Orca

by Steven Brust

  She glared at me. “I wasn’t actually going to tell them, anyway.”

  I nodded.

  A few minutes later she said, “You can’t have known the Easterner long—they don’t live long enough. Yet you treat him as a friend.”

  “He is a friend.”

  “Why?”

  “He doesn’t know, either,” I said.

  “But—”

  “What you’re asking,” I said, “is whether he can really do what he says he can do.”

  “And whether he will,” she agreed.

  “Right. I think he can; he’s good at putting things together. In any case, I know that he’ll try. In fact, knowing Vlad ...”

  “Yes?”

  “He might very well try so hard he gets himself killed.”

  She didn’t have anything to say to that, so she turned her attention back to Savn. Thinking about Savn didn’t help me any, and thinking about Vlad getting killed was worse, so I went out and took a walk. Buddy came along, either because he liked my company or because he didn’t trust me and wanted to keep an eye on me.

  Good dog, either way.

  By the time we returned, it was getting dark, and Vlad was sitting at the kitchen table, with a bandage wrapped around his left forearm and no hair growing above his lip. I’m not sure which surprised me more. I think it was the lack of hair.

  There was some blood leaking through the bandage, but Vlad didn’t seem to be weak or even greatly disturbed. Buddy bounded up to him, asked him to play, sniffed at his wound, and looked hurt when Vlad pulled his arm out of reach. Loiosh watched the display with what I would have guessed to be disdain if I ever knew what jhereg were thinking.

  He saw me looking at him and said, “Don’t worry. It’ll grow back.”

  “Well,” I said. “You seem to have been busy.”

  “Yes.”

  “How long since you’ve returned?”

  “Not long. Half an hour or so.”

  “Learn anything?”

  “Yes.”

  I sat down opposite him. Savn was on the floor, resting. The old woman sat beside him, watching us.

  “Shall we start at the beginning?”

  “I’d like a glass of water first.”

  The old woman started to get up, but I motioned her to sit, went outside to the well, filled a pitcher, brought it in, filled a cup, and gave it to Vlad. He drank it all, slowly and carefully.

  “More?” I said.

  “Please.”

  I brought him more; he drank some of it, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and nodded to me.

  I said, “Well?”

  He shrugged. “The beginning was your own story.”

  “Go on.”

  He said, “It didn’t make sense.”

  “So I gathered at the time. What part of it didn’t make sense?”

  He frowned and said, “Kiera, have you ever been involved in investigating someone’s death—in trying to determine cause of death?”

  “No, I can’t say I have. Have you?”

  “No, but I’ve been concerned with several, if you know what I mean.”

  “I know what you mean. And I have an idea of what’s involved in an investigation like that.” I shrugged. “What about it?”

  “How long does it take to decide that someone wasn’t murdered?”

  “Wasn’t murdered?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know. Looking at the body—”

  “Takes a day, maybe two, if he was murdered.”

  “Well, yes, but to prove a negative—”

  “Exactly.”

  “They’d have to go over him pretty carefully, I suppose.”

  “Yes. Very carefully. And they look at everything else, too—such as if he was the sort of person likely to be murdered, or if there is anything suspicious in the timing of his death, or—”

  “Exactly the sort of circumstances that surrounded Fyres’s death.”

  “Yes. Fyres’s death would set off every alarm they have. If you were the chief investigator, wouldn’t you want to be extra careful before putting your chop on a report that stated he died of mischance attributable to no human agency, or however they put it?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Your friend the Jhereg told you that the Imperial investigators had determined the cause of death to be accidental.”

  “And?”

  “And when did Fyres die?”

  “A few weeks ago.”

  He nodded. “Exactly. A few weeks ago. Kiera, they can’t have decided that this quickly. The only thing they could know this quickly is if it was a murder.”

  “I see your point. What’s your conclusion?”

  “That either your friend Stony lied to you or—”

  “Or someone lied to Stony.”

  “Yes. And who would lie to Stony about something like this? Of those, who would he believe?”

  “No one.”

  “Tsk.”

  “He’s a naturally suspicious fellow.”

  “Well, but who would he believe?”

  I shrugged. “The Empire, I suppose.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But the Empire wouldn’t lie.”

  Vlad raised his eyebrows eloquently.

  I shook my head. “You can’t be implying that the Imperial investigators—”

  “Yep.”

  “No.”

  “You don’t believe it?”

  “Why would they? How could they hope to get away with it? How many of them would have to be bought off, and how much would it cost? And consider how closely their report is going to be looked at, and think about the risks they run. They’d have to know they’d get caught eventually.”

  Vlad nodded. “Certainly valid points, Kiera. That’s exactly what was bothering me yesterday when you told me about your conversation with Stony.”

  “Well, then—”

  “Kiera, how about if I just tell you what I’ve been up to, and you form your own conclusions?”

  I nodded. “Okay, I’m listening. No, wait a minute.” I helped myself to a glass of water, set the pitcher next to me, sat down, and stretched out. “Okay,” I said. “Go ahead.”

  Vlad took another drink of water, closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and began speaking.

  Chapter Five

  First, of course, I had to find out who had carried out the investigation. I was afraid that the Empire had brought people in from Adrilankha and that these people had already returned, which meant a teleport to our beloved capital, about which idea I was less than thrilled, as you can imagine.

  But one step at a time. I could have found a minstrel—I have an arrangement with their Guild—but news travels in both directions by that source, so I tried something different.

  I made the tentative assumption that some things are universal, so I walked around until I found the seediest-looking barbershop in the area. Barbershops are more common in the East and in the Easterners’ section of Adrilankha—barbers cut whiskers as well as head hair—but they exist everywhere. I’ll bet you’d never thought of that, Kiera; whiskers aren’t just a distinguishing feature; they have to be tended to. Fortunately, I have sharp enough blades that I don’t have to go to barbershops for my own whiskers, but most Easterners don’t have knives that sharp. But even in the East, Noish-pa tells me, barbershops are pretty much the same as they are here.

  The barber, who seemed to be a Vallista, and a particularly ugly one at that, looked at me, looked at Loiosh, looked at my rapier, and opened his mouth—probably to explain that he didn’t serve Easterners—but Loiosh hissed at him before he had a chance to say anything. While he was trying to come up with an answer for Loiosh, I walked over to the chairs where customers waited. There was a little table next to them, and I found what I was looking for in about two seconds.

  It had a title, Rutter’s Rag, in big, hand-scrawled letters along the top, and it was mostly full of nasty remarks about city officia
ls I’d never heard of, and it asked the Empire questions about its tax policy, implying that certain pirates were taking lessons from the Empire. It had a list of the banks that had closed suddenly—I assume it included the one our hostess used—and suggested that they were having a race to see which of them could clear out and vanish quickest, while wondering if the Empire, which allowed them to shut their doors on people who had their life savings in them, was really incompetent enough not to have known they were going under, or if this was now to be considered official Imperial policy.

  It also, interestingly enough, made some ironic comments about Fyres’s death—suggesting that those who had invested in his companies had gotten what they deserved. But that wasn’t what I was after. Of course, it didn’t give the real name of whoever produced it, but that didn’t matter.

  “What do you want?” said the barber.

  “I want to know who delivers this to you.”

  That confused him, because I didn’t look like a Guardsman, and, besides, they don’t really care about sheets like this. But printing it was technically illegal, and those involved in it certainly wouldn’t want to be known, so I knew I was going to have to persuade him. I tossed an imperial his way just as he was starting to shake his head. He caught it, opened his mouth, closed it, and started to toss it back. I put a couple of knives into the wall on either side of his head. Good thing I’d been practicing or I might have cut his hair. In any case, I do believe I frightened the man, judging by the squeaks he made.

  He said, “A kid named Tip.”

  “Where can I find him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I pulled another throwing knife (my last one, actually—I’d just recently bought them) and waited.

  “He lives around here somewhere,” squeaked the barber. “Ask around. You’ll find him.”

  “If I don’t,” I said, “when do you expect him to deliver another one of these?”

  “A couple of weeks,” he said. “But I don’t know exactly when. I never know when they’ll show up.”

  “Good enough,” I said. I took a step toward him and he moved away, but I was only going to get my knives. I put them away and walked back out, turned right at random, and stepped into the first alley I got to. And there they were—another eight urchins, mixed sexes, mixed Houses. Street kids don’t seem to care much what your House is. There may be a moral there, but probably not.

  I walked up to them and waited a moment to give them a good look. They studied me with a lot of suspicion, a little curiosity, but not much fear. I mean, I was only an Easterner, and maybe I had a sword, but there were still eight of them. Then I said, “Do any of you know Tip?”

  A girl, who seemed to be about seventy and might have been the leader and might have been a Tiassa, said, “Maybe.”

  A boy said, “What you want him for? He in trouble?”

  Someone else said, “You a bird?”

  Someone else asked to see my sword.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m a bird. I’m going to arrest him as a threat to Imperial security, and then I’m going to haul him away and torture him. Any other questions?”

  There were a few chuckles.

  “Who are you?” said the girl.

  I shrugged and took out an imperial. “A rich man who wants to spread his wealth around. Who are you?”

  They all turned to look at the girl. Yes, she was definitely in charge. “Laache,” she said. “Is that thing your pet?” she asked.

  “Go ahead, explain it, boss.”

  “Shut up, Loiosh.”

  “His name is Loiosh,” I said. “He’s my friend. He flies around and looks at things for me.”

  “What does he look at?”

  “For example, if I were to give this imperial to someone to bring Tip back, he’d fly around and make sure whoever I gave it to didn’t scoot off with it. If someone took this imperial and told me where Tip could be found, Loiosh would wait with that person until I was certain I hadn’t been fooled.”

  One of the boys said, “He can’t really tell you where someone went, can he?”

  Laache grinned at me. “You think we’d do something like that?”

  “Nope.”

  “What reason do I give Tip for showing up?”

  I brought forth another imperial. “For him,” I said.

  “You sure he isn’t in trouble?”

  “No. I’ve never seen him before. For all I know, he might have robbed the Imperial Treasury.”

  She gave me a very adultlike smile and held out her hand; I gave her one of the coins.

  “Wait here,” she said.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  When she left, Loiosh flew off and followed her, which elicited a gasp from the assembled urchinhood.

  With her gone, the mood changed—the rest of them seemed suddenly uncomfortable, like they didn’t know quite what to do with me. That worked out all right, because I didn’t know what to do with them, either. I leaned against a wall and tried to look self-assured; they clumped together and held quiet conversations and pretended they were ignoring me.

  After about fifteen minutes, Loiosh said, “She’s found someone, boss. She’s talking to him.”

  “And ... ?”

  “Okay, they’re coming.”

  “Hooray. Where are they now?”

  “Just around the corner.”

  I said, “Laache and Tip will be here soon.”

  They looked at me, and one of them said, “How d’you—” and cut himself off. I smiled enigmatically, noticing the looks of respect and fear. Sort of the way my employees used to look at me, way back when. I wondered if I’d come down in the world. If I handled things just right, I could maybe take the gang over from Laache. Vlad Taltos—toughest little kid on the block. I was the youngest, too.

  They appeared then—Laache with a young man who seemed to be about the same age as her, and who I’d have guessed to be an Orca—a bit squat for a Dragaeran, with a pale complexion, light brown hair, and blue eyes. Old memories of being harassed by Orca just about his age came up to annoy me, but I ignored them—what was I going to do, beat him up?

  He was looking a bit leery and keeping his distance. Before he could say anything, I flipped him an imperial. He made it vanish.

  “What do you want?” he said.

  “You’re Tip?”

  “What if I am?”

  “Let us walk together and talk together, one with the other, out of range of the eager ears of those who would thwart our intentions.”

  “Huh?”

  “Come here a minute, I want to ask you something.”

  “Ask me what?”

  “I’d rather not say out here where everyone can hear me.”

  Someone whispered something, and someone else giggled. Tip scowled and said, “All right.”

  I walked up to him and we walked down the alley about twenty yards, and I said, “I’ll give you another imperial if you’ll take me to the man who prints Rutter’s Rag,” and he was off down the alley as fast as his feet could carry him. He turned the corner and was gone.

  “You know what to do, Loiosh.”

  “Yeah, yeah. On my way, boss.”

  I turned back and the kids were all looking at me—and looking at Loiosh flying off into the city.

  “Thanks for your help,” I called to them. “See you again, maybe.”

  I strolled on down the alley. It was, of course, possible that Laache had told Tip about Loiosh, but, as we followed him, he didn’t seem to be watching above him.

  He stayed with the alleys and finally, after looking around him carefully, stepped into a little door. Loiosh returned to me and guided me along the same path he’d taken, and to the door. It wasn’t locked.

  It seemed to be a storeroom of some sort; a quick check revealed that what was stored included a great deal of paper and drums of what had to be ink, judging by the smell coming off them and filling up the room.

  “Ah ha,” I told Loiosh.r />
  “Lucky,” he said.

  “Clever,” I suggested.

  “Lucky.”

  “Shut up.”

  I heard voices coming from my right, where there was a narrow, dark stairway. I took the stairs either silently or carefully—they tend to be the same thing. But you know that, Kiera. When I reached the bottom, I saw them, illuminated by a small lamp. One was Tip, the other was an old man who seemed to be a Tsalmoth, to judge from the ruddiness of his complexion and his build. I couldn’t see what colors he wore. He didn’t see me at all. The man was seated in front of a desk that was filled with desk things. Tip was standing next to him, saying, “I’m sure he was an Easterner. I know an Easterner when I see one,” which was too good an entrance line for me to ignore.

  I said, “Judge for yourself,” and had the satisfaction of seeing them both jump.

  I gave them my warmest smile, and the Tsalmoth scrabbled around in a drawer in his desk and came out with a narrow rod that, no doubt, had been prepared with some terrible, nasty killing thing. I said, “Don’t be stupid,” and took my own advice by allowing Spellbreaker to fall into my hand.

  He pointed the rod at me and said, “What do you want?”

  “Don’t blame the boy,” I said. “I’m very hard to lose when I want to follow someone.”

  “What do you want?” he said again. His dialogue seemed pretty limited.

  “Actually,” I said, “not very much. It won’t even be inconvenient, and I’ll pay you for it. But if you don’t put that thing down, I’m likely to become frightened, and then I’m likely to hurt you.”

  He looked at me, then looked at Spellbreaker, which to all appearances is just a length of gold-colored chain, and said, “I think I’ll keep it in hand, if you don’t mind.”

  “I mind,” I said.

  He looked at me some more. I waited. He put the rod down. I wrapped Spellbreaker back around my left wrist.

  “What is it, then?”

  “Perhaps the boy should take a walk.”

  He nodded to Tip, who seemed a little nervous about walking past me, so I stepped to the side. He almost ran to the stairs, stopping just long enough to take the imperial I threw to him. “Don’t squander it,” I said as he raced past me.