by Steven Brust
—He walks between two others—
Looking absurd as he tries to keep his dignity
—out the door—
To the manor, and onto the next act of our little play. If he even makes it that far.
—There’s an open window, so out and around, stay close to the building, and far above eye level, because they hardly ever look up. There they are, walking toward a big clunky machine with four horses in front of it—
A coach with iron bars, yes of course. And the driver is in the uniform of a man-at-arms, no coachman for the criminal.
—And they are leading him in, and he suddenly twitches as if I’d poisoned him, but I didn’t go near him! Honest!—
They didn’t wait. Good. Die slow, you butchering, murdering, heartless, child-killing bastard. Die slow and in agony. Feel your heart stop, know what is happening and that you can’t prevent it. See your life ooze away, and think about the crimes you’ve committed to bring this about, and may you rot forever in Verra’s prismatic hells.
—men all confused, staring at the one who claws at his chest and turns red, he is breathing smoke, I can see it and smell it, a harsh acidic-smelling smoke—
They picked the same way Zollie was made to look, and that I faked. Lack of creativity, or just a sense of irony? I don’t much care. Yes, Loiosh, stay with him, I want to see every second of his death agony.
—eyes popping, face a terrible twisted thing, head shaking back and forth—
Yes, you miserable son-of-a-bitch, yes. Feel every second.
—and finally, at last, he is still, eyes open and staring at the sky—
I take a moment to relish, to enjoy. It heals my soul. It is nearly as good as I imagined it would be, though I’d have liked it to have lasted longer. If there is price for revenge, I’ll pay it, and pay it again. Whatever horrid destructive thing this is supposed to do to my soul must have been done long ago, or else if it just now happened I didn’t notice.
—they stand around the body, looking all about them for what isn’t there—
They look helpless. But they know what happened. Time to move on, Loiosh, it’s all over here.
—and up and over the town, people and food and places getting small, smaller, tiny—
“Boss?”
“Yes?”
“You knew that would happen?”
“Not that quickly. I wasn’t sure I’d have the pleasure of watching.”
“How—”
“The Coven. They’re trying to cut their losses. They’re trying to figure out if they can blame this on someone else, or maybe just get out of town.”
“Will it work?”
“It might have, if I had let it.”
—her form flying up, couldn’t help but loop once, chase each other, only quickly, then she was gone, and claws grip hard into wood—
Yeah, there’s the smug bastard, standing now, talking, gesticulating, and glancing at the door. He’s heard something of what’s happened, but still doesn’t know.
—and he goes outside; so do I, up, seeing him again, circling once, just a harmless jhereg high in the sky, nothing here to see, then back—
He’s standing outside the Guild hall, staring at Chayoor’s body. Will he panic, or think it through? Doesn’t matter either way.
—standing, staring at the body, circle now, high up, no need to take chances—
Looks like he’s thinking it through. Fine. Think all you want, bastard. I remember when you first walked up to me and introduced yourself. I knew then something was wrong with you. But you shouldn’t go trampling over people’s lives like that; sometimes they take offense, and sometimes they can do something about it. And now you’re putting it all together, making sense of it, realizing what must have happened. Are you realizing, too, that it’s too late to do anything about it? How are you feeling about now?
—And he turns and walks eastward, fast, almost running, pace increasing, now he is running, only I fly much faster—
Yes, toward the woods. Probably the same place he was before. No other choice, either; whether he panicked, or reasoned it out, he has to run to his Coven. And it seems he did both. He figured out what was going on, and his reaction was right; in the same way a man is right to scream when his leg is being twisted to the breaking point. Or so they tell me.
—under the eaves of the woods, trees appearing as white streams of air that flow about them showing the path—
Oh, a different place, then. They have more than one, or different entrances?
—and bushes move, and a hole, air flowing hot from it, but there is room to—
“No! That’s enough! Wait there.”
“Okay, Boss. Whatever you say.”
But I knew how he felt; I wanted to get my fangs into him, too.
17
B O R A A N NOW now, my dear. Don’t take on so. You know there will always be another body.
[Curtain]
—Miersen, Six Parts Water
Day Two, Act IV, Scene 6
I realized that Meehayi was there, and had been talking for some time.
“I’m sorry,” I told him. “I was distracted.”
“I was telling you what happened.”
“The Count has broken the Guild and arrested its leaders. Chayoor is dead, apparently killed by witchcraft. Are we ready to go yet?”
He stared at me.
I love doing that to people. It’s a weakness.
“How did you—?”
“Are we ready to leave?”
“Almost,” he said. “I’m just waiting for Father Noij,” to let me know the boat is ready. How did you know what had happened?”
“I have sources,” I said. “I suspect people are also out looking for the Coven.”
He nodded, his eyes still wide.
“Would someone in the mob out there like to know where the Coven leaders are right now?”
His eyes widened some more and he nodded. “East of town about three-quarters of a mile, where the road suddenly makes a sharp right, if you continue straight, there is a path that leads down a hill to a brook.”
“Ostafa Creek,” he said.
“Cross the creek and bear left for about three hundred yards. When the creek turns left, look to your right for a clump of bushes. Move them aside and there is a hole in the ground with a ladder.”
He gave me a look I couldn’t read, and went out.
I could now hear commotion in the street outside of my window; I imagine there was a panicked meeting of all the shopkeepers, wondering what they were going to do now, and mothers gossiping about what had happened, which was already starting the transformation from news to history to myth. Five hundred years from now, there will have been a great battle between the witches and the Evil Guild, in which they slaughtered one another, and would have laid waste to the region if the Young Count, riding at the head of his army, had not arrived in the nick of time.
My name would never appear, which was as it should be. We assassins are not big on appearing in news accounts or history books.
The street became quiet.
Meehayi came back in a few minutes later. “They’ve gone off,” he said. “To—”
“Are we ready to leave?”
“There was a little delay.”
“What sort of delay?”
“Father Noij was trying to talk them out of going to see the Coven.”
“Ah,” I said. “Did he have any luck?”
“They ignored him. He should be here soon.”
I nodded and tried to wait patiently. It was more difficult than it ought to have been; but this was the time when, if something were going to go wrong, it would. And being helpless has never been high on my list of favorite things.
I listened to my breathing and waited, not thinking very much about anything. My legs itched under the splints.
“Boss, a mob has just arrived. About thirty of them.”
“Good. Come back.”
“You don’t
want to watch?”
“I’ve seen enough.”
“On my way, then.”
Rocza, I noticed then, was already back; she had returned while I was watching through Loiosh’s eyes.
It’s a useful thing to be able to do—actually see through the eyes of your familiar—and something very few witches have ever mastered; but it can be dangerous as well, because you have no idea what’s going on around you.
It was about a quarter of an hour before he got back, during which time Meehayi expressed concern about Father Noij and what was happening. I suggested he go find him and he went off to do so. While he was gone, Loiosh returned.
“We’re waiting for Father Noij” I told Loiosh.
“I saw him with the mob, Boss. I think he’s trying to stop them.”
“Hmm. Determined son-of-a-bitch. Never figured such a low-life bastard to care about anything enough.”
“Is this bad?”
“Probably not. Just delays us a bit. I hope.”
No, I couldn’t really see any danger. But I had had things timed nicely, and this introduced places where something might go wrong: I didn’t want the Count, for instance, insisting on seeing me and asking embarrassing questions. Or the physicker, for that matter. It could lead to complications.
It was, in the end, a couple of hours before Father Noij came in, looking unhappy.
“They’ve hanged six witches,” he said. “Leaders of the Coven.”
My eyebrows climbed. “Indeed?”
He nodded.
Meehayi was right behind him. “You didn’t know?” he asked me.
“How could I?”
That earned me another Look.
“Who was ‘they’?” I asked Father Noij.
“Members of the Merchants’ Guild, mostly.”
I nodded. “Do you know a fellow named Orbahn?”
He nodded. “He was one.”
I half regretted not having Loiosh stay around to watch that, but, as I’d told him, I’d seen enough.
At that point, someone I didn’t know came into the room. I tensed, until Meehayi introduced him as his big brother. He was actually a little smaller than Meehayi, but that still left a lot of room for big.
Father Noij himself picked up the box full of my things that had been taken when—that had been taken for me. I held the amulet in one hand, Spellbreaker in the other; if anything happened to the box, I’d get by all right.
I winced as they set in to pick me up, Meehayi sliding his arms under mine, his brother taking my legs; but it didn’t hurt. I must be recovering quickly. The virtues of clean living.
Speaking of clean living, damn but those two were strong! They got me down the back stairs only troubled by the narrowness of the stairway and my size; my weight, as far as I could tell, they didn’t even notice.
More important, as far as Loiosh, Rocza, or I could tell, no one saw us.
Once more out into the stench, and I was lying down in the back of a wagon. Meehayi climbed up and took the reins; Father Noij got up next to him, and the brother jumped in next to me. Meehayi gave a cluck, and the horse set off. Loiosh and Rocza flew overhead, watching.
The ride was all right; I bounced a lot but it wasn’t too painful.
They unloaded me like cargo and put me on a small boat of some kind; I didn’t get a look at it. I was placed in a hammock that was a lot more comfortable than I’d have thought. Father Noij left without a word, or even looking at me. There were sounds of footsteps around me and over my head.
Loiosh and Rocza were jumpy and nervous, but I wasn’t, because if something had gone wrong there wasn’t anything to be done about it at this point. A certain amount of fatalism is necessary in this business or you’ll drive yourself nuts worrying about things you can’t help.
I felt the boat push away, and the current take us, and I relaxed, thinking I was safe.
Well I was, for the most part.
I had done a bit of ocean sailing before, and I didn’t especially like it; but this was an entirely different sort of experience. If I had my way, I think I’d live on a boat on the river, just to be able to sleep there. I wasn’t able to watch us leave Burz behind, but I could imagine it, and I did. My dreams were good that night.
The boat trip lasted three days, during which time I never saw a crewman, nor, indeed, anyone except Meehayi, who brought me my food and helped take care of me in other ways. He said little during that time, which was fine with me; I wasn’t feeling especially talkative myself.
I asked him about our progress and he said we should be arriving tomorrow. I asked him if he’d ever been to Fenario before and he said no. I asked if he was excited about being there and he didn’t answer. I had the feeling something was bothering him, but I didn’t think I was in a position to ask him what it was if he didn’t feel like saying.
That evening he came in with a tray with brown bread and a bowl of the fiery pork stew that they’d been serving every evening. As he approached with the food, Loiosh flew over and landed on the side of the bed, interposing himself between me and Meehayi, and hissed.
Meehayi stopped, looked at him, looked at me, and said, “How does he know?”
I don’t know if my mouth dropped open, but it felt like it should have. “You were going to try to kill me?”
“I don’t know,” he said, looking me dead in the eyes without, as far as I could tell, any expression at all. “I was thinking about it.” He half turned and lifted his shirt, and I could see the hilt of a very long, very big knife in a sheath around the back of his pants.
I stared at him. “Why?”
“Look at what you’ve done,” he said. “You are an evil man.”
“Okay, what have I done?”
“You had Master Chayoor killed, you had people in the Guild arrested, you, you must be behind what happened to the witches too. I don’t know.” He kept looking at me. “How many people did you have killed?”
It was strange. His voice was so calm. I swear, give me half a year with this kid and I’ll make him an assassin. “I haven’t laid a finger on anyone,” I said.
“How many?”
“In Burz? Seven.”
“You killed seven people. Just like that.”
“You probably shouldn’t kill me,” I told him. “It’ll make you as bad as me. Not that I think I’m that bad, really. And besides…” I nodded at Loiosh and Rocza. “I’ve got defenders.”
“I don’t know if I would have done it,” he said.
“How did you know?”
“How did you know?”
“Oh,” I said. “Yeah, I always figured showing away like that would get me in trouble. Well, do you have any idea why I did it?”
He shook his head.
“Would you like me to tell you?”
He hesitated, then nodded.
“Then back away a few feet so Loiosh can relax a little.”
He did, and sat down.
“I left home,” I said, “for reasons that don’t concern you. My home is in the West, in the Empire. But my family is from Fenario. My fath—”
“But you’re human.”
“Yes, but I’m more Dragaeran than human now. Never mind. My father died when I was young, my mother when I was younger. I never knew her. I wanted to know who she was. Can you understand that?”
He nodded, just barely. He wasn’t giving anything.
“I learned that her name was Merss.”
“You learned?”
“That’s not my name. Though it could be.” I shrugged. “In any case, I wanted to find her family—my family. I learned of this town, with its paper mill, and that seemed the place to start looking, as long as I was leaving home anyway. So I came here, with nothing more in mind than seeing my family and introducing myself to them, maybe getting to know them a little.”
I gave a short laugh. “Yeah, that was the plan. So I asked around, and none of the merchants would tell me anything about them; the name seemed to upset them. I
met Orbahn, and he—well, it doesn’t matter. I was suspicious of him. But he warned me about the Guild, and denied knowing where the Merss family was. Possible, but in a town this size I didn’t believe it. A family well known enough that the merchants took the name as a threat, yet he didn’t know them? No.”
He nodded, still listening.
“Eventually, I found Zollie, who was willing to tell me about the Merss family. I went out to see them the next day, and they’d been killed. And I learned that the person who’d given me the information was also dead. Most interesting, someone had poisoned him, and tried to blame it on the Coven.”
“You knew about the Coven?”
“I guessed, I didn’t know. There’s usually a Coven in a town like this, so my grandfather told me. They act just like a craft Guild, for witches.”
“What is a craft Guild?”
“Like the Merchants’ Guild, but without the disease.”
“Disease?”
“The Guild in this town is sick, twisted, depraved, power-mad, and greedy.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing, Boss.”
“It is when they get in my way, Loiosh.”
I continued, “A craft Guild is, well, it’s an organization of people in a single craft. All the tinsmiths, say. Or all the masons. Or the glazers.”
“What’s a glazer?”
“Never mind. It was possible there was no Coven, since there were none of the other Guilds. But there are always witches, and they sort of need to band together sometimes, so it’s hard for there not to be one.”
“There isn’t one now,” he said accusingly.
“There will be again. Give it a season. You see, in a town like this—” I bit my tongue so as not to make any remarks about superstitious peasants. “In a town like this, if anything goes wrong, it’s very easy to blame the witches for it, so those who practice the Art need to have some means of banding together to defend themselves, and so no one can play witches off against each other. So, I assumed there was a Coven, and someone wanted it blamed for Zollie’s death.”
