by Steven Brust
After a while I said, “Loiosh, keep watching the house. I’m going to visit Noish-pa.”
“No, boss. Not without me.”
“What? Why not?”
“Herth is still looking for you.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
Cawti came out of the house after a few hours. It was getting on toward evening. She headed toward home. I followed. A few times Rocza, on her shoulder, began looking around nervously and Loiosh suggested we drop back for a while, so we did. That was pretty much the excitement. I wandered around for an hour or so then went home myself. Cawti and I didn’t say a lot, but I caught her looking at me a few times with a worried expression on her face.
You can repeat a lot of that for the next day. She left the house and I followed her while she stood around selling tabloids (a new one, I saw; the banner said something about landlords) and talking to strangers. I watched the strangers closely, especially the occasional Dragaeran. I checked with Kragar to see how he was doing, and he said he was working on it. I left him alone after that. I had only bothered him at all because of a growing sense of frustration.
Frustration? Sure. I was following Cawti around desperately trying to keep her alive and knowing that it was pointless. I couldn’t be sure they were about to kill one of the Easterners, and there was no reason to think it would be Cawti and, frankly, there wasn’t much I could do anyway. Assassins work by surprise. But if the assassin can surprise the target, chances are he can also surprise one bodyguard who is twenty or thirty feet away. Trying to protect Cawti was almost an exercise in futility. But then, there wasn’t anything else I could do except think, and I was tired of thinking.
“Boss.”
I glanced in the direction that had Loiosh’s attention. It was the corner of a large, brown building—the kind that has flats for several families. “What is it?”
“I saw someone there, tall enough to be a Dragaeran.”
I watched for a while but there was no further movement. Cawti still stood next to a vegetable stall, along with Sheryl, exchanging comments with the vendor from time to time. For half an hour I alternated between watching Cawti and watching the corner, then I gave up and went back to watching my wife while Loiosh kept an eye on the spot where he’d seen someone. Eventually Cawti and Sheryl left and walked back to the building I thought of as their headquarters, though Cawti referred to it only as Kelly’s place. I tried to see if they were being followed, but I couldn’t be certain.
Cawti went inside and Sheryl kept going. I stationed myself out of sight down the street where I could watch the door. I was getting to know that door better than I’d ever wanted to know a door. I was glad, at least, that Cawti couldn’t teleport.
It was getting on toward evening when a Dragaeran in Jhereg colors walked boldly up to the door and inside. I checked my weapons and started after him quickly, but he was out again before I was halfway across the street. I turned the other way and seemed uninterested and he didn’t notice me. When I looked back he was walking hurriedly away. I thought about following him, but the most I could do was confirm that Herth had sent him. So what?
He was, I decided, probably a messenger. Or he could have been a sorcerer and he’d just killed everyone in the house. Or—at that moment Cawti, Paresh and Natalia left as if they were in a hurry. I followed. They headed northeast, which is toward the center of the city. (The Easterners’ section is South Adrilankha, which is mostly west of central Adrilankha. Make sense of that if you care to.)
Before crossing the unmarked border into Dragaeran terrain (a street called Carpenter), they turned and followed a couple of side streets. Eventually they stopped and gathered around something on the ground. Cawti knelt down while the others stood over. Paresh began looking around. I walked toward them and he saw me. He straightened quickly and his hand went up as if he were about to do something sorcerous and Spellbreaker came into my hand. But he did nothing, and presently I was close enough to be recognized in the fading orange-red light, as well as to see that Cawti was kneeling next to a body. She looked up.
Paresh was tense, the muscles on his neck standing out. Natalia seemed only mildly interested and a bit fatalistic. Cawti stared at me hard.
Paresh said, “What have you to do with this?”
“Nothing,” I said, figuring I’d allow him exactly one such question. He nodded rather than pushing it, which half disappointed me.
Cawti said, “What are you doing here, Vlad?”
Instead of answering, I approached the body. I looked, then looked away, then looked again, longer. It had once been Sheryl. She had been beaten to death. She was not revivifiable. Each leg was broken at the knee, above it, and below. Each arm was broken at the elbow. The bruises on each side of her face—what was left of it—matched. The top of her head had been staved in. And so on. It was my professional judgment that it had been done over the course of several hours. And if you can’t make professional judgments, what’s the point of being a professional? I looked away again.
“What are you doing here, Vlad?” asked Cawti.
“I was following you.”
She looked at me, then nodded, as if to herself. “Did you see anything?”
“Loiosh maybe caught a glimpse of someone watching while you were at the market, but then you went into Kelly’s place and I just watched the door.”
“You didn’t see fit to tell anyone?”
I blinked. Tell someone? One of them? Well, I suppose that made sense. “It didn’t occur to me.”
She stared, then turned her back. Paresh was almost glaring at me. Natalia was looking away, but when I looked closer, I could see that she was almost trembling with anger. Cawti’s hands were closed into fists, and she was tightening and loosening them rhythmically. I felt myself start to get angry, too. They didn’t want me around at all; they certainly hadn’t asked me to watch Sheryl. Now they were all at the boiling point because I hadn’t. It was enough to—
“They aren’t mad at you, boss.”
“Eh?”
“They’re mad at Herth for doing it, and maybe at themselves for having allowed him to.”
“How could they have prevented it?”
“Don’t ask me.”
I turned to Paresh, who was closest. “How could you have prevented it?”
He just shook his head. Natalia answered, though, in a strained voice, as if she could barely speak. “We could have built the movement faster and stronger, so they wouldn’t have dared to do this. They should be scared of us by now.”
This wasn’t the time to explain what I thought of that. Instead, I helped them carry Sheryl’s body back to Kelly’s place. We didn’t get more than a few glances as we made our way through the darkening streets. I suppose that says something. The three of them acted as if I should feel honored that they were allowing me to help. I didn’t comment on that, either. We left the body in the hallway while they went in and I left without saying anything.
On the way over to Noish-pa’s I was taken with the irrational fear that I would find him murdered. I’ll save you the suspense and tell you that he was fine, but it’s interesting that I felt that way.
As I walked past the chimes he called out, “Who is there?”
“Vlad,” I said.
We hugged and I sat down next to Ambrus. Noish-pa puttered around putting on tea and talking about the new spice dealer he’d found who still soaked absinthe in mint-water for a fortnight, the way it was supposed to be done. (A fortnight, if you’re interested, is one day less than three weeks. If you think that’s a peculiar period of time for which to have a special term, I can’t blame you.)
When the tea was done and appreciated and I had made a respectful hello to Ambrus while Noish-pa did the same to Loiosh, he said, “What troubles you, Vladimir?”
“Everything, Noish-pa.”
He looked at me closely. “You haven’t been sleeping well.”
“No.”
“For our family, that is a bad sign.�
�
“Yes.”
“What has happened?”
“Do you remember that fellow, Franz, who was killed?”
He nodded.
“Well,” I said, “there’s another one. I was there when they found her body just now.”
He shook his head. “And Cawti is still with these people?”
I nodded. “It’s more than that, Noish-pa. They’re like children who’ve found a Morganti dagger. They don’t know what they’re doing. They just keep going about their business as if they could stand up to the whole Jhereg, not to mention the Empire itself. That wouldn’t bother me if Cawti weren’t one of them, but I just can’t protect her; not forever. I was standing outside their meeting place when the messenger showed up to tell them where to find the body—or so I assume. But he could just as easily have been a sorcerer and destroyed the entire house and everyone in it. I know the guy behind it—he’d do it. They don’t seem to understand that and I can’t convince them.”
After I’d run down, Noish-pa shifted in his chair, looking thoughtful. Then he said, “You say you know this man, who is doing these things?”
“Not well, but I know of him.”
“If he can do this, why hasn’t he?”
“It hasn’t been worth his effort, yet. It costs money and he won’t spend more than he has to.”
He nodded. “I’m told they had a gathering yesterday.”
“What? Oh, yeah. In a park near here.”
“Yes. They had a parade, too. It went by. There were a lot of people.”
“Yes.” I thought back to the park. “A few thousand, anyway. But so what? What can they do?”
“Perhaps you should speak to this Kelly again, try to convince him.”
I said, “Maybe.”
After a while he said, “I have never seen you so unhappy, Vladimir.”
I said, “It’s my work, I suppose, one way or another. We play by rules, you know? If you leave us alone, we’ll leave you alone. If somebody gets hurt who isn’t part of the organization, it means he was sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. That isn’t our fault, that’s just how it is. Kelly’s people did that—they butted in where they shouldn’t have. Only they didn’t, really. They—I don’t know. Damn them to Verra’s dungeons, anyway. Sometimes I wish I could just complete Herth’s job for him, and sometimes I’d like to—I don’t know what. And you know, I can’t even get a good enough feel for Herth to send him for a walk. I’m too tied up in this. I ought to hire someone to do it for me, but I just can’t. Don’t you see that? I have to—” I blinked. I’d been rambling. I’d lost Noish-pa some time before. I wondered what he thought of all that.
He looked at me with a somber expression on his face. Loiosh flew over onto my shoulder and squeezed. I drank some more tea. Noish-pa said, “And Cawti?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she feels the same way, and that’s why she found these people. She killed me, you know.”
His eyes widened. I said, “That’s how we met. She was hired to kill me and she did. I’ve never killed an East—a human. She has. And now she’s acting as if—never mind.”
He studied me, and I suppose he remembered our last conversation, because he asked, “How long have you been doing this, Vladimir? This killing of people.”
He sounded genuinely interested in the answer, so I said, “Years.”
He nodded. “It is perhaps time that you thought about it.”
I said, “Suppose I’d joined the Phoenix Guard, if they’d have me. One way or another, that’s killing people for money. Or enlisted in some Dragonlord’s private army, for that matter. What’s the difference?”
“Perhaps there is none. I have no answer for you, Vladimir. I only say that perhaps it is time you thought about it.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m thinking about it.”
He poured more tea and I drank it and after a while I went home.
8
. . . & remove dust & soot from both . . .
I REMEMBER THE WALL of Baritt’s Tomb.
It wasn’t really a tomb, you understand; there was no body inside. The Serioli go in for tombs. They build them either underground or in the middle of mountains, and they put dead people in them. It seems weird to me. The Dragaerans sometimes build monuments to dead big shots like Baritt, and when they build one they call it a tomb because it looks like what the Serioli use and because Dragaerans aren’t too bright.
Baritt’s Tomb was huge in every dimension, a grey slate monstrosity, with pictures and symbols carved into it. It was stuck way out in the east, high up in the Eastern Mountains near a place where Dragaerans trade with Easterners for Eastern red pepper and other things. I got stuck in the middle of a battle there once. I’ve never forgotten how it felt. One army was made up of Easterners who died, the other was made up of Teckla who died. On the Dragaerans’ side were a couple of Dragonlords who were never really in any danger. That’s one memory that stays with me. No one was going to hurt Morrolan or Aliera, and they laid about themselves like pip-squeak deities. The other thing I remember was watching all of this happen and almost chewing my lip off from helplessness.
The venture wasn’t useless, you understand. I mean, Morrolan got a good fight, Sethra the Younger got Kieron’s greatsword while Aliera got one more her size, and I got to learn that you can never go home. But in the battle itself there was nothing I could do unless I wanted to be one of the Teckla or one of the Easterners who were falling like ash from Mount Zerika. I didn’t, so I just watched.
That’s what came back to me now. Every time I feel helpless, in fact, that memory returns to haunt me. Each scream from each wounded Easterner, or even Teckla, remains with me. I know that Dragons consider assassination to be less “honorable” than butchering Easterners, but I’ve never quite understood why. That battle showed me what futility was, though. So many deaths for such a small result.
Of course, I finally did . . . something—but that’s another tale. What I remember is the helplessness.
Cawti wasn’t speaking to me.
It wasn’t that she refused to say anything, it was more that she didn’t have anything to say. I walked around the house in bare feet all morning, swatting halfheartedly at jhereg who got in my way and staring out various windows hoping one of them would show something interesting. I threw a couple of knives at our hall target and missed. Eventually I collected Loiosh and walked over to my office, being very careful all the way.
Kragar was waiting for me. He looked unhappy. That was all right; why should he be any different?
“What is it?” I asked him.
“Herth.”
“What about him?”
“He doesn’t have a mistress, he doesn’t eat soup, and he never takes a—”
“What do you mean? You can’t find out anything about him?”
“No, I tracked him pretty well. The good news is that he isn’t a sorcerer. But other than that, he’s like you; he doesn’t have any regular schedule. And he doesn’t have an office; he works right out of his home. He never visits the same inn twice in a row, and I haven’t found any pattern at all to his movements.”
I sighed. “I half expected that. Well, keep on it. Eventually something will show up. No one lives a completely random life.”
He nodded and walked out.
I put my feet up on the desk, then took them down again. I got up and paced. It hit me once more that Herth was planning to send me for a walk. There was probably someone out there, right now, trying to pin down my movements so he could get me. I looked out my office window but I didn’t see anyone standing in the street opposite my door holding a dagger. I sat down again. Even if I managed to get Herth first, whoever it was had still taken the money, was still committed to getting me. I shivered.
There was one thing, at least: I could relax about Cawti for a while. Herth had given them another subtle warning. He wouldn’t do anything else until he saw what effect that had. This meant that I could work on kee
ping myself alive. How? Well, I could gain some time by killing whoever was after me, which would force Herth to go to the bother of finding another assassin.
Good idea, Vlad. Now, how you gonna do it?
I thought of a way. Loiosh didn’t like it. I asked him if he had any other suggestions and he didn’t. I decided to do it at once, before I could consider how stupid it was. I got up and walked out of the office without speaking to anyone.
* * *
Loiosh tried to spot him as I wandered around the neighborhood, checking on my businesses, but didn’t manage. Either I wasn’t being followed, or the guy was skilled. I spent the late morning and early afternoon at this. My own effort wasn’t so much directed at spotting my assassin as at looking as if I felt safe. Trying to appear calm under such circumstances is not easy.
Finally, as the afternoon wore on, I headed back for the Easterners’ section. There, at the same time as I had on the previous two days, I stationed myself near Kelly’s headquarters and I waited. I had no more than passing interest in who went in and out of there, but I noticed that it was quite active. Cawti showed up with my friend Gregory, each of them carrying large boxes. Easterners and Teckla I didn’t recognize ran in and out of the place all day. As I said, though, I didn’t watch too closely. I was waiting for the assassin to make his move.
This was not the perfect place to get me, you understand; I was mostly hidden by the corner of a building and could see nearly everywhere around me. Loiosh watched over my head. But it was the only place I’d been going to at a regular time over the past few days. If I could keep this up, he’d realize that it was his best shot at me. He’d take it, and maybe I could kill him, which would give me a rest while Herth found someone else.
The unfortunate part was that I had no idea when he’d move. Staying alert for an attack for several hours is not easy, especially when what you want is to go charging out and hurt someone just for the sake of doing so.
Easterners and Teckla continued to come and go from Kelly’s place. As the afternoon wore on, they would leave carrying large stacks of paper. One of them, a Teckla I didn’t recognize, had a pot and brushes as well as the sheets of paper, and he started gluing them up on the walls of buildings. Passersby stopped to read them, then went on their way.
