by Steven Brust
“Not really,” she said. She drew her finger through a spot in the air in front of her, and a small slash of white light remained. “Aliera is widely known, even among the Teckla, as witness the fact that you heard about it from wherever you were.” She made another slash next to the first. “She is widely known to be a friend of the Empress.” She made a third slash—I need to learn how to do that. “It’s common knowledge that the Empire turns a blind eye to her activities. Who else can all that be said of?”
I felt myself scowling. “Yeah, all right. So it’s on me. How do I do it?”
“I understand the advocate you found is very good. Rely on him.”
“He is?”
“Within his specialty.”
“That’s good to know. He’s got me—you know what he’s got me doing.”
“Yes. It seems wise.”
“I’m going to have to speak to Norathar.”
“Oh,” she said. Then, “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“All right,” she said after a moment. “I’ll arrange it.”
“Thank you.”
I drank some more wine without tasting it. We sat there until the comfortable silence became uncomfortable. Then I said, “Sethra, who else are you?”
“Hmmm?”
“I mean, you must have other, ah, identities, besides—”
“Oh. No one you’ve ever met. Or heard of, I imagine.”
“It must be difficult.”
“Sometimes. Sometimes it’s the only fun I ever have.”
I nodded. I wanted to ask her about some of the other people she was, but it was pretty obvious she didn’t want to talk about it, so I finished my wine and fell silent.
A little later she said, “Norathar has agreed to see you.”
“When?”
“Now, if it’s convenient.”
“Convenient,” I said. “Heh. All right. Later, I’d like. . .”
She frowned. “What?”
“Nothing. I’m going to see Norathar. After that, I think I’d like some food.”
She looked away. “Valabar’s is watched constantly.”
“So I’d assumed. I was thinking about somewhere safer. Like, say, the Punctured Lung.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know it,” she said.
“Sorry, Jhereg slang. The Punctured Jug.”
“Ah. Yes, by Clover Ring.”
“It’s Jhereg owned, so it’s safe. Niscan used to eat there when half the city was walking around with embalming oil for him.”
She nodded. “As long as it’s safe. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Kind of you to say.” I stood up and nodded.
“I’ll do the teleport,” she said.
How do you ask the Enchantress of Dzur Mountain if she’s too drunk to manage a teleport safely? Answer: You don’t.
“Thanks,” I told her.
INTERLUDE: MEMORY
It came back sharp and clear, all the edges distinct, the colors vivid, even the sounds echoing in my ears. I had stood there, looking at where she lived then, and unable to speak. I had just finished proving I wasn’t a hero. Kragar came along that time, to provide moral support or something, but had waited a bit down the street so I could meet the boy by myself first.
She invited me in.
“Where is—?”
“It’s his nap time.”
“Oh.”
“He’ll be up again in a bit.”
We sat and talked about nothing for a while. Then there was a sound in the next room like a cat whose tail has been stepped on, and my heart did a thing.
“I’ll be right back,” said Cawti.
Across from me was psiprint of Noish-pa, looking haughty and forbidding, which shows you how false psiprints can be. It was a long two or three minutes before she returned.
A toddler toddled behind her. He wore short pants and a gray frock, and his dark hair was neatly brushed. His eyes were huge and reminded me of Cawti’s. She said, “Vlad, this is your father.”
The boy stared at me for a moment, then turned and pressed himself against Cawti’s legs. She gave me an apologetic smile. “He’s bashful around strangers,” she said. I nodded. “Just ignore him,” she said. “He’ll come around.”
Ignore him. Yeah. “All right,” I said.
“Come on, Vlad. Shall we find your turtle?”
He nodded into her knees. She took his hand and led him over to a long, reddish wooden box under the window. I knew that box; it had once held weapons. Now, it seems, it held a cloth turtle stuffed with I know not what.
I expected him to hug it, but he didn’t; he walked into a corner, sat down, and began studying it. Cawti sat on the edge of a short couch I didn’t recognize and picked up her glass. We watched him.
“What’s he doing?” I asked in a low tone.
“Figuring out how it’s put together,” she said.
“Oh. Is it that difficult?”
“It’s a sort of puzzle. The cloth folds over in certain ways to make a turtle, and if you unfold it right you get something else. The first one was a lyorn, the second a dayocat. I don’t know what this one is. I guess we’ll find out.”
I smiled. “He solved the first two?”
“Quick.”
I smiled more. “Where did you find the toy?”
“A little girl makes them, and brings them around. I don’t know why, but she seems harmless.”
“A little girl? Does she have a name?”
“Devera.”
I nodded.
“Do you know her?” she asked.
“Um. Yes and no. But you’re right; she wouldn’t hurt him.”
That seemed to satisfy Cawti. We watched my son a little more. If he was aware that we were watching him, he chose to ignore it. It was hard to talk about him as if he weren’t there. Probably a bad idea, too.
Vlad Norathar walked over to his mother and presented her with an object. “That’s very good,” she said. “Do you know what it is?”
“It’s a horse,” he explained.
She nodded. “Show your father.”
He turned and gave me an evaluating look; I wished I could have decided what expression to have on my face. I settled on trying to look interested but not demanding, and it must have worked because he marched over and showed me the horse.
“That’s very good,” I said. “But the turtle must be pretty crunched inside it.”
He frowned and considered that. “You’re silly,” he explained.
I’d never been called silly before; I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. Good, I think.
He tucked the horse’s ears back in and out a few times, satisfying himself that he had the secret, then he went over and sat on the box and set about turning it into a turtle again. Cawti and I watched him.
“He’s very bright,” I said.
She smiled.
We watched Vlad Norathar a little longer. With no warning, he turned to me and said, “I have a hawk.”
“I’d like to see it,” I said.
He dug in the box and came out with a porcelain figure about a foot high, and very lifelike. He walked over and handed it to me without hesitation. I studied it carefully. At last I said, “This is the bird that is called a vahndoor in the language of our ancestors.”
He studied me. “Are you being silly?”
“Not this time,” I said. “There are lots of languages. People speak different.”
“Why?”
“Now that is a fine question. Maybe because they invented talking in different places, or else moved away from each other so far that they started talking differently. In this language, the one we’re speaking, there is only one word for all sorts of birds of prey. In Fenarian, each sort of bird has its own name.”
“Does each bird have its own name too?”
“If someone names it.”
“Don’t they name themselves?”
“No, they don’t. Well, maybe they do, come to thin
k of it. I’m not sure.”
“What sort of bird is that?”
“Okay, now I’m insulted.”
“It isn’t a bird, it’s a jhereg. A sort of flying reptile that eats dead things and makes sarcastic comments.”
“What does that mean?”
Me and my big mouth.
“It means sometimes he says things he doesn’t mean because he thinks they’re funny.”
“He talks?”
“Into my mind.”
“What’s he saying now?”
“He isn’t saying anything just this minute.”
“Does he like me?”
“How would I know? I haven’t tasted him.”
“Don’t.”
“Sorry, Boss.”
“You can touch him if you wish.”
“What is that, punishment?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head furiously, his eyes wide. I smiled. “It’s all right.” I went back to studying his hawk. I handed it back to him. He took it and brought it over to Cawti, and spent some time studying Rocza, perched on her shoulder. After a moment, Rocza stretched her neck out toward him and lowered her head. He hesitated, then reached out a finger and touched her head as if it were a hot stove. When she didn’t move, he stroked the top of her head once.
“I’m trying to figure out if I should be jealous,” said Loiosh.
“Let me know when you’ve decided.”
“I want one of my own,” announced Vlad Norathar.
I looked at Cawti, who looked back at me and shrugged. “These are very special animals,” she said. “You have to study a long time to be able to have one.”
He looked stubborn.
“If you want one,” she continued, “we’ll start you on the training.”
He looked at her and nodded once, then went back to his box of toys. Was he too young to start training as a witch? Maybe. It wasn’t my decision.
“You’re looking good,” I said.
“Thank you.”
Vlad Norathar turned around from the box and said, “Why aren’t you living with us?”
I met his eyes, which was more difficult than a lot of other eyes I’ve had to meet. “There are people who want to kill me. If I stay here, they’ll find me.”
“Oh,” he said. He considered it carefully. “Why don’t you kill them instead?”
I stroked the hilt of Lady Teldra inside my cloak and said, “You know, I’ve asked myself that same question.”
Cawti said, “You can’t always solve problems by killing someone. In fact, as your father can testify, most of the time killing someone just makes things worse.”
“That,” I said, “is unfortunately true. But, hey, it’s a living.”
“Your father is teasing,” said Cawti.
I nodded. “I do that sometimes.”
“Why?” said Vlad Norathar.
“Another good question,” I said.
“I could answer it,” said Cawti. “But I shan’t.”
“Probably best.”
He looked puzzled for a moment, but let it go—a trait that he’d certainly find very useful later in life. He said, “Why do they want to kill you?”
I started to say something about breaking the rules, but Cawti cut me off with, “He was saving my life.” Was there an edge of bitterness when she said it, or was it purely my imagination?
“He did?”
“Yes,” she said.
“They want to kill him for that?”
“Yes.”
Vlad Norathar said, “That isn’t fair.”
“No,” said Cawti. “It isn’t.”
I resisted the urge to make some trite remark about how life wasn’t fair, and instead let the kid think about it.
He pulled a lyorn out of the box, held it in one hand with the horse in the other and studied them carefully. Then he put the horse down and began playing with the lyorn’s horn, pushing it in and out. It seemed to me he was still thinking about our conversation, but maybe that was my imagination.
I said, “Kragar would like to meet him, too.”
She frowned. “I have no objection, but another time would be better.”
“All right.”
I stood up. “I should be going.”
Cawti nodded. “Say good-bye to your father, Vlad.”
He got bashful again and hid his face. Cawti gave me an apologetic smile and the two of them walked me to the door. Rocza rubbed Cawti’s face then flew over to my left shoulder.
I turned and walked back to where Kragar waited.
6
Lukka, I just had a talk with Nurik, and it was made pretty clear that we’re supposed to dump this all on the lowest ranks we think we can get away with. I told him if he wanted that sort of game played, he’d have to get someone else to run the thing, because I won’t go there. If I resign, you’re the obvious choice to take over, so think hard about how you’ll handle this. I know what sort of pressures N. can bring, so if you go with it, I’ll stay mute, but it’s worth considering. I know Papacat and the new Warlord do not favor any such arrangement, and you should remember that HM is, so far as I know, not in on it either; I think she wants the investigation to be forthright, mostly because she wants to know if it’s all her fault. I’d tell her if I knew. Maybe in another week, if I’m still running this thing. But if you want a career, you can’t ignore N., you know it and I know it. Anyway, give it some thought.
—Private note in the handwriting of Desaniek
(not authenticated)
I ducked into the doorway in front of me without waiting to figure out where it went. I was in a narrow hallway with a flight of stairs at the end. I went up without stopping, swallowing the acidic panic that comes with only having one direction to go when you know someone is after you. If Sethra had been sober, she’d have thought of that, dammit.
There was a door at the end of the hallway. I opened it without clapping, my right hand brushing the hilt of Lady Teldra.
The Warlord seemed to have been napping; her head snapped forward and she stared at me. If she’d gone for a weapon, which wouldn’t have been all that unthinkable, there would suddenly have been a lot more people than the Jhereg looking for me—or else no one at all.
She blinked a couple of times as I caught the door and shut my breath, or whatever I did.
“Vlad,” she said.
I stood there, trying to neither pant nor shake. “Hi there,” I said.
Her office was tiny; just enough room for her, a chair, and a small table. There was another door to her left.
“I must have dozed off,” she said. “Sorry.”
“It’s nothing. As you see, I came in anyway.”
“Shall we find somewhere more comfortable to talk?”
“I don’t mind standing. Thanks for seeing me, by the way.”
She nodded and looked up at me—an unusual experience for both of us. “Last I heard,” I said, “you were Dragon Heir. I guess congratulations are in order.”
She gave something that could have been a laugh. “I guess.”
“Are you addressed as Warlord, or as Your Highness now?”
“Depends on the subject.”
“Is there a story there? I mean, in how it is that you happened to become Warlord?”
“Not one I’m inclined to talk about.”
“Is your becoming Warlord related?”
“To what?”
“Eh, I thought you knew why I was here.”
“Sethra said you wanted to see me about Aliera.”
“Yes.”
“To that.”
“What is it you wanted to see me about exactly?”
“Aliera’s situation.”
She hadn’t answered my question. Just wanted to let you know I caught that. Can’t get one past me.
“I’m not sure how much I can tell you,” she said.
“Lack of knowledge, or are there things you aren’t permitted to say?”
“Both.
And maybe things I could say but choose not to.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Well, I’ll ask, you tell me what you can.”
“It isn’t that I don’t care about Aliera,” she said.
I nodded, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. It wasn’t like Norathar to feel she had to justify herself to me. I leaned against a wall, trying to look relaxed. When she didn’t say anything, I cleared my throat and said, “In my own way, I have some understanding of duty.”
She nodded, staring past me.
“So, what happened?”
She blinked and seemed to come back from wherever she was.
“Aliera was caught practicing Elder Sorcery, which is illegal. For good reason, by the way. It was used to destroy the Empire. By Aliera’s father. The Empire frowns on being destroyed. It tends not to like things that can do that.”
“Yeah, I know. That adds a certain—uh. Wait. How much of this is because of her father?”
“I don’t know. That’s probably what made her the perfect—I mean, that may be why. . .”
She trailed off.
I should have thought of that sooner.
“And how does she—I mean the Empress—feel about it?”
“Beg pardon?”
“She’s Aliera’s friend. How does she—?”
“You know I can’t give you personal details about Her Majesty.”
Since it was exactly the personal details I was looking for, it was a little sad to hear that. “All right,” I said. “Did you hear about Aliera’s arrest before it happened?”
“I don’t understand.” She was giving me a suspicious look, as if I might be mocking her but she wasn’t sure.
“Oh,” I said. “You were given the order.”
She nodded.
“I don’t know how these things work, but that seems unusual. I mean, arresting criminals isn’t what I think of as the Warlord’s job.”
“It usually isn’t,” she said. Her lips were pressed tightly together.
“But—?”
“With someone like Aliera, I can’t see it happening any other way. She wasn’t going to dispatch a, a constable to do it.”
“It would be disrespectful to her position.”
