by Steven Brust
He shrugged. “Ask the Empress; I’ve already said too much.”
“I won’t press it, then.”
“Where are you going next?”
“I guess I’d better try to find Aliera an advocate, unless you want to.”
“I’m willing, if you’ll tell me how.”
“I know what to look for, more or less. It’s easier if I just do it.”
“Unless,” he pointed out, “you get killed trying.”
“Yeah, that would slow it down. But if I stay in the Imperial Palace, I should be safe. And if I stay close to it, I’ll stay close to safe.”
“You know best.”
I wanted to note the time and date he’d said that. “They already know I’m in town, because I took the amulet off to get here. So they’ll know I’m in the Palace.” I shrugged. “Let them gnash their teeth. I know how to slip away when I need to.”
“Boss, you lie like an Issola.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“All right,” said Morrolan. “I don’t know the Iorich Wing. Where should I set you down?”
“Anywhere in the Palace they permit it that isn’t the Dragon Wing or Jhereg Wing.”
He nodded. “Ready?”
I removed the amulet, put it in its pouch, sealed the pouch, and nodded.
He gestured, and time passed during which I was nowhere, then I was somewhere else. I took the amulet out again, put it on, and looked around. Imperial Wing; good enough.
It took me a good hour to find my way out of the Palace, mostly because I wanted to leave through the Iorich Wing, so I could cross to the House of the Iorich as quickly as possible. Yes, there’s a constant strain in knowing you’re being hunted, but even that is something you can get used to. You take sensible precautions, and minimize risk, and don’t let it get to you.
At least, that’s the theory.
The House of the Iorich (as opposed to the Iorich Wing of the Palace—just so you don’t get confused. I wouldn’t want you to get confused) was distinguished by a high door with a gilt arch, over which stood the representation of the House; this one, unlike the one in the Wing of the Palace, looking forward. The door was open. The two guards, in the colors of the Iorich, glanced at me but let me walk past without saying anything.
An elderly Dragaeran in a simple gown of brown and white approached me, gave her name (which I don’t remember), and asked how she could serve me. I told her I was in need of an advocate, and she said, speaking in very low tones even though no one else was around, that if I cared to tell her the general nature of the problem, she could perhaps recommend someone.
“Thank you,” I said. “That isn’t necessary, if you’d be so good as to tell me if Lady Ardwena is available.”
Her face closed up like the shutters of a house in the East, and she said, “Of course. Please come with me, and I’ll show you to a waiting room.”
I did and she did, with no further words being exchanged. I guess she knew what sort of clients Lady Ardwena took, and she didn’t approve. A blight on the House, I’ve no doubt.
The room was small and empty; it felt comfortable, though, lit with a pair of ornate oil lamps. While we waited, I exchanged remarks about the decor with Loiosh, who didn’t have much to say about it.
After about five minutes, she came in herself, stopping at the door, looking at me, then stepping in and closing it. I stood up and gave her a slight bow. “Lady Ardwena. It has been a few years.”
“I can do nothing for you,” she said. There was a lot of tension in her voice. I couldn’t blame her, but neither was I overwhelmed with sympathy.
“Just need some questions answered.”
“I shouldn’t even do that.”
She wouldn’t have put it that way if she’d intended not to; she wouldn’t even have seen me. I said, “It isn’t even about me. My problems aren’t legal.”
“No,” she said. “They aren’t. Who is it about?”
“Aliera e’Kieron.”
Her eyes widened a little. “You know her?”
Heh. And here I’d thought everyone knew that. “Yes. She needs an advocate. I need you to recommend one.”
“I’ve heard she’s refused advice.”
“Yes, that makes it harder.”
She nodded and fell silent for a bit. “I’ve heard of the matter, of course. Part thirty paragraphs one, two, and five, isn’t it?”
“Just one and two.”
She nodded. “They’re moving on it quickly.”
“Which means?”
“Which means that they don’t like their case, or else they need it prosecuted for political reasons, and the issue isn’t the issue, as it were.”
“That’s good to know.”
She chewed on her lower lip and sat down. I sat down too and waited while she thought.
“You’ll need someone who can handle a recalcitrant client, and someone who’s done a lot of work with Folio ninety-one. Imperial Edicts are different from both Codified Traditions and Statutes. They’re a bit like Ordinances except with the full force of the Imperium behind them, which makes them a bit of a niche. And then there’s the fact that the Empire is moving so quickly. . . all right.” She pulled out a stub of pencil and a tiny square of paper. “See him. If he won’t do it, maybe he’ll be able to recommend someone.”
“Thanks,” I said.
She stood up, nodded to me, and glided out. With the amount of money I’d given her over the years, I figured she owed me at least this much. She probably didn’t agree, but was afraid that I was in a position to make life difficult for her if she didn’t help me. And I was.
2
By “The State” we mean that body that holds the monopoly on the use of violence within a geographic region and has the power and authority to determine how much and in what manner and under what circumstances this monopoly will be delegated, authorized, or commissioned to other bodies or individuals. This power is expressed and interpreted through the body’s various legal systems, coded or uncoded.
By this definition, (cf. Lanya), it is clear that to accept the existence of a State is to accept the monopoly on violence, and so too in reverse. The question, therefore, of the legitimacy of any act of violence by the State, whether deliberate or accidental, must first of all be determined according to:
1. The legitimacy of the State.
2. The legitimacy of the interests of the State in which the violence occurred.
3. The appropriateness or lack thereof of the particular acts of violence in serving those interests.
It is for this reason that, for example, any violence committed by a rebellious vassal is inherently illegitimate; any act of violence by agents of the State that are committed for personal motivations are considered criminal misappropriation of authority; and any act of violence that, in intent, fails to advance the cause of the State is considered negligent.
The committee began its investigation into the events in Tirma on this basis.
The name on the paper was Perisil. I’d never heard of him, but then, the only Iorich I’d ever heard of were those who were willing to take Jhereg as clients—a relatively low number.
I went and showed the name and got directions to a subbasement of the House, and from there to a narrow side passage that looked like an afterthought to the construction; it was meaner and the ceiling was lower and the lighting not so good. Here, unlike in the rest of the House, there were names over the doors. I wondered if somehow having your name over the door meant you were less important. In any case, it helped me find the right one.
I clapped and waited. After a while, I clapped again. I still heard nothing, but the door opened a little and a pair of odd violet eyes were peering at me, then at Loiosh and Rocza, then at me.
“Yes?” he said, or rather squeaked. His voice was high-pitched and small; I couldn’t imagine him arguing before the Court. I mean, do you want the Justicer laughing at your advocate? Well, I don’t
know, maybe that would help.
“May I come in?”
He opened the door a bit more. He was only a little taller than Aliera, who was only a little taller than me. His shoulders were broad, and for a Dragaeran he’d have been called stocky. His dress was casual, to the point where the laces on his doublet were only loosely tied and his gloves were unevenly hanging on his belt. For an Iorich, that’s casual, okay? He said, “An Easterner. If you’re here on your own behalf, or one of your countrymen, I’ve never done anything with the Separation Laws, though I’ve looked through them of course.”
The office behind him was tiny and square, mostly taken up by a wooden desk that looked old and well-used; it had grooves and scratches here and there, and it just barely left room for a couple of chairs that were ugly and metal. There were white spaces on the wall where some pictures or something had once hung, and there was some sort of framed official document hanging prominently above and behind his chair. I said, “You were recommended to me by Lady Ardwena. My name is Vladimir Taltos. I’m here on behalf of Aliera e’Kieron.”
“Oh. Come in, then.” He stepped out of my way. He looked at Loiosh and Rocza again. “Interesting pets you have.”
“Thank him for me, Boss. I always love hearing my pets complimented.”
I ignored Loiosh and stepped inside. “New office for you?” I said.
He nodded. “Just recently permitted into the House from an outside office.” Then he stopped halfway into his chair. “How did you know that?”
He sat behind the desk. I sat in one of the chairs. It was ugly, but at least it was uncomfortable. “Aliera,” I prompted.
“Lady Ardwena for Aliera e’Kieron,” he repeated. “That’s an interesting juxtaposition. But then, I think I’ve heard of you.”
I made a sort of noise that could mean anything and let him talk. All the advocates I’ve ever met are perfectly willing to talk from Homeday to Northport. The best of them are willing to listen, too.
He nodded as if to some inner voice. “You have paperwork?”
“None,” I said.
“Oh. Are you registered as a friend?”
“Yes, but not confirmed.”
“Hmmm,” he said. “She doesn’t want to see her friends, and doesn’t want an advocate.”
“Well, you know Dragonlords.”
“Not many, not well. I’ve never had one as a client.”
“Dragonlords think there are two ways to solve any problem, and the first is killing somebody.”
He nodded. “The second?”
“Most of them never need to come up with one.”
He folded his arms and sat back. “Tough situation,” he said. “Do you have money?”
“Yes.”
He named a figure that was a substantial percentage of what I used to charge to kill someone. I borrowed his pen and ink and blotter and I wrote out a draft on my bank and passed it over. He studied it carefully, blew on it, then set it aside and nodded.
“Where can you be reached?”
“Castle Black.”
“I know the place,” he said. He steepled his fingers and stared at nothing for a bit. “Am I correct that you don’t know why she refuses an advocate or to see anyone?”
“I can speculate,” I said, “knowing Aliera.”
“She’s outraged, offended, and more full of pride than her father was before he destroyed the world?”
“Oh, you know her?”
“Heard of her, of course.”
“Dragons,” I said.
“Indeed.”
“Can you explain the laws that apply here?”
“There isn’t much to explain. Elder Sorcery is forbidden by Imperial Edict.”
“Yeah, what does that mean?”
“That it isn’t a Codified Tradition. Codified Traditions are more fun.”
“Fun?”
“For an advocate. With a traditional, we can always find interesting ways to reinterpret the tradition, or find an historical context for its creation that has changed, or question how it was codified. That sort of thing is always fun. Me, I work mostly with Edicts.”
“Oh. Why?”
“I don’t know. I fell into it, I suppose. It suits me, though. If I were a Dragon, I’d say it was because they’re more of a challenge. In fact, I suppose what I enjoy isn’t the interpretation of the law as much as establishing and arguing about the facts. Most of the law involves detail work and subtleties of interpretation. Edicts are yes or no, did or didn’t.”
In this case: did, I thought. “That this was an Edict means what, exactly?”
“It means it was explicitly declared by an Emperor at some point. Like a Statute, only with the force of the Empire behind it. That one in particular is about as old as the Empire.”
“What does it mean for us? In a practical sense.”
“It means there’s no way to attack the law itself; the only questions are: did she do it, and if so, how harsh should the sentence be.”
“Can’t get anywhere on the interpretation?”
“How can you when the Empress can just consult the Orb and ask?”
“Oh, right. Death is the maximum sentence?”
“Yes.”
“You have to admit, Boss; it would be funny if Aliera ended up on the Star before you did.”
“Yeah, I’ll just laugh myself sick over that one, Loiosh.”
“What is the minimum?”
“The minimum? I suppose the minimum would be the Empress saying, ‘Don’t do that anymore.’ ”
“I see. And what would you expect?”
“No way to tell. The Empress knows Aliera, doesn’t she?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “If they’re friends, it will be harder for the Empress to be lenient.”
I nodded. Politics.
He said, “It’s going to be difficult if I can’t get her cooperation, you know.”
“I know. I think I can get you her cooperation, if I can manage to get in to see her.”
He brushed his hair back. “I might be able to manage that.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’m not saying anything yet. Let me give it some thought.” I was good with that. He could do as much thinking as he wanted. His voice didn’t seem as odd after you’d been listening to it for a while.
After a moment, he said, as if to himself, “Yes, that should work.”
“Hmmm?”
“One option is to petition, in your name, to have her declared incompetent to manage her affairs.”
I laughed. “Oh, she’ll love that!”
“No doubt.”
“I’ll testify, Boss. I’ve been saying for years—”
“Shut up.”
“Think they’ll go for it?”
He frowned. “Go for it?”
“I mean, will you be able to convince the Empire that she’s incompetent.”
“Oh, of course not. That isn’t the point. The point is to convince her to accept an advocate. If she won’t in the dispute with the Empire, she might to prove she isn’t mad. If not, it might convince her to be willing to see you, and give you a chance to talk her into accepting counsel.”
“Ah. Yes, that might work. Or it might just make her more stubborn. She’ll see through it, of course.” I considered. “It’s hard to know how she’ll jump.”
“Hmmm. There’s another thing I might try first. It would be quicker, at any rate.”
“If it’s also less likely to get me killed, that would be good, too. What is it?”
“Procedural complaint to the Empire. If we start out attacking, we can always back off; if we start on the defensive, it’s harder to change direction.” He drummed his fingers on the desktop. Then he nodded. “Yes, I’ll try that first. I should be able to get the petition written up and submitted in an hour. We might get results by the end of the day.”
“They don’t waste time.”
“Not with this. For whatever reason, they’re
in a hurry with this case.”
“Um, yeah,” I said. “So it seems. Why is that?”
“Good question. If you want to do something useful, find out.”
“What makes you think I’d be able to do that?”
“I recognized your name.”
“Oh. I’m famous.”
“If you wish.”
“Can you tell me where to start looking?”
“You could ask the Empress.”
“Okay.”
His eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. “I wasn’t serious.”
“Oh?”
“You know the Empress?”
“We’ve spoken.”
“Well, if you think you can get her tell you anything, I won’t stop you.”
“All right,” I said. “If that doesn’t work?”
“Lord Delwick, of my House, might be able to tell you some things, if he’s willing to talk to you. He’s our Imperial Representative.”
“Okay,” I said. “A word of advice: Don’t do anything to mess up his relationship with the Empire. The House hates that.”
“So I’ve heard,” he said.
“All right, I’ll get started, then.”
He opened up a desk drawer, dug around for a while, and then handed me what looked like a copper coin with the Iorich insignia. “Show him this, and tell him I sent you.”
I accepted it, put it in my pouch, and said, “I’ll check back with you from time to time.”
“Of course.”
I stood and gave him a bow, which he acknowledged with gesture of his head, then I let myself out.
I made my way back to the entryway of the House without too much effort, assisted by Loiosh, who has a pretty good memory for twists and turns.
I sent him and Rocza out ahead of me to spot any assassins lurking in the area, was told there weren’t any, and made a brisk walk across the way to the entrance of the Palace. I went as straight through as the twists of the Wing would permit, and out into the Imperial Wing.
Wherever you are in the Imperial Wing (all right, wherever I’ve been) you’ll see pages and messengers scurrying around, all with the Phoenix badge, usually carrying a green folder, though sometimes it will be a gold one, and occasionally something other than a folder. I always resent them, because they give the impression they know their way around the place, which is obviously impossible. Doors, corridors, stairways are everywhere, and going off at absurd angles as if designed by a madman. You have no choice but to ask directions of someone, usually a guardsman, who will of course let you know exactly what they think of Easterners who can’t find their way around.
