by Steven Brust
“Keep on it.”
“Right.”
“Get Narvane and Shoen here.”
“Right.”
He got hold of them and we sat back to wait. While we were waiting . . .
“Milord?”
“Yes, Fentor?”
“You were right. There was someone who provoked the riot. It looks deliberate.”
“Pick him up and hold him. I’m going to want to—”
“We can’t, milord.”
“Dead?”
“Yes, milord. In the riot.”
“I see. Chance, or was someone after him?”
“I can’t tell, milord.”
“All right. What about the previous landlord?”
“The Jhereg Laris has owned those flats for about nine weeks, milord. We don’t know who he bought them from. The records are confused, and there seems to have been some false names used.”
“Untangle it.”
“Yes, milord.”
“What was that?” asked Kragar when I broke the contact.
I shook my head and didn’t answer. He stood, went to my closet, and came back with a box. “You asked for these.”
The box contained a rather large selection of cutlery, of various sorts. Seeing them gathered together like that, I was a little amazed that I could fit it all around my person. I mean, there were—no, I don’t think I want to give the specifics.
I thought about sending Kragar out while I changed weapons, then decided against it. I picked up the first thing I came to, a small throwing knife, tested its edge and balance, and put it into my cloak in place of the one like it that I had there.
It was surprising how long it took to go through all the weapons I carried and replace them. When I’d finally finished the chore, Narvane and Shoen were waiting. As I stepped out of the office, I ran a hand through my hair and adjusted my cloak with the other hand, thus allowing me to brush my arms along my chest, making sure various things were in place. A very useful nervous gesture.
Narvane acknowledged me with a flicker of the eyes. Shoen nodded brusquely. Sticks, flopped all over a chair, lifted a hand, and Glowbug said, “Good to see you, boss. I was beginning to think you were a myth.”
“If you’re beginning to think, Glowbug, it’s an improvement already. Let’s go, gentlemen.”
This time, Loiosh was the first one out of the door, followed by Glowbug and Narvane. The other two followed me, leaving Kragar behind. We turned left and headed up to Malak Circle. I said hello to a few customers I knew personally, and to some people who worked for me. I got the impression that, in the last day, business had picked up. This was a considerable relief. There was still a feeling of tension in the air, but it was more in the background.
We reached the Fountain Tavern, then the first door to the left. “Sticks,” I said.
“Hm?”
“This is where the trouble started. Laris opened up a small business upstairs, without even dropping me a polite note about it.”
“Mm.”
“For all I know, it’s still going on. Glowbug and Shoen will wait out here with me.”
“Okay.”
He turned and went up the stairs. Narvane followed wordlessly. As they went in, I saw Sticks pulling a pair of clubs out from his cloak. I leaned against the building to wait. Glowbug and Shoen stood in front of me, to either side, casually alert.
“Watch above, Loiosh.”
“I’m already doing it, boss.”
It wasn’t long before we heard a crash from up and to the right. We looked, and a body came flying out the window, landing in a heap about ten feet from me. A minute or so later, Narvane and Sticks reappeared. Sticks was holding something in his left fist. With the club in the other hand, he drew a series of squares in the dirt in front of me.
I looked at him questioningly, but before he could say anything, I noticed a crowd had begun to gather around the body. I gave them all a smile.
Sticks opened his left hand then, and dropped several stones, some white, some black, onto the squares he’d drawn in the street.
“A quick game, boss?”
“No thanks,” I told him. “I don’t gamble.”
He nodded sagaciously. “No future in it,” he said. We continued on around the circle.
Eventually, I returned to my office; I was pleased to be able to tell Kragar to expect an increase in our take this week. He grunted.
“Do something for me, Kragar.”
“What?”
“Go visit that guy who told us about the setup. Find out if he knows anything more.”
“Visit him? Personally?”
“Yeah. Face to face and all that.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe to find out if he’s unusual, so we can guess if we’re going to get any other takers.”
He shrugged. “All right. But won’t that be putting him in danger?”
“Not if no one notices you.”
He grunted again. “All right. When?”
“Now will be fine.”
He sighed, which was a welcome relief from the grunts, and left.
“Now what, Loiosh?”
“Got me, boss. Find Laris?”
“I’d love to. How? If he weren’t protected against witchcraft, I’d just try to nail him where he is.”
“It works out even, boss. If we weren’t protected against sorcery, he’d nail us where we are.”
“I suppose. Hey, Loiosh.”
“Yeah, boss?”
“I feel like I’ve been, I don’t know, brushing you off lately, when I’ve been around Cawti. I’m sorry.”
His tongue flicked against the inside of my ear. “It’s okay, boss. I understand. Besides, one of these days, I’ll probably find someone myself.”
“I hope so. I think. Tell me something: have I been off recently? I mean, this business with Cawti, do you think it’s been getting in my way? I feel like I’ve been distracted or something.”
“A little, maybe. Don’t worry about it. You’ve been doing all right when things get rough, and I don’t think there’s anything you can do about it anyway.”
“Yeah. You know, Loiosh, I’m glad you’re around.”
“Aw, shucks, boss.”
* * *
Kragar returned about two hours later.
“Well?”
“I’m not sure if I learned anything useful or not, Vlad. He doesn’t have any idea where Laris is, but he’s willing to tell us if he finds out. He was pretty nervous about meeting me, but that’s understandable. Well, not nervous, exactly. Surprised, maybe, and caught off guard. Anyway, he hadn’t heard anything that struck me as useful.”
“Hmmmm. Did you get any feel for whether there might be others like him?” Kragar shook his head.
“Okay,” I admitted, “I guess that didn’t get us anywhere. How about our other sources? Have we found anyone else who works for Laris?”
“A couple. But we can’t do anything about them until we have more funds. Paying for ‘work’ would break us right now.”
“Just two days until Endweek. Maybe we’ll be able to do something then. Leave me alone for a while now. I want to think.”
He made an exit. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and was interrupted again.
“Milord?”
“What is it, Fentor?”
“We found out part of it. The flats had belonged to a Dragonlord who died, and they’ve been sort of kicking around since then.”
“How long ago did he die?”
“About two years ago, milord.”
“I see. And you can’t find out who got possession after that?”
“Not yet, milord.”
“Keep working on it. Who was the Dragon, by the way?”
“A powerful sorcerer, lord. He was called Baritt.”
Well now. . . . By all the Lords of Judgment, how was I going to fit this into my thinking? Coincidence came to mind, was thrown away, and kept coming back. How could it be coi
ncidence? How could it not be coincidence?
“Milord?”
“Fentor, find out everything you can about that, right away. Put more people on it. Break into Imperial records, bribe recordsmiths, whatever you have to, but find out.”
“Yes, milord.”
Baritt . . . Baritt. . . .
A powerful sorcerer, a wizard, a Dragonlord. He was old when he died, and had made such a name for himself that he was no longer referred to by his lineage. Rather, his descendants referred to themselves as “e’Baritt.” He had died only two years ago, and his monument, near Deathsgate Falls, had been the site of the bloodiest battle since the Interregnum.
Baritt.
It was easy enough to imagine him involved in some sort of conspiracy within the House of the Dragon, but what could he have to do with the Jhereg? Could he be Laris’s patron? Or could one of his descendants be? If so, why?
What’s more, if there was a relationship between my problem with Laris and Norathar’s problem with Baritt, that meant a deep intrigue of some kind, and Dragonlords simply aren’t intriguers—with the possible exception of Aliera, and then only within a limited sphere.
Was I really going to have to visit Deathsgate Falls and the Paths of the Dead again? I shuddered. Remembering my last visit, I knew that those who dwell there would not take my coming again at all kindly. Would it do any good if I did? Probably not; Baritt had certainly not been well disposed toward me last time.
But it couldn’t be coincidence. His name turning up like that, owning the very flats that had been used by Laris. Why hadn’t they merely passed to his heirs? Because someone had played with the records? Maybe, which would explain why Fentor was having so much trouble tracking down the ownership. But then, who? Why?
I reached out for contact with Morrolan.
“Yes, Vlad?”
“Tell me about Baritt.”
“Hmmph.”
“I already knew that.”
“Precisely what do you wish to know, Vlad?”
“How did he die?”
“Eh? You don’t know?”
“If I knew—no, I don’t know.”
“He was assassinated.”
Oh. That at least explained some of the remarks he’d made to me.
“I see. How was it done? I’m surprised a sorcerer as skilled as Baritt would allow himself to be cut down.”
“Hmmm. As I recall, Vlad, there is a saying among you Jhereg . . .”
“Ah. Yes. ‘No matter how subtle the wizard, a knife between the shoulder blades will seriously cramp his style.’”
“Yes.”
“So it was a Jhereg?”
“What other assassins do you know of?”
“There are plenty of amateurs who’ll knife anyone for five gold. A Jhereg will hardly ever ‘work’ on anyone who isn’t in the House; there usually isn’t any need to, unless someone is threatening to go to the Empire about something, or—”
I stopped dead.
Morrolan said, “Yes, Vlad? Or . . .?”
I let him hang there. Or, I had been about to say, unless it’s done as a special favor, set up by a Jhereg, for a friend from another House. Which meant that maybe, maybe it hadn’t been Baritt behind the whole thing, after all. Maybe he’d been working with whoever it was, and this other person then needed Baritt taken out. And this other person was Laris’s patron. And, since Laris had helped out with Baritt, his patron was ready to help Laris get rid of me. A simple exchange of favors.
“Vlad?”
“Sorry, Morrolan, I’m trying to figure something out. Bide a moment, please.”
“Very well.”
So Laris’s patron was someone who had been working with Baritt about two years ago. Yes. Who would know?
“Morrolan, who would be likely to know someone who was working with Baritt shortly before his death?”
“I’m not sure, Vlad. I don’t know, myself. We never had much to do with each other while he was alive. Perhaps you should show up at Castle Black and ask around.”
“Yes . . . perhaps I’ll do that. Well, thank you. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Certainly, Vlad.”
Well, well, and well.
At the very least, Laris was in it with someone else, and this someone else, presumably a Dragonlord, was helping him against me. If I could find out who he was, I might be able to nullify him simply by threatening to expose him; Dragons don’t think highly of their own kind helping out Jhereg.
Finding him involved discovering who had owned those flats. Hmmm. I reached out for—
“Fentor.”
“Yes, milord?”
“Make a list of every currently living descendant of Baritt. Have it ready in an hour.”
“An hour, milord?”
“Yes.”
“But—yes, milord.”
I broke the link, and opened another one.
“Who is it?”
“Hello, Sethra.”
“Oh, Vlad. Good evening. What can I do for you?”
“Is it still necessary to hold Norathar and Cawti prisoner?”
“I was just discussing that with Aliera. Why?”
“It would be helpful if Cawti were free this evening.”
“I see.” There was a pause, then: “Very well, Vlad. Neither Aliera nor Morrolan objects.”
“You’ll release both of them?”
“The Easterner was the only one in doubt. Norathar, as far as we’re concerned, is a Dragon.”
“I see. Well, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll tell them at once.”
“Make it five minutes from now, all right?”
“If you wish.”
“Thank you.”
Then I took a deep breath and began concentrating on Cawti, whom I didn’t really know all that well. But I thought about her face, her voice, her—
“Vladimir!”
“Got it on the first guess. What are you doing tonight?”
“What am I—? What do you suppose I’m doing? Your friends still haven’t allowed us to leave.”
“I think that can be arranged. If so, would the lady be so kind as to allow me to escort her to a small gathering this evening?”
“I should be honored, most gracious lord.”
“Excellent. Then I’ll see you in an hour.”
“I’ll be looking forward to it.”
I broke the contact and yelled for my bodyguards to escort me home, so I could get properly dressed for the occasion. It doesn’t do to underdress for Castle Black.
12
“Friendly, isn’t she?”
TWO TELEPORTS AFTER LEAVING home I was at Castle Black with Cawti and an unsteady stomach. Cawti was dressed to kill in long trousers of light gray, a blouse of the same color, and a gray cloak with black trim. I wore my good trousers, my good jerkin, and my cloak. We looked like a matched set.
Lady Teldra admitted us, greeted Cawti by name, and bade us visit the banquet hall. We must have been quite a sight: a pair of Easterners, both in Jhereg colors, with Loiosh on my left shoulder, putting him between us.
No one particularly noticed us.
I reached Fentor and told him where I was. He showed up, found me, and surreptitiously handed me a slip of paper. After he left, Cawti and I wandered around for a bit, seeing people and studying Morrolan’s “dining room,” and being casually insulted by passersby. After a while, I introduced her to the Necromancer.
Cawti bowed from the neck, which is subtly different than bowing the head. The Necromancer seemed uninterested, but returned the bow. The Necromancer didn’t care whether you were a Dragaeran or an Easterner, a Jhereg or a Dragon. To her, you were either living or dead, and she got along better with you if you were dead.
I asked her, “Did you know Baritt?”
She nodded absently.
“Do you know if he was working with anyone shortly before his death?”
She shook her head, just as absently.
“
Well, uh, thanks,” I said, and moved on.
“Vladimir,” said Cawti, “what’s this business with Baritt all about?”
“I think someone is backing up Laris—someone big, probably in the House of the Dragon. I think whoever it is was working with Baritt at some point. I’m trying to find out who.”
I took her to a corner and pulled out the list Fentor had handed me. There were seven names on it. None of them meant anything to me.
“Recognize any of the names?”
“No. Should I?”
“Descendants of Baritt. I’m going to have to check them out, I think.”
“Why?”
I gave her a rundown on the story of the riot. Her beautiful face drew up into an ugly sneer. She said, “If I’d known what he had in mind—”
“Laris?”
She didn’t answer.
“Why take it so hard?” I asked her.
She stared at me. “Why take it so hard? He’s using our people. That’s us, Easterners, being set up to be beaten and killed just to manipulate a few guards. What do you mean, why take it so hard?”
“How long have you lived in the Empire, Cawti?”
“All my life.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’m used to it, that’s all. I expect things like that.”
She looked at me coldly. “It doesn’t bother you anymore, eh?”
I opened and shut my mouth a couple of times. “It still bothers me, I guess, but . . . Deathsgate, Cawti. You know what kind of people live in those areas. I got out of it, and you got out of it. Any of them—”
“Crap. Don’t start on that. You sound like a pimp. ‘I don’t use ’em anymore than they want to be used. They can do something else if they want. They like working for me.’ Crap. I suppose you feel the same way about slaves, right? They must like it or they’d run away.”
To be honest, it had never occurred to me to think about it. But Cawti was looking at me with rage in her lovely brown eyes. I felt a sudden flash of anger and said, “Look, damn it, I’ve never ‘worked’ on an Easterner, remember, so don’t give me any—”
“Don’t throw that up at me,” she snapped. “We’ve been over it once. I’m sorry. But it was a job, all right? That has nothing to do with your caring about what happens to our own people.” She kept glaring at me. I’ve been glared at by experts, but this was different. I opened my mouth to say something about what it had to do with, but I couldn’t. It suddenly hit me that I could lose her, right now. It was like walking into a tavern where you’re going to finalize someone, and realizing that the guy’s bodyguards might be better than you. Except then, all you’re liable to lose is your life. As I stood there, I realized what I was on the verge of losing.
