The Book of Jhereg

by Steven Brust

  I nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Okay, I’ll get started right away.”

  “Fine. Oh, could you try to get that crystal with Mellar’s face in it back from Daymar? I may want to use it.”

  “Sure. When do you need it?”

  “Tomorrow morning will be fine. I’m taking the evening off. I’ll start on it tomorrow.”

  Kragar’s eyes were sympathetic, which was rare. “Sure, boss. I’ll cover for you here. See you tomorrow.”

  * * *

  I ate mechanically and thanked the Lords of Judgment that it was Cawti’s night to cook and clean. I didn’t think I’d be up to it.

  After eating, I rose and went into the living room. I sat down and started trying to sort out some things. I didn’t get anywhere. Presently, Cawti came in and sat down next to me. We sat in silence for a while.

  I tried to deny what Aliera had told me, or pass it off as a combination of myth, misplaced superstition, and delusion. Unfortunately, it made too much sense for that to work. Why, after all, had Sethra Lavode been so friendly to me, a Jhereg and an Easterner? And Aliera obviously believed all of this, or why had she treated me as almost an equal on occasion?

  But, more than that was the undeniable fact that it felt true. That was the really frightening thing—somewhere, deep within me, doubtless in my “soul,” I knew that what Aliera had said was true.

  And that meant—what? That the thing that had driven me into the Jhereg—my hatred of Dragaerans—was in fact a fraud. That my contempt for Dragons wasn’t a feeling of superiority for my system of values over theirs, but was in fact a feeling of inadequacy going back, how long? Two hundred thousand years? Two hundred and fifty thousand years? By the multi-jointed fingers of Verra!

  I became conscious of Cawti holding my hand. I smiled at her, a bit wanly perhaps.

  “Want to talk about it?” she asked, quietly.

  That was another good question. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to talk about it or not. But I did, haltingly, over the course of about two hours. Cawti was quietly sympathetic, but didn’t seem really upset.

  “Really, Vlad, what’s the difference?”

  I started to answer, but she stopped me with a shake of her head. “I know. You’ve thought that it was being an Easterner that made you what you are, and now you’re wondering. But being human is only one aspect, isn’t it? The fact that you had an earlier life as a Dragaeran—maybe several, in fact—doesn’t change what you’ve gone through in this life.”

  “No,” I admitted. “I suppose not. But—”

  “I know. Tell you what, Vlad. After this is all over and forgotten, maybe a year from now, we’ll go talk to Sethra. We’ll find out more about what happened and maybe, if you want to, she’ll take you back to that time, and you can experience it again. If you want to. But in the meantime, forget it. You are who you are, and whatever went into making that is all to the good, as far as I’m concerned.”

  I squeezed her hand, glad that I’d discussed it with her. I felt a bit more relaxed and started to feel tired. I kissed Cawti’s hand. “Thanks for the meal,” I said.

  She raised her eyebrow. “I’ll bet you don’t even know what it was,” she said.

  I thought for a minute. Jhegaala eggs? No, she’d made that yesterday.

  “Hey!” I said. “It was my night to do the cooking, wasn’t it?”

  She grinned broadly. “Sure was, comrade. I’ve tricked you into owing me still another one. Clever, aren’t I?”

  “Damn,” I said.

  She shook her head in mock sadness. “That makes it, let me see now, about two hundred and forty-seven favors you owe me.”

  “But who’s counting, right?”

  “Right.”

  I stood up then, still holding her hand. She followed me into the bedroom, where I paid back her favor, or she did me another one, or we did one for each other, depending on exactly how one counts these things.

  * * *

  The servants of Lord Keleth admitted me to his castle with obvious distaste. I ignored them.

  “The Duke will see you in his study,” said the butler, looking down at me.

  He held out his hand for my cloak; I gave him my sword instead. He seemed surprised, but took it. The trick to surviving a fight with a Dzur hero is not to have one. The trick to not having one is to seem as helpless as possible. Dzur heroes are reluctant to fight when the odds aren’t against them.

  I’d been proud of the scheme that had led me here. It was nothing unusual, of course, but it was good, solid, low-risk, and had a high probability of gain. Most important, it was very—well—me. I’d been worried that my encounter with Aliera had dulled my edge, somehow changed me, made me less able to conceive and execute an elegant plan. The execution of this one was still unresolved, but I was no longer worried about the conception.

  I was escorted to the study. I noted signs of disrepair along the way: chipping grate on the floor, cracks in the ceiling, places along the wall that had probably once held expensive tapestries.

  The butler ushered me into the study. The Duke of Keletharan was old and what passes for “squat” in a Dragaeran, meaning that his shoulders were a bit broader than usual, and you could actually see the muscles in his arms. His face was smooth (Dzurlords don’t go in for wrinkles, I guess), and his eyes had that bit of upward slant associated with the House. His eyebrows were remarkably bushy, and he would have had a wispy white beard, if Dragaerans had beards. He was seated in a straight-backed chair with no arms. A broadsword hung at his side, and a wizard’s staff was leaning against the desk. He didn’t invite me to sit down; I did anyway. It is best to get certain things established at the beginning of a conversation. I saw his lips tighten, but that was all. Good. Score one for our side.

  “Well, Jhereg, what is it?” he asked.

  “My lord, I hope I didn’t disturb you!”

  “You did.”

  “A small matter has come to my attention which requires that I speak with you.”

  Keleth looked up at the butler, who bowed to us and left. The door snicked shut behind him. Then the Duke allowed himself to look disgusted. “The ‘small matter,’ no doubt, being four thousand gold Imperials.”

  I tried to look like I was trying to look apologetic. “Yes, my lord. According to our records, it was due over a month ago. Now, we have tried to be patient, but—”

  “Patient, hell!” he snapped. “At the interest rates you charge, I’d think you could stand to hold off a little while with a man who’s having a few minor financial troubles.”

  That was a laugh. As far as I could tell, his troubles were anything but “minor,” and it was doubtful that they would end any time in the near future. I decided, however, that it wouldn’t be politic to mention this, or to suggest that he wouldn’t be having these problems at all if he could control his fondness for s’yang-stones. Instead, I said, “With all respect, my lord, it seems that a month is a reasonable length of time to hold off. And, again with all respect, you knew the interest rates when you came to us for help.”

  “I came to you for ‘help,’ as you put it, because—never mind.” He had come to us for “help,” as I’d put it, because we had made it clear to him that if he didn’t, we would make sure that the whole Empire, particularly the House of the Dzur, knew that he couldn’t control his urge to gamble, or pay off his debts when he lost. Perhaps having a reputation as a rotten gambler would have been the worst thing about it, to him.

  I shrugged. “As you wish,” I said. “Nevertheless, I must insist—”

  “I tell you I just don’t have it,” he exploded. “What else can I say? If I had the gold, I’d give it to you. If you keep this up, I swear by the Imperial Phoenix that I’ll go to the Empire and let them know about a few untaxed gambling games I’m aware of, and certain untaxed moneylenders.”

  Here is where it is helpful to know whom you are dealing with. In most such cases, I would have carefully let him know that if he d
id that, his body would be found within a week, probably behind a lower-class brothel, and looking as if he were killed in a fight with a drunken tavern brawler. I’ve used this technique before on Dzur heroes, and with good effect. It isn’t the idea of being killed which scares them, it is the thought of people thinking that they’d been killed in a tavern brawl by some nameless Teckla.

  I knew this would frighten Keleth, but it would also send him into a murderous rage, and the fact that I was “unarmed and helpless” might not stop him. Also, if he didn’t kill me on the spot, it would certainly guarantee that he’d carry out his threat of going to the Empire. Clearly, a different approach was called for.

  “Oh, come now, Lord Keleth,” I said. “What would that do to your reputation?”

  “No more than it would do to it to have you expose my personal finances anyway, for not paying off your blood money.”

  Dzur tend to be careless with terms, but I didn’t correct him. I gave him my patient-man-trying-to-be-helpful-but-almost-exasperated sigh. “How much time do you need?”

  “Another month, maybe two.”

  I shook my head, sadly. “I’m afraid that’s quite impossible. I guess you’ll just have to go to the Empire. It means that one or two of our games will have to find new locations, and a certain moneylender will have to take a short vacation, but I assure you that it won’t hurt us nearly as much as it will hurt you.”

  I stood up, bowed low, and turned to leave. He didn’t rise to see me out, which I thought was rude, but understandable, under the circumstances. Just before my hand touched the doorknob, I stopped, and turned around. “Unless—”

  “Unless what?” he asked, suspiciously.

  “Well,” I lied, “it just occurred to me that there may be something you could help me out with.”

  He stared at me, long and hard, trying to guess what kind of game I was playing. I kept my face expressionless. If I’d wanted him to know the rules, I’d have written them out.

  “And what is that?” he asked.

  “I’m looking for a little information that involves the history of your House. I could find out myself, I suppose, but it would take a little work that I don’t feel like doing. It is possible, I’m sure, for you to find out. In fact, you might even know already. If you could help me, I’d appreciate it.”

  He was still suspicious, but he was beginning to sound eager, too. “And what form,” he asked, “will this ‘appreciation’ take?”

  I pretended to think it over. “I think I could arrange for a two-month extension for you. In fact, I’d even go so far as to freeze the interest—if you can find this information for me quickly enough.”

  He chewed on his lower lip for a while, thinking it over, but I knew I had him. This was too good a chance for him to pass up. I’d planned it that way.

  “What is it you want to know?” he said at last.

  I reached into an inner pocket of my cloak and removed the small crystal I’d gotten back from Daymar. I concentrated on it, and Mellar’s face appeared. I showed it to him.

  “This person,” I said. “Do you know him, or could you find out who he is, what connection he has with the House of the Dzur, or who his parents were? Anything you can find out would be helpful. We know that he has some connection with your House. You can see it in his face, if you look closely.”

  Keleth’s face went white as soon as he saw Mellar. I was surprised by the reaction. Keleth knew him. His lips became a thin line and he turned away.

  “Who is he?” I asked.

  “I’m afraid,” said Keleth, “that I can’t help you.”

  The question at that point wasn’t “Should I press?” or even, “How much should I press?” It was, rather, “How should I press?” I decided to continue the game I’d started.

  I shrugged and put the crystal away. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “As you wish. I’ve no doubt that you have good reasons for not wishing to share your information. Still, it is a shame that your good name must be befouled.” I turned away again.

  “Wait, I—”

  I turned back to him. I was beginning to get dizzy. He seemed to be struggling with himself. I stopped worrying; I could see which side would win.

  His face was a mask of twisted rage, as he said, “Damn you, Jhereg! You can’t do this to me!”

  There was, of course, nothing to say to this blatantly incorrect statement of our positions. I waited patiently.

  He sank back into his chair, and covered his face with his hands. “His name,” he said at last, “is Leareth. I don’t know where he came from, or who his parents are. He appeared twelve years ago and joined our House.”

  “Joined your House? How can one join the House of the Dzur?” That was startling. I’d thought only the Jhereg allowed one to buy a title.

  Lord Keleth looked at me as if he were about to snarl. I suddenly recalled Aliera’s contention that the Dzurlords were descended, in part, from actual dzur. I could believe it.

  “To join the House of the Dzur,” he explained in the most vicious monotone I’ve ever heard, “you must defeat, in equal combat, seventeen champions chosen by the House.” His eyes suddenly turned bleak. “I was the fourteenth. He is the only man I can remember hearing of who has succeeded since the Interregnum.”

  I shrugged. “So, he became a Dzurlord. I don’t see what is so secret about that.”

  “We later learned,” said Keleth, “something of his origins. He was a cross-breed. A mongrel.”

  “Well, yes,” I said slowly, “I can see where that could be a touch annoying, but—”

  “And then,” he interrupted, “after he’d only been a Dzur for two years, he just gave up all his titles and joined House Jhereg. Can’t you see what that means? He made fools of us! A mongrel can defeat the best the House of the Dzur has, and then chooses to throw it all away—” He stopped and shrugged.

  I thought it over. This Leareth must be one hell of a swordsman.

  “It’s funny,” I said, “that I’ve never heard of this incident. I’ve been investigating this fellow pretty thoroughly.”

  “It was kept secret by the House,” said Keleth. “Leareth promised us that he’d have the whole Empire told of the story if he was killed or if any Dzur attempted to harm him. We’d never be able to live it down.”

  I felt a sudden desire to laugh out loud, but I controlled it for health reasons. I was starting to like this guy Mellar, or Leareth, or whatever. I mean, for the past twelve years, he’d had the entire House of Heroes by the balls. The two most important things to the House of the Dzur, as to an individual Dzurlord, are honor and reputation. And this Mellar had managed to play one off against the other.

  “What happens if someone else kills him?” I asked.

  “We have to hope it looks like an accident,” he said.

  I shook my head, and stood up. “Okay, thanks. You’ve given me what I needed. You can forget about paying the loan for two months, and the interest. I’ll handle the details. And if you ever need my help for something, just let me know. I’m in your debt.”

  He nodded, still downcast.

  I left him and picked up my blade from the servant.

  I walked out of the castle, thinking. Mellar was not going to be easy. He had outfought the best warriors in the House of the Dzur, outmaneuvered the best brains in House Jhereg, and caught the House of the Dragon out on a point of honor.

  I shook my head sadly. No, this wasn’t going to be easy. And then something else hit me. If I did succeed in this, I was going to make a lot of Dzurlords mighty unhappy. If they ever found out who had killed him, they wouldn’t wait for evidence, as the Empire would. This didn’t exactly make my day, either.

  * * *

  Loiosh gave me an Imperial chewing out for not having brought him along, most of which I ignored. Kragar filled me in on what he’d learned: nothing.

  “I found a few servants who used to work in the Dragon records,” he said. “They didn’t know anything.”
<
br />   “What about some that still do?” I asked.

  “They wouldn’t talk.”

  “Hmmmm. Too bad.”

  “Yeah. I put my Dragon outfit on and found a Lady of the House who was willing to do some looking for me, though.”

  “But you didn’t get anything there, either?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”

  “Oh? Oh.”

  “How about you?”

  I took great relish in delivering the information I’d gotten, since it was rare that I was able to one-up him on a point like this.

  He dutifully noted everything, then said, “You know, Vlad, no one wakes up one morning and discovers that he is good enough to fight his way into the Dzur. He must have worked on that for quite a while.”

  “That makes sense,” I said.

  “Okay, that will give me something to work with. I’ll start checking it through from that angle.”

  “Do you think it’ll help?”

  “Who can say? If he was good enough to get into the Dzur, he’s got to have been trained somewhere. I’ll see what I can find.”

  “Okay,” I said. “And there’s something else that bothers me, by the way.”

  “Yes?”

  “Why?”

  Kragar was silent for a moment, then he said, “There are two possibilities I can think of. First, he could have wanted to become part of the House because he felt it his right, and then discovered that it didn’t help—that he was treated the same after as before, or that he didn’t like it.”

  “That makes sense. And the other?”

  “The other possibility is that there was something he wanted, and he had to be a Dzur to get it. And there was no need to stay in the House after he had it.”

  That made sense, too, I decided. “What kind of thing could it be?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But if that’s what it is, then I think we’d damn well better find out.”

  Kragar leaned back in his chair for a moment, watching me closely. Probably, still worried about yesterday. I didn’t say anything; best to let him discover in his own way that I was all right. I was all right, wasn’t I? I watched myself for a moment. I seemed all right. It was strange.