by Steven Brust
"And if he's invisible?"
"Look around."
"What?"
"Horses, Loiosh. They'll smell him. Keep an eye on the horses during the spell. If the horses suddenly get jumpy, and start looking where there isn't anyone, I'll stop the spell and, ah, kill him." I made a mental note to make up more Nesiffa powder; I didn't mention to Loiosh that I was out of it.
"Boss, sometimes I wonder about you. Okay, and if they track you, but don't come immediately?"
"They'll be across town from where I am, with plenty of time for people to notice that there's an 'elf in town, and I'll no doubt hear about it."
"No doubt?"
"And they want it Morganti, Loiosh. Morganti. The Jhereg won't he happy with anything less. There is no chance, none that they can bring a Morganti weapon into a town full of witches without creating an uproar the likes of which this town has never seen."
"And then, sometimes, I don't even wonder."
"Heh.”
"Go ahead, then."
"Glad to have your permission."
I cleared an area of hay, because burning the place down would have attracted unnecessary attention to myself as well as disrupting the ritual; not to mention breaking my promise not to harm the horses.
I lit three candles—two white, and one black—then removed the amulet and carefully separated the two parts. The gold I replaced around my neck; the black I set into my pouch. Once I closed that pouch—I'd crafted it myself—the stone might as well have been a hundred miles away.
I laid out what few things I'd need: herbs, a tube of purified water. I didn't have a brazier with me, but I didn't need one for this.
As I combined the salve with purified water—just a drop— I considered the nasty blisters on my fingers, and thought about what my fingers would be like without them, imagined them healing with a chant that came from inside my body painful muscles unknotting working past the resistance because it cannot stand up to me I am Taltos Vladimir and the power is mine and the body is mine it will do as I will keep at as long as my heart continues to drive the blood mixing with the salve and the fingers inside worked them over and understanding the body is the key to opening the doorway of knowledge of all things within and without a pause in the constant drone in the ears full of my own voiceless calling to a place that is here and also not hearing it again and again becoming part of my own fingertips as they clench against the heel of my hand, unwinding and yielding now, flowing faster as they tap the heel and heal and hear and see and smell the damp moldy straw of the stable in the flickering light of the candles as I stopped.
I took a deep breath, and, my hands trembling, removed the piece of the amulet from my pouch, re-attached it, and replaced it around my neck.
"Anything, Loiosh?"
"I'm not sure, Boss. I thought I felt something for a minute, but I can't be sure. It was subtle. Someone good, if it was anything at all."
"You blocked it, then. I didn't feel anything."
"I blocked you from it, Boss, so it wouldn't mess up the ritual. I don't know if I blocked it from you. I don't know if there was anything to block.”
"All right. If the Jhereg could find a witch at all, I doubt it would be someone good."
As spells go, that one was pretty easy; there isn't much in witchcraft that comes easier than convincing your body to do what it wants to do anyway. By the time my equipment was put away in my pack, the blisters had already started to heal, and the general aches in my body were noticeably improved. I still didn't like the idea of fighting anyone, but I figured I could probably do it if I had to. Of course, I paid a price; I was pretty exhausted and my head was fuzzy, but it was a reasonable tradeoff.
Best of all, no assassins showed up to put a nice shine on my epidermis during the process; my remarks to Loiosh notwithstanding, interrupting a spell to fight are neither easy nor fun. I have, a couple of times, actually performed a spell in the middle of a fight, the way sorcerers do. I don't recommend it, and I really hope I'll never have to do it again.
I gave the boy another silver and a smile as I left, shaky but much improved.
"What now, Boss?"
"Hey, I'm up for anything, as long as it doesn't require moving or thinking."
"So, no moving then, but other than that, just as usual."
"After I've worked that out, I'll probably swat you for it."
The walk back across town to the inn seemed very long indeed. And odd. Things always look different when you've just exhausted yourself with a Working, even a minor one; sometimes, I've never figured out exactly when, the effect is amplified: edges are fuzzy, people seem to blur into the background of whatever they're near. Any reflective surface seems shinier and texturing moves and shifts. There are some witches who believe that in this state you can see profound truths that are normally concealed. Some of them devote themselves, not to the Workings, but to the aftereffects, and reveal hidden secrets of the ages.
I think it's just that your brain is tired and you aren't thinking right.
I made a life-enemy during that walk, too. I think he must have been about six years old, and he was throwing a wooden ball against a house—presumably his—making "thunk-splot" "thunk-splot" sounds as it struck the wall then the street. He missed it, and it rolled across the street right in front of me, and from there down into a gutter and away down the street. I was considerably past it when I realized that I could easily have stopped it, picked it up, and tossed it back to him, and around the time I was finally reaching the Hat it came to me that he had been glaring at me. I actually thought about going back and apologizing, but the explanation would have been beyond my powers so I didn't.
Oddly, I don't remember anything about the smell of the town during the long, long trek; which may indicate something or other. I went to the door and walked through it; the host gave me a sort of look, but I wasn't quite aware of it until I was past him and climbing the long, long, long flight of stairs up to my room, where I collapsed on the bed and stared at the ceiling. The bed felt wonderful, and the ceiling looked remarkably interesting, with all sorts of odd texturing that I could almost see moving if I squinted just a bit.
I wasn't in need of sleep. I was just mentally and physically exhausted. There's a difference, you know. Considering that difference is the last thing I remember for an hour or two.
Naps don't usually do much for me; the few times I've tried napping—when I was with Cawti, who felt about them the way a cat does—they always left me feeling groggy. But that one seemed to do the trick. At any rate, the world wasn't fuzzy anymore when I woke up, and I felt like I could move a bit.
I went back down to the jug-room. Inchay explained that he didn't keep coffee this late in the day. I explained that I wished to drink coffee. Presently coffee appeared.
Inchay had his back to me, and the thought came out of nowhere: What an idiot. He shouldn't have his back to an enemy.
I pondered that for a little while. You know a thought like that comes from somewhere, but that doesn't mean it's reliable. Yes, it could be my subconscious telling me it had noticed something about that guy. It could just as easily be my paranoia at work, combined with some of the nasty looks and remarks he'd given me, starting with his absurd idea, when I'd first walked in, that I take Loiosh and Rocza out.
I mean, I knew I didn't like him much; but that wasn't sufficient to convince me he was working against me. To the left, though, I certainly wasn't about to turn my back on him.
When you get a tip like that from your subconscious, there's as much danger in paying it too much heed as too little. You can't ignore it, but you can't let it distract you, either.
When he turned around, naturally, I was no longer looking at him.
Okay, we have a Guild of merchants, unlike any guild Noish-pa told me could exist. No, Noish-pa isn't infallible, but it's enough to make me think there is something very odd going on here.
Then you've got Count Saekeresh Veodric: landowner, and paper facto
ry owner. In the Empire, to have an aristocrat owning a factory wasn't worth a raised eyebrow, but from everything I understood, it was unusual in the East. For one thing, I guess, there were very few factories of any kind, so perhaps I was putting too much weight on that. Still, what was between him and the Guild? Cooperation? Competition? Hostility mitigated by a truce, armed or unarmed? There had to be something.
And then, that strange matter of "light" and "dark" witchcraft. That just made no sense at all. If there was anything to it, I needed to know what; and if there wasn't, I needed to know why it was commonly believed that there was.
How did good old Inchay here fit in, if at all? And Orbahn. He had some part, in this too; I was sure of it.
And then, there was the Jhereg; probably not involved in this, but never, ever to be forgotten; I did not want my last sight to be the point of a Morganti dagger. I shuddered.
Someone had brutally killed my mother's family, and at least one of those parties was responsible, or knew who was responsible.
Well, okay, those were the questions I knew about now; efforts to answer them would naturally generate others, but at least I had a place to start.
I sat there and drank my coffee and made plans.
Ha.
You have to understand, looking back on things, that's pretty funny. But it's true; I made plans, just as if I were going to carry them out, just as if no one else could be making plans at the same time. Do you even care what they were? Could it possibly matter, all the things I would have done if...
If, if, if.
If the world was what I wanted it to be, instead of what it is.
Pointless. If the world was what I wanted it to be, I'd still be married. I'd never have gotten involved with the Jhereg in the first place, because I'd never have had the need or the desire to. Instead, I'd be...what? Count Szurke, safe in my manor near the lake, fishing and having hunting parties, with Cawti on my arm discussing the latest fashions from B'nari Street? No, I couldn't see that either; and, as I said, it's pointless.
When you've been paid to kill a man, you have to learn everything you can about him; there's not a lot of value in learning about what he might be, or you wish he were. Do that, and all you'll get is Fiscom's Honor, which, if you haven't heard the term before, means having your name added to the list cut into the tall, wide marble blocks around the Executioner's Star.
You look at what is, and if you don't know what is, you make it your business to find out. And sometimes that, too, turns out to be just another offering on the altar of the futility deities—the ones who make the crops fail.
So, yeah, I sat there and drank coffee and made plans. Just as if. Loiosh was still tense; I could feel him watching the door, and Rocza kept shifting and bouncing on my left shoulder.
But I didn't let it bother me; I was working. Turning my anger into decision, decision into intention, intention into plan. I was going to learn who was behind this by going in a neat, orderly way; I had it figured out how to get the information from those who must have it, so I could decide just exactly who was deserving of what I intended to do.
An hour or two must have gone by while I went over it in my mind—or, actually, sub vocalized it to Loiosh, who ignored it; just because I think better when I'm talking. Finally I said, "Okay, I've got it."
"Whatever you say."
"Our friend Inchay first, because I don't expect to get anything from him."
"I like your expectations, Boss. Stay with that, and you won't be dis—"
"Orbahn next, if he can be found."
"Which you don't expect."
"Probably not.”
"So far, it's perfect."
I took a quick inventory of my body, of the effect of the Working. The blisters were gone, and the muscle aches were manageable. I got up, threw a few coins to Inchay, and said, "I'm looking for a witch."
"There's a shop just down the street where they get their supplies. I'm sure Yulio could direct you to someone."
"Uh huh. Who do you know?"
He spread his hands. I didn't believe him, but I figured I could come back to him later. "Okay," I said. "Any idea where I can find Orbahn?"
"Haven't seen him."
I waited without saying anything, because that makes people uncomfortable. Eventually he added, "I imagine he'll be in later."
"Good work, Boss. So far, everything's going just as you exp—"
"Shut up.”
"All right," I said. "Where is the Guild hall?"
His eyes narrowed a little. "The Guild hall," he repeated.
I waited.
"Turn right when you leave. On this street about two hundred feet down. Two-story building painted light green."
I nodded a sort of thank-you and went back and sat down.
"What, not going, Boss?"
"Tomorrow. I'm still pretty exhausted, and I need to be at my best to tackle this Guild. I get the feeling they're a bit like the Empire, and a bit like the Jhereg.”
"Feeling.”
"Yeah. When that's all you've got, that's what you go with. Be' sides, hitting them early in the morning seems like the right approach.”
"I have a suggestion for what to do between now and then Boss."
"What's that?"
"Put as many miles between us and this smelly hole of a town as your feet can manage.”
"No," I said.
Having made my plans, I let my mind relax, and I hardly moved for the rest of the day. The place filled up again, mostly peasants, no women. Strange. I watched them, and they ignored me, and Orbahn didn't appear.
The next part of the plan involved going to bed early, and I carried it off without a hitch. Loiosh even complimented me on its success. The little punk.
I drank coffee the next morning, and chewed on some poppy-seed rolls, still hot from the oven and with butter and honey. Good stuff. I had the room to myself while I ate, Inchay being in the back taking care of innkeeper things, and I ate slowly, planning how I was going to work things with the Guild.
I should explain: At this point, I was pretty well convinced that it was the Guild that had slaughtered the Merss family. I was ready to change my mind if I had reason to, and I hadn't eliminated the Count or some other person or group I didn't know about; and I wasn't sure enough to act on it. But I was pretty sure they were either responsible, or had a hand in it.
That was going to be the hard part—keeping my temper in check while I dug out the information I needed. I could feel the desire in me to find the Guild Master and watch my stiletto go up under his chin, or into his left eye, whichever was more convenient. I wanted it so bad I almost shook.
"Boss, this has been happening too much lately. Yesterday—"
"I know, Loiosh. I'm working on it.”
I spent a little extra time calming myself down, reminding myself to treat this like a job. No, it wasn't a job; but if I went at it like an amateur, letting my feelings dictate my methods, I'd end up where all amateurs end up. And maybe I'm going to end up there anyway, but not now; not before I'd finished this.
When I felt like I was ready, I stood up, borrowed a pitcher of water to wash the honey off my hands, took a deep breath, and went back out into the stench.
"Were really going to the Guild, Boss?"
"We really are. I don't know if they're behind this, or just have a big part of it, but either way I need to know what I'm up against, and pull some information out of them."
He sighed.
It was early morning, but the Furnace was hidden by gray clouds, making me feel more at home. I turned right out of the door. It wasn't far; it was before the street that turned off toward the docks. The rain started as I stepped inside.
It was a big room, with about four tables, and various official-looking men—about a dozen all together—sitting behind them, doing official-looking things with papers. No women. Odd. There was a staircase in back leading up. My first reaction was that there was too much activity for a Merchants' Guild in a
town this size. But what do I know?
The guy at the table next to the door looked up; a young, serious-looking man who didn't eat enough, and, to judge from his pinched-up face and stiff back, he probably never did anything at all he enjoyed. He probably didn't believe in having fun. I should introduce him to this girl who roams the docks.
He wanted to know if he could be of service to me. I had the feeling it wasn't actually all that important to him one way or the other. I thought about breaking his legs, but that was just because I was in a bad mood.
"Chayoor," I told him. "I want to see him." He opened his mouth, hesitated, looked me over, closed his mouth, and hesitated again. I can't actually read minds the way Daymar can, but sometimes, you know, you don't need to—the poor guy was trying to decide my status so he'd know whether to address me as "my lord," or "boy" or something in between. He was having trouble, because I looked like a commoner except for the sword at my side. I felt very bad for him.
"Sir," he finally said, "if you will wait here, I will find out if—"
"Save it," I told him. "My name is Merss Vladimir, and there aren't enough of you here to keep me from seeing him. I assume he is up those stairs. Now, do you want to announce me, or shall I just head up?"
His mouth worked for a moment. I guess one of the worst sides of my character is how much I enjoy doing that to poor little bastards who have no defense against it.
"No," he finally said, keeping his voice low but even. "Your name is Vladimir Taltos, and you will see the Guild Master when he is ready to see you. He has been expecting you. I will see if he is free now. Excuse me."
6
Lefitt: Well, that didn't work either.
Boraan: It most certainly did not.
Lefitt: So, your next idea?
Boraan: A drink, of course. Maize-oishka and water. Six parts water.
Lefitt: That seems rather weak.
Boraan: Well, but one hundred parts oishka, do you see?
Lefitt: Ah. Yes, it is all clear to me now.
