by Steven Brust
Oddly enough, I felt like I could rest. I still ached, but I felt relaxed and a little drowsy. Maybe more than a little; I don’t remember walking back up the stairs, or even lying down, except that I have a half-memory of Loiosh saying something that, at the time, I didn’t think was very funny.
When I woke up, some unknown number of hours later, it was dark outside. A check with the Imperial Orb told me it was still a few hours before dawn, and a check with my body told me I hurt a lot. Logic and experience convinced me I hurt less than I should have, but that was of strictly limited comfort. I guess those hot baths had done something, anyway.
I stood up, and carefully—very carefully—went through what I remembered of the warm-up exercises my grandfather had taught me when I was learning swordplay. He’d told me they worked to loosen up tight muscles, and that no magic was involved. I couldn’t do everything—my rib objected loudly to a lot of the positions before I could even get into them; but what I did seemed to help. I took it slow, spending over an hour stretching carefully and fielding comments from Loiosh about my new career as a dancer. I discussed his new career as a wall decoration, but he didn’t seem especially scared.
As I made my way into the courtyard, Loiosh spotted someone who looked like he might be a Jhereg. I waited inside the door while he and Rocza scouted the area, and eventually found a circuitous route out of the place and to the Palace, where no one was watching. I mean, I don’t know it was a Jhereg, and it if was I don’t know that he was going to do any more than watch my movements. But I didn’t feel inclined to take chances.
I passed through the Palace like I’d been doing it all my life, out the Iorich Wing, and into the House of the Iorich. There were no mysterious notes outside his door, and Loiosh said Perisil was inside, or else someone who breathed exactly the same. Loiosh once gave me a lecture on how to identify people by the sound of their breathing; I listened to be polite.
I clapped. After a moment, I clapped again. The door opened enough for him to look at me, then he grunted and opened it more. We sat.
“You’ve been busy,” he said.
Either his powers of observation didn’t extend to things like how slowly I was moving or how gingerly I sat or the purplish bruises on my face, or else it just wasn’t something he felt like talking about. I said, “What do you mean?”
“About an hour ago, I got word that the prosecution against Aliera was temporarily delayed, while the Empire carried out ‘further investigations.’ ”
“Um,” I said. “Is that good?”
“I don’t know,” he said. His peculiar eyes narrowed a little and he cocked his head. “What did you do?”
“I spoke with the Warlord. She, it seems, had a plan with the Empress to keep from having to execute Aliera, and I explained why it wouldn’t work.”
He sat back. “Ah!” he said. “Well, that tells us at least that Her Majesty doesn’t want to execute Aliera.”
“We knew that already.”
“Yes, I suppose we did.”
“Is there a real investigation, or is it just something they’re saying so they can slow things down?”
“Both. There’s a real investigation, but it isn’t about Aliera’s use of pre-Empire sorcery. They’re actually looking into the events at Tirma.”
I sat back, which hurt more than I’d have thought, and tried to figure out exactly what that might mean. I failed. “There are a lot of angles to that,” I said.
“Yes. It means everything to our case if we can draw the connection; nothing at all if we can’t. And in the meantime, we can’t do anything until we know if the Empire is actually going to follow up on the prosecution.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
His eyebrows went up. “Go on.”
“I just mean we may not have things to do legally, but on my end—”
“The things you won’t tell me about.”
“Right. On my end, I have a few things to follow up on.”
He stared at his desk, then looked up. “I don’t like being kept in the dark about things that have an effect on my case.”
“I don’t blame you.”
He grunted. “All right. Do what you have to.”
I nodded and refrained from saying that I fully intended to, whatever he said. “Anything else?”
“Not for now. Keep me informed of anything you can keep me informed of.”
“You too.”
He grunted and I made my way to my feet and left. He never did remark about how I was moving.
I tried to walk as if I wasn’t hurt; it made me feel less of a target, though I guess there isn’t much logic behind that—any assassin worth his stone would assume I was in top form before making a move anyway.
I needed to know what Cawti and her cute little band of would-be rebels were up to; I also couldn’t ask her, since my attitude about them was what had led to our breakup.
I stopped just inside the door of the Wing that would lead me back out toward the Palace. I saw no sign of anyone watching me. That doesn’t prove there wasn’t anyone, but I’m pretty good at noticing such things when I look. The trick is remembering to look.
“Where to now, Boss?”
“I need to see Cawti again. Right away.”
Then, “Sorry, Boss.”
“Yeah. Any ideas how to get there without drawing a crowd? I hate to repeat a trick. Besides, I don’t think the Jhereg would fall for the same one twice.”
“You know I’m not much with the ideas, Boss.”
“I need to see Cawti, and I very much do not want to direct anyone there. Anything you can come up with—”
“Walk around until you’re sure you’ve been spotted, find whoever is following you, and kill him?”
“I’ll consider that option.”
Other than Loiosh’s suggestion, I couldn’t come up with any great ideas, so I went the old traditional route of trying to lose someone in a crowd, alternating with empty streets with a lot of turns so you can see if anyone is staying with you. This can be very effective with one person tailing you; with two or more who are staying in touch, it’s less reliable. But I had the Palace right at hand, which had the additional benefit of being pretty much off-limits to anyone trying to take me down, especially Morganti.
I spent a good couple of hours at it, stopping only to get some bread and sausage from a vendor I passed. When I was as convinced as possible that I was unobserved, I ducked out through the Jhegaala Wing because it had a nice shrub border near where the coaches were. Loiosh and Rocza remained outside, flying around and keeping watch. I switched coaches once, near Briisan Center, then finally gave the address of Cawti’s house.
11
Lord Carver, presently in the Iorich Wing awaiting execution, has refused to speak to the committee. We can, however, reasonably conclude that his primary motive was financial. It is clear both from the buildup of military force beginning in Zerika 239 and what may be called propaganda efforts beginning in Zerika 249 that the attempt to break away had been planned for some years. What is less certain is that he expected support from Countess Sicera and Barons Highhold and Delora. Whether he did expect such support, what reasons he may have had for such expectations, and why this support was not forthcoming is beyond the scope of this investigation, save to note that, had he in fact had such support the possibility of success of his rebellion would have been considerably strengthened.
I had the coach drop me off a few hundred feet away, so Loiosh, Rocza, and I could take a last look around. It seemed clear, so I approached the cottage. Vlad Norathar was out front, using the niball racquet to keep a ball in the air. He was concentrating very hard, but eventually noticed me, stopped, and gave a hesitant bow.
“Well met, sir,” I told him, giving him my best sweeping bow. He grinned, making his whole face light up. The door opened and Cawti came out. “And well met to you as well, madam.”
“I didn’t expect to see you back so soon,” she said, looking at me as if
uncertain whether to be pleased or worried.
“Some things have come up. Questions. Do you have time to talk?”
It was the middle of the day; a little ways down the street a Teckla watered a garden, probably for the craftsman who owned the house. A couple of children walked toward us, escorted by a bored-looking nurse.
“Come in, then,” she said. “Come inside, Vlad.” This last was to the boy, though it jarred me a bit when she said it. She held the door open for him, and I brought up the rear, Loiosh and Rocza landing on my shoulder, at the same moment, as we stepped through the doorway. Vlad Norathar turned when he heard the wings flapping, and his eyes got big.
“Bloody damned show-offs.”
Something like a chuckle came into my head.
Cawti asked if I wanted some brandy, and I did. She poured it, neat, unchilled, and got something for herself. She gave Vlad Norathar what looked to be a glass of wine mixed with water. He sat in a full-sized chair and waited, ready to be part of the conversation. I’d heard the expression “I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry,” but I hadn’t given it much credit until that moment.
Yeah, okay, whatever.
“It’s good to see you,” she said.
“What happened to your face?” said Vlad Norathar.
“I was beaten up.”
“By who?”
“Whom,” said Cawti.
“I’m not exactly certain,” I said.
“Are you going to find out, and then beat them up?”
I hesitated. When in doubt you can always fall back on honesty. “If I have the chance to hurt them, I will.”
He nodded, and seemed about to ask more, but I guess Cawti didn’t like where the conversation was going. “So,” she said. “What is it?”
I tried to figure out how to express it. “Why am I always in a position where I need to know what’s going on, and no one will tell me anything?”
“You aren’t actually expecting me to answer that.” She phrased it as a statement.
“No, I’m not.”
“What is it, then?”
She was wearing an olive-green dress, with a white half-bodice, half-vest that laced up in front; there were a few ruffles from her white shirt showing at the collar, and the sleeves were big and puffy. It was the kind of thing that made you ache to unlace it. Her hair was looking especially black against it. Damn her, anyway. “Can you tell me anything at all about what, uh, what your people, your group, are doing about this massacre?”
Her brows came together and she looked genuinely puzzled. “Vlad, there isn’t any secret about that. We’ve been agitating about it since it happened, and—”
“Publicly?”
“Of course.”
“What about privately?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” She said it as if she really wasn’t. I hesitated, and she said, “Maybe you could give me an idea of why you need to know.”
“Um,” I said. “Some of this I can’t tell you.”
Her eyes sparkled for a moment, just like they used to. “Explain to me again what you were saying about needing to know things and no one being willing to tell you anything.”
I felt myself smiling. “Yeah.”
Vlad Norathar remained in his chair, his eyes moving from one of us to the other as we spoke. He had some of his wine, holding the mug in both hands, his eyes watching me over the rim. I’ve been stared at by a lot scarier guys who made me a lot less nervous. I cleared my throat.
“Everything ties into everything else,” I said.
She nodded. “Yes, we’ll start with the big generalizations. Okay, go on.”
I suppressed a growl. “The Jhereg is up to something big and nasty,” I said. “They’re working with the Orca. I don’t know how unrest among Teckla and Easterners will play into it. It might work against what they’re doing, in which case your group will be a target. Or it might work for it, in which case you’ll be helping them.”
“Vlad, I don’t know where you get the idea that we can control popular unrest. We can’t. On the day we can, we’ll be living in a different world.”
“Um. All right, suppose I accept that. I don’t think the Jhereg will.”
She nodded. “I appreciate the warning; I’ll pass it on.”
“Good,” I said. “But that wasn’t actually what I was after.”
“All right. What are you after?”
“Trying to figure out what will happen, how the Jhereg will respond, how the Empire will respond to that, and how I have to respond to the Empire.”
She nodded. “Good luck with that.”
“I drown in the depths of your sympathy.”
“Vlad—”
I sighed. “Okay.”
“I just don’t know what I can tell you that would do you any good.”
“Do you expect riots?”
“I wish I knew. People are angry enough. We’re doing all we can to stop them, but—”
“Stop them?”
She blinked. “Of course, Vlad. A riot isn’t going to do anything except get some heads broken.”
“Um. Okay, looks like I need to re-evaluate.”
“Does this throw off your plan?”
“No, not that bad. I hadn’t gotten as far as having a plan.”
She nodded; she knew my way of working as well as anyone. Better than anyone. “We’re not the only group working in South Adrilankha and among the Teckla, you know.”
“Um. Actually, I didn’t know that.”
“There are at least six independent organizations.”
“Really. Well. What would happen if you all got together?”
“To do what?”
“Eh, I don’t know.”
“If we all got together, neither would we. Since we have opposite ideas on what to do, ‘getting together’ doesn’t seem like it would accomplish a great deal, does it?”
“Okay, okay. I hadn’t meant to start something. What are these other groups up to?”
She rolled her eyes. “Various things. Some of them are getting up petitions to the Empire. Some are organizing food and money to be sent to the survivors in Tirma. Some are organizing marches demanding the Empire investigate. Some are encouraging people to individual acts of violence against Imperial representatives. Some—”
“Wait a minute. Acts of violence?”
Her lips pressed together and she nodded. “Politically naive is the kindest thing you can say about it; suicidal is more accurate.”
“Can you tell me what they’re planning?”
She gave me a hard look. “From what I know of them, they aren’t planning anything, they’re just encouraging people to attack Imperial Representatives. And if they were planning something, I wouldn’t be in a position to know what it is. And if I were in such a position, I certainly wouldn’t tell you about it.”
She’s very good with hard looks. I hadn’t noticed Vlad Norathar reacting to her voice, but he must have, because Cawti reached out and stroked his head.
“Understood,” I said. “I won’t press you on that.”
“And if you’re going to find them, you’ll do it without my—”
“I don’t plan to do that,” I said.
“All right.”
I didn’t, either. Whatever their chances were of killing someone, their chances of actually affecting things were nil. But something or someone else might. Maybe. I needed to think.
“You look like you need to think,” she said.
I nodded.
She was quiet. So was the boy, except that his eyes were very loud. I stood up and paced; he watched me. After a little bit, I said, “It isn’t the group that wants to kill Imperial Representatives that bothers me. It’s the group pressing for an investigation.”
“Actually,” said Cawti, “that’s something we’re pressing for, too. But we want an investigation by us, by the people; they want the Empire to investigate itself.”
I digested that. “Do you think you’ll
get anywhere with your, ah, independent investigation?”
“I don’t think asking the Empire to investigate itself is going to get anything. Do you?”
“That,” I said, “is just what I’m trying to figure out.”
She snorted. “Even if they could convince—”
“They don’t have to. It’s already happening.”
She stopped. “Is it indeed?”
“So I’m told.”
“I hadn’t heard about it.”
“It’s pretty new. Also, probably, pretty secret.”
“A secret investigation,” she said. “Well, I think we can all have a lot of confidence in that.”
“I think the Empress wants to know what happened, and why.”
“I’d like to know myself,” said Cawti.
“But there are others who don’t.”
She arched an eyebrow.
“The Jhereg,” I said.
“The Jhereg? Why would they care?”
“It might interfere with the schemes they’re trying to hatch.”
“What exactly are these famous schemes?”
“That,” I said, “is exactly what I can’t talk about.”
She nodded.
“It’s better to talk about what’s bothering you,” said Vlad Norathar.
My first inclination was to argue with him, which is funny when you think about it. But I had the feeling Cawti wouldn’t have appreciated that, so I just said, “You’re right, but sometimes you have to not talk about things because you don’t want to get someone else in trouble.”
That seemed to make sense to him. He nodded.
“You have friends, you know,” said Cawti.
I nodded. “Hard to forget; it’s the only reason I’m still around to irritate the Jhereg. Have you heard anything from the Left Hand?”
She shook her head. “They’re keeping the agree—why?” she asked, suddenly looking alert.
“This might involve them, too.”
She sighed. “You certainly do make a lot of enemies for a lovable guy.”
“It’s my burden.”
A smile came and went on her angular face, framed in straight black hair, her eyes dark and deep. It was hard to believe one face could convey such a range of—
