by Steven Brust
“A stickpin?”
“That would work.”
“Then what?”
“I’ll arrange to have it picked up.”
“Oh, so I get the glamorous work again?”
“Shut up, Loiosh.”
Ernest nodded.
“I think that’s it, then. Interested?”
His mouth worked. “How much?” he said at last.
There are advantages to having a lot of money. He agreed. Over the next couple of days, I had that same conversation eleven more times. None of them said no. After that, it was a matter of pointing out the runners to them, emphasizing the importance of not letting it be apparent what they were doing, and setting them to work.
By the time I had finished instructing the last of them, information was only starting to trickle in from the first of them. It would be a while before I had enough to be useful, and, by that time, I needed to have a more solid background. I did something I’d never had to before: my own research. I crossed over to the City, and, still in disguise, I made my way into the Imperial library.
I worked my way down to the history section, settled in, and started studying. 10. Salad
A young man I didn’t know came by and removed the plates with the remains of the fish, then returned a moment later and gave us each a slightly smaller plate. Then Mihi returned with a large wooden bowl, and a pair of wooden spoons.
Valabar’s has several salads. Today’s was a combination of the round and the tall, broad-leaf kinds of lettuce, along with flatnuts, blanched tomato wedges, soul of palm, pimentos, scallions, and artichoke heart marinated in sweet vinegar, which functioned as a dressing. A grated nithlan cheese—sharp and musky—was shredded over it, and the whole thing was topped with candied rose petals.
Mihi dished it up with his usual matter-of-fact fluid elegance, and my mouth was watering.
“What are those?” asked Te1nan.
“Candied rose petals.”
“Candied rose petals?”
“Yep.”
“Is that a term for something, or are they actually rose petals?”
“They’re actually rose petals. Candied.”
“Very lightly candied,” said Mihi. “They aren’t too sweet.”
“Uh ...”
“Just eat it,” I said. “Trust me.”
“All right.”
He took a forkful, a dubious expression on his face. I blissfully dived into my own.
After a while, I said, “Well?”
“Hmmm?”
“How is it?”
He swallowed. “It’s wonderful.”
I wished I had someone like Kragar to kick the information around with; he was always an excellent sounding board. In some ways, that’s what I missed the most. I could always talk to Loiosh, of course, but Loiosh’s job involved keeping my emotions balanced, not working over information and helping me look for patterns. Something about the way the reptilian brain works, I suppose.
But I didn’t want to bring Kragar in on this, which not only left me on my own as the information trickled in, but left me spending hours at the Imperial library learning things I could have had him get for me. It did give me a bit more of an appreciation for the sort of legwork I always used to assign him. If I ever spoke with him again, I’d have to mention that.
No, I wouldn’t.
But I did learn things.
The Imperial library is not, in fact, organized so you can, say, go to the far corner of the third subbasement and find a book called Here Is What the Left Hand of the Jhereg Is Up To. It isn’t even organized so you can find the history of the Left Hand of the Jhereg. In fact, I’m told that in comparison with various university libraries, it isn’t even organized. And, to make matters worse, the librarians tend not to be excessively helpful to Easterners; I got looks that ranged from the mildly puzzled to the downright unfriendly.
But, eventually, after wandering aimlessly for a while, I found myself among piles of unsorted manuscripts where I ran across a very tall and, for a Dragaeran, portly fellow with wispy hair and heavily lidded eyes who didn’t seem to notice my race. He seemed to be involved in making notes on these manuscripts and moving them from one pile to another.
When I told him I was trying to track down the history of the Left Hand of the Jhereg, he got a sort of feral gleam in his eye and nodded to me.
“This way,” he said, and led me off.
His name, it turned out, was Deleen, or something like that. He was a Tsalmoth, and I think loved his work. He never asked why I was interested, never appeared to notice that I was an Easterner and never even gave me lectures on how he did his work—something that’s pretty much endemic to specialists forced to work with amateurs. I got the impression that sifting through disorganized documents and obscure books in order to pull scraps of information out of them was what he lived for.
I didn’t especially care for it, myself.
I noticed him performing spells from time to time and asked about them. He grunted and said something about finding recurring patterns of symbols within documents. I had never known sorcery could do things like that.
We spent about eleven hours a day at it for three days, most of it with him digging through documents and making notes, me standing there, occasionally holding things for him, or taking notes to colleagues of his which resulted in them handing me a manuscript or document of some sort, which I would deliver to Deleen. Every day I would offer to buy him lunch, and every day he would decline and shuffle off to eat on his own. We’d meet an hour later and resume. He spent his time about evenly between historical records and contemporary reports—most of these latter being in the form of quasi-legal gossip sheets. I observed at one point that I was surprised the Imperial library collected such things. He muttered something incomprehensible and I didn’t bring it up again.
It was not the most exciting time I’ve ever had. Loiosh didn’t like it much either—we weren’t used to being apart, and he complained of boredom a great deal. I knew exactly how he felt.
In the evenings, I would speak with my “investigators,” if I can call them that, and try to figure out if they’d learned anything.
Those are three days I would not care to live through again. On account of I’m such a nice guy and all, I’m going to give you what they call a precis instead of making you live through them with me. I accept gold and silver tokens of gratitude.
First of all, it turned out that Kiera was right—there was no history whatsoever of the Left Hand interfering with anything the Jhereg did. They were, or, rather, had been, entirely their own organization, with the only overlap being that they sometimes used the same contacts within the Imperial Palace. Next, I learned (or rather, Deleen deduced) that while the Empire monitored the activities of the Left Hand as best they could, they had never had much luck in actually prosecuting them for anything, except for the occasional individual who was caught with an illegal artifact in her possession. And third, it seemed that the Left Hand was even more loosely organized than the Right; they almost never exercised any control over their members.
Deleen kept digging away.
He’d occasionally ask me a question, like, “Ever heard of someone called Daifan?”
“No.”
He’d grunt, nod, and go back to work.
Then he’d ask about some incident in the history of the Jhereg, like the Shay Market Slaughter, and I’d tell him what I knew. He’d grunt and go back to work.
On the second day he said, “Who was Curithne?”
“Was?” I said.
He nodded. “He’s dead. Who was he?”
“When did he die?”
“About a year and a half ago.”
“Murdered?”
“No. At least, not as far as anyone knows. Who was he?”
“According to rumor, the number-one man in the Jhereg.”
“Do you believe the rumors?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
>
“He died, eh?”
But Deleen was already back running his fingers through sheafs of something called the Adrilankha Town Crier.
Curithne had died while I was gone. Interesting. Who was sitting at the head of the table now? The Demon? Poletra? Curithne dying would set off—
“Can you ask Dotti for the Candletown Flame for the last year?”
“On my way,” I said.
By the time—early the next day—that he informed me that there appeared to be some sort of power struggle going on in the upper echelons of the Jhereg, I had just about come to the same conclusion myself.
“It looks,” he said, “like no one has yet taken the place of Lord Curithne, within the Right Hand of the Jhereg.”
“Have there been bodies turning up at an unusual rate?”
“No. One sorceress from what you call the Left Hand was killed with a Morganti weapon not long ago. That’s been the only murder associated with the Jhereg lately.”
I kept my face expressionless and said, “Then there’s no war going on.”
“That would seem to be the case. There are certain actions that the Empire takes when Jhereg start killing each other, and—”
“Actions?”
“Certain departments within the Phoenix Guard are increased in size. Others are moved to the area where there is trouble.”
“I see.”
“Yes, and the Empire hasn’t done those things.”
“So, all right. A bunch of the bosses of the Jhereg are trying to get into position to run the thing. Have you found names, yet?”
“I’m looking for that, but it’s difficult. Even the small local sheets don’t like to give the names of high-level Jhereg.”
“Go figure.”
“But there is one who is known as Poletra.”
“Uh huh.”
“Another named Daifan, usually called ‘the Demon’.”
“Oh.”
“Hmmm?”
“I thought his name was ... never mind.”
He started to say something, then stopped, then said, “There are at least two others, maybe three. I’m still trying to find out who they are.”
“But no bodies turning up.”
“So far.”
“All right,” I said. “But what does that have to do with the Left Hand?”
“Nothing that I can tell.”
“Oh.”
“Although—”
“Yes?”
“Have you heard of someone named Terion?”
“Sure.”
“Would he be one of the contenders?”
“Probably.”
Deleen shuffled a few copies of some gossip rag, and said, “There’s a story that he has a mistress who is in the Left Hand.”
“You get a name of the mistress?”
“Triesco.”
“Ah ha.”
“Hmmm?”
“That means something; I just have to figure out what.”
“Oh. All right. What can you tell me about her?”
I won’t add that I felt like an idiot for not starting with her, the one name I had. Deleen did a bit of checking around and got me what little there was; then I headed back out onto the streets, and made my careful way back to South Adrilankha, Loiosh and Rocza watching over me.
“Hey, Boss. How was the library today?”
“Boring, but I may be getting closer to knowing a part of what some people think might be an aspect of a bit of what is going on.”
“So everything is solved, then. Good. What about the Irregulars?”
“The which?”
“The Jhereg Irregulars.”
“Loiosh, I’m not sure what—”
“It’s easier than calling them Those Friends of Ric Who Are Wandering Around Trying to Find Things Out for You.”
“Oh. Them. I’ll be meeting with a few of them tonight.”
“Good. That might get you closer to knowing a part of—”
“Don’t start, Loiosh.”
I did meet with several of them. We’d arrange to get together in some local inn, sit in a back corner, and talk for a while; then I’d move on to a different place and meet with another. It kept me busy, and I discovered to my annoyance that I was now thinking of them as the Irregulars. I was also starting to get a pretty good feel for the scope of the Left Hand’s involvement in the area.
They were trying to determine the outcome. They wanted to be the ones to decide who held the top seat on the Council of the Jhereg.
Which, of course, begged the question why.
Because Triesco was Terion’s lover? Was that all there was to it? Could all of this nonsense have its source in nothing but a love affair?
Well, but then, that’s what had gotten me involved, hadn’t it? Well, yes, but I was an Easterner.
Which meant what, exactly?
I mentally scowled and put that thought away for a while, along with the additional and related question of why that sorceress had shown up and done, well, whatever it is she had tried to do to me.
I had been figuring that last to be connected to the Jhereg’s intense, burning desire to make an empty pair of boots out of me, even though it made no sense. It occurred to me now that it could be part of the power play within the Jhereg, only that made even less sense.
I returned to my room from the last meeting, scowling and muttering as I walked.
“Boss!”
I stopped, about forty feet from the entrance to the inn. “What is it?” I was in an inset doorway, my hand on the hilt of Lady Teldra, which was comforting in a couple of different ways. I wasn’t certain of exactly how I got there.
“Someone is in the room. I think. I’m outside, and I smell something.”
“Wonderful. Can you check it out without getting yourself fried?”
“I think so.”
“Don’t take chances. There’s nothing I need to go back there for.”
“Understood. I’ll just sort of peek in the window.”
Two minutes later I pushed the curtain aside, walked into the room, and said, “Hello, Kiera. How did you find me? Did you track Loiosh?”
She stood up and smiled. “I had a friend do it.”
Loiosh flew over from her shoulder to mine. “Sit down,” I said. “You gave me a start.”
“Yes. Sorry. There’s no way to reach you, you know.”
“I know. And I wish it weren’t so easy to find me.”
“It isn’t easy.”
“Still, if your friend can do it—”
“That doesn’t mean someone else can.”
“Maybe.”
“Well, first someone has to think of it, which isn’t as likely as you might think.”
“Actually, it’s a certainty. Someone tried not long ago.”
“Oh.”
“You seem surprised.”
“I am. It requires either a very close knowledge of Loiosh, or some object connected to him. And then it requires a skill in witchcraft. And that’s after even thinking about it, which surprises me to begin with.”
“I know, Kiera. It makes me nervous. Speaking of witchcraft, how is Morrolan?”
“I don’t know him that well.”
I felt myself flushing a little. “When you said witchcraft, I assumed—”
“You were right, but it was a favor for my friend Sethra, who then communicated the results to me.”
“Oh. I see.”
“I’m told that Morrolan is still in mourning for his friend Lady Teldra. He took her death hard.”
“Well, she didn’t die. Exactly.”
Kiera the Thief stole a quick glance at me and didn’t answer. I touched Lady Teldra. It’s all right, she seemed to say. Or else I imagined it. I might have imagined it. I might have imagined—
“The Demon Goddess has been messing with my head, Kiera. My memories, maybe my perceptions, possibly even my, I don’t know, my thinking.”
“Yes. I’m told she’ll do that,
now and then, when she needs someone to do something.”
“Oh. Well, that’s all right, then.”
She laughed. “What, Vlad? You don’t accept that there are those who may know what’s best, and use you for the good of everyone?”
“Not hardly,” I said. “Do you?”
“Only when I have no choice.”
“And I have no choice. Yeah. That’s what I love about it.”
“I imagine.”
“Actually, I do have a choice.” I touched Lady Teldra again.
“I suspect, Vlad, that that may not be the best option.”
“For whom?”
While she tried to work out an answer to that, I said, “In any case, that isn’t what you came to see me about. What’s on your mind?”
“Blood, death, friendship, the Jhereg, the Left Hand.”
“Odd. Those are the same things I’ve been thinking about. Care to be more specific?”
“You keep forgetting you have friends, some of whom are willing to help you, and some of whom worry about you.”
“Which are which?”
“I’m almost tempted to answer that, just because I know you don’t want me to.”
“Okay, one for you. But, Kiera, the Jhereg is after me. They want it Morganti. I can’t—”
“I know.”
“—get other people involved in this.”
“What would you do if someone were threatening Morrolan with a Morganti weapon?”
“Laugh at the stupid son-of-a-bitch.”
“Vlad—”
“All right, all right. But—”
“Do you know that Kragar has sent a message to Aliera?” I blinked.
“My word. Has he indeed?”
“He wants to know how to reach you, so he can offer to help.”
“I didn’t think he had that much nerve.”
“He does.”
“I mean, the nerve to risk a snub from Aliera.”
“I knew what you meant.”
“He’s nuts.”
“Maybe.”
“Kiera, he is in the Jhereg. He wouldn’t last three minutes.”
“So am I, and I’m not worried.”
“You should be.”
She smiled.
“Yeah, well, all right. Maybe not.”
“To answer your question, I’m here to see if you need any help.”
I sighed. “I’m not sure. My biggest problem is trying to figure out what’s going on, why the Left Hand is here. And I already asked you about that.”