by Steven Brust
“Boss, if you can’t focus on the problem, I’m going to invoke my executive authority to get us out of this town.”
“When did you get executive authority?”
“You should give me executive authority.”
I studied the ceiling over Cawti’s head. “How would I find these people?”
“They meet at the home of the leader, a printer by trade. Her name is Brinea. She lives on Enoch Way, near Woodcutter’s Market. A little cottage painted an ugly green, with a pair of evergreens in front.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you actually need to see them?”
“I’m not sure. There’s too much I’m not sure of right now.”
She nodded. “This is liable to get bloody, Vlad.”
“Yeah, I had that same thought.”
“As long as you know.”
I shrugged. “I’ve done bloody before.”
“How recently?”
“I’ve been trying to use my head more and my knives less.”
“That’s what worries me.”
“What, trying to shake my confidence?”
She shook her head. “Trying to reassure myself that you aren’t getting into something you can’t handle.”
“I’m glad you care.”
“You know I care.”
“Yeah. I just like being reminded from time to time.”
She looked at Vlad Norathar. I followed her gaze; he was looking at me curiously.
“Okay,” I said. “I see your point.” I got up and opened the door. Loiosh and Rocza flew out. A couple of minutes later, Loiosh let me know the area was safe.
“I’ll see you soon,” I said. “Vlad Norathar, it is always a pleasure, sir.” I bowed.
He stood, carefully set his wine cup down, and did a credible imitation of my bow, his leg back and his hand sweeping the floor. Then he straightened up and grinned.
Cawti smiled proudly at him, then walked me to the door.
“Until next time, Vlad,” she said, and the door closed softly behind me.
I had nowhere in particular to be, and reason to believe I didn’t have a tail, and I felt like walking; so I made my way to Woodcutter’s Market in South Adrilankha. Enoch Way wasn’t marked, but one of those Eastern women who looks like everyone’s grandmother grunted and pointed, then looked at me as if wondering why I didn’t know something so obvious. I offered her a coin, which she refused with a snort.
Loiosh and Rocza flew above me, in circles, watching as I strolled down the street like any good citizen; except of course that not many Easterners openly wore steel at their sides, and the cut of my clothes was better than most.
It was easy to find the cottage; it was just as Cawti had described it. I stood across the street, leaning against a dead tree in the front of a row of cheap housing, and studied the ugly green. I probably should have been able to deduce things about the person who lived there just by looking at it, but I couldn’t. I mean, yeah, the yard was neat; so what? Did she keep it that way, or did a husband, or had they hired someone to do it? The paint was pretty new, but, same thing.
I watched the place a little longer, but no one came in or out. I thought about breaking in. Maybe. Couldn’t think what I’d be liable to learn, and to have someone find me would be embarrassing. But if there was something to find—
“Boss, hide.”
I ducked behind the oak tree. “What?”
“You’ve been found. Dragaeran, Jhereg colors, big but moves well. He’s got those eyes.”
I knew what he meant by that; there’s something around the eyes of someone who’s done “work.” I guess maybe I have that look, too. Or did. I don’t know.
“Find me a clean way out?”
“Looking.”
I remained still and waited, my fingers tapping on Lady Teldra’s hilt. I’d been in much scarier situations than just one lone Jhereg. If this was more complicated than that, well, I’d have to trust Loiosh to let me know in time; meanwhile I was ready, but not nervous.
“Boss, uh, something odd.”
“That isn’t useful.”
“He’s about twenty feet away from you, stopped, leaning against that empty storefront, pretty well concealed from the street. He knows his stuff.”
“All right. And?”
“And when he got there, someone else left the same spot.”
“We walked right by someone?”
“Seems like. But that isn’t the thing. He’s watching the house.”
“Oh.”
“You think he isn’t here for you?”
“Let’s stay here for a bit and watch the watcher. What’s the other guy doing?”
“Leaving, trying to look inconspicuous. Doing all right at it.”
“What are the chances they recognized me?”
“How should I know, Boss? I mean, probably not; you’re just another Easterner here. But—”
“Right. We can’t know. Okay, let’s hang out and see what happens.”
On reflection, it seemed that breaking into the house would have been a bad idea after all.
“Is there a way I can get into a position to watch him?”
“I’ll check.” And, “All right. This way.” He landed on my shoulder, and guided me behind the row of housing, through some yards with bits of discarded furniture and broken pottery, and then around. I hugged a house, settled in, and waited, watching.
Well now. Here was an interesting situation.
The solution, of course, presented itself at once, seeing as I wasn’t in a hurry. If for whatever reason you are unable to speak with someone psychically, there is a vital tool that you must never be without: a scrap of paper and a wax pencil.
“I’m running an errand?”
“Yes, indeed. Unless Rocza can do it.”
“Better be me. Are we in a hurry?”
“Only because I’m going to be really bored until you get back.”
I scratched out a note and handed it to him. He took it in a claw and flew off. I squatted down and settled in to wait. I didn’t move; the guy I was watching didn’t move. I occupied my time with trying to decide whether I knew the guy, and, if so, from where. He looked vaguely familiar; I might have hired him for something once. Or I might have just seen him at—
“Hello, Vlad. You wished something?”
I heard the voice at the same time I felt the pop of displaced air; I didn’t quite jump and scream. I’d have glared at him, but it was my own fault for not telling Loiosh to warn me, so instead I just glared.
“Hello, Daymar. Long time.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. Yes, I’d like a favor of you, if you aren’t busy.” He was floating, cross-legged, about three feet off the ground. It’s an easy trick, and I cannot for the life of me imagine why he thinks it might be impressive. Maybe he just thinks it’s comfortable, but it doesn’t look comfortable.
I’d known him for, well, for years. Tall, dark, and a Hawklord, with all that implies. If it doesn’t imply anything for you, I’ll spell it out: He’s vague, irritating, very good at what he does, and completely oblivious of anything that might be going on around him unless it excites his particular interest. It’s good to know people like Daymar, even if it means putting up with people like Daymar. But when it comes to messing around with the inside of someone’s head, there’s no one better. I’ve used his skills in the past, and I’ll use them again if I don’t eviscerate him instead.
I said, “See that fellow over there?”
He looked. “No,” he said.
“Look again. There. No, where I’m pointing. Just barely around the corner from the door.”
“Oh. Yes. What’s he doing?”
“Same thing I am. The question is, who is he doing it for?”
“Should I ask him?”
I took a breath, let it out again. “That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
“Oh. You mean, something more invasive?”
“Yes.”
He paused. “He’s wearing protection.”
“Oh. Does that mean you can’t find out?”
He looked at me, as if trying to see if I was joking. Then he said, “No.”
“Okay, but I don’t want him knowing what happened.”
That earned me another look; which was fine, that’s why I’d said it.
I know, I know; it isn’t nice to irritate someone who is doing you a favor. It probably isn’t smart, either. But if you’d ever met Daymar, you’d understand. Besides, this gave him an excuse to show off, which was what he lived for.
No, that isn’t fair. It wasn’t about showing off for him, it was his fascination with the thing he was doing—it was a chance to use his skill, to do what felt right for him to do. I could understand that; I used to feel the same way when setting up to put a shine on someone. Not the killing, the setting up: that feeling of everything functioning the way it’s supposed to, of your mind going above itself, of—
“Got it,” he said.
I nodded. “What did you learn?”
“That he’s bored, that this is stupid, that nothing has been happening, and that he’s glad he doesn’t have to make the report.”
“Um. Let’s start with the last. He doesn’t have to make the report?”
“No, he’s just helping out some guy named Widner.”
“And he doesn’t know who Widner reports to?”
“Nope.”
I suggested that my patron goddess should take sensual pleasure, though I didn’t put it quite in those terms. “Why doesn’t he want to make the report?”
“I can’t say exactly; I just got the impression that whoever the report is being given to, he wouldn’t like her.”
“Her.”
He nodded.
“Oh.”
I withdrew my suggestions about the Demon Goddess.
Well now, that was all sorts of interesting. “Thank you, Daymar. You’ve been most helpful.”
“Always a pleasure, Vlad.”
There was a “whoosh” of air and he was gone, all abrupt and stuff, leaving me with my thoughts, such as they were.
Her.
If it was a “her” that Widner was reporting to, it was the Left Hand of the Jhereg.
Why was the Left Hand keeping a watch on what happened in that little cottage?
Because the Left Hand was involved in whatever the Jhereg—the Right Hand, I mean—and the Orca were doing. And because having Brinea and her people pushing for the Empire to investigate the massacre in Tirma might mess up the plans.
Okay, fine. Why?
Because the Empire, just on the off chance that they were honest (whatever Cawti might say about that possibility), would, by investigating, undercut the pressure the Jhereg and the Orca were putting on them, and their scheme would fall through.
So, what would they do? They’d stop the investigation, if they could.
How? How do you go about stopping an Imperial investigation? And what did it have to do with some weird group of Easterners gathered in a little cottage in South Adrilankha?
Loiosh returned from his errand and landed on my shoulder.
“Is he gone already, Boss?”
“Yeah, and so are we. I have stuff to do.”
12
Q: State your name and House.
A: Aliera e’Kieron, House of the Dragon.
Q: What was your position at the time of the incident in Tirma?
A: As near as I can reconstruct the moment, I was sitting down.
Q: Please tell us your official position with respect to the Empire.
A: Prisoner.
Q: Please tell us your official position, with respect to the Empire, at the time of the incident in Tirma.
A: Warlord, although in point of fact, my respect for the Empire is, at this moment, under something of a strain.
Q: Were the Imperial troops in Tirma acting under your orders?
A: I was the Warlord.
Q: I take that as an affirmative.
A: You can take that and—yes, they were acting under my orders.
Q: What orders did you give with respect to the rebellion in the duchy of Carver?
A: To suppress it.
Q: Were you specific as to the means of suppressing it?
A: I thought perhaps a nice bouquet of candlebud surrounding a bottle of Ailor would do the trick.
Q: The Court reminds the witness that copies of her orders are in the Court’s possession.
A: The witness wonders, then, why the Court is bothering to ask questions to which it knows the answers.
Q: The witness is reminded that she may be held in contempt.
A: The feeling is mutual.
“Want to tell me about it, Boss?”
Just to be unpredictable, I filled him in on what I’d put together. When I’d finished, he was quiet for a while; maybe from shock. Then he said, “Okay, what now?”
“Can you think of any reason for the Left Hand to have that cottage watched, except for what I’m thinking? They’re pushing for an Imperial investigation, and the Left Hand doesn’t want that to happen. Am I missing something?”
“Boss, you don’t know anything about those people. That’s one thing they’re doing. What if it’s something else entirely?”
“Like what?”
“How should I know?”
“You really think it’s something else?”
“No, I think the same as you. But you don’t know.”
“Then let’s run with that for the moment, and see where it gets us. If the Empire investigates, the deal’s off, and the Jhereg, the Orca, and the Left Hand all lose. So, they don’t want the investigation to happen.”
“But it’s happening anyway, having nothing to do with anyone in any little cottage. Where does that leave us?”
“That’s what I’m trying to work out.”
“Work away.”
“Okay. How do you stop an Imperial investigation?”
“You know, Boss, that’s something you neglected to cover in my training sessions.”
“Can’t pressure the Empress directly, we have nothing to pressure her with.”
“I don’t get it, Boss. Why is the Empress doing this, anyway?”
“So she can get out from under the Jhereg; to look good to the nobles, and maybe to the people too, I don’t know.”
“Okay, I’ll buy that.”
“So then, the thing to do is to discredit the investigation.”
“Good plan, Boss. How do you do it?”
“Spread rumors that these Easterners are behind it? Maybe plant some evidence?”
“Possible.” He didn’t sound convinced. Neither was I, for that matter.
“Boss, where are we going?”
I stopped. As I had been thinking and walking, my feet had taken me over the Stone Bridge and were leading me back to my old area—the worst place I could be. The chances of the Jhereg spotting me were too high to make me comfortable anywhere in the city; in my old neighborhood it was nearly certain.
“Uh, nowhere. Back to the Palace, I guess.”
I changed direction; Loiosh kept his comments to himself.
I made it to the Palace without incident, entering through the Dragon Wing just to be contrary, and because I was in a mood to glare back. I found some food, then crossed to the House of the Iorich.
I clapped, and, once again, he opened the door enough to peer out, then let me in. One of these days, I was going to have to ask him why he does that.
I sat down and said, “The Empress is launching an investigation into the events at Tirma.”
“Yes,” he said. “I seem to remember telling you that. What about it?”
“Do you think it’s a real investigation?”
He frowned. “As opposed to what?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “A bunch of running around, closed-door testimony, followed by whatever result the Empress wants.”
“I doubt it�
��s that, not from this empress. I should find out who is in charge of it. That might tell us something.” He stood up. “I may as well do it now.”
“Should I wait here?”
“Yes, but relax. This might take a while.”
I nodded. He slipped out. I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes. I guess I fell asleep, or at least dozed. I had some vaguely disturbing dream that I can’t remember, and woke up when Perisil came back in.
“Were you sleeping?” He seemed amused.
“Just resting my eyes,” I said. “What did you learn?”
“It’s being run by Lady Justicer Desaniek.”
He sat down behind his desk and looked expectantly at me. “Sorry,” I said. “I don’t know the name.”
“She’s one of the High Justicers. I trust you know what that means?”
“More or less,” I said.
“I know her. She isn’t corruptible. She’s a little fast and loose with her interpretations of the traditions, but completely unimpeachable when it comes to judgment and sentencing.”
“So you’re saying that the investigation is straight.”
“Probably. She’d be an odd choice if the Empress didn’t want to actually learn what happened, and why.”
“Might there be other pressures on her, less direct than orders to rig it?”
He hesitated. “Maybe.”
“So then, how would someone stop it?”
“Stop it?” he said. “Why would you want to do that?”
“Not me. There are others.”
“Who?”
“Let’s say powerful interests. How would they go about stopping it?”
