by Steven Brust
“Well, long enough for me to wear it, and then get some distance from where the teleport landed me, yeah.”
“How much time are you thinking?”
“Twenty minutes?”
She looked doubtful. “I might be able to do that.”
“How about ten?”
She nodded. “I can give you ten.”
“That should work, then.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“I need to think about that. Somewhere where I can be hard to find ten minutes later.”
“But South Adrilankha, I presume?”
“Yes. Somewhere with a good supply of shops, but not Six Corners, because that’s where I’ll probably end up.”
She nodded as if she understood. Most likely she did.
I rubbed the purse I carried inside my cloak, feeling coins there. Yeah, I was okay; it would be embarrassing to run out of money, and gaining access to the rest of my hoard would be at least annoying, and maybe problematical. So, all right.
“Yeah, I know a place.”
“Whenever you’re ready, then.”
“Okay. When I finish this klava. Either drinking it, or spilling it.”
“Have you thought about getting back here?”
“I don’t believe I can do that safely anymore. I plan to remain in town until this is settled.”
“Is that safe?”
“I think I can manage to make it safe. I hope so.”
“Ah. You have a plan.”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“All right.”
I drank my klava. Sethra was silent while in my mind I went through every step of the few minutes I’d have available to me once I arrived. Then I went through it again, reconstructing the look of the doorways I’d have to cross. I had killed people with less planning than this. It was late morning, not a terribly busy time in South Adrilankha. That should work to my advantage.
Tukko hadn’t stirred the klava thoroughly; some honey had accumulated at the bottom of the cup. I set the cup down and stood up. I took a couple of knives out of my cloak, putting one of them in my boot-top; the other I set on a table. I took my purse out and tied it to my belt. I ran my hands over the cloak to make sure I hadn’t left anything in it, then bundled it up and set it next to the knife.
“Okay,” I told Sethra. “I’m ready.”
She nodded and drew Iceflame. I almost flinched, out of reflex, because being in the presence of a naked weapon like that does things to one’s mind. And, indeed, it did things; but this time it was a different sort of thing than it had been before. In the past, it had been a naked threat, the feeling of being in the presence of some hostile and unbelievably powerful force, as if a dragon were charging me, with me unarmed and with nowhere to run.
But now I felt something different. No less powerful, the threat was still there, but now it wasn’t directed at me. I knew it, felt it, but it was like a guard dog in the home of a friend you’ve known for years; you give him a sniff of your hand, then you stop worrying about it.
More than that, though, there were overtones, subtleties of flavor. I could feel, albeit from a distance, Iceflame’s connection to Sethra, to Dzur Mountain. It was, well, it was all very confusing for a simple Eastern kid.
I got so involved in trying to sort out these strange sensations, that I pretty much missed what Sethra was doing, which I believed involved making twitching motions with her fingers and muttering under her breath. Then I was suddenly very much aware that Iceflame had gotten involved in the proceedings, and the next thing I knew Sethra was saying, “Here we go, Vlad.”
“All right.”
“Vlad, that means you need to remove the amulet.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Now, concentrate on the place you want to end up. As clear a vision as possible, and any other sensory impressions you have of it—smells, sounds, anything. With the interference I’m generating, I need it especially clear to make sure you don’t end up a thousand feet under the ocean, or somewhere else you’d prefer not to be.”
Very convincing, is my friend Sethra.
I slipped the amulet over my head, paused briefly to make sure the plan was still in my head, muttered a thank-you to Sethra, and put the thing into its spellproof receptacle. Then my vision blurred. At least, I thought my vision was blurring, but after a moment, it became apparent that it wasn’t my eyes, but rather something was happening to the light in the room. At the same time, I became aware that I was hearing odd noises, like a low-pitched “thrumb” accompanied by some very faint squeals.
I stood outdoors in a small market area in South Adrilankha. I stumbled a bit but recovered quickly. I think a couple of people—humans—glanced at me as I appeared, but I couldn’t see well enough to be certain.
“Directly behind, Boss.”
“Okay.”
I put the Phoenix Stone amulet back around my neck, waited until I felt it pulsing, then turned around and began walking quickly. Loiosh guided me; either he was unaffected by Sethra’s spell, or he was able to use other means.
“I just have better eyesight than you.”
“Shut up.”
I had almost reached my destination when my vision abruptly cleared, and the sounds disappeared from my ears; whatever Sethra had done had worn off.
I pushed past the curtain of a doorway to my left, took a quick look around, and grabbed a long brown coat with big pockets. I also picked up a beret. I tossed the shopkeeper a coin, told him to keep it, and left. It took about a minute. The next shop was about ninety feet away and supplied me with a white shirt and some baggy pale green breeks. The public house next to it had a private outhouse that stank horribly but was big enough for me to change clothes. I transfered a few things into the coat, then changed. My shirt went to where I’d never want to retrieve it again. The spare knife went from my boot-top to a pocket of the coat. My purse went into the inner pocket.
“No one’s around, Boss. I think it worked.”
I pulled the beret down so it almost covered my eyes, and stepped out, taking a grateful breath of the rank-but-less-rank air of South Adrilankha.
Vlad Taltos: Master of Disguise.
“Okay, Loiosh. You and Rocza need to keep overhead. Or at least not with me. You’re too recognizable.”
“Check, Boss. We’ll be around.”
They flew off as I stepped back onto the street.
I was able to relax a bit now, so I strolled over toward Six Corners, stopping just across a narrow street from a place I knew well. It had changed: the little porch with rugs on the floor and partly surrounded by curtains was gone, and there was a new door into the shack. It had also received a new coat of paint. There was nothing, really, to say who now lived there.
I didn’t doubt that if I were to make my way inside, or even over to where the porch had been, I’d feel psychic traces of my grandfather; he’d lived there many years before I managed to convince him to relocate to lands I’d never seen. I wondered if he missed being surrounded by his own kind, or if he was enjoying playing the part of lord of the manor. That’s the tricky part of doing a kindness for someone; you can’t always be sure it really is a kindness.
“Boss, what, exactly, are we doing here?”
“Feeling maudlin.”
“Oh. Good. How long are we planning on doing that?”
“Don’t you ever miss the days when you used to be nostalgic?”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
I turned away, feeling pleased that I had finally gotten one past Loiosh. I headed toward Six Corners, then skirted it to the north on a small street with no name. In a few hundred feet, I came to a two-story wood house with a small sign hanging over it. I squinted at the sign. Yeah, something had once been painted on it, and I suppose it could as easily have been a horn as anything else. I went in. I’d have blended in effortlessly with the customers, except that there weren’t any customers.
The host was a du
mpy fellow sitting behind a sort of counter, his head down, and a large lower lip protruding as he snored. I cleared my throat. He sputtered, opened his eyes, wiped some saliva from the corner of his lip, and said, “Yes?”
“My name is Sandor. You have a room for me for a night or so?”
“We don’t usually rent them by the night.”
“I said, my name is Sandor.”
“Eh? Oh. Yes. That’s right.” He considered. “No playing of instruments after dark.”
“Of course.”
“Three and three per night.”
I gave him enough for a couple of nights, and suggested he let me know when he needed more. He grunted an agreement and closed his eyes again. I cleared my throat, and he opened them.
“The room?” I suggested.
“Oh.” He frowned. “In back, up the stairs, second door on the left. Do you need help with bags?”
“No. Thank you,” I said. “Sleep well.”
I followed his directions, and arrived in the room that would be my home for at least the next few days.
There was a small window. Loiosh and Rocza flew in and landed on my shoulders. I looked around the room to see what else was there.
“It has a bed, Boss. That’s something.”
“And a washbasin. That implies there may be water somewhere. An actual door would have been nice, though.”
Rocza shifted uncomfortably on my shoulder.
“Tell her to get used to it, Loiosh.”
“I already did, Boss.”
I looked out the window. The view was of the blank wall of the house next door, about three feet away. It had once been painted red. On the ground below were various bits of wood that seemed to have once been a chair, the remains of an old mattress with signs of having been burned, and various other things I didn’t care to investigate too closely. I’d have drawn the curtain if there had been one.
“I think next time I’ll have to give Aibynn more specific instructions.”
“Next time, Boss.”
“In the meantime, it’ll do.”
“It will?”
“It will. We’re going to be heading out now. You two need to still keep your distance from me while we’re out.”
“Admit it, you’re just ashamed to be seen with us.”
I left the room without touching anything, and spent the day buying a few extra changes of clothing and hiring a couple of boys to give the room a good cleaning. I had a local witch drive out any small animal life that might have taken up residence in the bed. I bought a cheap chair, mostly to give Loiosh and Rocza a perch, and a little end table to set the washbasin on, and a whetstone and honing oil.
As much as anything else, I wanted to practice my new look and new personality. I worked on walking differently, holding my head differently, and above all, trying to look harmless, cheerful, and a bit timid. I had a few conversations with people in the neighborhood, and discovered because I heard myself saying it that I was a clerk for one of the slaughterhouses. I wasn’t exactly sure what a clerk for a slaughterhouse did, but I knew there were such things, and I didn’t expect it to be a profession that would generate a lot of questions. Staying? At the Hunting Horn for now, because there had been a fire in my old rooms. I’d either be moving back there soon, or find a new place. Do you know of any rooms for rent? I require it be clean, you know, and not too far from the slaughterhouse district, because it is amazing how it can eat into one’s income to have to be conveyed to and from work every day, like I am now. Married? No, I have not yet met the right woman. Why, do you know someone? I’ve always felt a man ought to have a family, don’t you think?
And so on. I smiled at everyone, and put on Sandor like a suit of clothes.
I picked up some bread and sausages and a jug of cheap red wine from a street vendor. Hauling the chair and other things through the jug-room didn’t earn me so much as a raised eyebrow from the host (now vaguely awake) or the two Easterners he was speaking with. I put the chair near the doorway and the end table below the window.
I shared the bread and sausages with my familiars when they came in the window and settled on the chair.
“Not bad, Boss.”
“Kind of pales next to mushroom-barley soup, though.”
“You never gave me any of the soup.”
“You wouldn’t have appreciated it.”
“No, I wouldn’t have. Barley isn’t food. Barley is what food eats.”
“Uh huh.”
“Rocza agrees with me.”
“Well, that settles it, then.”
“Good sausage, though. And I like the bread, too.”
“Yes. Very good bread. I wonder if there’s barley in it.”
“You’re just really funny, Boss.”
“Part of my charm.”
I took out the whetstone and oil and put an edge on all my knives, more to be doing something than because they needed it.
“What’s the plan for now, Boss?”
“I’d rather surprise you,” I said.
“Uh, Boss? Are we really safe here?”
“I wish I knew. We’re safer than if I weren’t disguised, didn’t have the Phoenix Stone, and were in the heart of Adrilankha. More important, though, we have a place to attack from.”
Loiosh flew over to the window, stuck his long, snake-like neck out, then turned around and gave a sort of hop back over to the chair, settling in next to Rocza. Their necks twisted and they looked at each other. I wondered what they were saying. Probably best I didn’t know.
I took a good couple of drinks of the wine. It was different enough from what Valabar’s served that it seemed wrong to use the same term to describe them. But Sandor wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference, so I pretended I couldn’t, either.
I put on my ugly coat and hat and, as Loiosh and Rocza went through the window, I pushed the curtain aside and went out into the evening.
About half a mile away was a red brick house on Stranger’s Road. Sandor headed in that direction as if he had not a care in the world, and certainly no reason to anticipate danger.
5
White Wine from Guinchen
To give credit where it is due, my father did know a great deal about wine; certainly more than I know. He once explained to me that anyone can find good wine—all you have to do is pay a lot of money. The reason for learning about wine is so you can find a wine you like without paying a lot of money. The curse of the small businessman, I guess: everything is expressed in terms of making or losing a few coppers.
But still, he’s right.
Mihi knew my taste in wine probably better than I did. Properly (as he once explained) mushroom-barley soup was served with a white wine like a Doe Valley Bresca or a Pymin; the trouble with those is that I don’t care for the hint of sweet apples that goes with a Bresca or of apricots that goes with a Pymin. When I’m eating, any trace of sweetness is too much, even when dominated by that pleasant acidity that the red wine experts love so much. So what he brought was a Lescor from Guinchen. To me, the traces of goslingroot and of green pepper, of all things, made it fit perfectly with the soup. That’s me, though. Mihi knew, so he brought it. That’s Mihi.
Telnan just drank it, and I believe never gave it a thought. Well, in fact, there’s no reason he should have; it’s supposed to make the experience more enjoyable, not provide a topic for hours of conversation. Unless you don’t have anything else to talk about, and Telnan appeared to have a never-ending supply of things to talk about. After discussing where I lived, he proceeded to give me more details than I wanted about living in Dzur Mountain, and what the food was like there (compared to Valabar’s mushroom-barley soup) and the difficulties—primarily boredom—of Lavode training. The subject of food (ever on my mind) brought up the issue of who did the cooking there. I asked him, and he gave me a puzzled look and said it had never occurred to him to wonder.
“How many of you are there?” I asked him.
“Hmm? I don’t und
erstand.”
“Are there other Lavode candidates, or trainees, secreted away in the bowels of Dzur Mountain?”
“Oh. No, just me.” He drank some wine, frowned, and added, “As far as I know. She’s only training me because of, well, my weapon. And I don’t think there are that many around.”
“Your weapon. Yes.” I glanced at the hilt sticking above his shoulder, and wondered again how he managed to sit, with all appearance of comfort, with that massive thing strapped to his back.
“Maybe there’s no sword at all, Boss. Just a hilt that he wears to look good.”
“Uh huh. Think I should get one?”
“Oh, certainly.”
“What is it about your weapon?”
His eyes widened a little, and he suddenly reminded me of Aibynn. “You don’t know?”
Several remarks came and went, but, in the interest of a companionable meal, I said, “No, I don’t.”
“Oh. It’s one of the Seventeen.” He frowned. “Are you familiar with the Seventeen Gr—”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ve heard of them.”
He nodded. “Like Iceflame.”
“Yes.”
“You know much about them?”
“I’m not sure what qualifies as ‘much,’ but I’m pretty sure the answer is no however you mean it.”
“Ah. Too bad.”
“Why? You thought maybe I could tell you things Sethra can’t?”
He grinned. “That Sethra won’t. And I was hoping.”
“Oh. Well, I’m pretty sure you know more than I do.”
We ate some soup, drank some wine. A couple more people, Lyorn, drifted into Valabar’s and took a table at the far end of the room.
“I don’t know much,” said Telnan, “except what everyone knows. I mean, that they have their own life, and you have to come to an agreement with them, and at some point there will be a test of wills, and that if you have one it is a bridge between you and the powers beyond the world.”
“Uh. Yes. Certainly. Um, everyone knows that?”
He nodded, looking very sincere.
“What does ‘powers beyond the world’ mean?”
“Just what it says.”
“You asked for that, Boss.”
