by Steven Brust
Kiera did have a point though. I was glad I wouldn’t be coming back this way. Just to be safe, I took the Five Mile Bridge. Most likely it didn’t make me any safer, but it gave me a few extra hours to walk and think.
The streets of Adrilankha, even South Adrilankha, were first dug out, I suppose, from whatever paths people happened to make, so long ago that I can’t conceive of it. They were paved with stone, and then trampled down farther into the ground, and new stones laid on top of the old ones. They tell me that the entire city has sunk several feet since it was first established; the streets sinking farther than the buildings, but both of them dropping. I don’t know if that’s true. I do know that by the time I got back to Six Corners, my feet hurt more than they had from walking hundreds of miles across the continent. It’s funny how, after being cut, stabbed, and beaten by professionals on both sides of the line of justice, one can still be deeply annoyed by a pair of sore feet.
I was certainly grateful for my new boots, though, or it would have been much worse.
Eventually I reached Devon’s House, a public house about a quarter of a mile east of Six Corners. I was early, so I sat in the corner and drank a white wine that was too sweet and not cold enough. My feet appreciated it.
The place began filling up—mostly workers from the slaughterhouses, to judge from the smell that accompanied them. There were a few tradesmen as well. And all Easterners. I felt safe, maybe safer than I should have, in disguise and surrounded by Easterners. I cautioned myself not to let myself feel too safe, especially when I didn’t have Loiosh and Rocza in the room to watch for me.
An hour or so later my man came in. It took him a while to spot me, which gave me a certain amount of pleasure. He was a stocky guy, not unlike Ric, balding, with thin lips and a nose that looked like it had been broken. “Sandor.”
I nodded. “And you’re Vincent, as I recall.”
He nodded.
“Please,” I said. “Sit down. Wine?”
“Sure.”
I poured, and passed him the glass, along with a pair of gold imperials.
He nodded and said, “I’ll give you what I have.”
“That’s all I can ask.”
He gave me a list of three names, Easterners, who ran small operations and paid off the Left Hand. Nothing surprising, and not exceptionally useful.
Then he said, “You know about the guy they’re looking for, right?”
I frowned. “No. Tell me.”
“The word is to keep an eye out for a guy, an Easterner, who walks around with a pair of jhereg on his shoulders.”
“Is that right?”
“It’s worth a hundred imperials to whoever spots him and gets word back.”
“That’s a lot.”
“You don’t seem interested in the news.”
“No, actually, I am. It’s good to know, and I’m glad you told me about it.”
He nodded. “You seen him?”
“No. How are they spreading this, uh, word?”
“The runners were told. The guy who mentioned it to me said if I spotted him, he’d split it with me.”
“Generous of him.”
Vincent shrugged. “I haven’t seen the guy.”
“All right. Anything else going on?”
“Nothing that would matter.”
“What does that mean?”
He shrugged. “The Ristall Market was closed, but that doesn’t have anything to do with—”
“It was? When? I was just there yesterday.”
“Today. I went by there to pick up something to eat, and it was shut down. The whole market. Carts gone, tarps over the stalls, everything.”
“Why? Did you hear a reason?”
“Just gossip.”
“I love gossip.”
“Well, they say someone threatened to beat anyone who opened up.”
“Someone? And you say it doesn’t have anything to do with what’s going on?”
“This is some local thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are, you know, gangs here, that like to collect from the merchants, and when the merchants don’t pay—”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Well, I’ve never heard of the Jhereg operating like that.”
“What, you think the Jhereg wouldn’t muscle in on merchants?”
“Not on this scale, no. And they wouldn’t be so clumsy about it. Making a whole market shut down and drawing attention to themselves.”
“You know something about the Jhereg.”
“A little. A few years ago I was a runner myself for a while. That’s how I know so many runners.”
“I see. Yeah, you know almost enough to get in the way of finding out anything useful.”
“Eh?”
“But not quite.”
I passed him five more imperials.
“What’s that for?”
“Useful information.”
“Well, okay. I’ll look for more.”
“Don’t look so hard you become some.”
“What?”
“Never mind. Just be careful.”
He nodded, finished his wine, and walked out.
“Hey, Loiosh. I think we’re in business.”
“Is that good? It sounds like it should be good.”
“Yeah, I just got a big piece of the puzzle.”
“Oh?”
“Oh.”
“How big?”
“Big enough that I have an idea of what to do next.”
“Does that mean you’re going to need rescuing in the next hour?”
“Not until tomorrow, I think.”
“Oh, good. I can rest up.”
I had, of course, overstated things to Loiosh—nothing was yet certain. But I was pretty well convinced, and, more important, I knew how to make sure.
My next appointment was a quarter of a mile away, and I was early. The guy was named Claude, and he was big and hulking and bowlegged, with an extraordinarily large head. He was about two sentences into his report when I said, “You know the Ristall Market?”
He stopped in mid-sentence and said, “Sure. Just follow Cutback Lane to—”
“I know where it is. You know anyone who has a shop there, or a stall, or anything? That is, you know a name, and maybe an address?”
He considered, then said, “Yeah. There’s a guy named Francis, uh, Francis Down-something. He has a fruit stand. I don’t know exactly where he lives, but it’s within a few steps of the market, I know that.”
“Good. Anyone else?”
“Well, I know a couple of them by first name. You know, like, ‘Good morning, Petrov. How is your bread today?’ and like that.”
“Okay, never mind the others. That’s good enough.” I paid him and sent him on his way. I sat there for a while and thought about things. I had that familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach—a good feeling, the feeling of, it’s happening. I hadn’t had that feeling in some time; I gave myself a moment to relish it.
It took a little bit of work to find Francis Donover, but not too much. As promised, he lived right at the market, above the shop of a cobbler who made a little extra renting out rooms because he wasn’t as good as Jakoub.
If Francis Donover had been a Dragaeran, he’d have been a Teckla. I mean, I was being Sandor, who is about as harmless in aspect as it is possible to be, but Francis was still terrified of him. He opened his door just the barest crack, and seemed ready to slam it again.
“My name is Sandor, and I mean you no harm. Might I trouble you for a few minutes’ conversation? It may be to your advantage.”
The “no” that was forming on his face changed abruptly at the last word. Did I say Teckla? Maybe Orca.
“What is it?” he said.
“May I come in? I assure you, I mean you no harm.”
He hesitated, looking at me carefully. Either he could see through my disguise that I wasn’t as harmless as I looked, or else he was scared of his own shadow.
Yeah, Teckla.
I showed him my almost-empty hands, as a demonstration of harmlessness. Almost empty, because there was a bright gold imperial in one of them. He let me in.
His place was small and packed with more furniture—mismatched chairs and small tables—than wanted to fit into it easily. All those chairs, and he didn’t offer me one. “What is it,” he said, his eye on the hand that held the coin. I handed it to him.
“I’d like you to answer some questions for me. I have another one of these for you when you’re done.”
“What do you want to know?”
“You’ve shut down your stall. The whole market is shut down.”
“Yes, well, there have been problems.”
“Yes. I have a pretty good idea of what the problems are. There’s someone—no, you needn’t tell me who—who is trying to pry money out of all of you.”
He hesitated a long time, then said, “Maybe.”
“Do you want that imperial, or not?”
“Okay, yes. Someone—”
“Good. What I want to know is, who had the idea to shut down the whole market?”
He turned slightly pale. “Why do you—”
“No, no. You don’t get to ask questions. I can tell you that I have no plans to hurt whoever it is. I have no plans to hurt anyone. I’ve never hurt anyone. I just get paid to collect information. My principal—that means the fellow who is paying me—doesn’t plan to hurt whoever it is, either.”
“It isn’t that. It’s—”
“Oh. You mean, can we protect you from him?”
He nodded.
“He’ll never know you told me.”
He still looked hesitant.
“But,” I said, “if it’s someone who scares you, I’ll make it two imperials.” I gave him Sandor’s friendliest smile, which is even friendlier than my friendliest smile.
He hesitated again, then said, “It was one of, you know, of them.”
“A Dragaeran?”
He nodded.
“Male or female?”
“It was a man. A male.”
“How was he dressed?”
He frowned. “I didn’t really pay much attention.”
“Think. This is important. Try to remember the colors of his clothing.”
“I don’t know. Non-descript. Gray, I think.”
Go figure.
“And what did he say?”
“He said that he had heard about our problems and he wanted to help.”
“I see.”
“He said they couldn’t do anything if we all just shut down.”
“How could you afford that?”
“He gave us money to survive on.”
“I see. How much money?”
He looked worried again, but said, “Enough to get by.”
I nodded.
“Have you seen him again, or just that once?”
“Twice. Once, about three days ago, when he suggested the idea, and then yesterday when he showed up with the money. He went around and saw everyone.”
“Three days ago was when he first suggested it?”
“Yes.”
“And when did you first hear from the guy who was muscling you?”
“Pardon?”
“Whoever wanted you to pay up, and threatened terrible things if you didn’t.”
“Oh. Uh, I guess that was a week ago.”
I nodded. “One last thing.”
“Yes, sir?”
Sir? When had Sandor become a “sir”? I suppose when he started flashing gold imperials. I said, “I’d like to speak to a couple of your colleagues.”
“My . . . ?”
“Others who work that market.”
“Oh.”
“Just a couple of names, along with where I can find them.”
He gave them without hesitation. I wrote them down.
“Okay,” I said. “You’ve been very helpful.” I gave him three imperials because I like to leave people happy in case I need them again, and because I could afford it. There had been a time when I would have done all manner of things for those imperials I was now throwing around. There was a time when I had.
“With this,” I said as I opened the door, “you’re liable to turn a profit.”
He looked a bit embarrassed, as if I’d discovered a secret. Which I had, but not that one, and it was one I had expected to discover. I headed back out onto the street.
I was only a little worried, and that was because I always get nervous when I go to collect information and learn exactly what I expect to learn.
Yeah, he’d gone right down the line with what I’d been looking for. No surprise; I’d been pretty sure from when Vincent had first given me the information.
You see, Vincent was right.
When I was young, sometime before Loiosh, some people had run an operation like the one Vincent had described, and had tried to muscle in on various local merchants, “shredding the carrion,” as the saying is. I knew about it even then because one of the merchants they’d gone after was my grandfather, who, while not exactly a merchant, made a good enough income to attract their attention.
Things got a little complicated, but they had eventually learned not to mess around with an old witch and a young punk. So, yeah, I was familiar with that sort of operation. My grandfather, in a futile effort to keep me from being involved, had told me that this sort of thing happened from time to time in South Adrilankha, when the greedy had no one to prey on but the desperate.
But Vincent was right; the Jhereg didn’t operate that way. Putting pressure for a few coins on a few merchants was smalltime, and involved more risk of attention by the Empire than the payoff could ever be worth. Sure, once in a while some independent operator might do something like that, and the Jhereg would either absorb him or crush him, as the case may be. When I was running an area, I wouldn’t have put up with anything like that for more than about five minutes. No one else I’d heard of would have either; it’s just bad for business.
So, the fact that it was happening now was either a hell of a coincidence, or it meant something else entirely, and you can guess which way I’d bet.
I made two more calls, and spent another eight imperials, and didn’t learn anything new, but confirmed what Goodman Donover had told me, and got a name, description, and address for at least one of the Easterners who were putting the squeeze on the merchants in Ristall Market. His name was Josef; a good, Eastern name.
I had never put a shine on an Easterner; I hoped I wouldn’t have to this time. Chances are I wouldn’t. But I might have to mess him up a bit.
“Well, Loiosh. We now know everything we have to know in order to go out and get killed.”
“Oh, good, Boss. That’s just what I was hoping for.”
“Okay, almost all. I need to reach a couple of the Irregulars for another piece, but it ought to be easy enough.”
It was. It took being patient for a few hours, but I got it.
I got back late that night after picking up a celebratory bottle of a wine I’d never encountered before. Lying on the bed I found a brief note from Kiera saying she would look for me tomorrow. I was pleased that my friends were watching out for me, and sorry that I’d missed her; especially as I’d have had the chance to brag a bit about having solved the puzzle, or at least a big chunk of it.
What would I have told her if she’d been here? Maybe something obscure and epigrammatical, like, at some point, every complex situation will resolve itself into something simple and straightforward. The trouble is, by then it’s usually too late.
Maybe this time it wasn’t.
“You sure, Boss?”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, I’m just thinking, if the Demon Goddess has been messing around in your head—”
“Loiosh, are you trying to be funny?”
“No, Boss. I mean it. I’m just a little worried. You have a plan, you’ve figured out what’s going on, only wh
at if—”
“This is just what I need right now. I desperately need to have my confidence shattered by—”
“Boss, I’m just—”
“Yeah, okay.”
Well, he’s my familiar. That means that it’s his job to worry about stuff like that. It also means that, if I have something niggling around in the back of my head, sometimes it’s his job to bring it to the front. But I didn’t like it much. I didn’t like thinking about it, and I particularly didn’t like it that he might be right. If you can’t trust your own thoughts, what do you have?
“Uh, did that help, Boss?”
“No, but it didn’t hurt. It was lousy wine anyway.”
I went downstairs to borrow a broom and cleaned up the broken glass. The wine-stain on the wall I left there, figuring it would make a good reminder, though of what I wasn’t exactly sure.
What if Loiosh were right? What if everything in my head was planted there by the Demon Goddess for her own reasons—reasons which I no longer trusted, if I ever had? Or what if it was just the product of illusory logic and warped perceptions?
And what if I spent all my time so worried about that I couldn’t do anything?
Well, okay then. Sometime, there was a reckoning due between me and the Demon Goddess. But for now—
“You’re right, Boss. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“Don’t worry about it, Loiosh. You’re just bouncing back what’s in my own head. We move on. It’s time to make it bloody. And if some of the blood is mine, so be it.”
I took out my daggers and sharpened them up.
Tomorrow was liable to be an interesting day.
12
CHICKEN WITH SHALLOTS
Mihi cleared away the salad plates, and topped off our wine. I only knew in general what was coming next—it would be some sort of fowl. In the past, there had been the old standard capon in Eastern red pepper sauce, duck with plum sauce, pheasant stuffed with truffles, skirda in wine sauce, and what Valabar’s modestly called—
“Chicken with shallots,”said Mihi, holding a platter and those wonderful spoons he wielded so deftly.
“What are shallots?”said Telnan.
“Something like scallions,” said Mihi, before I could say the same thing.
As Mihi served us, steam rolled up like a beckoning hand.
