
“You.”
“How would I go about doing that?”
“I’d start with speaking to Norathar.”
“I did. Didn’t get much.”
He grunted. “Do you have other sources?”
“I used to. I’ve been on the run for a while.”
“Can you—?”
“Maybe.” I’d already asked Kragar. I could also ask Morrolan, but I found the idea distasteful; there was still the matter of Lady Teldra between us. I realized Perisil wasn’t talking. I cleared my throat. “There are avenues I can pursue,” I said.
He nodded. “Pursue them.”
“I will. What will you be doing?”
“Studying legal history, and trying to pick up on gossip.”
“Gossip?”
“We talk to each other, you know.”
“You mean, the Imperial legal staff will tell you—”
“No, no. Nothing like that.” He shuddered, as if the idea were abhorrent at some deep level. “No, but they’ll sometimes make oblique remarks to friends, and friends have friends, and I have friends who are friends of friends.”
“So, we’re talking precise information here.”
“No,” he said, ignoring my tone. “But possibly useful information.”
“All right.”
He frowned. “I’m not the enemy.”
“I know that. If you were the enemy I’d, ah, I’d not have come here.”
“I’m saying that if we’re going to manage an acquittal for Aliera, both of you are going to have to trust me, at least a little.”
“But you just told me that I didn’t dare tell you anything I didn’t want the Empire knowing about.”
He nodded. “That makes it hard, I know.”
“But you’re saying I should tell you anyway?”
He hesitated. “No. I wouldn’t care to take responsibility for that. When I said that if I were compelled, I’d reveal anything you told me, I meant it.”
“Well then?”
He sighed and shook his head. “Just keep in mind what I said. This isn’t going to be easy, and you’re both going to have to trust me.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Where are you going to start?”
“Back in the Palace. Dragon Wing—my favorite place. Listen to gossip, see if I hear anything that will help.”
He nodded. “Best of luck.”
I stood up. “Thanks.”
“I’ll be here.”
As I turned away, he was already studying his book again.
9
In this appendix, we will be addressing some of the tangential rumors that have been spread among various sections of the Court and the nobility relating to the incident. In particular, we will look at theories of influence by outside parties on the events, and on the effect of narcotics, psychedelics, depressants, stimulants, and hallucinogens that may or may not have been in use by any of those involved.
The committee wishes to observe that it addresses these issues under protest: it is our opinion that for the Empire or its representatives to respond to rumor and innuendo from unreliable sources sets a precedent that can, in the long run, have no effect but to give credence to and encourage such rumor and innuendo. That said, we now examine the substance. . . .
Unfortunately, their surprise and timing were perfect; not even Loiosh could warn me. Fortunately, they didn’t want to kill me. These facts were related: the Jhereg would not come after you in the Imperial Palace, and certainly not in the Dragon Wing.
There were four of them. It was just like old times. They wore the stupid gold half-cloak of the Phoenix Guards, and they were big and strong, as Dragonlords usually are. Two came up behind me, two came out of a door I was passing and stepped in front of me. I thought about Lady Teldra—how could I not?—but of course I didn’t draw her. Using Morganti weapons on Dragonlords makes you very unpopular, and even drawing her in the Imperial Palace would have caught the attention of several hundred trained fighters, all of whom would have seen it as in horribly poor taste.
Besides, it would be wrong to destroy people’s souls when all they want to do is give you a good beating, and you know how I am always guided by trying to do the right thing.
Heh.
Look, do you mind if I skip the details? Yeah, I remember them; but if I say them out loud, they’ll always be vivid for me, because that’s how my memory works. And, really, what do you need to know that can’t be told in general?
There they were, two of them in front of me, and Loiosh told me about the two in back, and I knew what was going to happen, because I’d been through it before.
“Keep Rocza out of this.”
What Loiosh replied doesn’t readily translate, but in any case he got Rocza out of the way. He and I had been through this kind of thing a few times, back when I was running my area. He knew by now that I didn’t want to hear any sympathetic words, or anything else; it was just a matter of waiting until it was over.
It always happens so fast, you know? The times I’ve been jumped and managed to avoid it, I’d been out of the situation almost before I knew I was in it. This time, before I really knew what was happening, they’d pushed me into the room and were going to work. I had time to decide what not to do, as I said, but that was about it.
They didn’t draw any weapons—just used their fists and their boots. And they could have made it much worse than they did, if they’d wanted to: They cracked a rib, but other than that didn’t break any bones. They also didn’t say anything—I assumed they took it for granted I knew what it was about.
Eventually they got my arms pinned, though I did them some harm first. A lot of harm, if you remember how much stronger than an Easterner a Dragaeran is. I remember being really annoyed that I had no access to any of the magic, Eastern or Dragaeran, that would help me recover quickly, whereas they’d have their bruises seen to in an hour or so and be feeling fine. It didn’t seem fair, you know?
When they were finished I let them have the satisfaction of seeing me lie there, curled up on the floor, while they walked away. I might have been able to stand up, but if they’d taken it as a signal to start again, I wasn’t sure I’d have the self-control to keep things non-lethal.
“Just like the old days, eh?”
“You all right, Boss?”
“In every important sense, yeah.”
I stood up, which took a long time, and wasn’t any fun; I had to use the wall for support and push up against it, then when I made it up I leaned against it. Nice wall. Good wall. That wall was my new best friend.
Breathing hurt. So did a few other things, though not as much as they were going to. And I was shaking, of course; I always shake after I’ve been through something exciting, no matter how I feel about it.
“Any idea what it was about?”
“One idea. If I’m right, then it may have been worth it just to find out.”
“Someday, Boss, let’s talk about ways for you to learn things that don’t involve people kicking you.”
“Good plan.”
I was glad to be in the room—which may have been an unused coat closet or something—instead of out in the hall, because I didn’t want anyone coming along and asking questions. Or, worse, being sympathetic. Loiosh was carefully not sympathetic; he knows me.
I wanted to get somewhere to bind up my rib. Ever have a cracked rib? Avoid it if you can. Walking hurts. Breathing hurts. Don’t cough. And for the love of your favorite deity, don’t even think about sneezing. And if you make me laugh I’ll kill you. Later.
When I’d caught my painful breath a bit, I pushed away from my friend the wall and wished I hadn’t.
“Where to now, Boss?”
“I’m not sure. I can’t decide if I ought to wait a day or two until the bruises are nice and purple.”
“Wait for. . .?”
“Nah, too much is going on to waste a day on cosmetics. This way.”
I strolled back into the hallway, and then ambled around the corner, after which I sauntered. Anything to look like walking didn’t hurt as much as it did. Which was okay; it didn’t hurt nearly as much as it would tomorrow. As I walked, my heart rate returned to normal. My tongue played with a tooth that was wobbly, but I didn’t think I’d lose it; punches to the face are the easiest to slip, if you don’t mind your neck snapping a little.
The few people I passed—Dragonlords—glanced at me and then looked away, carefully unconcerned. After what seemed like a long, long time, I made it to the long, narrow stair I was looking for. It seemed very, very long indeed, just now. I started up it, using the time to plan. I knew what I wanted to do, I just had to figure out the nuances. The planning distracted me; it wasn’t too bad.
This time I clapped outside of the office. I heard a brusque “Enter,” and did so, suddenly realizing that she might not have been in, and I’d have made that climb for nothing. It would be smart if I thought of those things ahead of time, wouldn’t it?
She glanced up as I came in, and said, “What is—” then stopped and looked at me closely.
“I’d been thinking,” I said, “of waiting a day so you could see the results in all their splendor.”
“That eye is going to swell shut,” she said.
“I imagine it will.”
“It can’t have been the Jhereg, or you’d be dead.”
“It wasn’t the Jhereg.”
“Do you know who?”
“Yes.”
She frowned. “Are we playing a game here?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I came up here to find out.”
“If you have a question, Vlad, just ask.”
“Did you send them?”
She looked shocked. I think she was shocked, which she shouldn’t have been, whether she was guilty or not. She went through some facial contortions, then said, “What kind of game are you playing?”
The kind where I lose if you know the rules. “No game. I just want to know if they were yours.”
“They were Dragons?”
“Oh, yes. Phoenix Guards.”
“And you think I sent them?”
“It had crossed my mind. So I’d thought I’d ask if you did. And, if so, why you didn’t, I don’t know, drop me a note instead.”
“I didn’t send them,” she said.
“All right.�
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“And I think you know that,” she added.
“I—”
“Which makes me wonder what you’re trying to do by accusing me.”
“I didn’t accuse you.”
“All right. Asking me.”
She was studying me carefully, suspiciously.
I shrugged, which was a mistake. “What am I supposed to think? I start asking nosy questions about you, and the next thing I know—”
“What questions have you been asking about me?”
“Your suddenly being made Warlord, of course. Why it happened, what’s behind it. You wouldn’t tell me, so—”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
I gave her a brief discussion of fertilizer. She seemed unimpressed with my agricultural expertise. “Believe what you like,” she said. It was good to have permission, but I resisted telling her so.
“Either way,” I said. “If it was intended by you or someone else to make me stop looking into this, it isn’t going to work.”
“I don’t care—”
“Not to mention that if there were nothing to it, why would anyone beat me up over it?”
“Are you sure that’s what it was about?”
“Seems like a good guess.”
“But you don’t actually know.”
I made a disgusted sound.
She started to say something, stopped, inhaled, and let it out slowly. “Very well. We’ll assume you’re right.”
“Thanks.”
She ignored the sarcasm. “I had no part in it,” she stated.
“All right.” She still looked suspicious, as if she didn’t believe I genuinely thought she might be involved. She’s a Dragon; that doesn’t automatically mean she’s an idiot. Besides, she’d spent years in the Jhereg. I said, “Then they acted without your knowledge. Why? What is it every Dragonlord knows that they don’t want a humble Easterner to find out?”
“How should I know?”
I looked at her. I’m not an idiot either.
She sighed. “There are things I’m not permitted to tell you.”
“I figured that part out. What I’m working at is, I’ll bet there are things you could tell me if you wanted to. Things that might help Aliera. Things that might explain why I just got a tooth loosened. Things that—”