by Steven Brust
“Now it sounds like you’re in.”
“What’s the offer?”
“To solve the problem completely? I don’t know. That’s worth a lot.”
“Double what you’ve already agreed to pay me.”
“It’s worth more than that.”
“You’re honest. I’m touched. I know. Is it a deal?”
“Of course.”
“Then I’m in.” I turned to Shoen and Sticks and said, “Thanks. You’re off.”
“You sure?” said Sticks. “These characters look all dangerous and stuff. I wouldn’t want to see you unprotected.” He was giving Ibronka an amused smirk, I think just to annoy her. She gave no indication of noticing, which meant that her dislike of me was more because I was a Jhereg than because I was an Easterner. Good. Bigotry is such an ugly thing, don’t you think?
“I’m sure,” I told Sticks. I had turned my head to speak to him, so neither of our new acquaintances could see my face; I silently mouthed, “Follow them.”
“You’re the boss,” he said, and headed out. Shoen, I should add, was already gone.
I turned back to Foxy. “I need to get my hands on some of those coins.”
“You have a plan,” he said.
“I always have a plan. Ask anyone. ‘That Vlad,’ they’ll say. ‘He sure does always have a plan. He—’”
“Why do you work so hard to make yourself disliked?” asked Ibronka. “I should think you’d find it happens enough on its own without putting yourself to any extra trouble.”
I drank some wine and said, “Yes, I have a plan.”
“Tell me about it,” said Blue.
“Not just yet.”
His face twitched, but I couldn’t tell what it meant. “All right,” he said. Ibronka looked at him, then shrugged almost imperceptibly; I imagine they’d be talking about that later.
“You need a bag of gold,” he said.
“Tagged gold, yes. Or silver. Coins that have been treated so they’ll be detectable, and have been stolen. Which reminds me—can they be traced?”
He frowned. “Probably. Never known it to be done—they just like to wait until the coins show up in circulation. Paying for a trace is going to cost a big chunk of the total value. But it could happen. Is that a problem?”
“It could be. Can you get the coins?”
“Give me a week. How do I get in touch with you?”
I told him where the office was, and told him to ask the clerk for something Eastern that would last until morning.
He looked amused, which irritated me, but I guess fair is fair. “A week then?”
“Or sooner if you get it sooner.”
I stood, bowed, and showed him my back on the way out the door.
“Well, Boss? Do I get to know what’s going to happen?”
“Sure. We’re going back to the office and find out some stuff, then do some work. Then we wait until he shows up with the coins.”
“Which will give you a week to figure out what to do with them. I still don’t know why—”
“I know what I’m going to do with them, Loiosh.”
“Oh? What are you going to do with them?”
“Get arrested,” I said, which shut him up. It was also sort of true, but that was of secondary importance.
First importance (after shutting up Loiosh) was to find out what was going on. If I came up with a clever plan that didn’t solve the problem, I’d feel silly. I sort of thought I should figure out what the problem was.
I returned to the office and found Kragar, who wanted to know what was going on. In answer, I said, “I need to know everything you can find out about someone calling himself the Blue Fox.”
“Calling himself the what?”
“You heard me.”
“A Jhereg?”
“Tiassa.”
“How am I supposed to find that?”
“Use your imagination.”
“You mean, make stuff up?”
“He’s supposed to be a robber, a highwayman, working somewhere east of here. Ask if anyone’s heard of him, then follow it up.”
“Do you know how stupid I’m going to sound asking if anyone has heard of the Blue Fox?”
“Yes, I know exactly how stupid you’re going to sound.”
“The gods will punish you.”
“I have no doubt of that at all.”
The next order of business was finding Kiera the Thief. I went back out and stopped in a couple of inns, and I dropped the word that I wanted to talk to Kiera. She was waiting for me at a third, a place informally called the Roughhouse, which I’m sure has a story behind it; to all appearances and from all my experience, it’s a quiet little place with lots of booths with tall backs, so you imagine you’re getting more privacy than you are.
I spotted her—well, okay, Loiosh spotted her—in one of the booths as I was waiting to speak to the host, and we joined her: Kiera the Thief. She was short for a Dragaeran, though some of that was that she tended to slump a little. Her hair was dark, her motions graceful, and her smile full of warmth. I still have no idea why she likes me, but we go back to a day when—no, skip it. She was good to me from the moment we met. As I approached the booth, she gave me a good kiss on the mouth—the only Dragaeran I greet like that, by the way—and a hug to go with it. I sat.
“I was just looking for you,” I said.
“I know. That’s why I’m here.”
I smiled. “I suspected it was all a trick.”
“Hmmm?”
“Never mind.” She had a small glass with something dark in it; I ordered her another and got myself a light tingling wine. When the drinks arrived, I said, “A long time ago, you mentioned something called, if I remember right, the hamper switch.”
“Hamper Load, and you have a good memory, Vlad.”
“How do you do it?”
“Are you going into a new line of work?”
“No, but I have a situation where it might be useful. Can you explain it to me? Slowly, as befits the lethargic Eastern brain?”
She snorted. “All right, and you don’t have to tell me what this is about, but if you feel like doing so, I’m curious.”
“Let me see if I get away with it first. If I do, I’ll explain. If I don’t I’ll try to pretend it never happened.”
“Fair enough.” She brought her drink to her lips, swallowed, carefully set the glass down. She explained how that particular swindle worked; I listened. When I was done listening, I asked questions and listened some more. Being a good listener is one of the most vital skills in being an effective criminal.
“Good,” I said. “I think I have it.”
She nodded. “I believe you do. Remember that the Skin needs to be convincing, and to a degree the Runner; the rest just have to go through the motions.”
“Understood,” I said, and got to my feet.
She smiled at me. “Good luck,” she said.
I got back to the office and Sticks was waiting. “They teleported,” he said.
“Damn.”
“But I have a friend who’s a sorcerer, and I thought you might want to know where they teleported to.”
“And he got there in time?”
“She. And yeah. Imperial Palace, Dragon Wing.”
“I imagine you think you deserve a bonus for that.”
“You have a good imagination, Boss.”
“Melestav, give him seven. Thanks, Sticks. Good work.”
“Always a pleasure,” he said.
“Dragon Wing, Boss?”
“It was either there or Whitecrest Manor.”
“Why?”
“I told you, I recognized him.”
I spent the rest of the day supplying the wants and needs of the good citizens of Adrilankha.
I saw Cawti that night. She liked the candle a lot, and in the warm afterglow of our first hello, I told her about the Blue Fox, Ibronka, and the difficulty in staying ahead of law enforcement. She listened with her whole a
ttention, as she always did, her dark hair shining on the white pillow, her large black eyes fixed on mine so intently I felt like I could fall into them. It took a while to get the story out, because her eyes kept distracting me.
When I was done, she laughed, which made my stomach do funny things.
“Can I help?”
“Um.”
“What?”
“It isn’t exactly, I don’t know the word. You know, the thing about keeping one’s beloved out of danger and all that?”
“Vladimir Taltos, if you aren’t kidding I’m going to bite you somewhere painful.”
“I thought it was romantic.”
“Romantic would be asking for a lock of my hair or something.”
“Okay, can I have a lock of your hair? And yes, I’m kidding.”
“Then I can help?”
“Sure. As long as you keep saying my name.”
“Hmmm?”
“I like it when you say my name.”
She smiled. I wondered if she knew just what she could get me to do with that smile.
I returned it, and she sat up suddenly. “All right, then! What’s the first step?”
“Hmm?”
“Hey. I’m up here.”
“Oh, sorry. The first step. Yes. Wait for the mysterious bag of gold.”
“There must be some set-up before that happens.”
“Well, yes. There’s some information gathering, but I’ll get Kragar to do that.”
“Why does he get to have all the fun?”
“You think that’s fun?”
“Not really, I suppose.”
“Okay, then.”
“What else?”
“Deciding on the Anvil, and opening the Hamper.”
“Oh, perfect! I’m especially trained for those things.”
“I thought so. You have no idea what they mean, right?”
“Right. But I wanted you to get full pleasure from being opaque.”
“And I did. Thank you, m’lady.”
“You’re welcome, m’lord. Now, what’s the Anvil?”
“That’s the person who gets hit by the operation.”
“The target?”
“Right. Also called the Bucket, the Lame, and the Narrow.”
“I didn’t know you knew about those sorts of scams.”
“Oh, I’ve known all about them since yesterday.”
“I see. What’s the Hamper?”
“In this case, something that will hold a bag of tagged coins.”
“Does opening it have some special meaning?”
“That means to set the Anvil up.”
“How do we do that?”
“First step is to pick him.”
“What are you looking for? Stop kissing me and answer the question. No, skip that, keep kissing me. All right, now answer the question.”
“What—?”
“What are you looking for?”
“Love, respect, friendship, loyalty, sensuality, beauty, skill in cutting vegetab—”
“In the Anvil.”
“Oh, right. First of all, someone with the authority—or the clout—to stop the evil and immoral practice of sorcerously marking coins.”
“How many people like that do you think there are?”
“Well, the Empress.”
“Scratch her.”
“And Lord Khaavren, but he’d be a bad choice for this. Um, I’d guess about eight or ten.”
“Let’s make a list.”
So we did, and talked about them for the rest of the day, at the end of which time we’d settled on a Dragonlord named Feorae, because he was perfectly placed within the Imperial hierarchy and because I felt he had too many vowels in his name. I closed my eyes, concentrated, and eventually got hold of Kragar. I set him to learning what he could of the poor bastard, in between learning what he could about Blue-guy. He had a lot to say about it, but eventually agreed.
“What else do you need?” Cawti wanted to know.
“First thing we’ll need is the Skin, because he has to make contact with the Anvil right away.”
“What makes a good Skin?”
Let those who judge goodness or evil in a man note that I let that line pass, and just said, “Charm, warmth, and aristocratic bearing.”
“You’d be perfect.”
“And being Dragaeran.”
“Oh.”
“But thank you.”
“Do you have anyone in mind?”
“Not yet.”
“What about your friend Morrolan?”
“I doubt I could convince him to do anything so disloyal.”
“Same with Aliera?”
“She’d probably kill me for asking. What about Norathar—no, forget I mentioned it. Let’s forget about true aristocrats and look for someone who can act the part.”
“Do you know many actors?”
“A few. I don’t think I know any I’d trust, though.”
“What about one of your tags?” said Cawti.
I considered. “Yes, that could work. There’s certainly acting involved in the job, and some of them play roles for the nums.”
“Maybe someone from the Long Carpet, or the Couches? They’re fairly high-class.”
“How did you—oh, right. I keep forgetting.” She’d learned a lot about me, of course, while she and her partner were preparing to kill me. The memory made for an uncomfortable moment, but she squeezed my hand and it passed.
We decided that was enough work, and turned our minds to other things.
The next day I was up early and beat Kragar into the office. I told Melestav to bring me klava and to get hold of a certain Lord Heral-Nocaldi, or H’noc as he was called, who managed the Couches, and let him know I’d be dropping by.
“Should I tell him why?”
“No, let him sweat.”
I let him sweat for about an hour before heading over there. Not for any special reason except that I didn’t like him—we’d had an unpleasant altercation when I’d first started running the area. It was especially unpleasant for him, so I imagine he didn’t like me, either.
I made the walk with no protection this time. Lower Kieron Road was hot and there was an unusual amount of dust. A bird yelled at me as I approached the place, the kind that goes, “kwa-AKA, kwa-AKA.” I don’t know what kind that is, but Loiosh says they taste good.
The place had been a cheap hotel before the Interregnum, then it was improved superficially: scrollwork added high on the walls, expensive sconces, gold trim, high-quality furnishings in the lobby where one of H’noc’s enforcers, a guy named Abror, was standing where he could watch the door. H’noc was also there, sitting and waiting for me. He rose as I entered.
“M’lord, to what do I—”
“Bring me every tag who’s not engaged.”
He hesitated as, no doubt, a lot of questions came into his mind, but he was smart enough not to ask them. He nodded and went off to follow orders. There were no nums waiting, which was reasonable at this hour on a Farmday. There was a wide fountain, about waist high and of an odd yellowish marble; I leaned against it and waited.
Five minutes later, three boys and five girls were lined up in front of me, in all shapes, colors, attitudes—at least as far as Dragaerans go. “Don’t pose,” I said. “Just stand there.” They relaxed, and they still displayed all shapes, colors, and attitudes. The guy on the left caught my eye, because he was giving me a look of unabashed curiosity. He had an oval face, wide-set eyes, and his general appearance was neutral: I couldn’t guess if he’d appeal to a man or a woman, to someone after corrupting innocence, or someone who wanted to be taken along for a new experience. I nodded to him. “What’s your name?”
“Omlo, m’lord,” he said.
I turned to H’noc. “I need to talk to him. The rest of you can go.”
They did. H’noc followed them out. I found a chair and gestured the boy to another.
“You know who I am, Omlo?”
“Yes, m’lord.”
“Want to make some extra money? All yours, no juice.”
He hesitated. “Why me?” turned out to be his first question.
“You look like you could handle it. It isn’t dangerous. I don’t think.”
At that last, he looked at me quickly, then looked away. “How much money?”
“Fifteen imperials.”
“And you don’t think it’ll be dangerous, m’lord?”
“Shouldn’t be.”
He nodded. “All right.” I could see him spending the money already. “What do I have to do?”
“Do you know where my office is?”
“No, m’lord.”
“Number Six Copper Lane sells psychedelic herbs. Tell the proprietor you want something rare and Eastern that will last until morning. He’ll guide you in to see me.”
“I’ll be there, m’lord.”
“Good. That’s all. Now go make me some money.”
“Yes, m’lord.”
I left him there and returned to the office.
Loiosh, who by now had figured out what I was doing, said, “Boss, even if this works, I don’t think the Empire will appreciate the joke.”
“Everyone thinks that, Loiosh. But consider how long the Empire has been around. Do you know anyone who could survive that long without a sense of humor?”
“I still have no idea why you’re bothering.”
“Because I recognized him.”
“Blue-fellow?”
“That isn’t his real name, you know.”
“I’m shocked, Boss. Where do you know him from?”
“Family resemblance. To someone I’d like to have owe me a favor. If I’m wrong, Kragar will let me know.”
“Whatever you say, Boss.”
“Melestav!”
He poked his head in. “Yeah?”
“Find me a map of the city.”
He appeared with the map and stood next to me while I studied it. “Looking for something particular?”
“Just trying to remind myself of some of my favorite places.”
“To eat?”
“To not get killed.”
“Odd,” he said, “that I’ve never gone to the trouble to make a list of those.”
I found what I was looking for and gave him the map back, then put the whole thing out of my head. I took care of business until close to noon, when I sent Melestav out to Honlo’s to bring back a difowl roasted in wine and stuffed with tartapples, thyme, and garlic. It arrived about the time Omlo did, and I invited everyone in the office to dig in. Kragar almost snatched the gizzard before I could stop him, but I’d been watching for it. My operation, my gizzard; what else would I have gone to the trouble of acquiring the business for?
