Jhegaala

by Steven Brust

She nodded. "Yes, it was a whole different world then. But they say time only started mattering when the mill opened, and you had to be somewhere at a certain time, and coordinate with a lot of other people. There are peasants around here, and free farmers as well, who still don't much care what time it is. Some mill worker will agree to meet a peasant at a certain time, and the peasant will be an hour or two late, and the mill worker will take offense on account of being kept waiting, and the peasant won't understand. It causes fights. I've seen it."

  I nodded, wondering if this was going somewhere, or if she just wanted to talk. She moved down the bar a little and continued whatever she'd been doing.

  "They say it mucks up the river, too. Count Noijlahb, downriver, he complains all the time about his people's stock dying. There have been skirmishes over that, too. And it stinks. They named the town Burz, you know, after the mill was built."

  "Sounds like a bad thing all around."

  "Yes and no," she said. "People eat better now, and the free farmers and even the peasants get better prices. It's good and bad."

  "But it's been there for hundreds of years."

  "Oh, not hundreds," she said. "About eighty, I think. It was in my grandmother's day."

  "Oh," I said. "I was misinformed. And is that when there got to be all that talk of strange forms of witchcraft, and one sort not liking the other?"

  "I wouldn't know anything about that," she said.

  "And the Guild?"

  She sniffed. "Them."

  "What about them?"

  "Well, I'm a member, like everyone else. But I can't say as I care for them much."

  "Why is that?"

  "Oh, you know how they are."

  "No, actually I don't. But I'm curious."

  "Well, you have to do everything their way. And turn in accounts, and all that nonsense. And they'll tell you who you have to buy from, and who you can't sell to. It's all such silliness.

  Actually, it was starting to sound familiar. I smiled and nodded. She asked if I'd care for any pig eatin's. I declined, but accepted some bread fresh from a Guild-approved baker down the street, who did good work. Too bad the stench of the town overwhelmed his shop, or I'd have found him myself. I had the bread with lots of butter and honey from bees that had been raised on something I'd never tasted before, but had a very faint nutty flavor that I liked. I had one more cup of coffee, then stopped because I didn't want to spend the entire ride out to the manor stopping to relieve myself.

  People started drifting in, and she started paying attention to them, so I got up and walked down the street to the Hat.

  It was pretty busy, but the host found time to accept payment for another week's lodging, and to ask, in a carefully studious tone, where I'd been. That stopped me a little. He was being surprisingly open about it. Had something changed? Was the blade finally coming free? Did my concealed enemy now suddenly not care about being concealed?

  I said, "Why do you want to know?"

  "Eh? No reason. Just making conversation."

  "Just making conversation. I see."

  He went down to the other end of the bar to open a bottle of wine for someone. I watched him. The list of people in this town I didn't trust was too long to have any actual use. A little while later he came back. I said, "Have you seen Orbahn lately?"

  "You keep asking about him."

  "And you keep not telling me where he is."

  "Why do you want to know?"

  "No reason, just making conversation."

  He gave me a look. "Haven't seen him in days," he said. "Probably off making a delivery."

  "Probably," I said.

  "So," he said with a sniff. "How'd you like the undercooked pork at the Rodent?"

  I looked at him carefully. "You've been paid. What's your problem?"

  "No problem," he said, scowling only a little. "Just wondered."

  "The pig eatin's were fine."

  "And did the bedbugs give you good company?"

  "Not as much as I'd hoped. Just when the party was starting to get good they had to go off and study for exams the next day."

  He sniffed. "Why the hell you'd want to—"

  "A stranger needs to spread his business around, don't you think? Especially if he plans to set up shop, as it were. Create good-will everywhere: that's my motto."

  "Set up shop?"

  "Yep."

  "Here?"

  "I'm thinking about it. Nice town. I like it."

  "What sort of... excuse me." He returned a moment later. "What sort of shop? You thinking of opening another inn?"

  "Now, do I look like an innkeeper to you?"

  He shrugged. "How would I know?"

  "No, no," I said. "I'm in another line of work entirely."

  He frowned. "What would that be, exactly?"

  I smiled. "I'd rather surprise you."

  "Well, surprising me is all well and good. But we have a Guild here, and they're pretty particular about who they let in."

  "Really? I hadn't thought they were."

  It sailed right past him. "Oh, they are, all right. Trust me. Can I get you something?"

  "Do you have any pig eatin's?"

  He scowled and didn't answer, so I got another one of his summer ales to make him feel better, then returned to my table and drank it slowly.

  In fact, you know, it wasn't bad, for beer.

  When I decided enough time had passed, I made my way slowly toward the stables, still thinking about everything. Things were happening quickly now—too quickly for me to take the time I needed to think them through. If someone was orchestrating this, I could be in severe trouble. I'd been in trouble before. I didn't care for it.

  The stable-boy nodded to me and brought out Marsi, saddled her. He worked quickly and efficiently, like he'd done this a thousand times. He probably had. What a life. Marsi was able to contain her enthusiasm on seeing me again. Or maybe not—she did lift her head for a moment, and for her that might have been enthusiasm. The stable-boy looked things over carefully, tightened this and that, then nodded and put the reins in my hand.

  I led dear Marsi out of the stable, and, with the assistance of the stable-boy, got mounted. Once again, I was struck by the sense of height—looking at a horse, you don't think you should feel as high up as you do. I wondered if this explained the attitude of the Mounted Guard—always the most obnoxious of the Phoenix Guard to deal with.

  For her part, Marsi seemed bored with the whole thing. I took the reins in both hands, touched her flanks with my heels, and sort of urged her forward with my hips. I couldn't see her face well enough to know if she rolled her eyes, but she started moving forward.

  "Boss!"

  "What is it, Lot—"

  "Behind you!"

  I turned in the saddle, which wasn't as easy as it should have been. Marsi stopped. I looked. There were a few people in the street, but none close to me.

  "What? Where?"

  "About forty yards down, north side of the street, under the awning, walking away from you. Blue vest"

  And there he was, easily recognizable even from the back. Now was a fine time for him to show up. I started to turn Marsi around. I guess I did something wrong, because she seemed confused. But then I thought about it. What was I going to do? Could I stop now and have a long conversation with him, and just ignore the invitation that was supposed to actually tell me what was going on? Make an appointment to meet him later? What if he didn't want to talk to me?

  Damn and blast.

  "Loiosh, stay with him."

  "I don't like leaving you right now, Boss."

  "I'm not crazy about it either, but I need to see the Count, and I do not want to lose that slippery bastard again. Go."

  There were mutterings into my mind, but he flew off. I got Marsi headed in the right direction and started out of town.

  "Where is he going, Loiosh?"

  "Looks like back to the Hat, Boss, just as carefree as you please."

  "I don't suppose you ca
n go in there. I want to see if he's meeting with someone. Dammit."

  "If there's a window open I can stick my snakey little head through it."

  "Yeah, I guess that's the best we can do."

  I continued my leisurely pace out of town.

  "Whoops, guess I was wrong, Boss. He's not going into the inn, he's going behind it."

  "Oh, that's interesting."

  "To the stables"

  "Good place to find a horse."

  "He's talking to the stable-boy."

  "Can you get close enough to listen?"

  "I'll try ... yes. Boss, he's asking about you, Where you went and how long ago."

  "Is he getting answers?"

  "No. Wait. Money is changing hands. Yes, he's getting answers.”

  I thought hard about turning around right then, but it seemed that as long as I was getting information, this was working and I should stay with it. And the visit to the Count was too important to throw over.

  "Okay, he's done talking to the stable-boy. He's heading away from the inn and . . . he seems to be going across town."

  It was a pleasant day for a ride, I have to say. And Marsi was as delightful as ever. Rocza seemed to consider herself fully on duty; she kept looking around, and sometimes leaving my shoulder to fly in a wide circle overhead.

  Then, "There's a warehouse near the docks with an overhanging doorway. He's in the doorway, looks like he's waiting for someone."

  "All right.”

  More countryside went by. A few birds sang, and I passed a flock of sheep grazing on a low hill with no shepherd in sight. It was calm and peaceful and pastoral and I loosened my rapier in its sheath because I don't trust calm and peaceful and pastoral.

  "Oh my, Boss! You'll never guess who just showed up to meet him."

  "The Empress?"

  "Funny."

  "Tell.”

  "Remember that tag who told you about the coachman? Well, she hasn't left town."

  Well. Well.

  Now, just how was I going to fit that into my calculations?

  "Well, Boss? Just how are you going to fit that into your calculations?"

  "I'm just working on that, Loiosh. Can you get close enough to hear what they're saying?"

  "No way, Boss. I'm right above them, and they're talking too low to hear."

  "Damn. Okay, can you instruct Rocza to follow one of them, while you follow the other? I really want to know where they both go."

  "And leave you unprotected?"

  "I'm armed. Can she do it?"

  He hesitated, and I got the feeling he didn't want to answer. But he finally said, "If the conversation continues long enough. It's going to take her half an hour at least to get back here."

  "Let's try for it, Loiosh."

  "Boss...."

  "Do it.”

  Rocza flew from my shoulder, heading back toward town.

  I almost chewed my nails. I very much wanted Rocza to get there in time. I very much wanted to know what they were talking about. Marsi picked up my nervousness and got a bit skittish, so I patted her neck and tried to calm down.

  "You sure there's no way you can hear what they're saying?"

  "Sorry, Boss. There's just no place I can slide my snakey head without them seeing it."

  I had a suggestion about where he could slide his snakey head, but I kept it to myself.

  Just about the time I was arriving at the Count's estate, Loiosh said, "Rocza is here, Boss, and they're still talking about whatever they're talking about."

  "Good," I said. "Stay with them.”

  "Will do, Boss. Be careful.”

  "I always am."

  As I approached the entry area, the groom seemed to recognize me, or, at any rate, Marsi. He came forward with his hand out to assist me down. I gave him a cool nod. Once I was on the ground again, he took the reins and said, "You are expected, my lord."

  I stood there, waiting until I felt like my legs would start working again, which took a couple of minutes. I spent it looking around the grounds as if I were just sort of vaguely curious.

  When I could move without embarrassing myself, I climbed the low stairway up to the door. I pulled on the rope, the low gong sounded within, and presently the door swung open.

  The same butler as before made the same bow as before. "Welcome, Lord Merss. His Lordship is expecting you."

  We met in the same room, and I was offered the same chair. I took a different one, partly to be contrary, and partly because I was a little jumpy. The butler pretended not to notice. The Count gave me a sort of look, but let it pass.

  "Thank you for agreeing to see me," he said. .

  "On the contrary," I told him. "Thank you."

  He smiled. "Brandy? Ale? Wine?"

  "Wine," I said.

  He nodded at the butler, who went off to fetch the necessities.

  "So then," said the Count, sitting back a little and folding his hands over his belly. "We have something in common."

  "An enemy, it would seem."

  He nodded, and the butler gave me my wine, and gave the Count a glass of the same amber liquid he'd had before. He lifted his, I did the same, we sipped. It was slightly sweeter than the last one had been, and agreeably spicy.

  "Okay, Boss. They've split up. I'm staying with him."

  "All right.”

  "What I propose," said the Count, "is simply this: that we share information. I suspect you know things that will help me track down who is behind the murders, and I am certain that I could give you information that would be of use to you."

  I nodded. "That makes sense, and I'm inclined to agree."

  "Inclined?"

  "There some things I'd like to understand first, my lord, before I make any agreements."

  "Such as?"

  I had some more wine and tried to figure out how to approach it. This was the tricky part.

  "Just what sort of information do you imagine I have, my lord?"

  "Eh? Well, it's obvious you've been investigating on your own. Haven't you found out anything?"

  "As to that," I said. "Maybe. But, you know, I have no special skills in that field; I've simply been asking questions as anyone might."

  "Indeed?" he said. From the expression in his voice, I couldn't tell if he was just skeptical, or knew I was lying, and that is exactly what I needed to know.

  "Yes," I said. "That's what puzzles me about this. To be blunt: What help could I possibly give you?"

  "Well," he said, and had another sip. He licked his lips. "That is a difficult question to answer."

  I nodded and gave him some time, sipping wine and putting on my innocent inquiring look.

  "I guess," he said, "that will require some background explanation."

  "All right," I said. "I'm listening."

  "The mill was first founded by my grandfather, some eighty-three years ago." He went on from there, but I wasn't really paying attention.

  "Boss?"

  I wanted more wine because my mouth was dry, but the glass wasn't in my hand, which was odd.

  ''Boss?"

  And I couldn't move my arm, either, and the Count's voice was a buzzing in my ears, and the floor was very hard against my cheek.

  PART FOUR

  NOTONIDE

  While there remains some question because of its short duration, most natural philosophers now agree that the notonide should be considered an actual stage; yet it is a stage of constant transformation. It is here, accompanied by a ninety percent loss in mass, that the wings are formed, the venom glands develop, and the eggs are fertilized. This all happens in an astonishingly brief time: a few days at the most. Needless to say, during this entire stage the jhegaala is exceptionally vulnerable....

  Two interesting and contradictory phenomena occur during this stage: To the right, the intense pressure of the constant transformation overwhelms the individual characteristics of the notonide, each reacting for the most part identically. And yet, as is the case with all organisms, it is never
so much itself as when under intense pressure. Thus the future nature of this particular levidopt becomes apparent from the present notonide if one knows what to look for....

  —Oscaani: Fauna of the Middle South: A Brief Survey, Volume 6, Chapter 18

  11

  Boraan: My dear, have you ever wondered why it seems to go on so terribly long?

  Lefitt: It would hardly be punishment if it were short.

  Boraan: (glances at audience): Quite so.

  —Miersen, Six Parts Water Day Two, Act III, Scene 4

  Movement is meaningless without time. Movement, as an Athyra once explained to me, means that you're either in two places at once, or to put it another way, at a certain instant, you both are and are not in one place. In that sense, I wasn't moving, because there was no time, and I wasn't anywhere at all. The odd part is that there was the sensation of movement; a rattling, jolting, rocking thing. But sometimes we cannot trust our perceptions.

  There was a damnable itch in the middle of my back, and a droning in my ears that wouldn't go away. I wanted to scratch my back, but I couldn't reach it.

  My hips and my back hurt.

  Horse, I thought. Been riding a damned horse. No wonder I hurt. I opened my eyes, but the droning kept going in my ears. I couldn't figure out why the droning didn't stop when I opened my eyes. After what seemed the longest time, I realized it was because my eyes weren't really open. That made sense. I tried to work out if I was feeling sick to my stomach, but it required too much concentration and didn't seem important anyway.

  The humming got louder, and someone was calling my name, and the humming got softer, and several some ones were calling my name, in different tones, in different ways, and I felt not the least urge to answer any of them; all I wanted to do was open my eyes, because I knew that would make the humming stop. It isn't that the humming was painful, it just wouldn't stop, and I was getting annoyed.

  Then someone in a soft, almost melodious voice I didn't recognize was asking me questions, and whoever it was seemed very friendly, and I'd have answered if the questions had made any sense. Then there was silence again except for the humming in my ears, and then more nonsense questions. It was only later— hours or days—that I was able to remember the questions and make some sort of sense out of them. "Who are you working for?" was the most frequent. And then there were lists of names that sounded like Fenarian noblemen, but I didn't recognize any of them. And once he asked, "How had you planned to open the vault?" which was enough for me to figure it out, later, when I could figure.