“That’s what you’ve got me around for.”
“Which you’ll never let me forget, which is the other thing I’m pissed about. All right, there has to be a way to figure this out. No, we don’t, we need to call for help.”
“Morrolan, or Sethra?”
“Yes.” Before he could say something snippy, I added, “Who would be easier to get to?”
“You could get Morrolan to come see you, instead of you going there.”
“Yeah, good point.”
I took another circuitous route back to the Palace area, then went into the Dragon Wing by one of the entrances used by the nobility. Two guards in full uniform stood outside the entrance; I wondered if standing outside the Wing for hours at a time is an honor or a punishment, but in any case I put on my full outfit of arrogance and went breezing past them. This was going to be fun.
There was a sergeant at a desk. I knew he was a sergeant because I recognized the marks on his uniform, and I knew it was a desk because it’s always a desk. There’s always someone at a desk, except when it’s a table that functions as a desk. You sit behind a desk, and everyone knows you’re supposed to be there, and that you’re doing something that involves your brain. It’s an odd, special kind of importance. I think everyone should get a desk; you can sit behind it when you feel like you don’t matter.
The Empress didn’t have a desk. Morrolan didn’t have a desk. Sethra didn’t have a desk. They really did matter. Me, when I was running my area for the Jhereg, I had a desk. Now I don’t. You can draw whatever conclusions you want to from that.
I went up to the sergeant behind the desk and said, “I am Count Szurke. This is my signet. I wish to see the ensign on duty.”
He didn’t like it much. The only people who are supposed to talk to you like that are the ones with bigger desks. But the signet of an Imperial title carries some weight with the military, so he nodded and, however painful it may have been for him, said, “Yes, my lord. At once.” Then he said, “Flips, bring my lord to the ensign.”
A guy who spent too much time on his hair said, “Yes, m’lord,” and bowed to me, then led the way down the hall, clapped outside the first door he came to, and, upon receiving the word, opened the door for me. I went into a room where there was a woman behind a desk. It was a bigger desk than the sergeant had.
I repeated my introduction and said, “I require a message delivered at once to Lord Morrolan. I wish him to meet me here. Find me a private room in which to wait, then let him know I’m there.”
She didn’t like my tone much, but orders, as they say, are orders. “Yes, my lord.” She pulled out a piece of paper, scribbled on it with a pen that went into a pen-holder with a dragon’s head etched on it, then affixed her seal and stood up. “If my lord will follow me?”
I don’t always love throwing my weight around. But sometimes, with some people, it’s just fun.
She showed me to a small, comfortable room, surrounded by pictures of battle, some of them terribly realistic-looking. There was a lot of blood. I didn’t find it relaxing. Also, they didn’t bring me any food or wine, which I got to resenting after an hour or so. Fortunately, it wasn’t much more than an hour before there came a clap at the door. I recognized Morrolan’s hands slapping together before Loiosh said anything, which fact might disturb me if I let it.
I got up and let him in, then closed the door behind him. He said, “What is it?” That’s Morrolan, all full of flowery greetings and chitchat.
“Those guards who stand outside the Wing. Are they being punished, or honored?”
“What is it?” he repeated. I guess I’ll never know.
“There’s someone I need to know about.” I said, “Her name is Desaniek. She—”
“That’s the name of the Justicer leading Her Majesty’s investigation into Tirma.”
“Oh, you knew about that?”
“I just heard.”
“I thought I’d get to surprise you.”
“What about her?”
“The Jhereg is going to kill her.”
“If the Jhereg does, there won’t be a Jhereg.”
I rolled my eyes. “It won’t look like they did it, Morrolan.”
“Oh? How are they going to manage that? A tragic, coincidental accident? She’s going to slip under a cart? Fall out of a building? Drown in her bathtub? Accidentally stab herself in the back while cleaning her knife?”
I filled him in on some of the background, then said, “It’s going to be blamed on some idiot group of Easterners and Teckla.”
He frowned. “Not the one—”
“No, a different group.”
“How many are there?”
“Lots, I guess. Stir them up long enough and hard enough, and pretty soon they start listening to the guy telling them how to solve all their problems.” I wasn’t sure if I believed that myself, but telling it to Morrolan was a nod to Cawti; I’d like to think she’d have appreciated it.
“Do you know where and when?”
“No. That’s what I want your help with.”
He put on a “this is going to be good” expression, and waited.
I said, “I’ve been following her, hoping to pick up whichever assassin is following her, hoping to take him out before he moves.”
“Well?”
“Well, no one is following her.”
He shrugged. “Maybe she has no protection spells on, and they’re tracing her movements with magic.”
I kept my face expressionless and said, “I had the same thought. Can you find out?”
“Hmmm? Oh, sure.”
“Good.”
“Now?”
“Up to you,” I said. “Now, or else after she’s dead. Either way is fine.”
“And then,” he said, “there are times I don’t miss you so much.”
“Yeah, well.”
“Okay, a moment.” He closed his eyes, opened them, looked disgusted, and said, “Oh, right. I’m in the Dragon Wing. Wait here.”
He got up and walked out, so I missed seeing the powerful sorcerer doing his powerful sorcery, which would have involved him closing his eyes and then, I don’t know, maybe taking a deep breath or something.
He was back a few minutes later. He sat down opposite me and said, “No one’s tracing her.”
“Really. Well. Isn’t that interesting. Any chance they have a trace on her you don’t know about?”
“I checked for sorcery, and witchcraft. I suppose it’s possible, but it isn’t very likely. Does this mean you’re wrong?”
“I don’t know. It fit together too well for me to think I got it wrong. But I don’t, as Perisil would say, have any evidence that would work in court.”
He considered. “If you’re right, ignoring the lack of evidence, what happens to Aliera?”
“Good question. In fact, that’s the question, isn’t it? I wish I had an answer. If they get away with it, the Empress has to choose between giving in to the Jhereg, and sacrificing Aliera. I don’t know which way she’ll jump.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Hmm?”
“What if you stop them?”
“Oh. Then the Empire runs an investigation into the massacre, and probably drops all those bogus charges against Aliera. She was Warlord when it happened; I have no idea how an investigation like that will work out.”
He considered for a moment. “I’d be inclined to think there’d be no blame attached to her.”
“Should there be?”
“Pardon?”
“Well, she’s the Warlord. It happened. How far up should the responsibility go?”
“Do you care?”
“Not really. Just curious.”
“I’m not an Iorich.”
“Right.”
He said, “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Maybe get out of town. I don’t want to be here when whatever happens happens.”
He stared at me. “What, just give up?”
/>
“I was thinking about it.”
“That isn’t like you.”
“Morrolan, I’m lost. Sometime, somehow, they’re going to take out Desaniek. And it will look like these Easterners did it to protest the massacre. It could be anywhere. I’ve spent most of the last week following her. I counted more than thirty times and places that would have been great to nail her. How am I supposed to know which they’ll do? You cannot stop an assassin unless you know the assassin and get to him first. If you have any suggestions on how to figure that out, feel free to mention them. I’m beat.”
“Can’t help you,” he said, dryly. “You’re the only assassin I know.”
“I know plenty of them, and I’m no better off. The other possibility is that I’m entirely wrong, and in that case I’m even more helpless because I have no clue at all that points to what they’re planning, and I can’t convince myself they’re going to just take this without making a move of some kind.”
He frowned. “We need to do something.”
“I’m glad it’s ‘we’ now.”
His nostrils flared, but he didn’t say anything; he knows when I’m just blowing sparks.
“Thanks for coming by,” I said.
“Need a teleport anywhere?”
“Yes, but I can’t risk it. Thanks, though.”
We both stood up. “If you come up with anything, and I can help—”
“I’ll let you know.”
He nodded and preceded me out the door, heading deeper into the Wing; presumably to find a place he could teleport from. I miss the small conveniences, you know? I took myself out and started back toward my inn, thinking a bit of rest wouldn’t be a bad idea.
“Was that true, Boss? Are you really giving up?”
“I don’t know. Probably not. But I have no idea what to do.”
“I’m with Morrolan. Doesn’t seem like you to leave town with things unfinished.”
“Would you be against it?”
“No! I’m all for it, Boss! This place scares me. But it seems like you showing good sense, and that’s not what I expect.”
I sighed. “I probably won’t.”
“You should.”
“I know.”
“You have no idea where they’re going to hit, Boss. What can you do?”
“That’s what I’ve been saying. I only know who they’re going to nail, and who they’re going to—oh.”
“What?”
I stopped in my tracks, and my mind raced. Then I said, “I know who they’re going to blame it on.”
“What does that get you?”
“A walk to South Adrilankha.”
“Uh, care to tell me why?”
“There might be things to learn from the people who are supposed to take the fall.”
“Like what?”
“If I learn them, I’ll let you know.”
“Oh, good.”
I was standing in the middle of the courtyard outside of the Dragon Wing of the Palace. The House of the Dragon, dark and oh-so-imposing, loomed over me as if matching glares with the Wing. There were four or five walkways leading out of the area, some to other parts of the Palace, others to the City. For all I knew, there were assassins hanging around all of them waiting to make my skin glisten.
But I had something to do, which is all anyone can ask.
“Yeah, Boss? What are we going to do?”
“I’m going to go back to the inn and drop a note to Kiera asking her to bring by the names of whatever Left Hand businesses she’s been able to find, then I’m going to have a decent meal sent up, drink half a bottle of wine, and go to sleep.”
“Sounds like my kind of plan.”
“Tomorrow is a busy day. I know a couple of places owned by the Left Hand. If Kiera doesn’t show up, we visit one.”
“Good. Then at least we don’t have to worry about a plan for the day after tomorrow, because neither one of us will be around to see it.”
14
M’lady: Just got word through your office of the event. I’m perfectly willing to attend and answer any questions the mob has, though I cannot imagine what good H.M. imagines such a thing will do. They’re going to believe what they believe, and I can talk until my voice is hoarse without changing them; nor do I see what difference it makes what they think, unless H.M. is afraid of more disorders like there were a few years ago. Officially, I have no opinion about that, of course (though unofficially a troop of guards will deal with however many of them take to the street). My question is, if I’m going to do this, how do you want me to handle it? I’d rather not have it in writing. Let me know when a good time is, and I can be in your offices, or wherever else you’d like to meet.
—Unsigned (not authenticated)
I felt a bit better the next morning. I stood up and stretched again, taking it slow and easy. I was still trying to make my muscles obey when there was a clap outside the door; Loiosh told me it was Kiera, I suggested she enter. She asked how I was feeling, and I lied a little. “Did you find out anything?”
“I learned a few businesses that are covers for Left Hand operations. Here.” She handed me a sheet of paper with some names and addresses.
I held it out in front of her and tapped one. “You sure about this?”
She studied it. “Tymbrii,” she said. “Pre-spun cloth and yarn. What about them?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Except Cawti used to go there all the time. I had no idea.”
“I don’t know who the real owner is, but it’s a good place to go if you want to be listening in on someone who thinks he has spells that will prevent that.”
I nodded. “It’s just odd, is all. The number of times I went in there, and never knew.”
I looked over the rest of the list. There were places spread out all over the City, and I recognized a couple from having walked past them, but there were no others I’d actually been in.
“Now what, Boss? Put the list on the wall, throw a knife at it, and see where it lands?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
“This is liable to get you killed, you know. You’re in no shape—”
“Sit on it.”
He psychically grumbled, but shut up.
“What do you know of these?”
“What do you want to know?”
I hesitated. “I’m not sure what to ask. I know so little of the Left Hand.”
“As do I. As do they.”
“Hmm?”
“Part of the secrecy thing; most of them know very little other than their own business.”
“Oh. Um, how little do they know?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“I guess I’m asking if I were to show up at one of these places, would the individual running it know who I am?”
She considered. “I don’t know. Maybe. My guess is not, except by coincidence. Don’t bet your life on that, though.”
I nodded. “Uh, how do I do this, Kiera?”
“You’re asking me?”
“I don’t mean that part. But say, this one—” I tapped the list. “It’s an inn. Do I walk in and ask for a certain drink? Or—”
“Oh. Sorry. I’d have thought you knew. If you want to reach someone in the Left Hand, ask to see the mistress of the house, and deliver three silver coins, one at a time, with your left hand.”
“Left hand,” I said. “How clever.”
“Imaginative, even.”
I sat on the edge of the bed and considered. I took the knife from my right boot, pulled the coarse stone from my pack, and started working as I thought.
“You aren’t lubricating it,” said Kiera.
“Superstition,” I told her. “You don’t need to lubricate the stone, you just need to clean it when you’re done.”
“I know. I wondered if you did. What sort of edge are you putting on that?”
“Five degrees a side.” I stopped and studied the knife. It was a wicked thing that I’d found in Shortrest, ne
ar Tabo. There was a cheap and worthless enchantment on it that was supposed to help it find a vital spot, and the point wasn’t much, but it had a lovely edge and the wrapped antler fit my hand like it had been made for an Easterner. I worked some more, checked the bevel, switched to the other side.
“Where did you learn to do that?” she asked.
“Where did we first meet?” I asked her.
“Oh, right.”
I nodded. “Sharpening knives was what I first learned to do after I learned to wash pots and pans, bring trash to the midden, and clear tables. I had one knife I kept a dual edge on: front three-quarters for slicing, back quarter for cutting. Best knife I’ve ever had.”
“Where is it now?”
“Cawti has it. She still uses it. I showed her how to do the dual edge. She—” I stopped and went back to sharpening, switching to the extrafine stone.
“Sorry,” she said.
“No, no. Don’t worry about it.”
“If you slip and take a finger off, I’ll feel bad.”
I held up my left hand. “That happened once. I’ve learned my lesson.”
I finished sharpening the knife, nodded to myself, and stood up. My rib hurt like—it hurt.
Kiera hesitated, then said, “Do you want me to back you up?”
“Not your skill,” I said. “And it won’t be necessary. This should be pretty easy.”
“As you say.” She didn’t sound convinced.
She followed me out of the room, and walked down the stairs with me. I went slowly. She said, “I’ll be waiting in the courtyard to hear how it went.”
I nodded but didn’t say anything; most of my concentration was involved in not moaning with each step. Rocza took off from my shoulder and flew in slow circles overhead; Loiosh remained on my other shoulder and was looking around constantly.
In the wide boulevard in front of the Imperial Wing near the park, there is always a line of coaches; on one side those with markings on the door, on the other those that are for hire, all of which get special exemptions from the ordinance forbidding horses near the Palace. I think there are so many exemptions they might as well not bother with the ordinance, but maybe I’m wrong.
I spent some time studying the coaches for hire, trying to decide which looked like the most comfortable, then picked one and made my painful way to it. The coachman was a young woman, a Teckla of course, with the cheery smile and easy obsequiousness of the happy peasant in a musical satire on Fallow Street. I climbed in and gave her the address. She looked at Loiosh, then Rocza as she joined me in the coach, but merely bowed and climbed up to her station. Then she clucked and the horse started plodding along, a lot like I’d been walking.