by Steven Brust
“Of course not.”
She looked good. She’d gained a few pounds here and there, but they were pleasing pounds. She was wearing a gray shirt with long, sharp collars, and maroon trousers that tapered down to her pointed black boots. She carried a dagger with a plain leather-wrapped hilt, but no other weapons that I could spot. And I’m good at spotting weapons.
“Mind if I sit down?”
“Uh, I hadn’t known you needed my permission.”
Loiosh and Rocza were both twitching.
“Go ahead.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
He flew over to her hand and rubbed his face on hers. She smiled and said hello to him. After a moment, Rocza flew over and landed on her shoulder. She scratched and cooed at them. It was obvious she’d missed them. I could have felt good and sorry for myself if I’d wanted to.
She said, “I heard about your hand.”
I glanced at it. “From?”
“Kiera.”
I nodded. “Nice to know you’re still in touch with her.”
She nodded. “How did it happen, exactly?”
“Kiera?”
“The finger,” she said, without cracking a smile.
“I went back East for a visit, and forgot to pack it when I returned.”
“Have you actually been back East again?”
I nodded. “I learned to ride a horse, but not to enjoy doing so.”
That got a bit of smile. Then she said, “So, what’s on your mind?”
“South Adrilankha.”
“You’ve heard about that?”
“Yeah.”
“From Aliera, no doubt.”
“Indirectly.”
“So, let me guess, you’re going to come into town and save me like a Dzur rescuing a helpless maiden.”
“That isn’t exactly what I had in mind.” Actually, it had been pretty much spot-on, damn her. “Are you going to claim that everything is fine, and you don’t need any help?”
“Just what help can you offer, Vlad? And I don’t mean that rhetorically.”
She called me “Vlad.” She used to call me “Vladimir.”
“I know people. Some of them will still be willing to do things for me.”
“Like what? Kill you? You know how much of a price the Jhereg has on your head?”
“Uh … no. How much?” Odd that it hadn’t occurred to me to wonder at the exact amount.
“Well, I’m not sure, actually. A lot though.”
“I suppose. But, yeah, there are people I can ask questions of, at least.” Before she could answer, I said, “So, how are things with you?”
“Well enough. And you?”
I made a sort of non-committal sound. She nodded, and said, “Have I grown a wart?”
“Hm?”
“You keep looking at me, and then looking away.”
“Oh.”
Loiosh flew back to me. Cawti scratched Rocza behind the head.
“You’re in trouble,” I said.
She nodded.
“I can help.”
“I hate that. What?”
“Nothing. I thought you’d been about to say … never mind. The fact is, I can help.”
“I don’t hate you, Vlad.”
“Good. Does that mean I should go ahead?”
Tukko came in then, and asked if we wanted anything. We both said, “Klava,” and Cawti said, “Extra cream in his, but not much honey. You know how I take mine.”
Tukko grunted as if to say either he knew how we both took ours, or that we’d take them as he made them and be happy.
“I hate it that I need your help,” she said.
“You said that already. I understand.”
I got up and paced, because I think better that way. She said, “What is it, worried, or unhappy?”
“Because I’m pacing?”
“Because your shoulders are hunched forward, and you’re slouching. That means worried or miserable.”
“Oh.” I sat down again. But she could probably tell things about how I sat, too. “Both, I guess. Worried about whether you’ll let me help you, unhappy that you don’t want me to.”
“I don’t suppose I could convince you to charge me for the service?”
I started to laugh, then stopped. “Actually, yes. There is a fee I could suggest.”
She gave me the look someone gives you who knows you very well, and she waited.
“A piece of information,” I said.
“And that is?”
“Tell me what that look meant.”
“What look?”
“When I mentioned South Adrilankha.”
She frowned. “I can’t imagine what look I could have given you.”
“It looked like relief.”
“Relief?”
“Yes. Like you were afraid I was going to mention something else.”
“Oh,” she said.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Tukko returned with our klava. Once, long ago, I had asked Sethra how old he was, and she’d said, “Younger than me.”
He set the klava down and turned away. I said, “Tell me, Tukko, how old is Sethra, exactly?”
“Younger than me,” he said, and shuffled out again.
I should have predicted that.
Cawti drank some of her klava.
“Do you wish payment in advance?” she said at last.
“It doesn’t matter.”
She bit her lip. “What if I say it’s too much?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll do it anyway.”
She nodded. “Yes, I expected that’s what you’d say.”
Loiosh rubbed his head against my neck.
Three sips (for her) later, she said, “All right. Go ahead.”
Suddenly, I had something to do. Maybe, if I were lucky, I’d have someone to kill. I felt better right away.
“Let’s start with names,” I said.
“Name,” said Cawti. “I only have one.”
“Madam Triesco.”
She stared at me. “Aliera didn’t know that.”
“I said the information came from her indirectly. My source—”
“Who?”
“Does it matter?”
She continued staring at me in that way she had—not squinting, but with her eyelids just a little lowered. I knew that look.
“Okay,” I said. “It matters. But I’d prefer not to say just now.”
“Was it your friend Kiera?”
“As I said, I’d just as soon not say.”
After a moment, she gave me a terse nod. “Okay,” she said. “Yes. Triesco.”
“What do you know of her?”
“The name,” said Cawti.
“Do you know she’s Left Hand?”
She shrugged. “I assumed, just because it’s a she.”
“Okay. Where, exactly, do operations stand in South Adrilankha?”
She winced. “Out of control,” she said.
“You have people?”
“No, I let them go. I tried to shut it down, and—”
“Yeah, I heard. Any of them you can get back aboard?”
“None that I’m willing to.”
I knew that tone; I didn’t even consider arguing. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll do a little checking around.”
“If you were to get yourself hurt doing this, I would hate it a lot.”
“So would I.”
“Don’t joke about it.”
“You know, that’s a much more difficult request than merely taking on the Left Hand of the Jhereg.”
A corner of her mouth twitched a bit.
“One small victory, Loiosh.”
“If you say so, Boss.”
She said, “I’ve been hearing stories.”
“Of?”
“You. Jenoine. Lady Teldra.”
Almost involuntarily, my hand brushed across the hilt of the long, slim dagger at my side. Yes, she was still t
here. “They’re probably true,” I said. “More or less.”
“Is Lady Teldra dead?”
“Not exactly.”
She frowned.
“You were involved in a battle with Jenoine?”
“More of a scrap than a battle,” I said. “But yeah, I guess that part is true.”
“How did it happen?”
“I’ve been wondering the same thing. A series of accidents, I suppose.”
She drank some more klava, and gave me her slow, contemplative look. “I’m not sure what to talk to you about anymore.”
“Oh, I don’t know. It shouldn’t be that difficult. Say something about oppressed Easterners to put me on the defensive. That should work.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t say anything.
“Okay,” I said. “Maybe I should just be about this business. That will give you time to think up a subject of conversation.”
She didn’t say anything.
I stood up. Even now, hours later and after a nap, it was something of an effort. I hoped no one attacked me; I’d be slow.
“You’re always—”
“Shut up, Loiosh.”
“Okay, Cawti. I’ll be in touch.”
“Do,” she said.
I left the room without ceremony, or a backward glance, mostly because I didn’t trust myself to say anything. After a bit of searching, I found Tukko. “Would you be good enough to ask Sethra if she’ll do a teleport for me?”
He didn’t quite scowl.
I have a small backpack I travel with, which contains a spare shirt, some socks, undergarments, and a couple of different cloaks that I switch between depending on the weather and other factors. I unrolled the gray one, and filled it with a few weapons that Morrolan had dug up for me the day before. I put it on, made sure it was hanging right, and took a deep breath.
Sethra came in and nodded to me. I took the amulet off and put it away.
“Good luck,” she said.
I nodded.
An instant later I was standing at the east end of the Chain Bridge, in South Adrilankha.
2
Garlic Bread
Mihi told me what Mr. Valabar had prepared that evening. Of course, that evening was early afternoon, but let’s not worry about trifles. It was house pepper stew, brisket of beef, Ash Mountain potatoes, roast kethna stuffed with Fenarian sausages, anise-jelled winneasourus steak, and triple onion beef. Then he stepped back a bit and waited. I had always been puzzled by this behavior, until I realized that he was giving us time to think about it, while being available to answer questions.
“What do you recommend?” Telnan asked me.
“Anything. It’s all good.”
I ate some of the garlic bread.
“Langosh” isn’t like anything else in the world. My grandfather makes it too. Loyalty demands I say my grandfather makes it better, but we won’t stress the point.
It consists of a small, round loaf of slightly, very slightly, sweet bread that has been deep-fried. It’s served with a clove of garlic. You bite the garlic in half, then coat the bread with it, burning your fingers just a little. Then you take a bite of the garlic, then you wait, and, as it’s exploding in your mouth, you take a bite of the bread. It’s all in the timing.
I decided on the brisket of beef, Telnan ordered the roast. We told Mihi, who smiled as if we were the cleverest two customers he’d ever had. Telnan studied my technique with the bread, copied it, and broke out in a delighted grin.
A Dzurlord with a big grin on his face. Very odd. But I was glad he liked the food.
“So,” I said, picking up the conversation from some time before. “You’re studying wizardry? Good. Maybe you can tell me just what a wizard is, then. I’ve been wondering for some time.”
He grinned like his schoolmaster had just asked him the very question he had prepared for. “Wizardry,” he said, “is the art of uniting with and controlling disparate forces of nature to produce results unavailable from, or more difficult to obtain with, any single arcane discipline.”
“Ah,” I said. “Well. I see. Thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, sounding sincere. “What do you do?”
“Hmmm?”
“Well, I’m a wizard. What do you do?”
“Oh.” I thought about it. “I run in terror, mostly.”
He laughed. Evidently, he didn’t believe me. Probably just as well; if he had, he’d have been required to be scornful, and then I’d have been required to kill him, and Sethra might not like that. It did, however, effectively kill the conversation.
I took another bite of garlic, waited for the explosion, then the bread. Perfect. Each bite of garlic was like a new discovery, exciting even in its confusion; each bite of bread the epiphany that completes it. And the combination took me away from all that had happened in the last few years, and into that time when things were simpler. Of course, they were never really simpler, but, looking back on them now, my senses filled with garlic and fresh bread, it seems like things were simpler then.
Stepping off the Chain Bridge was also a step into the past, as it were. It made me think of a time before I had met Cawti, before I had begun working for the Jhereg, when I was just an Easterner, living along Lower Kieron Road, but walking across this bridge, or else along the waterfront to Carpenter, several times a week to visit my grandfather. My grandfather no longer lived here; now he lived in a manor house just outside of the town of Miska, near Lake Szurke. I’d visited him once a couple of years ago; I decided I should probably do so again, if I could get this matter settled without becoming dead.
My memory told me that all of South Adrilankha stinks all of the time. That isn’t really true. You have to reach the Easterners’ quarter to get the smell, and the Easterners’ quarter is a large part of South Adrilankha, but by no means all of it.
I took the roads that were as familiar to my feet as langosh was to my tongue, though nowhere near as pleasant.
It was a little chilly in Adrilankha, but the cloak kept the ocean breeze off me. Loiosh and Rocza shifted on my shoulder; I could feel them looking around.
I tapped the hilt of my rapier, just to reassure myself that it was there. Lady Teldra hung just in front of it.
My boots were a fine, soft darr skin; quite comfortable, and good for walking across grasslands, and even feeling your way carefully along rocky mountain passes; but they didn’t suit the stone streets of Adrilankha. My old boots, however, were gone with my old life.
I made it to Six Corners, which is as much the heart of the Easterners’ district as anywhere, and looked around. I was surrounded by humans, by my own kind; I felt the easing of a tension I hadn’t known was there. Even being by yourself isn’t quite the same as having your own people around you.
Now, it’s never been all that clear who my own people are, but I’m telling it to you as it felt at the time.
Six Corners is, as they say, no place to found a dynasty. I’m told that, before the Interregnum, it was an area frequented by the higher class of merchant, but it was destroyed by fire and never rebuilt. As no one wanted it, the Easterners moved in, migrating from, well, from the East. After that, it was built up slowly and haphazardly; no one cared what happened there, or what things looked like. Or, for that matter, who did what to whom. The patrols by the Phoenix Guards were cursory during the day, and non-existent at night. Not, I suspect, because they were scared to be there; just because they didn’t much care what happened.
A few walls that had once been painted green, a roof that was sagging in the middle, and a doorway covered by a torn burlap curtain led the way into the abode of the finest bootmaker in South Adrilankha, maybe in the Empire. Since this wasn’t Valabar’s, Jakoub stared at me with undisguised astonishment, before saying, “Lord Taltos! You’re back!”
I agreed that I was. “How are things, Jakoub?” I knew it was a mistake the instant the words were out of my mouth.
“Well enough,
Lord Taltos. We’ve had a bit of rain, you know, and that always means an increase in custom. And Nickolas injured his hand, a few weeks ago, and still isn’t able to work, so most of his regulars are coming to me now. Of course, Lady Ciatha has chosen to let half her land lie fallow for the season, so I’m not getting any—”
“Good to hear,” I said, before he could get really warmed up.
He took the hint, praise be to Verra. “How are you, my lord?”
“Well enough, thanks.”
He glanced down at my feet. “What are those?”
“Darr skin,” I said. “I’ve been spending a lot of time walking through wilderness.”
“Ah, I see. And, because it’s the wilderness, your arches won’t collapse? Your heel won’t callus? Your instep—”
“Do you still have my measurements?”
He looked hurt. “Of course.”
“Then make me something suitable for travel outdoors or on paved streets.”
He looked thoughtful. “For the soles, I can—”
“I want to wear them, not hear about them.” I tossed him enough silver to make up for the second hurt look.
He cleared his throat. “Now, uh, your special needs … .”
“Not as much as in the past. Just a knife in each, about this size.” I made one appear and showed it to him.
“Can I keep it?”
I set it on the counter.
“Nothing else? Are you certain?”
“Nothing else for the boots, but I also need a new sheath for my rapier. The last one you made for me was, uh, damaged.”
He came around the counter, bent over, and inspected it. “It’s been horribly bent. And the tip’s been cut off. What happened?”
“It got stuck in me.”
He stared at me, I think wanting to ask how that had happened but not daring. I said, “It was an apprentice physicker, and I have no clear memory of just what he did or why, but I guess it worked.”
“Eh … yes, m’lord. The new sheath—”
“Use the same design.”
“And all of the additions?”
“May as well.”
“Very good, m’lord.” He bowed very low.
“How long will it take?”
“Four days.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Day after tomorrow.”
I nodded. “Good. Now let’s chat.”
