by Steven Brust
“It isn’t that simple,” she said, as if I’d been the other party in whatever internal dialogue was going on.
“Explain, then.”
“You keep wanting to make it friendship versus politics.”
I nodded to indicate that I had no idea what she was talking about.
“But it’s never that clear-cut. It’s all about how bad this would be, and what are the chances of that happening, and how sure are you that this or that will or won’t work.”
I nodded again. Having Aliera e’Kieron in an expansive mood was too good a chance to mess up by speaking.
“But she wouldn’t have done it unless—” She broke off and glared at me.
“Unless what?” I said.
“Just shut up.”
“Don’t feel like it,” I said. “Will you talk to an advocate?”
“Why?”
“So they don’t, I don’t know, kill you or something?”
“You think I care about that?”
“I seem to recall you fighting once as if you did. Maybe you were faking it, though.”
“You know damned well that’s different.”
“You know I’ve always had trouble seeing fine distinctions.”
“You’ve always had trouble seeing anything that wasn’t of immediate practical value.”
“You say that like there’s something wrong with it.”
She made a sound of disgust.
“All right,” I said. “Now probably isn’t the time for philosophy. Will you talk to an advocate?”
“No,” she said.
I took it as equivocal.
“Afraid you might be found innocent?”
She looked at me, then looked off. “Go away.” Ambiguous.
“Sure. Meanwhile, what do you know or suspect that would have led to this, ah, situation, that you don’t want revealed?”
“I’m not going to tell you anything, Vlad. Leave me alone.”
It was hard to know how to react when she was being so hesitant about her wishes.
“You’ve been arrested for reasons of State,” I said as if I were sure. “You may not know what they are, but you know that’s what it is. And you’re afraid that if you defend yourself it will interfere with whatever the Empress is doing.”
“Drop dead.”
“It must not have occurred to you that the Empress is counting on you to defend yourself, otherwise she’d never have used this device to accomplish whatever she’s trying to accomplish.”
She looked at me, and there was a flicker of interest in her eyes. “How would you know?”
“She told me. She all but told me, by what she wouldn’t tell me.”
“You spoke to her?”
“I can do that. I have an Imperial title, you know.”
“And she said—”
“I got the feeling there were a lot of things going on she couldn’t tell me.”
“You got the feeling.”
“Right.”
“So you’re guessing.”
“Less than certainty, more than guesswork.”
She made a general sound of disgust.
I waited. Dragonlords are much too stubborn to be convinced of anything by argument, so the trick to dealing with them is to avoid saying something that will get you killed until they come around to your opinion on their own. This is more true of Aliera than most.
She said, “If Her Majesty had not wished for my conviction, she wouldn’t have begun the arrest proceedings.”
“Uh huh,” I said.
Those were the last words spoken for some few minutes. Spoken aloud, I mean; Loiosh spoke a bit into my mind, mostly making observations about Aliera’s character. I’d heard them before. I’d said them before.
“I wish to reemphasize the one important thing,” I said eventually.
“What. Is. That?”
“If you don’t have an advocate, it’ll be pretty obvious to everyone that you’re deliberately sacrificing yourself. If you are deliberately sacrificing yourself, that is liable to undo a great deal of what the Empress is trying to accomplish.”
She stared at me. I think she knew I was just trying to maneuver her into doing what I wanted; the trouble was that it was a valid argument. Eventually she said, “Is the advocate any good?”
“How would I know?” I said. “Probably not.”
She glared. “All right. I’ll see him.”
“I’ll let him know.”
“Get out of here.”
That time I did.
4
Lady Otria e’Terics reported that, while no weapons were found on the scene, save those in use by the Imperial army and so marked, and three personal, unmarked weapons claimed by same, there were several implements in or near the cottage that could have been utilized as weapons. See list Appendix 12. Upon being asked if there was evidence that they had been so utilized, Lady Otria e’Terics declined to answer. See Deposition 9.
There’s an inn called Dancer’s Rest not far from the Iorich Wing. It’s one of those places where they figure if they fill the courtyard with marble statues and fountains and flowers that are blooming off-season, they can charge two orbs a night for a nine-copper room. It works, I guess. At least, I paid it. Some of the statues were pretty. And, you know, when you’ve been away from civilization for a while, you value a nine-copper room at any price.
It had the other advantage that, by Jhereg custom, anyone staying there was considered at home. In theory, I should be safe there. In practice, since one of the things the Jhereg wanted me for was breaking a rule like that, I probably shouldn’t bet my soul on it.
It cost another orb to have food sent up to my room, which had a window from which I could see the upper reaches of the Iorich and the Chreotha Wings, the first with its signature bell tower, the latter with its massive wall of bas-relief jungle plants. I could see them well, because the window was glass. That’s the sort of thing you get for two orbs a night.
The bed was considerably softer than the ground I’d gotten used to sleeping on, and there was even enough room to turn with my arms stretched out. That’s the thing about rooms near the Palace: They’re small; probably designed to make the Palace seem bigger, I don’t know.
“You ever planning to fall asleep, Boss?”
“The walls are too thick. It’s too quiet. I’m used to things chittering and rustling all night.”
He didn’t answer, and somewhere in there I fell asleep and had a confusing dream about thick walls that were in between me and something I wanted, I don’t remember what, and I kept trying to dig through them with the dull edge of a knife. Why the dull edge? How should I know; I was only a spectator.
I woke late the next morning, feeling pretty good. Loiosh and Rocza scouted the area, decided it was safe, and I went out looking for klava. Found some. Drank it. Was happy. I also picked up a warm sweet bun stuffed with kethna, and it was good too. Then, with Loiosh and Rocza taking precautions for me, I made my way back to the Iorich Wing.
The advocate’s door was closed and there was a note pinned to it with the initial V in tight, careful script. I took down the note and unfolded it to read, “Running an errand; wait in my office.”
I shrugged and reached for the door handle, and Loiosh said, “Boss!”
I froze. “What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
My hand brushed Lady Teldra’s hilt, but I didn’t draw. Pulling a Morganti weapon in the House of the Iorich is the sort of thing that gets you talked about, and I wasn’t going to do it if I didn’t have to.
“Something about that note bothers me.”
“If you tell me you’ve suddenly turned into a handwriting expert—”
He didn’t answer; I could feel him thinking, or at least doing something with his mind, probing or sensing in a way that I couldn’t feel. I waited. I hoped no one walked by, because I’d either kill him or feel like an idiot for standing outside of this door not moving. I studied the note a
gain. Was it the same handwriting I’d seen from Perisil? Pretty close. I started to pull out the directions he’d written out for me to compare the writing, but Loiosh spoke before I could.
“There’s someone inside.”
“Okay.”
“It isn’t him.”
“Okay. Anyone else around?”
“A few of the other offices have people in them.”
“Send Rocza ahead.”
She left my shoulder almost before the words were out of my metaphorical mouth. I turned and walked back the way I’d come—not too fast, not too slow, trying to stay alert for any sound, any flicker of movement. It’s the sort of experience that wakes up every particle of your body. If it weren’t for the thrill of the thing, I’d just as soon skip it completely.
“She says it’s clear ahead, Boss.”
The hallway was much, much longer than it had been two minutes before when I was going the other way, and my footsteps were much louder. Two Justicers were walking slowly toward me, deep in conversation, and I gave them an extra look even though I could tell they weren’t Jhereg from the frankly curious glance they gave me. I could feel Loiosh watching them until they were well past.
I reached the stairway at the far end of the hallway with Rocza still scouting ahead. On the main floor I could relax a little; there were uniformed armsmen there, and a few more people as well as more open space; it was a bad place for an assassin to make a move.
The same elderly woman was in the same place near the door. Next to her was a Chreotha with a cart selling food of some sort. I bought a hot and flaky pastry filled with garlicky potato. I stood off to the side eating and thinking.
I fed the remainders to the jhereg; people around pretended not to notice. Lady Teldra would have been proud of them.
I brushed crumbs off my fingers.
“Okay, Boss. Now where?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“Yeah, like I said.”
“This is pretty safe, but I think after standing here six or seven hours I’ll start to feel silly.”
“When has that—”
“Of course, it might be fun to stand here until the assassin gives up and leaves, and then give him a big smile as he goes by.”
“Sure, Boss. Whatever floats your castle.”
“The other idea is not to do that.” I reviewed a list of more practical possibilities, then approached the woman behind the desk with a short bow. “Is there a common waiting area?”
She frowned. “If you wish to see an advocate, they each have offices.”
“Yes,” I said. “I’d rather wait elsewhere, if you don’t mind.”
She looked like she wanted to ask why, but only gestured to her right, saying, “Fourth door on the right. It should be open.”
“Can a note be delivered to Lord Perisil?”
She frowned again. “Would that be High Counsel Perisil?”
“Yes,” I said, while the ghost of Lady Teldra probably tsked at me for not knowing the proper title and at her for correcting me.
The clerk was kind enough to let me use a piece of coarse paper and a cheap pencil. I wrote a short note and handed it over, not even bothering to fold it. “I do not know the customs of your House,” I said. “I trust this will go to his hand, and nowhere else?”
“That is correct,” she said, a bit contemptuously. She probably hated her job, sitting there hour after hour sending people one way or another. I wondered how long she’d been doing it. Since the Interregnum ended, to look at her.
She took the note and put it casually on her desk under what looked like a piece of polished stone. I turned away from her slowly, scanning the room: A few people, mostly Iorich, were passing by on business of their own. The jhereg got some curious glances.
The place she’d directed me to was big and comfortable, mostly done in a pale blue that was probably calculated to make me feel something or other.
“You know, Boss, for someone who hates waiting—”
“Oh, shut up.”
Not that he wasn’t right. I found a chair against a wall because all of the chairs were against a wall. I stretched my legs out, closed my eyes, and tried to relax. Somewhere below me, there was a Jhereg expecting me to walk into Perisil’s office so I could be killed. Was Perisil in on it? Unlikely. The Jhereg don’t like to use advocates for illegal stuff; and besides, if he’d been in on it the note wouldn’t have looked funny.
Here’s the thing: Anyone can be shined. That’s just how it is. If you want someone bad enough, you can get him. But if he knows you’re after him, he can pretty much keep out of trouble as long as he stays alert. Which makes the question simple: How long can someone stay alert, always watching alleyways, aware of anyone who is carefully not looking at you, keeping an eye out for a good place to make a move. How long can you keep that up?
For most people, the answer is: hours, maybe a day or two.
But it turns out that you can do it a lot longer if you have a pair of jhereg taking shifts for you.
Did that mean I was safe? Not hardly. Sooner or later they were bound to get me. But thanks to Loiosh and Rocza, I had a pretty reasonable chance of making it later rather than sooner as long as I didn’t do too many stupid things.
I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong; I’ve gone for months without doing anything stupid. Did I just survive this time because the assassin got sloppy? Maybe. I’d like to think that if it were me I’d have been more careful with the note. Perhaps not, though. No one can do everything perfectly; mistakes happen. But we’re assassins: when we make mistakes, people live.
From time to time someone would come into the room, wait for a while, be met by someone, and leave. I guess I was there for a couple of hours before Perisil came in. He nodded to me, and said, “You could have waited in my office.”
I stood up, nodded, and followed him back down the stairs. We didn’t see anyone in the long hallway. He walked in, took a seat behind his desk, and gave me a questioning look. I decided it was a safe bet that if there’d been an assassin standing there holding a knife, he’d have reacted somehow, so I went in after him and took a seat.
“Want to explain?” he said.
“Explain what?”
“Never mind, then.”
“You saw Aliera?”
“Just got back. She’s very, ah, proud,” he said.
“If you aren’t stating the obvious, then I’m missing the point.”
“I’m stating the obvious.”
“All right.”
“Mostly.” He sat down behind the desk as if he’d just been through a battle. It was a very familiar motion, although when I sat down like that, the battle had usually been more physical.
“Want to tell me about it?” I said.
“I got her to agree to let me defend her.”
“Well done.”
“But she won’t cooperate in the endeavor.”
“That would be a problem.”
“Yes.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“Think about it.”
“I’ve tried that with Aliera.”
“Not much luck?”
“She isn’t subject to what passes for logical thought in most people.”
He nodded. “I’ll see what I can come up with. Have you learned anything?”
“The Empress was hit with some sort of disaster that reflects badly on her.”
“With whom?”
“Knowing the Empress, probably history. She’s never seemed to care much about public opinion.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“Not very. Not yet.”
“You think it might be Tirma?”
“Maybe. Hard to say, since this is the first I’ve ever heard of Tirma.”
“Oh. That’s right, you’ve been out of the city, haven’t you?”
“Yes. I only heard about Aliera’s arrest by a fluke.”
“Tirma is a village in the far northwest. Th
ere was some unrest there, and a request for Imperial troops. No one knows what happened, but some peasants were slaughtered.”
“Innocent ones?”
“Some say.”
“I’ll bet Kelly has a lot to say on the subject.”
“Who?”
“Never mind. How does arresting Aliera help? A distraction?”
“Maybe.”
He looked like he was thinking, so I let him alone. After a minute or two he said, “The bigger question is, how does Aliera think it helps?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Assuming all our speculations are right.”
“We have to find out for sure.”
“You’re telling me that’s my job.”
“I’m saying I expect your help.”
I grunted. “I guess that’s fair.”
He nodded.
I suppose I could have told him that the Jhereg already knew I was back in town, and it wouldn’t be safe for me to go sniffing around places. But then what? I mean, it had to be done.
“Sure, Boss. But do you have to be the one to do it?”
“Seems like.”
“Why?”
“No one else is.”
“Right, Boss. Why?”
“Oh.”
“. . .and until then, I’m not going to be able to—”
“Sorry, I was distracted. Start over?”
He gave me an odd look. “I was saying that I need something I can take to a Justicer.”
“What do you mean, take to a Justicer?”
“I mean sending a Petition of Release, or make a case for Dishonorable Prosecution.”
“Dishonorable Prosecution? They have that?”
“It’s in the books.”
“How many times has it been brought?”
“Successfully?”
“At all.”
“Twenty-seven.”
“Successfully?”
“Never.”
“You’d bring that against the Empress?”
“Against the Empire, but, in effect, yes.”
“Forget it. Aliera will never permit it.”
He nodded as if he’d come to the same conclusion. “Probably true, but I want to have it there anyway.”
“Whatever you think,” I said.
“What I think is that this is very odd.”
