by Steven Brust
She nodded. I need to work harder on communicating irony.
I said, “Who carried out the arrest?”
“I did.”
I grunted. “Must have been fun.”
She gave me a look.
“Sorry,” I said. “Was she surprised?”
“Is this necessary?”
“I want to know if she had any warning.”
“Oh. Yes, she was surprised. She thought I was joking. She said—”
The wall over her head was blank, a pasty color. She should put something there. I resolved not to tell her that.
“Sorry,” she said.
“How long was it from the time you were given the order until the arrest?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Had you expected the order?”
She studied me carefully. “No,” she said. “I was told I was now Warlord, and ordered to arrest Aliera, and to deliver the communication relieving her of her position.”
I tried to imagine that scene, but I couldn’t do it. I was glad I hadn’t been there to see it.
“Had you expected something like this to happen?”
“What do you mean?”
“Aliera was arrested to distract attention from something the Empress doesn’t want people thinking about. Had you expected—”
“That’s your theory,” she said, as if refuting it.
“Uh, yeah. That’s my theory. Had you been expecting Zerika—”
“Her Majesty.”
“—Her Majesty to do something like this?”
“I don’t concede your premise,” she said.
“Um. Okay.” I looked around the room. Maybe one of the walls had secret writing that would tell me how to pull the information I needed from Norathar. Nope, guess not. “I’d have thought the Warlord would have a bigger office.”
“This isn’t the office, it’s more of a private retreat. The office is through there.” She indicated the door to her left.
“Is this a temporary position for you?”
An eyebrow went up. “Well, it certainly won’t last longer than the next Dragon Reign.”
“I meant more temporary than that.”
“I don’t know.”
“How did it happen in the first place?”
“How did what happen?”
“The incident that started it all. You’re the Warlord now, you must have access to—”
“I can’t discuss that.”
“I don’t mean the details.”
“Then what? Getting philosophical on me?”
“Sarcasm aside, yes.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“How does it happen? I’m told you served in the army, in wartime, in the line.”
“Briefly.”
“In combat.”
“Briefly.”
“And you need to ask how something like that happens?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
She shook her head. “Pay no mind. If that’s all, Lord Szurke, I’m rather busy.”
I wondered if “Lord Szurke” were intended as a cut, and if so what the insult was supposed to be. “I’ll try to be brief,” I said.
She did the lip thing again. “Very well.”
“If I can’t ask about the Empress, I’ll ask about you.”
“Hmmm?”
“What are you hoping will happen?”
“I have no hope.” Nor much inflection in her voice, either.
“Things were easier in the Jhereg, weren’t they?”
She looked up at me, eyes narrowed; then she shrugged. “Different, anyway.”
“Generally, the only ones who get it are those who deserve it.”
“And not all of them,” she said.
“Fair point.”
“What else?”
I hesitated. “Does it seem odd to you that this law is being used against someone in Aliera’s position?”
She shrugged. “There’s been talk about that at Court. I don’t pay much attention.”
“So you can’t explain it?”
“If I have any guesses, I don’t care to share them with you.”
“Norathar, are we enemies all of a sudden?”
“I serve the Empire. That means I serve the Empress.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Her fingers rolled on the tabletop. “No,” she said. “We aren’t enemies.”
“Good, then—”
“We’re opponents.”
“Um,” I explained. “I’m trying to get Aliera out of this mess. Aren’t you her friend?”
“If you can find a way to do that without unacceptable consequences, I’ll be glad to work with you.”
“That’s exactly what I’m hoping you’ll help me find.”
“I know.”
“Norathar, you aren’t giving me a lot of help here.”
“Is there a reason why I should?”
“I don’t know. Old times’ sake? I mean, my son is named after you.”
She looked down and drew a circle with her finger on the table. I did the same thing, back when I had a desk; it was a little strange seeing her do it. She said, “Cawti would like to see you.”
After a bit, I managed, “Are you sure?”
“No,” she said. “But she said so.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“She knows I’m in town?”
“Evidently.”
After a bit she said, “Will you see her?”
“Yes,” I said. “If I can do so without getting her killed.”
“I think she can look after herself, don’t you?”
“You think so? Against the Jhereg? If they decide to take after her to get at me? Not to mention the Bitch Patrol, who developed a sudden interest in her activities a few years ago, and who don’t like me much.”
“They guaranteed to leave her alone. And they’ve done so.”
I nodded. “So far.”
She scowled. “If they don’t—”
“What will you do? Bring the House of the Dragon against them? Or the Empire?”
“I’ll bring me against them.”
I nodded. “And the Jhereg quakes in fear.”
“You, least of all, should mock me.”
I clenched my teeth and nodded again. “I’ll go see her,” I said.
That marked the end of the interview. I gave her a bow that I tried to make devoid of irony and started to leave the way I came, only she stopped me.
“Use the other door. You can get into the Palace that way; the way you’re going leads outside.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Nice to know you haven’t forgotten some things.”
“There are things you don’t forget,” said Her Highness.
I went out the way she indicated, got lost in the Dragon Wing, got lost in the Palace, and eventually made my way onto the streets of the City, where I hailed the fourth closed footcab to come by, and gave directions to the Punctured Jug in the Summergate section of Adrilankha. Loiosh and Rocza flew above the cab, watching and complaining.
This was a place I’d been to a few times. I’d heard a few different stories about who actually owned it. It was variously put as (1) belonging to everyone on the Council, operating through shells; (2) belonging to a guy with no ties to the Organization, but lots of pull at Court; or (3) owned jointly by the Council, so there’d always be a safe meeting place. Whichever; it was one of a dozen or so places in the City where you could eat without worrying about unpleasantness, no matter who was after you.
Of course, walking out the door afterward was your problem.
There’s an L-shaped bar running the length of the wall to the right and continuing to the far wall. The rest of the room is filled with chairs and a score of tables almost big enough for two people, all of which have four chairs in front of them; you usually end up holding your plate on your lap and keeping just your drink on the table. A row of small wi
ndows high on the wall lets in a token amount of light. The rest is provided by two massive candelabra behind the bar, and I imagine those who work there acquire a good number of head-bumps as well as a few odd burns until they get to know the place.
It was the middle of the day and not very crowded; about a third of the tables were occupied, mostly with the Chreotha and Jhegaala tradesmen that you’d think comprised most of the population of the City if your eyes pass over the innumerable Teckla. A hooded woman in dark clothing, with nothing to indicate her House, sat alone at a table near the door. I sat down opposite her; Rocza turned around on my shoulder to watch the door.
“Hello, Kiera. I hope you weren’t waiting long.”
She raised her head and her lips quirked. “What are you drinking?”
“Here? Something white and inoffensive. I don’t trust them.”
“You’re a snob.”
“Yes. But I’ll pay; this is my meeting. Are we eating?”
“Nothing for me.”
That was a shame. This was one of the few Dragaeran places that had good food—a specialty called “cure” which involved meat covered in a spicy-sweet sauce. Other places made it, but here they’d been using the same oven for more than eight hundred years; it’s hard to compete with something like that. But it was my meeting, and she wasn’t eating, so neither would I. Lady Teldra would have approved.
Kiera got the attention of a middle-aged Teckla with extraordinarily thick eyebrows and a slack mouth, who tightened up his mouth long enough to nod at the order. A guy with almost no chin and wearing Jhereg colors came in and took a seat where he could ostentatiously watch me. I ignored him; Kiera kept an eye on him without discernible expression. “Is he the only Jhereg in the place, Loiosh?”
“At the moment. Give it two minutes. They’ll be coming in the windows.”
“I don’t doubt it a bit.”
The wine arrived; it was as inoffensive as the Teckla who delivered it.
Kiera nodded her thanks. “It’s been years,” she lied. “I trust I find you well?”
“My ass is smaller and my feet are flatter, but I’m all right other than that.”
“And your purse? Is that flatter and smaller as well?”
“No, it’s all right. I still have most of what I got for Laris.”
She looked mildly startled. In this light, her eyes seemed almost gray, and her complexion nearly as dark as mine. She always seemed a little smaller than she was. “When I heard you wanted to meet me, I assumed you wanted something stolen. Is it information, then?”
“No, you were right. Well, both, really. I want something stolen. But not for recompense.”
“Ah. Of course.” She looked interested. “Tell me more.”
“How long has it been since you broke into the Imperial Palace?”
“Oh,” she said. She fell silent, her eyes lidded. Then, “Are you sure you want a thief, and not a spy?”
“I want a spy,” I said. “But I don’t know any I can use right now.”
“They’re different skills, you know.”
“I know.”
She nodded. “Go on, then.”
“There must be wonderful amounts of paperwork associated with Aliera’s prosecution.”
“Boxes, I’m sure. Stealing them will be less of a problem than transporting them. Not to mention that someone will notice they’re missing.”
“I don’t need all of them. Just one.”
“Which?”
“That’s the kicker. I don’t know.”
She gave me the eyebrow and waited for me to continue.
“Somewhere,” I said, “among the earliest papers associated with the case—maybe the very earliest—I’m hoping there will be something that will tell us how it started. I want to know who thought of arresting Aliera, or how the idea came up, or how hard it was to talk the Empress into it, and who objected and why, and—”
“Why should such a thing exist?”
“Because—okay, look: I won’t claim to know the Empress. We aren’t buddies. But I’ve met her, talked to her, and been there when Aliera and Morrolan and Sethra talked about her.”
She nodded. “Go on.”
“It wouldn’t have crossed her mind to solve her problem by ordering the arrest of a friend. I don’t think it would have crossed her mind to solve her problem by ordering an arrest.”
Kiera chewed her lip, then nodded. “I can see that. All right.”
“So someone else came up with the idea. I want to know who it was.”
“You think that will be in one of the papers in her case files?”
“I’m hoping to find something to point me in the right direction. I’m not expecting a complete answer, just a hint about where to look.”
“You do want a spy.”
“Yes. Know any?”
“A few. But this sounds like a challenge. I’d like to try it.”
“Good! How much?”
“Two thousand. What, too much?”
“No, no. Just startled me. But for what I’m asking, pretty reasonable.” I pulled out bank draft and a pencil, wrote a little, and handed it to her.
“I suppose you’re in a hurry?”
“Hard to say. Aliera’s in prison, so maybe she is.”
She nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. I’m looking forward to this.” She grinned the unique Kiera grin that brought back some memories and drove out certain others.
We drank our wine quietly; there was a low hum of conversation around us. The door opened again behind me, and an inoffensive-looking fellow in Jhereg colors came in and took a table against the far wall. He leaned against the wall, stretched out his legs, and looked at me.
“Think the Jhereg knows I’m here?”
“Possibly,” she said. “Do you have a plan for getting out?”
“Not a plan as such. I mean, I can run a lot faster than you’d think.”
“Somehow, I don’t think you’d have come here if that was the best you had.”
I shrugged. “I can always teleport to Castle Black. It isn’t officially safe, but the Jhereg isn’t going to mess with a Dragon.”
She nodded. “But they’ll know where you are, and they’ll be watching for when you leave.”
“Yeah. I’ve gotten kind of used to that, though.”
“If you’d prefer, I have another idea.”
“Let’s hear it.”
She told me. I laughed. Loiosh laughed.
I removed Lady Teldra’s sheath from my belt and slipped it into my cloak. “Do it,” I said.
She was quiet for a moment while she psychically spoke with a mutual friend, or maybe acquaintance. At one point she looked at me and said, “Where do you want to end up?”
I considered a few things, then told her. She nodded and again got that blank look. Eventually she focused on me and said, “It’s all set.” Then we drank wine and got a bit caught up on little things that couldn’t matter to anyone else.
Presently, the door opened behind me. Kiera focused over my shoulder and I turned my head. They were both women, nearly identical in appearance, both wearing the black and silver of the House of the Dragon and the gold uniform half-cloak of the Phoenix Guards.
They took two steps forward until they were directly behind me, and one of them said, “Count Vladimir Taltos of Szurke? Please surrender your weapon and come with us.”
I could feel everyone in the restaurant staring at us. I didn’t look, but I could imagine the carefully expressionless faces of the two Jhereg. I gave the guards a big smile.
“Of course,” I said. I removed my sword belt and passed it back to them, then stood up slowly, my hands well clear of my body.
“It was a pleasure, Kiera. Until next time.”
“Be well, Vlad.”
I turned and gave my captors a nod. “I’m at your service.”
They escorted me out, one on either side, and directly into a prison coach. The driver and another guard were already in position
. Loiosh and Rocza launched themselves from my shoulders, which the guards pretended not to notice; I guess they’d been informed that something like that might happen. I didn’t spot any assassins, but I wasn’t looking that hard, either. The guards climbed in, one next to me, the other opposite. The door closed, and the lock snicked, and there was the shifting of the coach as the sideman took his position next to the driver. Then the coach started moving and the Dragonlord opposite me handed me my weapon back.
“I trust that went as requested?”
“Yes,” I said. “My thanks.”
She shrugged. “Orders are orders. I don’t need to understand them.”
That was my invitation to explain what this was all about; I declined.
We rattled off. I couldn’t see where we were, but Loiosh kept me informed. Not speaking with my “captors” became uncomfortable, so I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. That lasted until the first jolt cracked the back of my head against the hard wood of the coach. After that I stared straight ahead, and just waited.
I didn’t need Loiosh to tell me when we arrived at Innocent’s Gate, as we call it in the Jhereg—the sudden dip into the lower floors where they bring prisoners. We stopped, and there were a few words exchanged in low tones, and then we started forward again—something I’d never done.
“Going through a tunnel, Boss. Okay, now we’re in a kind of courtyard. They sure have a lot of those coaches for prisoners. Stables, too.”
“Yeah, I can smell them.”
“Out of the tunnel, and, okay, you’re heading away from the Palace.”
“In the right direction, as agreed?”
“Yes.”
“Good, then.”
Or maybe not. I had mixed feelings about the whole thing.
The two guardsmen in the carriage with me seemed a lot more comfortable not talking than I was. We clanked through the streets; it’s always strange to ride in one of those, because you know everyone is staring at you, but you also know they can’t see inside the coach.
Eventually we reached our destination. One of them tapped the ceiling—two, then one. The reply came back, three slow taps. The coach bounced more, there was a clanking, and the door opened, letting light in and me out. My legs were stiff.
I looked around and felt a moment of panic; I didn’t recognize the place. It was a little cottage in a neighborhood full of two-story rooming houses. I noticed a small niball racquet, in front of it, on the narrow walkway between the street and the front door.
