“Let’s have it.”
“Okay. It was by request of and based on information supplied by the Imperial representative of House Jhereg.”
I took a deep breath and, for no reason I’m aware of, my hands went through the automatic gestures that check to make sure my various concealed weapons are in their proper places.
“Okay, Kragar. Thanks. Anything else?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
I was wearing my usual cloak, but it was clean. The grey tunic I’d put on was in good shape, and my trousers, while not really suitable for court, weren’t bad. My boots were a bit scuffed and dirty, so I stopped when I was back in Dragaeran country and had a Teckla clean and polish them, for which I tipped him well. Then, to keep them clean, I carefully teleported to the vicinity of the Imperial Palace.
I leaned against the nearest wall and counted passersby until my stomach felt well again, then made my way around to the path which led to the Jhereg Wing. There were two old men standing outside it pretending to be guards (who in his right mind would break into the Jhereg Wing?), to whom I nodded as I went by. Inside, a cheerful young man in grey and black was sitting behind a short oak table. He asked my business.
“Count Soffta,” I said.
“Have you an appointment, my lord?”
“Naturally.”
“Very well. That door, up the stairs, all the way to the back.”
“Quite.”
“A pleasant afternoon, my lord.”
“Yes.”
Every inch the nobleman, that’s what I am. Heh. The cheerful young man’s identical twin was sitting behind the table’s identical twin. He asked my business. The table remained mute.
“Count Soffta,” I said.
“Have you an appointment, my lord?”
“No.”
“What name shall I give?”
“Baronet Taltos.”
There was a bit of a twinge to his eyebrows, as if maybe he’d heard the name, but that was all. “A moment, if you please,” and he was silent for a few heartbeats. Then he said, “You may go in, my lord.”
“Thank you.”
There’s a saying that goes, “Only Issola live in the Palace,” and it may be true. That is, if it were possible for a Jhereg to look like an Issola, Soffta did. His build was a bit chest-heavy, his face was regular, with the narrow forehead and peaked crown, and his movements were smooth and slow, and seemed practiced. No, he didn’t really look like an Issola, but about as close as a Jhereg can come. His office had four comfortable-looking chairs and a view of the courtyard. Each chair had its own round, three-legged table on which the guest could set his drink, made from the bar at the far end of the room. All very nice and non-threatening, it was.
He motioned me to a seat. “Baronet Taltos,” he said. “A pleasure. Drink? I have some Fenarian wine.”
Issola. “That would be nice,” I said. I saw the bottle and realized he meant brandy. “Clear and clean,” I said. The chair was as soft as it looked. Not very good for getting out of in a hurry. I wondered if that was deliberate. If I had designed the room, it would have been.
He poured me a drink, and the same thing for himself. I wondered if he really cared for it, at least served the right way, or if he was being polite. I’d probably never know. It was Tuzviz, probably the most commonly available Fenarian brandy; good if not remarkable. At least I could tell there were peaches in its ancestry.
When we were both sitting and enjoying the fire on our tongues he said, “How may I serve you, Baronet?”
“The Empire has mistakenly arrested my wife while clearing out some Eastern rabble from South Adrilankha. I’d like to see about obtaining her release.”
He nodded sympathetically. “I see. Most unfortunate. Her name?”
“The Lady Cawti. Taltos of course. She’s the Countess of, let me see . . . Lostguard Cleft, I think.”
“Yes. Bide a moment, enjoy the wine. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Very well.”
He left the room. I got up and stared out the window. Off to the side I could just make out the vast hall of the Iorich Wing, beneath which were the dungeons. It was completely walled in, dark and solemn, with their banner flying above it and Dragonlords in the gold cloaks of the Phoenix Guards walking along the walls. No, on reflection, it would have been damn hard to break her out.
Directly below me was a rock garden in blue and white, and strips of neatly manicured lawn dotted with stunted trees. Directly in front of me, on a tall, lone flagpole, flew the banner of the House, stylized jhereg, sinister, wings spread, claws outstretched, black on a field of grey. It filled me with no emotion whatsoever.
Presently Soffta returned and sat down behind his desk again. He was looking very grave indeed. “It seems,” he said, “that someone has already intervened on behalf of the Lady Cawti, and she refused release. Do you know anything about this?”
“Mmmm,” I said. “What would it take to procure her release in spite of her refusal?”
“Why, I’m not sure, Lord Taltos. Such a refusal is almost unheard-of, and forcing a release, well, I imagine an order of the Empress would do it.”
“No doubt, no doubt,” I said. I stood up and strolled back over to the window, looked out of it. I paced a bit, and my pacing took me behind Soffta’s chair. He let me get behind him, but I saw the tension in his neck muscles. Court representative or not, he was a Jhereg, not an Issola. “A difficult situation,” I said. “Perhaps there is nothing to be done.”
“Perhaps not,” he said, still not looking at me. “Although I’m certainly willing to help as much as I can.”
“Good, good,” I said. “Perhaps, then, you could tell me something.” As I spoke, I placed my hand casually on his shoulder. There was tension there now, but he kept his hands relaxed, in plain sight on his desk. We were ten feet from the door. “Just out of curiosity, how long has it been since blood has been spilled here, in the Jhereg Wing?”
“Not since the Interregnum, Lord Taltos.”
“It would be bad for the Organization interests to have any sort of violence take place here, wouldn’t it?”
“Very bad. I hope you aren’t suggesting any.”
I leaned on his shoulder, very slightly. “I? No, no, not at all. I wouldn’t think of such a thing. I was just making conversation.”
“I see. What was it you wanted to know?”
“Who arranged to have those Easterners arrested?”
There was the faintest hint of a tightening of muscles, but no more. “Why, the Empress, Baronet Taltos.”
“At your request, Count Soffta. And I’m very anxious to learn which of my colleagues asked you to make the request.”
“I believe you have been misinformed, Baronet Taltos.”
“Have you heard of me, Count Soffta?”
My hand didn’t leave his shoulder, but neither did it tighten, nor did I make any other movement. He said nothing for two or three heartbeats, then he said, “It may take me some time to find out, and I’m expecting a rather large number of visitors very soon.”
“Yes, I imagine you are. But under the circumstances, I’m willing to let it take as much time as necessary. I’m sure your visitors will understand.”
“It could be very expensive.”
“I’m prepared to pay. It is my wife, you know.”
“Yes . . . .”
“So the cost is irrelevant.”
“I guess it is.”
“Perhaps it would be best if you could gather the information?”
I could almost feel him weighing the odds, attempting to select the best thing to say, the best thing to do. “There may be repercussions—”
“I have absolutely no doubt that there will be. I accept them.”
“All of them?”
“Whatever may happen. But I hope your information is complete and accurate, or there could be consequences you don’t foresee.”
&nb
sp; “Yes. Toronnan.”
“I’m not surprised. Do you know why?”
“No.”
“Very well. Will you do me the honor of accompanying me out to the street?”
“I should be glad to, Lord Taltos.”
“Then let us walk together.”
We did so, smiling, my hand resting gently on his back. When we reached the street, I made certain there was no one nearby and composed my mind for a teleport. I let Spellbreaker fall into my left hand, just in case. “Count Soffta, I wish to thank you for your help.”
“The fruits of your inquiry will be my reward, Baronet Taltos.”
“No doubt. One thing, though.”
“Yes.”
“The Tuzviz you served me. It was quite good, but it is brandy, not wine. You should remember that.”
“Thank you, Lord Taltos. I shall.”
I released him and let the teleport take effect.
AN UNUSUAL SIGHT, NOT explained by the celebrations prepared for the next couple of days, greeted me when I walked into my office: Sticks was there, holding his clubs lightly, as if tossing them around, and next to him, looking quite out of place in his bright island clothing and norska hat, was Aibynn. They were speaking quietly about something arcane, Aibynn pointing to the clubs, and Sticks gesturing with them. Perhaps they were comparing the arts of battery and drumming. On reflection, that isn’t that strange an idea: Both require relaxation and tension in the right degree, speed and suppleness, and good understanding of timing, control of the body, and concentration of the mind. Interesting notion.
But at the time I wasn’t thinking about that. I said, “Aibynn, what are you doing here?”
He spoke, as always, slowly, as if he were constantly being distracted by the ultimate rhythms of the universe. “To say thanks for lining up that job for me.”
“Oh. Think nothing of it. It’s going well, I take it.”
“Well? We’ve played one night together and we’ve been summoned to play for the Empress tomorrow.”
“For the Imperial New Year’s celebration?”
“Yeah, I guess so. Odd time to call it New Year, though. On the island, the year begins in the winter.”
“Spring makes more sense, doesn’t it?”
He shrugged.
“In any case,” I went on, “the New Year is a big deal at the Palace. I’m very impre—hmmm.”
“What is it?”
“Eh? Nothing.” It had suddenly occurred to me that I had slain his King, and here he was about to appear before my Empress. If he were, in fact, an assassin himself, I had just set her up as elegantly as if I’d planned it. I briefly considered whether to do anything about it, then decided that it was none of my business. It may be that if he was an assassin I’d have to clear out before they traced the connection between Aibynn and me, but other than that, so what?
I congratulated him again and went past into my office, asking Melestrav to send Kragar in. I forced myself to concentrate on the door, and so I noticed him when he entered. He took one look at me and said, “Who’s the target?”
“Toronnan.”
“Himself, eh? Is he after us, or are we after him? Not that it really matters.”
“Neither one, exactly. Kelly’s bunch were arrested by his orders. I want to find out what he’s after.”
“Sounds good. How?”
“Buy someone in his organization, of course.”
“Oh, sure. Just like that.”
“If it was easy, Kragar, I’d do it myself.”
He blinked. “It’s nice to hear you say that out loud after all this time of—”
“Kill it.”
“Speaking of.”
“Hmmm?”
“We going to shine him?”
“I hope not. I’ve done too much of that. Any more, and people are going to start getting nervous—people I don’t want to make nervous. Besides, I have my hands full with South Adrilankha right now; I don’t need more territory.”
He nodded. “That’s what I’ve been thinking. Okay, I’ll see if anyone is for sale in his organization.” He got up, stopped, and said, “Do you think he might have bought someone in ours?”
“No way to know,” I said. “It’s a possibility. But I’m not going to start getting paranoid about it.”
“I guess not.”
“Oh, bring me a full set of weapons. It’s about that time.”
“Okay. Back soon.” He left, looking unusually thoughtful.
A couple of hours later, as I was finishing up the process of changing weapons, Melestav walked into my office.
“Message by courier, boss.”
“Oh, really? Someone’s being formal. Did he let you chop for it?”
“Yeah. Here it is.”
I inspected the single folded and sealed sheet and learned nothing interesting. I didn’t recognize the seal, but I don’t think there are more than three or four seals I would recognize. I’m not certain I’d know my own. I opened it, read, and considered.
“What is it, boss?”
“What? Oh. The gentleman who invited me over a few days ago wants to see me again, but he’s not in as much of a hurry.”
“Toronnan?”
“That’s the guy.”
“Think it’s a setup?”
“Hard to say. He wants me to name the time and place, today or tomorrow. It would be hard to rig that.”
“Okay, Vlad,” said Kragar. “Do you want me to set up protection?”
“Damn right.”
“Good. I’ll take care of it. Where?”
“I’m still thinking about it. I’ll tell Melestav when I decide.”
He left to make arrangements.
“What do you think it is, boss?”
“I don’t know. I hope it’s not the beginning of another war; I don’t think I could handle it.”
“You and me both.”
“Maybe I should get out of this business, Loiosh.”
“Maybe you should.”
He fell silent and I considered. Maybe I should get out—out of the whole thing. Killing people for money, earning a living from Teckla and fools, maybe I’d had enough. Maybe I could—
Could what? What would I do? I tried to imagine myself living like Morrolan or Aliera, safe on a piece of land somewhere watching the Teckla work the fields—or not watching as the case may be. Sitting around, indulging whatever vague curiosities came my way. No, I couldn’t see it. Perhaps my existence was pointless in any grand scheme of things, but it kept me entertained.
Yes, but was that sufficient justification for all the things I had to do, just to stay alive and in business? Well, why did I feel the need to justify myself in the first place? In part, I guessed, because of Cawti. She’d been just where I knew I didn’t want to be, idle and frustrated, and she’d handled it by getting involved with a bunch of crazies with a noble cause. What else? Well, there was my grandfather, whom I respected more than I respected anyone else. He knew what I did and, when I asked him, had given me his opinion on it. More fool me for asking.
But this was silly. Perhaps, later, I could decide if I wanted to change the way I lived, but right now my wife was in prison and I had just stirred up a school of orca by oh-so-gently threatening the Organization representative in the Imperial Palace, someone who ought to be left alone if anyone should. No, the Organization wasn’t about to let one lone Easterner get away with anything like that. I was going to have to either figure out a way to pacify them or figure out a way to escape. Maybe I’d relocate to Greenaere and learn to drum.
Or not.
“Melestav.”
“Yeah, boss?”
“Find out where Aibynn is playing tonight and send a courier to Toronnan. Tell him we’ll meet him there at the eighth hour.”
“Okay, boss.”
“And put the word out that we might get hit soon.”
“Again?”
“I guess it’s just one of those years.”
“I gu
ess so, boss.”
Lesson 10
Making Friends II
THE LOQUACIOUS MADMAN IS on Czigarel Street near Undauntra, in a district with very little Organization activity. I arrived two or three minutes early with Sticks and an enforcer we called Glowbug. Kragar had said he’d be there, too, but I didn’t notice him. It is unlikely, however, that I would have noticed Sethra Lavode in that crowd. The festivities were already beginning. There were trails of cold fire traveling along all the walls; bouncing globes throughout the room, changing colors as they swirled; and ribbon trails hanging from the ceiling.
The crowd was mostly Teckla, all decked out like the bouncing globes in reds and yellows and blues, and merchants and artisans proudly wearing whatever they worked in, and brazenly flaunting their lovers, but here and there you could see the masked aristocracy of the House of the Tiassa or the Lyorn, adding a gentle touch of light blue or brown, and inserting whatever particular flavor of loud troublemaking or quiet drunkenness pleased them the most.
Which is not to say the place was crowded—yet. It’s a big place, and things were just starting to get going. It was loud, but not deafening. Either a very good or a very strange time and place to have a business meeting.
Toronnan arrived less than two minutes after I did, preceded (as was I, by the way) by a couple of toughs who checked the place over for any sign of this being a setup. It isn’t easy to tell that sort of thing, even when there isn’t a celebration going on, but it can be done. You have to look at everyone in the place, especially the waiters, and note how each one carries himself, where he is placed, and if he seems to be carrying any concealed weapons, or looks familiar, or doesn’t seem to fit in.
I had done that a few times, and the one time it really had been a setup, for a guy named Welok, I had almost missed it that one of the cooks wasn’t using his knife the way a real cook would—instead of gripping it between thumb and forefinger on the blade with the pommel resting on the heel of his hand, he was gripping the pommel like a knife-fighter. I mentioned this to Kragar, with whom I was working, who looked closely and realized that he knew the guy. The meeting was called off, and three months later I was hired by Welok to kill an enforcer named Kynn who worked for Rolaan—the man who’d called the meeting.