Which Caused an Old Investigation
to Be Reopened, and How Khaavren
and Daro Enjoyed an Evening Out
The reader will, we hope, forgive us if, before we continue, we say two words about the writing of history, as this will serve to explain why we make certain of the decisions we have made in describing the events we have taken it upon ourselves to relate.
The renowned musician and composer Lord Levhas has stated that music consists of the notes played and spaces between them, each of them being equally important. In the same way, the narration of history consists of what is told and what is omitted. History is as much of a science as physics, mathematics, or sorcery; the narration of history is as much of an art as music, psiprint, or sculpture. The art, then, consists in the selection of the events to be included and those to be excluded that will most effectively lay bare the scientific laws in operation.
The uneducated but alert reader will, at this point, worry that the historian may, by the careful selection of events, attempt to “prove” a set of pre-conceived notions that do not, in fact, correspond to the truth. We cannot deny that this may happen, as those who are familiar with the “history” written by certain desert-born mystics can testify.
But in fact, this analysis, apparently so convincing, ignores a vital factor: the active brain of the reader. That is to say, should a supposed historian attempt to distort the meaning, significance, and causes of the events he describes, it seems to us this cannot help but reveal itself to the alert reader. The historian’s awareness of this, in turn, cannot but serve to encourage the most scrupulous honesty and rigorous precision in his work.
We have taken the time to explain this because the reader cannot fail to notice that our narrative, initially flowing seamlessly from a Teckla to certain guards to an ensign and to Khaavren, will now abruptly move about in time. It is our opinion that a narrative that behaves in this manner ought to be required to explain itself, which it has now done: the discontinuity in time merely corresponds to the historian’s choice to omit details he deems insignificant or distracting, instead focusing his and the reader’s attention on matters of importance.
With our reader’s permission, and, we hope, understanding, we must now, as promised, move forward in time, an action we take with full awareness of the suddenness of our temporal shift, yet confident that it is the best way to present to the reader the history we have undertaken to relate. It was, then, fully three months after the events described in the previous chapter that Khaavren, who, having been able to learn nothing of the injured Easterner and having thus given it no more thought, had the matter called to his mind. It came about this way:
Khaavren was in his office studying the most recent reports on the disposition and preparedness of those under his command when there came the sound of wood rattling with the particular timbre that indicated someone had pulled the clapper-rope outside of the door leading to the conference room. There were only a very few individuals who might ever enter by this door, and in the case of none of them was there any question of joking; therefore Khaavren at once called for the person to enter.
The door opened, and a figure came through the doorway. The figure, we should add, was hooded and cloaked in dark gray, and walked with a firm, even pace until, arriving before Khaavren’s desk, it seated itself.
“Well,” said Khaavren. “Although I have no doubt that pleasure has nothing to do with your visit to my office, nevertheless, I assure you that it is a pleasure to see you.”
“I give you my word,” said the other in a soft, almost musical voice, “my feelings are entirely the same.”
“I am glad to hear it. While I would enjoy spending some time in conversation, I should imagine that you have come here with a particular purpose, and that of some urgency.”
Khaavren observed the gleam of white teeth within the cowl, and the other said, “You think so?”
“It seems to usually be the case when you visit me, my friend.”
“I do not deny it.”
“And so?”
“Yes, there is a matter I would like to bring to your attention.”
“Well, you have my attention, therefore this is a good time to bring a matter to it.”
“So much the better. Do you recall that, three months ago, you investigated the beating of an Imperial count?”
“You must know, Pel, that I would not forget something like that after only three months.”
“That is true; I merely wished to recall it to your mind.”
“Well, you have done so. What then?”
“A new matter has come before us, and one that, I believe, ought to become a subject for the Special Tasks group.”
“Ah, you think so? And Her Majesty?”
“Has not yet been informed. Whether to do so will be up to you after you have heard what I have to say.”
“And this matter relates in some way to the attack on Count Szurke?”
“I will lay the matter before you, and you will judge.”
“Very well.”
“Do you have the reports on the investigation you ran?”
Khaavren tilted his head. “I think the more significant question is, do you have the reports on the investigation I ran?”
The other chuckled. “You know that I hear things.”
“Yes, but it seems you also read things.”
“Come, is it a problem?”
Khaavren shook his head. “We will not speak of it. Instead, tell me what you found significant in these reports.”
“I noticed the same thing you did, my friend.”
“You refer to an interview conducted in the village of Swells?”
“Precisely.”
“Then, indeed, we noticed the same thing.”
“Let us see. If you would, my friend, please read the appropriate section.”
“Very well, if you wish.” Khaavren rose and opened up a chest next to his desk, and from there removed a box labeled simply with the year and the word, “open.” In this box he found a thick envelope wrapped in white ribbon, and from this, after some looking, he removed a particular folio. He sat down again, and, after some searching, read the following aloud: “Question: Have you seen any Easterners in the last few days or weeks? Answer: Easterners, Your Lordship? No Easterners. Just Chreotha brewers, a few Orca, Dragonlords like yourselves, some Issola, a couple of traveling merchants—Jhegaala—and a Lyorn who was visiting his cousin. No Easterners, Your Lordship.”
“Ah, was that the passage that caught your attention, Khaavren? I am astonished.”
“Are you? But, if there was anything else significant, I confess that I missed it.”
“Well, that is only fair, as I missed any significance in what you read.”
“Well, I will explain what I noticed if you will tell me what I missed.”
“That seems perfectly equitable, and I accept.”
“Then I am listening.”
“If you will turn back to the eleventh page—”
“You seem very well acquainted with this document, Pel.”
“It is possible that I have seen it.”
“Very well. There, I am now looking at the eleventh page.”
“Do you see where your observant and well-trained guards describe purchasing six bottles of wine to loosen the tongues of those they wish to question?”
“Yes, I see it, and I even approve.”
“In the margin, you perceive, they list the expense of these bottles.”
“That is customary, Pel; for if they did not, they could not be reimbursed for this expense, but must pay for it out of their own pockets.”
“Of course, it is a perfectly reasonable custom.”
“Then what—ah. I see. I had not observed before, but that is an unreasonably low price for six bottles of Eprishka wine.”
“Exactly.”
“And yet, I do not perceive—”
“Come, Khaavren my friend. What do you know of the Eprishka wine?”
“I know that it is excessively sweet to my tongue, but is nevertheless a not-unpopular wine, grown and bottled in the Eprish region.”
“That is correct, my friend. And permit me to say in passing that your palate agrees with mine. Do you know anything of how it is distributed?”
“Distributed? Why, I confess I never gave it a thought. Presumably carters load barrels, or cases of bottles—”
“That isn’t precisely what I mean by distribution, my friend.”
“What then?”
“I mean that it is not sold to retailers, but only directly to inns, and in large quantity.”
“So then?”
“In most cases—if you will pardon the unintentional play on words—an inn will only make this purchase if there is some sort of significant event to take place.”
“So, then, if the bottles are being sold cheaply, it means a significant event was planned for, and did not take place.”
“My dear Khaavren, your wits are as sharp as ever.”
“Are they? So much the better. I need my wits to be at their sharpest whenever I speak with you. And yet, it seems, they are not sharp enough to see how this matter is of sufficient importance to gain your interest.”
“In itself, it is little enough. But it caused me to wonder what sort of event might have been scheduled, and why it was canceled.”
“You wondered that?”
“I did.”
“Well, had I noticed the price, I would almost certainly have wondered as well.”
“I do not doubt you.”
“I would have more than wondered, Pel; I would have investigated.”
“I am certain you would have.”
“And, if I had investigated—”
“Yes? If?”
“What would I have discovered?”
“You would have learned that a bard was scheduled to perform on the day after Count Szurke was beaten, and the performance was canceled on that very day.”
“Interesting indeed.”
“Even more interesting is the bard. Not a Teckla, as you would expect. But an Issola. Her name is—”
“Saruchka!”
“Exactly.”
“And so, the beating of this Easterner led this Issola to cancel her performance.”
“So it would seem.”
“And yet, I do not see how this information, significant as it is, might turn the incident into a matter for the Special Tasks group.”
“Patience, Khaavren. First, I must acquaint you with an item that did not pass across your desk. Some years ago—”
“Years!”
“Yes, Khaavren. This is an old matter that has just now taken on new dimensions.”
“Very well, I apologize for interrupting. Some years ago?”
“Yes. Some years ago there was a request for Imperial reimbursement for a lost object from Lord Feorae.”
“Feorae? County and city investigations?”
“The same.”
“A request for reimbursement.”
“Exactly. My staff—that is to say, certain friends of mine keep a sharp eye out for unusual matters, even the most trivial, on the principle that the smallest incident may have larger implications.”
“I agree with that principle, my friend.”
“I am glad you do. And so, this request struck my friend as being out of the ordinary.”
“I agree that it is unusual. If something is lost, well, one cannot generally ask the Empire to reimburse the cost, unless—”
“Yes?”
“Unless it was lost pursuant to Imperial matters. Is that not the law?”
“It is close, Khaavren. In fact, the law reads, lost or failed of recovery pursuant to approved discharge of Imperial duties.”
“Ah, so then, it is the ‘failed of recovery’ that is significant?”
“Exactly.”
“In other words, Pel, Feorae lost a possession, and he did not recover it because of Imperial duties.”
“That is the claim.”
“It is most unusual.”
“That was my thought.”
“Nevertheless, well, what of it?”
“Word has reached my ears—”
“Many words reach your ears, Pel! I sometimes wonder if you have been gifted with more ears than the customary two.”
“If I have, Khaavren, I take my oath that the excess only exist metaphorically.”
“I do not doubt you. But, you were saying?”
“Yes. Word has reached my ears that the object he wishes reimbursement for was stolen.”
“Well, and was it so reported? That is, did he report this theft to himself, and cause himself to investigate it?”
“No, in fact, he did not.”
“That is something else that is unusual.”
“It is. And there is yet another matter of interest.”
“With all of these matters of interest, it no longer startles me that you have become interested. What is this one?”
“The author of the request for reimbursement.”
“The author of the request?”
“The author was what directed my attention to you in the first place.”
“How me? I recall no such request.”
“Not you, Khaavren.”
“Then, who is this famous author?”
“None other than the Countess of Whitecrest.”
“My wife?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, the matter is simplicity itself; I shall ask her about it.”
“And I am certain you will get an answer; the Countess’s loyalty cannot be questioned.”
“I am glad to hear you say that, Pel, for it is also my opinion. So now I perceive why you bring the matter to me, and you are right to do so, but I still do not comprehend how it has any connection with the beating of Count Szurke.”
“Nor did I at first. But, you perceive, once my interest in the matter was aroused, I could not help but look further.”
“Well, and did you wonder what was stolen?”
“That was my first question.”
“And did you find an answer?”
“Nearly.”
“Well?”
“It took several years, as the matter did not seem pressing, but, yes, eventually I did learn.”
“Well, and what was stolen?”
“A silver tiassa.”
Khaavren bounded to his feet. “What is it you tell me?”
“It is described as a tiny sculpture of a tiassa, all of silver, with sapphires for eyes.”
“This is … when did he request reimbursement?”
“Half a year after the uproar of a supposed Jenoine invasion that never occurred, during which, as you recall, the Court Wizard was furiously looking for—”
“A silver tiassa!”
“Exactly.”
Khaavren sat down again.
“You may as well remain standing,” said his friend.
“How, there is more?”
“Yes, for once I learned this, I could not resist attempting further investigation.”
“I know you so well in that!”
“I was curious about two things especially. One, who stole it? And, two, how did Feorae acquire it in the first place?”
“And did you learn the answer to the first question?”
“No, but I learned the answer to the second.”
“Ah! How did you discover it?”
“In the simplest possible way. After assuring him that this was a matter of first importance to the Empire, well—”
“Well?”
“I asked him.”
“Ah, that was cleverly done, Pel.”
“Was it not?”
“And so, how did he acquire it?”
“The details are murky, and it involves some quasi-legal activity that I would prefer not to discuss with you, my friend. But in the end, the trail leads to none other than your friend, the Count of Szurke.”
“Indeed
!”
“So it would seem.”
“Well. Does he have the silver tiassa now?”
The other shrugged. “I do not know.”
“We should attempt to find it.”
“I agree.”
“And I should have a conversation with Lord Feorae.”
“Ah, as to that—”
“Well?”
“You may do so if you wish, but I have learned all there is to learn from him.”
Khaavren nodded. “Very well, then. This job of tracing the tiassa, how do I convince Her Majesty that it is suitable for the Tasks group?”
“I am certain you can be persuasive, Khaavren.”
Khaavren made a sound of disgust. “And I am certain you have suggestions that would be helpful.”
“Perhaps I do.”
“Well?”
“You might point out to her that this involves an attack on an Imperial nobleman, which is something she cannot be pleased about.”
“That is true.”
“And, moreover, it has to do with the false Jenoine invasion, which I know is a subject upon which she has strong feelings.”
Khaavren nodded. “That will help.”
“I am always pleased to be of assistance.”
Khaavren stood. “I will go now.”
“If you don’t mind, I shall await you here.”
“Certainly,” said Khaavren, smiling. “That will make it easier for you to look through my files.”
“Now my friend, have you ever known me to do anything so obvious?”
“Never.” Khaavren stood and strode to the door. “Which is exactly what makes it subtle.”
An hour later he returned, to find his friend still sitting in the same place. Khaavren sat behind his desk and said, “How much can you tell me?”
There was, for the moment, a gleam of teeth from within the cowl. “How much do you imagine I can tell you, my friend?”
“Oh, you know I have no imagination.”
“You have Her Majesty’s approval of the mission?”
“Yes, I managed to convince her. She is still angry over the false Jenoine invasion, and is perfectly aware that the matter goes deeper than the man who was punished for it.”
The cowl nodded. “As I’d have expected,” came the soft voice.
“The Special Tasks group will investigate to see if there is a connection between this mysterious silver tiassa and the attack on Count Szurke.”