by Steven Brust
She looked at me. “Well, you seem to be out of danger, and I have better ways to spend my time than to be interrogated by a Jhereg, so you’ll have to excuse me.”
“Hugs and kisses to you, too.”
She gave me a glance and floated out of the room. I carefully sat up, discovered that doing so hurt, and began looking around for my clothing.
“On the little table at the foot of the bed, Boss. You’re going to need a new shirt, and your trousers have some bloodstains.”
“All right. Feel like shopping?”
“Going to buy me something?”
“Like what?”
“Catnip.”
“Catnip? Does catnip affect you? When did you—?”
“Probably not. But I don’t want to eat it myself.”
“Then why—?”
“Bait,” said Loiosh.
“Funny Loiosh. No, but maybe I’ll buy you a set of opposable thumbs.”
“Heh.”
I was starting to lose count of the teleports to and from Castle Black over the last couple of days; but I had another done for me, and then went to South Adrilankha, the Easterners’ quarter, where I replaced a few items of clothing and supped. I stopped by my grandfather’s for a visit, but he was out. I returned to my own area, found a sorcery supply store that was still open, and started to buy a mild painkiller, but then changed my mind and bought a strong one. I also picked up an enchanted dagger because the spells on my own were wearing thin and you never know when you might need a spell in a hurry. The guy at the store explained that the enchantments on the blade were so powerful that three people I’d never heard of had been in awe of it, and so on until I shut him up and bought the thing for half of what he had first asked.
Then I went home, took the painkiller, and started cleaning up the damage to my flat. There were no bodies there, but there were some bloodstains. I resent bloodstains in my home, especially when some of the blood is mine. I became angry all over again. I got rid of the stains by covering them with a rug, then I picked up some furniture that I don’t remember being overturned, and may have done a bit more before the painkillers hit and, apparently, I made it to the bed before falling asleep.
A day in the life.
I woke up sore, moody, and in need of klava. If I ever get really rich, I’m going to hire a servant just to bring me klava in the morning. I managed to rise, make the coffee, and brew a fairly effective pot of klava, into which I poured some cow’s milk and the last of the honey. I made a note to order more ice, no matter how expensive it was. I should really learn to make my own; cooling and heating spells are supposed to be pretty simple.
I was dressed and working up the energy to leave when someone clapped outside my door. Twice in two days would be stretching the laws of probability, so I wasn’t worried; or, at least, I told myself I wasn’t worried as I picked up a dagger and opened the door.
I didn’t recognize the visitor, but she wore the colors of the House of the Dragon. I might have struck immediately if I hadn’t noticed that she wore Morrolan’s emblem on her shoulder, and if I hadn’t been too stiff to move quickly. She said, “You are—?”
“Baronet Vladimir Taltos, House of the Jhereg.”
“Then this is for you,” she said, handing me a small bag that jingled. “If you’d be so kind as to touch this ring.”
I touched the ring, took the bag, and shut the door as she turned away. I’d forgotten that Morrolan owed me money. I counted it and was pleased.
I thought about treating myself to a cabriolet ride to the office, but I’d be seen, and people would wonder why, and some of them might guess right. I also thought about taking more painkillers, but even a little would make me woozy, and that just won’t do in this business; I had to be as stoic as I’d pretended to be to Aliera the day before.
Bugger.
I took the walk to the office slowly, not noticing much going on around me; when you hurt, too much of your attention is focused in to have much to spare for the rest of the world. I made it to the office, and Melestav greeted me with the words “You okay, Boss?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Anything new?”
“A couple of requests for credit extensions, a request for a meeting from someone named Koth, nothing else.”
I grunted. “Any idea what Koth wants?”
“To hire you.”
“Thank him and put him off. I’m busy for the next week, maybe two. I’ll look at the requests later.”
“All right.”
“And tell Kragar I want to see him.”
I hung up my cloak and eased myself into my chair. Then I leaned back and closed my eyes, and Kragar said, “You all right, Boss?”
“Fine,” I said. “All things considered.”
“All right. What things need consideration?”
“I got jumped.”
I opened my eyes. I looked around the room for Kragar, then found him sitting in the chair opposite me. He was staring at me intently, suspecting, I suppose, that we were about to be involved in some affair within the Jhereg—like someone trying to make a move on my territory. I said, “I got jumped by three Dragonlords.”
“Phoenix Guards?”
“No. The business wasn’t connected with the Organization in any way. They were Dragonlords doing business as Dragonlords, and their business was jumping me.”
He leaned back, and his expression altered from worry to surprise.
“Really? My, my. Now, that isn’t something every Jhereg can say. Where did it happen?”
“Right in my own Verra-be-damned flat.”
“Hmmm,” he said. “Want to tell me about it?”
I did. He said, “To a Dragon, it’s different—”
“I know. I’m not a Dragon.”
“Ah.” He studied me. “So now you’ve decided to go after Fornia?”
“Yes.”
“Has it occurred to you that you may have been attacked in order to get you to go after him?”
“Yes. It has occurred to me. It is even possible. But do you think it likely?”
“I have no idea. But when we were talking before, you were saying—”
“I know. But it’s one thing to be aware of complex strategies and lies that might be going on around you. It’s another to let yourself become so worried about deception that you become paralyzed.”
“Profound, Boss.”
“Shut up, Loiosh.”
Kragar shrugged. “All right. If you write that down, I’ll save it for your epitaph.”
“In the meantime, what do we do about Fornia?”
Kragar caught my eye. “There’s always the obvious.”
“Yes. I’d been thinking about that.”
“And?”
“What do you think?”
“It’ll be tricky.”
“I know. You can’t just put down a Dragonlord as if he were a nine-copper hustler. It’ll get ugly. People will talk. But I want to.”
“I can start doing some checking.”
“That would be good.”
“But you should be aware that Morrolan will be, uh, pretty unhappy.”
I said, “Not that I care all that much, but why?”
“People will think he had it done.”
“Oh. That isn’t my problem.”
“Are you sure?”
I considered. “Just how unhappy is Morrolan likely to be?”
“Very,” said Kragar. “From everything I know, he’ll set out to make your life either miserable or short. You’ll probably have to fight him.”
“Great,” I said. “Well, is there anything we can do to Fornia short of killing him that wouldn’t set Morrolan on my ass?”
“Hmmmm. Maybe.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, I know what would really get to him: losing.”
“Losing? Like, in battle?”
“Yeah.”
“Great. Well, Morrolan is going to attack him. I could always enlist in the army. But somehow I
can’t imagine myself in uniform, marching off to battle.” I really said that. Funny, isn’t it?
Kragar said, “There are other ways.”
“Oh? Keep talking.”
He studied his right thumb. “I’m not sure I have anything definite yet. We don’t know enough. But if Morrolan is really going to attack him—”
“He is. He plans to sign Sethra Lavode on as his general-in-chief.”
Kragar gave an I-am-impressed look and said, “Then you could probably do something nasty to him to help Morrolan. There are a number of possibilities. An army is a great deal more delicate than you’d think. Just destroy a list of supplies he needs and you’ve created enough confusion to give him headaches. Or sneak in and burn a map or two. Or have someone impersonate an officer and send a company marching the wrong way. Or—”
“I think I get the idea.”
He nodded. “Once we know more we can be more specific.”
I shook my head. “I’m trying to imagine myself as some sort of—I don’t know—saboteur.”
“I’m trying to imagine it, too. And I’m trying not to laugh.”
“Thank you so much.”
He shrugged. “Well, so he got you mad, and you want to get him back. You’re stuck. If you can come up with something better, let me know.”
“I can still kill him.”
“Yeah, there’s that.”
I said, “If you come up with a way to turn a profit on this, let me know.”
“Oh, that’s easy. Morrolan will probably pay you for it.”
“Do you think so?”
“Yep.”
“Well, that’s something.”
He shook his head. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that revenge is wrong?”
“No, Kragar,” I said. “That got left out of my education.”
“Too late now,” he said.
5
MOURNING IN THE AFTERNOON
The next thing I remember doing is dodging around, trying to stay alert and not get killed. The first clash was over, and there were a lot of dead and wounded around, but things had broken up a bit. I didn’t see Virt or Aelburr anymore, but I caught a glimpse of Napper about twenty yards to my left, flailing about in fine style; I was sure he, at any rate, was enjoying himself. Our colors were still waving, but I didn’t recognize the woman holding them; Dunn was either dead or wounded. I hoped he was happy; he’d gotten what he wanted.
There was nothing like a line of battle, but there were clumps of fighting here and there, and many of us, on both sides, who were either looking for someone to fight or hoping not to find someone. This is, I suppose, where spirit of battle really matters: If we’d had more of it, I’d have been trying harder to kill someone. If they’d had more of it, I wouldn’t have been able to hang around the fringes of the fighting. At some point in there, I noticed fresh blood on my sword, and I wondered how it got there.
The trouble was: My comrades were fighting for each other. In part, to keep each other alive, and in part because they knew each other, had trained together, and none wanted to be the only one to bug out. I’d been through enough with them to know that that was the thing that kept them going; but I hadn’t trained with them, and I didn’t know them, and even by then I wasn’t quite sure why I hadn’t bugged out. I still didn’t know what had kept me there the first time the enemy had come at us over hastily thrown-up earthworks.
There was a short breathing space, and I relished it—hell, I gloried in it. Strange, huh? I was in as much danger, perhaps, as I’d ever been in, and I remember how delighted I was that there were spaces of time when no one was trying to kill me. Long spaces of time—seconds on end.
Then Loiosh said, “Remember why we’re here, Boss?”
“Damn you anyway.”
“Boss—”
“No, no. You’re right. I have a job to do.”
“But how—”
“Oh, I know how.” There was a little hillock, really just a rise in the ground, before me—just down the hill and up another. “I just have to get over that hill and spot their command post, which will be protected by the best warriors I’ve ever met and more sorcerous ability than you can find outside of Dzur Mountain. Then I have to finish up what I came here for. No problem.”
“I know that. I meant how. Too bad we don’t know any invisibility spells that will stand up.”
“Too bad I’m not Kragar.”
Someone stumbled in front of me. An enemy. He looked at me, and I looked at him. He had lost his shield somewhere, but held most of a spear. I don’t think he’d been coming after me, the force of battle had just placed him there. He probably would just as soon have run away, and I’d just as soon he did, but, of course, neither of us could trust the other to be sensible. He whipped the remains of his spear toward me. I moved in, knocked his weapon aside with the strong of my blade, and cut him in the neck. He went down and I moved on. I don’t know if I killed him. I hope I didn’t.
I looked around, and I was as alone as I could be, under the circumstances.
I started down the hill at a trot.
“Quick-march now, Boss.”
“Oh, shut up.”
I thought about how comfortable my office was. I thought about how pleasant it would be to be sitting there. I remember—now, I didn’t think about it then—how Kragar left me alone in the office to think over the idea of working with Morrolan’s army as some sort of spy or saboteur; I couldn’t quite wrap my head around the idea, but at the time, I was angry enough not to care. I needed to sort all that out so I yelled out that I didn’t want to be bothered for a while.
“Okay, Boss!” yelled Melestav. “Anyone wants to come in and kill you, I tell them to wait, right?”
“Yeah,” I yelled back. “Unless they’re Dragons. Any Dragons who want to kill me can come right in.”
He didn’t say anything. I had gotten in the last word on
Melestav; that had to be a good sign.
I closed my eyes and thought about Morrolan. I pictured him, tall, thin, rather dark, a very slight hook in the nose, eyes deep and rather close together, a bit of slant to his forehead, and I imagined his voice, a smooth baritone, mellow, and forming words with an assumed elegance—
“Who is it?”
“Vlad.”
“Yes?”
“Am I reaching you at a bad time?”
“Not as bad as ten minutes later would have been. Which reminds me: Do you prefer the blood of a reptile or a mammal when you want to set up a room so you know if it’s been violated?”
“Your own blood is best for anything of that type, because you want it to come back to you. But you only need a drop; it’s symbolic.”
“Thank you. What is it you wish of me?”
“I want to know if I can be useful to you.”
“You just were.”
“Other than that.”
“Exactly what do you mean?”
“Against Fornia. Could your army use someone able to sneak in and out of the enemy camp, cause annoyance, disruption—”
“You’re taking this rather personally, aren’t you, Vlad?”
“Yes.”
“Are you certain you want to do this?”
“Well, no. Not entirely. I’m just considering it.”
“I see. We should talk.”
“I suppose so.”
“Are you busy later this afternoon? Say, in a few hours?”
“I could get free.”
“Then meet me … no offense, Vlad, but are you able to receive a teleport position?”
“Yeah, just barely, if you give me a lot of time to fix it.”
“Then I’ll give you one. Are you ready?”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
“Here.”
Okay, I knew how to do this; I’d even done it once or twice before. I made an effort to drop those little controls we always keep on our thoughts. I mentally framed a picture—in my head, I always have big elegant gold frames—then th
ought of the space within as black. I held onto it and moved it around until it was mentally facing out, facing the imaginary direction of my psychic link with Morrolan. It gradually acquired color that I hadn’t put into it, and details formed, until, in only a minute or two, I was seeing a place: the bottom of what appeared to be a cliff, a small stream before it, a few evergreens nearby. I couldn’t tell how high the cliff was from what Morrolan was showing me, but it seemed to be large, and I certainly would have no desire to attempt to scale it: It seemed perfectly sheer, and grey, and, if you’ll permit me, ominous. The ground was rocky and brown, with a few sparse bits of grass sticking up here and there; the stream, as far as I could tell, was little more than a trickle of water.
I concentrated; as I’d told Morrolan, I wasn’t all that good at fixing locations for a teleport, but at last I felt reasonably certain I wasn’t likely to send myself off to the middle of the ocean or forty feet under the ground. I said, “Got it.”
“The seventh hour.”
“Why there?”
“There will be an event taking place that you may wish to witness.”
I thought about interrogating him some more, but decided it was pointless. “I’ll be there,” I told him.
“What do you suppose that was about, Boss?”
“I imagine I’ll find out.”
“Do you trust him?”
“Within limits. I doubt he wants to have me killed.”
“Oh, good. Nothing to worry about, then.”
I handled a few things around the office, then went down into what I called the “lab” and performed a very minor and easy ritual to help along the healing in my side—just a few instructions to the damaged parts suggesting they go ahead and heal; the indication of success was how hungry I was after, so I went over to the Garden House and had a big plate of egg noodles with squid and leeks to help the process along. Then I headed to Turningham’s and looked for a book, found a historical romance by Munnis that I hadn’t read, bought it, went home, read the first page, and set it aside for later. I discovered I was hungry again, and that my side was itching and feeling better, all of which meant my spell really was working. I’ve performed spells of that type, oh, I don’t know, maybe a score of times, yet I still get a little thrill, almost of surprise, when I see evidence of it working; like I’m putting one over on nature.