Dzur

The whole business of finding the right vegetable, or side dish, to accompany each of the major elements of the meal is its own art, and deserves more discussion than I’m competent to give it; that is still another area where my abilities as an eater outshine my abilities as a cook.

Telnan took pleasure in this perfect contrast without being aware of it, which gave me the chance to feel superior to him. One must never pass up the opportunity to feel superior to a Dzur.

We didn’t speak for a while as, each in our own way, we relished the skills of Valabar and Sons.

I took the amulet off, and slipped it into its box. As I closed the box, I kept watching Daymar’s face, looking for—well, I’m not sure what I was looking for. What I saw was a slight furrow to his brow, and then he closed his eyes—not tightly, but the way you close your eyes when you don’t want to be distracted by what’s in front of you. It helped to be touching Lady Teldra’s hilt, though I don’t remember deciding to do so.

Daymar settled to the floor.

I was trying to decide if that should worry me, when I noticed perspiration on his forehead. Yes, I decided, this should probably worry me.

I heard his voice in my head saying, “Put it back on.”

I opened the box, removed the amulet, and slipped it over my head.

Daymar opened his eyes and exhaled long and slow. “My,” he said.

“Not as easy as you’d thought it would be?”

“It took some effort.” He frowned. “I have a headache.”

“You have the right to one. There’s a bed here; perhaps you’d like to lie down for a while.”

“I don’t believe I can move,” he said, and lay back onto the floor.

I sat on the bed, staring at the prostrate Hawklord and trying to think of what to say. He solved the problem by saying, “Her name is Crithnak.”

“You got the mind-probe off?”

“Barely.”

“Crithnak,” I repeated.

“Yes.”

“She must be very strong.”

“Yes.”

He closed his eyes, opened them, and sat up, moaning. “And she really hates you.”

“It is personal.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Hmmm. Any idea why?”

He nodded. “You destroyed her sister’s soul.”

“I what?”

“You killed her sister. Morganti.”

I stared at him. “Loiosh, have I been sleepwalking?”

“Nope.”

“How about sleepkilling?”

“Not so far as I know.”

“Uh, Daymar, did you get any details on that?”

“She doesn’t know how it happened.”

“But she thinks I did it?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Why?”

“Well, her sister was going after you right before she died.”

I tried to organize all the questions in my head, but there were too many. For no special reason, I started with, “Why was her sister going after me?”

He frowned. “I’m not sure. It seemed to be impersonal—”

“Business?”

“I suppose. But I didn’t pick up any details.”

“Were you able to tell if she was trying to kill me?”

“Who?”

I stared at him.

“I mean,” he said. “Do you mean Crithnak, or her sister?”

“Her sister.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t able to tell. It wasn’t going through her mind that way. I can only pick up what she’s—”

“All right. I wonder—”

“Hmmm?”

“Well, yesterday, someone came after me. Appeared out of nowhere. I killed her, but it wasn’t Morganti.”

He tilted his head at me. “I don’t suppose you can make a mistake about something like that?”

“You mean, make a mistake about it being Morganti?”

“Yes.”

“Uh, not likely.”

He glanced at the hilt of Lady Teldra protruding from my belt. “You didn’t use, uh, that, then?”

“Actually, I did. But she—that is, the weapon—never came within fifty feet of the sorceress who attacked me.”

“So?”

There was a wealth of information contained in that “So?”and most of it consisted of things I didn’t want to know. “You mean, Lady Teldra could have destroyed her soul from a distance?”

“Certainly, if the right combination of circumstances existed.”

“Even if I didn’t tell her to?”

“Did you tell her not to?”

I glared at him. “Okay, what constitutes the right combina­tion of circumstances?”

“Hmmm. Good question.”

“Thanks. I was proud of it.”

He frowned at me. “Vlad, are you angry?”

“No, I’m overwhelmed with joy and love for all humanity, but I’m working very hard to conceal it.”

“That was sarcasm, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay. Are you angry with me?”

I sighed. “Yes, but I shouldn’t be. I should be just angry in gen­eral. I’ll work on that. In the meantime—”

He nodded. “To answer your question as best I can, it has to do with the exact nature of the weapon, and with, well ... I presume this sorceress cast a spell at you?”

I tasted my own fear again as I remembered standing in that alley, holding Lady Teldra and staring at the sorceress as she—“Yes,” I said.

“Then it has to do with the nature of the spell. If it was one that opened a channel through the etherium, and there was noth­ing preventing reverse influx, then it would be possib—”

“You understand, Daymar, that I have no idea what you just said?”

He blinked. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.”

“What’s the short version?”

“There’s no way to tell for sure, but it is possible that your weapon was able to take her soul because of the spell she cast at you.

“Well.” I swallowed. “That’s wonderful.”

Daymar slowly rose, until he was floating, cross-legged, a foot or so off the ground again.

“Feeling better?” I asked.

He nodded.

I let out a long, slow breath. “Okay. Where was I?”

“You were just using a Morganti weapon on a sorceress.”

“Yeah, I guess I was.”

“Well, Boss, you could explain that you didn’t really mean it.”

“Now isn’t the time, Loiosh.”

“Sorry.”

“What you said about asking her not to ...”

“Yes?”

“How do I do that?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know. I’m told it can be done, but—”

“Okay. So this ... what was her name?”

“Crithnak.”

“Yeah. This Crithnak wants to kill me because I killed her sister.”

“Because you destroyed her soul.”

I shuddered. “Okay. And she tried to locate me?”

“Yes. It was very difficult to block.”

“How was she doing it?”

“Pretty much, pure psychic energy.”

“Oh. I thought there wasn’t anyone as good as you at that.”

“That’s what I thought too.”

“Did it hurt your feelings?”

“A little.”

I sighed. “Okay, now what?”

“Hmmm?”

“Sorry, was mostly talking to myself. Uh, thanks for all your help.”

“Of course.”

“May I buy you a drink?”

He shook his head. “I think I’ll be heading back home.”

I nodded. “Where do you live, anyway?”

“Hmmm? Loiosh knows.”

“Yes, you told him, but he’s never told me.”

Daymar laughed, which didn’t happen often. Then he van­ished, leaving me to contemplate many things.

I drew Lady Teldra and studied the elegant lines of the slim, dark blade. “Did you really do that?” I asked her. She didn’t answer. I put her back in the sheath. Loiosh nuzzled my neck. She had destroyed someone’s soul.

No, I had destroyed someone’s soul. It wasn’t the first time, but the other times I’d been paid a whole lot of money, and had reason to believe it was justified, at least by the standards of the Jhereg.

This was different.

What would Cawti say? What would Aliera say?

Why did I care what Aliera would say?

“Take some time, Boss.”

“Hmmm?”

“Take some time. Get over it.”

“I’m not sure it’s that easy.”

“I know. Take some time anyway.”

It seemed like good advice. I lay down on the bed with the intention of taking some time, but after about a minute I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I got up. Inactivity isn’t one of my favorite things.

I paced around the room for a bit, but the room wasn’t nearly big enough to pace in effectively.

“We going out, Boss?”

“Yeah. I need to walk.”

They went out the window, I went out the door.

Walking around while people were trying to kill me and my head was filled with things other than how to avoid them proba­bly wasn’t all that smart, but it’s something I’ve done before. This time, at any rate, I knew I’d be hard to find, and I had Loiosh and Rocza flying around and keeping an eye on me.

In any case, I got away with it; I spent a couple of hours tromp­ing aimlessly around South Adrilankha without anyone trying to kill me, or, indeed, taking any notice of me.

At one point, I found myself back again at the place where my grandfather had lived for so many years, but I didn’t stop. I thought about picking up some food, then realized I wasn’t hungry. I tried to remember when I last ate, and, after working it out, decided it was probably a bad sign and I should eat something anyway.

I picked up some food at one of the stands and ate a bit while I walked. I tossed the rest into an alley for Loiosh and Rocza, who enjoyed it more than I did. I remember an old woman walking past me, wearing an off-white knitted scarf over her head, and thick, heavy shoes. Three or four children went running past me. Old people and children; you didn’t seem to see either one in most of Adrilankha; in the Easterners’ quarter, it seemed like they were the only ones around.

I walked past the shops of those who were wealthy by the standards of South Adrilankha, and the carts and booths of those who were not. I stopped occasionally, pretending to be interested in something, then moved on.

I wondered if I was the only guy in history to destroy someone’s soul without even being aware of it. That would be a first, wouldn’t it? I suddenly thought of Napper, whom I had watched fall to a Morganti weapon in the middle of a battle. I’d known him, and even liked him, and he hadn’t deserved to die that way. And neither had this sorceress of the Left Hand whom I had killed, and destroyed, and to whom I had forever denied Deathgate and rebirth.

“You’ll pay for that.”

It took me a moment to realize that the voice was real, and not in my head. I focused on the fellow talking to me, and remembered I was still Sandor.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’ll be paying for that.”

“For—?”

“That.”

He pointed to the remains of a small blue ceramic cup that was in my hand. It had broken cleanly, and I was bleeding a bit, just below the fourth finger. “How much?” I said.

“Six and eight,” he told me.

I nodded, and managed to dig out seven orbs, which I handed to him then walked off without waiting for change.

“You’re bleeding, Boss.”

“Just a little:”

“But you’re dripping it on the ground:”

“So? Oh. Right.”

I cupped my hand, and bought a piece of cheap fabric to wrap it in. I think someone asked what had happened; I don’t remember answering.

I felt better after a few hours. There was a comforting anonymity in being Sandor, maybe because he hadn’t destroyed anyone’s soul. In any case, it finally penetrated that I wasn’t mak­ing progress toward any of the things I needed to accomplish: figuring out what the Left Hand was up to, getting Cawti out of this mess, or figuring out how to keep myself safe from an irate sorceress.

Once more, I felt the desire to just walk into the house on Stranger’s Road, start hacking away with Lady Teldra, and see what happened. Looking back, I have no idea why I’d been so shaken up by what I did to that sorceress yet was able to contem­plate letting my weapon loose on the inhabitants of that house. No, it doesn’t make sense, but I’m giving it to you as I recall it.

In any case, no, I didn’t go charging into the house; I just wanted to.

“Ready to go back, Boss?”

“I’m ready to do something constructive, if I can figure out what.”

“If not, you can always go kill something?’

“I’ve thought about that. But, you know, I sort of want to have an idea of who to kill.”

“Oh, anyone.”

“Just now, that isn’t funny.”

“Yes, it is:’

“I’ll demonstrate funny for you.”

“When?”

“Later.”

“You’re almost back to the room. Are we going in?”

“I don’t know. Why? Nothing to do there.”

“It’s safer than out here.”

“When have I given the least thought to my personal safety?”

“Okay, Boss. I’ll give you that one. That was funny.”

“I am fulfilled. Let’s go back and observe that house some more. That’s not quite as useless as anything else I can think or—”

So we did, and watched for a few hours as another courier or two made drop-offs. If nothing else, I was getting a pretty good feel for how much money was involved in this operation. It was a lot. It was certainly enough that they wouldn’t hesitate to brush aside an inconvenient Easterner. In a way, that thought was more annoying than either the Jhereg wanting my soul, or that sorcer­ess who was after me.

“By all means, Boss, don’t let them insult you.”

“Shut up, Loiosh.”

Between the pointless walking and useless observation, I was feeling a bit better as I headed back toward my room. I stopped and picked up a good loaf of bread, some peppers, and some sausages. There were a number of people queued up for the sausages, from which I concluded they must be all right. The woman in front of me, a frail-looking grandmother, glanced at me and said, “Jancsi has been getting busier and busier. Word must be getting out.”

I nodded.

She said, “I’ve known about his sausages for thirty years, you know.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have told all your friends.”

“Mmm?”

“Never mind.”

She gave me an odd look.

A little later she said, “Why are you wandering around in the middle of the day?”

“I’m permitted to leave for lunch.”

“Oh? What do you do?”

“I keep the books for a slaughterhouse.”

She nodded. “That isn’t bad, I suppose, if you must work for someone.”

“What else is there? I’m not the type to run a shop, or sell sausages in the street.”

“My son is looking to buy some land. Grow some maize, maybe raise some sheep and some chickens.”

I nodded. “How is that looking?”

“He’s a hard worker, my son. He’ll get there.”

“He works in the slaughterhouses?”

She nodded. “And we save everything, he and I.”

“Ah. I wish him the best of fortune.”

She smiled, her whole face lighting up like I’d just given her the farm. “Thank you,” she said. Then Jancsi asked what she wanted and I was saved from further embarrassment.

I ate the bread, peppers, and sausages as I walked. The sausages were dry, but good and peppery, with a bite on the lips and the front of the tongue. And there were people walking by who weren’t any taller than I was. In fact, I was taller than a lot of them, and I rather liked that.

I remembered when there were Phoenix Guards all over these streets, facing off against Easterners holding kitchen knives, ham­mers, sticks, and the occasional rusted sword. There were no signs of that now. Had all of the anger vanished, or was it still there, where I couldn’t see it, waiting to explode again? I had no idea. Nor was I certain if I cared, except that Cawti cared, and was likely to be involved if something happened.

I didn’t know these people—people who dreamed of things like buying land.

I wrapped the remnants of the sausage in its butcher’s paper to give to the jhereg later, and slipped into a place called Ferenk’s. I treated myself to a Fenarian peach brandy called Oregigeret, and sat down at a table to drink it. It stung my tongue and burned my throat, and filled my nose with a harsh smokiness and something almost like pitch. It was wonderful. The Dragaerans have brandy, too, though they don’t call it that. And it’s right that they don’t call it brandy, because if you like brandy, you won’t like the stuff they distill. When it came to brandy, I was an Easterner.

Ferenk’s was nearly empty, save for a couple of old men who looked like they drank professionally. Well, why else would you be here at this time of day? The one at the table next to mine nodded and gave me a half-smile full of yellow teeth. I nodded back. Maybe I should take up drinking professionally.

“Is the brandy good?” I asked him.

“I’m drinking oishka.”

“Oh. How is that?”

He grinned, and I tried to avoid looking at his teeth. “Does the job,” he said.

“Helps you forget your troubles?”

“I don’t have troubles. I have oishka.”

“Good answer.”

Yes, there was a lot to be said for being a professional drinker. Of course, wandering around in a drunken cloud would mean I’d certainly be dead within a couple of days. But they’d be pleasant days.

“You’re retired?” I asked my companion.

He nodded. “I hurt my leg pretty good, and now my daughter and her husband support me.” He grinned. “I don’t mind a bit. I worked hard enough and long enough.”

“Doing what, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“We had some land we worked for Lord Cerulin.”

I nodded. “What happened?”

“The mare kicked me, bless her heart.”

He laughed and held up his glass for a moment, silently toasting the mare, then drained it and wandered up to get another.

I finished the brandy and thought about having a second glass, but ended up walking out onto the street.

I returned to the room long enough to give Loiosh and Rocza the remains of the sausage. While they ate, I pondered. Having rejected drinking as a way of life, I was now back to trying to figure out how to approach my problem. Or all of my problems. Or any of my problems.

What I wanted to do was get hold of Kragar and have him collect information on this Crithnak. But I couldn’t lower my de­fenses long enough to reach him. It was frustrating.

“You could walk over there.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it.”

“And?”

“This disguise is pretty good in the Easterners’ quarter. I don’t now if I want to bet my life on it in my old area.”

“You’ve always been good at sneaking around without being noticed.”

“Yeah, good enough for most things, Loiosh. But the way they’re looking for me now—”

“Well, you could break into the house and see what you can find.”

“I could, if I leave Lady Teldra behind.”

“Oh. Right. I imagine that’s not going to happen.”

“Doesn’t seem likely.”

“This is good sausage.”

It was strange that, after years of wandering around the coun­tryside, completely out of touch with everyone except the occa­sional emotionally damaged Teckla (there’s a story there, but skip it), I felt more alone and isolated here, now, than in all that time. I suppose it was because I was physically close to so many of the people I had missed, but was still out of touch with them.

Once again, I touched the hilt of Lady Teldra. There was that feeling of presence again. It made me think of the time I had spent in the East. Not the unpleasant part, which was actually most of it, but the feeling of standing with my eyes closed, face up toward the Furnace, like a shower-bath of warmth. And yes, she had saved my life; but she had destroyed a soul in an action so auto­matic to her, so instinctive, that I hadn’t even been aware it was happening.

Or was I reading too much into it? Very likely. There were probably, I don’t know, mechanics involved—things that she just sort of did. Putting any kind of moral weight on her actions was perhaps like blaming the rock that someone throws at your head.

I badly wanted to be able to be able to communicate with her, but all I got was a vague sensation; pleasant, but frustrating.

If I’m not around when she wakes up, you’ll remember to say hello for me, Sethra had said, or something like that.

“Hey! Lady Teldra! Wake up!”

She didn’t.

I wanted to go to sleep, or get drunk, or something. What I needed was my old Organization, with all its sources of informa­tion, and legwork; but I couldn’t reach Kragar or even Morrolan’s network. I was isolated, and frighteningly helpless. Which was odd, considering that I still had all of my skills, my familiars, a lot of money, and a Great Weapon. If I could just—

Hmmmm.

I did have a lot of money, didn’t I?

“Boss? You have something?”

“Yeah,” I told Loiosh. “Yeah, I think I do.”

“Is it something stupid?”

“Oddly enough, no. There was something I’d forgotten.”

“Which means—?”

I checked the time. It had made it to evening; there would now be people starting to fill the streets.

“Come on, Loiosh. It’s time to move.”

“Sounds good. Does that mean there’s a plan?”

“Just watch me.” 9. Chilled Defrina

Mihi removed the wine and replaced it with a new bottle, providing us with new glasses, as well. Again the feather, the glove, the tongs.

Defrina is a white wine with just a hint of, of all things, cherries. The sweetness, which would normally have been too much for me, was cut by an extra chill that Mihi had put on it just for me. The first sip said a merry hello to the flavors already dancing around my tongue, and then it slid down my throat still leaving behind it the taste of the trout, but brightened just a little, if that makes any sense.

I leaned back and studied my dinner companion. “Fun,” I repeated. He grinned and nodded.

The first several things that came to mind were all sarcastic, but sarcasm didn’t really go with Valabar’s trout and a good, chilled white wine. I said, “Can you explain that?”

He frowned and considered for a moment, then said, “You know, I don’t think I can. I’ll try.”

I drank some wine and nodded.

“You see,” he said. “There’s this feeling you get when things are happening almost too fast for you to handle, and if you make a mistake, you’re dead. You’d be scared out of your mind if you weren’t too busy. Do you know what I mean?”

“Well, I know how I feel at times like that. I don’t much care for it.”

“Don’t you?”

I ate some more fish and drank some more wine.

“In fact,” I said, “I don’t remember enjoying it, or not enjoying it. Like you said, I’m too busy.”

“Well, there you are.”

I grunted. “Afterward, though, I hate it.”

He grinned. “I guess that’s the difference.”

“As long as there is one.”

“That’s just what I was thinking, Loiosh.”

“Of course,” he added, “the cause enters into it as well.”

“The cause?”

“The reason you’re fighting.”

“Oh. It isn’t just to fight?”

“Well, sometimes it is.”

“You mean, most of the time it is?”

“Yeah, most of the time.”

“Uh huh.”

“But not the important times.”

“Mmm. Care to explain that?”

“It isn’t difficult. When you do something big, you want it to matter.” He looked at me. “Well, don’t you?”

“I don’t usually get into things by my own plan. I get dumped into them, and then I’m too busy trying to stay alive to think about the im­portance of the cause.”

He nodded as if he understood.

I had another bite of fish, and another sip of wine.

I remembered a friend I’d had named Ricard—one of the few peo­ple I knew who weren’t involved with the Organization. He was an Easterner, a stocky fellow with thin hair, and we’d eaten dinner to­gether, gotten drunk on his boat on the bay, and argued about matters great and small. He worked ten hours a day, four days a week, doing what I pretended to do—keeping the books for a slaughterhouse—and two or three evenings a week would play obscure music on the cimbalon at an obscure house in South Adrilankha. Every couple of months he would have saved up enough silver to take me out for dinner at Val­abar’s, and I’d take him a month later; we might or might not have dates with us. He enjoyed good food more than anyone else I’ve ever met, which made him a very pleasant companion. Right about this point in the meal, he’d look up at me with a big grin and say, “This is why we work so hard.”

Sandor—that’s me, if you’ve forgotten—made his way generally southward, to the area where the streets start running downhill toward the eastern docks of Adrilankha. The streets were, indeed, more crowded now as evening fell. As people passed me by, I was struck again by a little thing I’d noticed before, when comparing people in this part of Adrilankha to those in “the City”: Scars. I don’t mean anything big or grotesque, but, like, one guy I passed had this little scar on the corner of his mouth; another had a slight white mark above an eyebrow. And, yes, here and there were miss­ing limbs, or obvious, dramatic scars that spoke of someone who had a story to tell his grandchildren; but even the little ones you’d never see among Dragaerans, among those who could just pop over to a physicker and make the injury look like it had never happened.

Dragaerans: the scarless people.

“What’s funny, Boss?”

“Nothing, Loiosh. I was just imagining walking up to Morrolan and saying, ‘Greetings, oh scarless one.’”

“And that was funny?”

“Imagining the look on his face was funny.”

The streets in this part of the city were very narrow indeed, and twisted even more than in most of South Adrilankha; I was once told that this was done by design, and had something to do with water runoff. While I won’t claim to understand it, I have vague memories of being here once or twice as a child during heavy rainstorms, and that I enjoyed playing in the water that rushed down toward the sea.

There was nothing here to indicate the names of any of the streets, but I recognized the one I wanted, took it, and started climbing again. Except when the street widened now and then to make room for a market, everything was the same: cheap, wooden houses, each one with a single door, a stairway around the side, two windows on each floor, and rooms for four families. One after another, just like that, as if some peasant had planted them in rows, watered them, and they’d grown up and were just waiting to be harvested.

I found the one I wanted and walked up the stairway on the side.

“Remember, Boss. Pound, don’t clap.”

“I remember.”

I pounded on the door with my fist.

After a moment, the door opened, and Ricard was standing there, wearing a raggedy white shirt and a pair of shorts. “Yes?”

“Hey there, Ricard.”

He tilted his head at me, then his eyes widened and I got a big grin.

“Vlad! Come in! Mornin’!”

For Ric it was always morning, no matter what time of day it was. I’d never asked him why because I was afraid of the answer. “Brandy?” he said.

“Always.”

It is very difficult to say no to Ricard.

His place, two rooms hung with pastoral watercolors, with a sort of kitchen attached to the main room, was comfortable enough, and I don’t know what sort of brandy he brought me, but it was much silkier than what I usually drink, maybe not as complex, but there was no question it had been made from peaches, and it was just fine. We drank some and smiled.

“You’re in disguise,” he said, as if it were a joke.

“Yes, I am,” I said, as if it weren’t. “I half thought you’d be playing somewhere tonight.”

“Tomorrow.”

I nodded. “How have things been?”

“With me? Glorious. Ever heard of Bastrai?”

“The violinist? Sure, even I’ve heard of him.”

“I went over to hear him at the Twisted Sheet, and when he was done, I ended up playing all night with his backup musicians.”

“That must have been fun.”

“It was wonderful.” He grinned.

“I need to introduce you to a fellow I know named Aibynn. He’s from the Island.”

“He play?”

“He’s a drummer.”

Ric nodded, but didn’t seem terribly excited; I guess he knew a lot of drummers.

We drank some brandy. Ricard sat back and looked half seri­ous; which is about as serious as Ricard gets, barring catastrophe. “What’s going on, Vlad?”

“I need help.”

“Does this have something to do with your business?”

“No. Well, yeah, among other things. It’s pretty complicated.”

Ricard knew what I used to do, at least some of it, but we never talked about it.

He nodded. “Could it get me killed?”

I considered carefully. “I don’t think so. Not for what I want you to do, and if you stay out of the rest of it.”

“Okay. What do you need?”

“I take it you know a lot of people.”

He frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“What with playing and all that, you meet a lot of people, that’s all.”

“Well, yes.”

“Friends, acquaintances, just folks you run into, get their names, maybe hang out in an inn, or on the boat.”

“Uh huh.”

“I need to speak to some of them.”

“Uh ... what sort of people?”

“People who need money, and don’t mind taking some risks for it.”

“So, this could get them killed?”

“Yeah.”

He nodded. “How much money?”

“Enough for each them to buy a little piece of farmland.”

His eyes widened again, then he grinned. “Can I get in on this?”

“No. It can get them killed.”

He drink some more brandy. “How likely is it?”

“To get them killed? I don’t think very, but I might be wrong.”

“Well—”

“No, Ricard. If you need that much money, I’ll give it to you, but I don’t want you involved in this. I couldn’t stand it if, you know.”

He sighed and nodded. “Okay, then. Other than wanting money, and me not caring too much if anything happens to them, are there any other qualifications you need?”

“Well, it would help if they aren’t complete idiots.”

“Most people are, you know.”

I grinned. That was one of the things we liked to argue about when too drunk to be coherent. “Find some of the exceptions,” I said.

He smiled. “I can do that. Where is Loiosh?”

“Flying around. If he’s seen with me, there goes my disguise.”

“Well, give him my best.”

“I will. I have. He returns his reptilian regards, admitting that he is unworthy of your attention, yet eternally grateful for the honor you show him.”

Ric laughed. Loiosh said, “Boss, you are so going to get it.”

“All right, then,” I said. “Can I buy you some dinner?”

“Sounds good. Let me get dressed.”

“When we’re out, call me Sandor.”

“Sandor,” he repeated. “Okay. I’ll try to remember.”

We went out and down the street, to a place that catered mostly to dockworkers. We each had a roasted fowl covered in wine, and dark bread. It was simple, but good. Ricard didn’t say much during the meal. I finally said, “Something bothering you, Ric?”

“Hmmm? No, just thinking about that list you want.”

“Ah. Good. Think you can come up with names for me?”

“Oh, yes. Easy. Do you just want the list, or should I get them together for you?”

“Good question. I think I’d like to see them one at a time.”

He nodded, and flashed me a grin. “I could get to enjoy this sneaking-around stuff.”

“You remind me of that last guy I ate with.”

“Oh?”

“He was a Dzur, so it isn’t his fault. But he liked Valabar’s.”

“You ate at Valabar’s and didn’t tell me?”

“It was sort of last-minute.”

“How was it?”

“Just like you remember it, only better.”

He nodded. “Next time?”

“You bet. On me.”

“Other than that, how have things been?”

I don’t know why I said what I did, because I’ve always thought of Ric as the sort of friend you had good times with, not the sort you dumped your troubles on. But he asked, and I heard myself say, “I’ve discovered, or maybe realized, that my Goddess has been messing with my memories.”

“Huh?”

“My Goddess—”

“The Demon Goddess?”

“Yeah. Her.”

“What did ... I mean, what’s happened?”

“Memories have been going away and coming back. It’s been going on for years, I guess, but something happened, and I’ve managed to put some of it together. Mostly little things, but the Demon Goddess did it, and it makes me very badly want to kill her, and I’m not entirely sure that I couldn’t do it. In fact, I think I could. I want to. I—”

“Vlad!”

“Hmmm?”

“Do you hear what you’re saying?”

I sighed. “Yeah, well. With luck, she isn’t listening. Actually, the way I’m feeling right now, I half hope she is.”

“Not before I have a chance to get clear of the neighborhood, please.”

I shrugged.

He said, “About this memory stuff. How do you know the Goddess is behind it?”

“I just know.”

“You just know.”

“Yeah.”

“What sort of things—?”

“It’s little stuff, but it’s stuff that ... well, did I ever tell you that I had been to the Paths of the Dead?”

He stared at me, a piece of bread halfway to his mouth. “No, you somehow didn’t mention that.”

I nodded. “It was several years ago, and—”

“Why? Not to mention, how?”

“It was business-related.”

“Some business you’re in.”

“Yeah, I’ve had that same thought from time to time. Anyway, I visited the Paths of the Dead, and there are pieces of that journey that keep going away and coming back. Pieces I shouldn’t be able to forget.”

“Heh. Go figure.”

“Another time, I got into a jam, and called on her.”

“I’ve done that. Did she answer?”

“Yes.”

He stared at me again. “Vlad, that isn’t a joke, is it?”

“No.”

He sat back in his chair. “You have some sort of life, my friend.”

“I guess. Anyway, there are pieces of that visit—”

“Visit?”

“Yeah, odd word choice, I guess. She brought me to her halls. Or else she made me think she had, which comes out to the same thing, I suppose. And there are pieces of that visit that I’ve only just started remembering.”

“Like what?”

“She cut my palm.”

“Huh?”

“While I was talking to her, she took a knife, had me hold out my left hand, and made a cut on my palm. Then she collected some of the blood in a sort of vial or something. I don’t know what she did with it.”

“So, she has some of your blood.”

“Yes.”

“She is supposed to be a goddess of witches.”

“No, that’s one of her sisters.”

“You sure?”

“Sure? Dealing with the Demon Goddess? I’m not sure about anything.”

“The beginning of wisdom. What else?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

He flashed a smile and waited for me to continue.

“Near Deathgate Falls is a statue of Kieron the Conqueror, a general from the early days of—”

“I know who he is.”

“Okay. Well, the fellow I was with—a Dragon—prostrated himself before the statue. Then, a little later, he started talking, mumbling, like he was having a conversation with it. Then he got up, and said he knew how to get through the Paths, which he hadn’t before.”

“Hmmm. Okay.”

“Well, you see, I didn’t remember any of that until a couple of years later.”

He nodded. “I can see where that would be upsetting.”

“Yeah, well, so that’s what’s been going on.”

“Is there more?”

I shrugged. “Now and then, a few little things come back. It’s—”

“Upsetting,” he said.

I nodded. “You tend to think of what’s inside your head as your own, no matter what anything else is. Even Kiera can’t steal that.”

“Who ?”

“Never mind. The point is, it keeps messing with me. Every time I think about it, I get distracted, and mad, and I want to find the Goddess and, well, you know.”

“Any practical effects?”

“Hmmm?”

“Other than how you feel about it, have you forgotten anything that mattered?”

“Well, that’s just it. I don’t know. I need to ....” I tried to find the words. He waited. “With what I do, I need to have confidence in my decisions. I need to find out everything I can, and then come up with a plan of action that’s as good as I can contrive. That’s how I operate.”

“I understand that.”

“Well, but the thing is, now I can’t be sure if there are impor­tant things I don’t know. And worse, what if it isn’t just memo­ries? What if the, I don’t know, the mechanism of my thinking has been messed with? How can I commit to any sort of action, when I can’t be sure if the Goddess hasn’t been screwing around with how I make decisions?”

“Why would she do that?”

“Why would she do anything? How should I know? Maybe she has plans for me.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “That’s a comforting thought.”

“Uh huh. But, you see the problem.”

He nodded. “Did you know my people were peasants?”

“Hmmm?”

“When I was boy, we worked the land not twenty miles from here, for Lady Drenta.”

“Okay ....”

“One day Pa sent me out to plow a furrow. He put me at the right spot, then pointed to our old nag, Chalkie. He said, ‘Start here and aim at for where Chalkie is. But Rico—’ I said, ‘Yeah, Pa?’

“‘If Chalkie moves, you’re going to have to change your mark.’” He laughed, and I gave him a courtesy chuckle.

A little later, he heaved a contented sigh, and pushed back from the table. I nodded, and we headed back to his place, where he made up a list with names, addresses, and best time to find each one.

“Thanks, Ric.”

“Will you let me know how it all turns out?”

“If you hear I’m dead, it didn’t work so well.”

He shook his head. “I guess, all in all, I’m glad I do what I do, not what you do.”

“Proving,” I said, “that you aren’t a Dzur.”

“I’m not sure what that means, but guess it’s good.”

“It’s good,” I said. “And good to see you again, Ric.”

“You too. And Vlad—”

“Yeah?”

“It’s easy to consider everyone a sucker who cares about things you don’t care about. So who does that make the sucker?”

“Uh, I don’t see what that connects to.”

“No, but you probably will before I do.”

I wished him a good evening.

I ducked into the first public house I came to in order to read the list. The first thing that surprised me was that I knew South Adrilankha better than 1 thought I did. I mean, he had notations like, “Third house south of Wrecked Bridge, on the east,” and I knew at once where that was.

There were a couple I could see right now, and I had no rea­son to delay.

“Still staying with me, chum?”

“What else is there to do? I don’t like this business of you wander­ing around without me.”

“I don’t like it much, either. Once this is over—”

“Yeah.”

Someone named Ernest was usually home in the evening, and didn’t live too far away. In the City, there were globes at various points to provide light; I’d gotten so used to them that I never thought about them. Here, though, the only light was what spilled out from houses, public and private. It was enough to keep me from tripping over ruts and dips in the road and from stumbling into people, but not much more. Still, from Ric’s description, I was able to find it: one of those place built to hold ten families of Easterners in the same space that would hold maybe three Dragaeran families. And families of Easterners are usually bigger.

I went to what should be the right door and hit it with my fist. After a moment, the door opened a crack, a pair of eyes peered out, and someone said, “Yes?”

“Ernest? My name is Sandor, and I’m a friend of Ric.”

“A friend of who?”

“Ricard. The cimbalon player.”

“Oh!”

The door opened more and he grinned. “Come on in. If you’re a friend of Ricard, you must have brought something to drink.”

“Actually, I didn’t, but I’ll buy you one, if you’d like.”

“I’ll get my coat.”

It crossed my mind that if I kept buying drinks for people at this rate, I wasn’t going to be good for much by the end of the day. But if you’re going to be dealing with Ricard, and people Ri­card knows, you had best be ready for serious drinking. If I dared remove the amulet, I could do a sobering spell. If I dared remove the amulet, a lot of problems wouldn’t even exist. I mentally shrugged; I was all right at the moment.

We found a place, sat down in a back corner, and I bought him a brandy and water. I had a mug of bad pilsner, so I could nurse it. “Thanks,” he said.

I nodded. He was short and stocky, with big shoulders that made his arms hang out, and had the same look in his eyes as those Orca punks who used to beat me up just because they could. I in­stinctively didn’t like him. To the left, there must be something decent about him, or he wouldn’t be Ric’s friend. But then again, maybe Ric was hoping he’d get killed.

“My name is Sandor. Ric gave me your name, because I need some help with a project, and I have some money to throw around to get it done.”

“Oh? How much money?”

“A fair bit.”

“What’s—”

“Maybe we should talk about what I want you to do, and then, if you think you like the idea, we’ll try to work out the money.”

He shrugged. “All right.”

“I know you know who the Jhereg are. Have you ever heard of the Left Hand of the Jhereg?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“Who are they?”

“They’re sort of like the Jhereg, but they use magic, and are involved in different sorts of things.”

“Like what?”

“That’s what I want you to find out.”

“Huh?

“I need someone—actually, a few people—to find out what they’re up to.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never—”

“I hadn’t thought you had. I’ll tell you what to do.”

“What sort of, I mean—”

“I need you to ask around, without making a big deal out of it. But, you know, talk to friends, pick up gossip, that sort of thing.”

“Uh, how exactly? I mean, who do I talk to? Who would know?”

“I’ll point a few people out to you, people called runners. Once you—”

“Runners?”

“People who run errands for them, and deliver things to them. Once you know who they are, you sort of hang around them, see if they feel like talking to you. Or you find people they are talking to, and talk to them. Pick up whatever you can.”

“Yeah, okay. I know what you mean.”

“Do you think you can do that, without letting anyone know you’re trying to get information?”

“I think so. What happens if I get caught?”

“You don’t get paid.”

“I mean, will they do anything to me?”

“No, I wouldn’t think so. They aren’t like the Jhereg, they aren’t inclined to hurt people. Also, there is the matter of getting the information to me.”

“Hmm?”

“Well, I can’t have you and several others just coming to me in the open, one after another. It will attract attention.”

“Oh. What do we do then?”

“Do you know your symbols?”

“Sure.”

“Then what you do is write out anything you need to report, and you leave it outside of your bedroom window, pinned in place with, I don’t know—”

“A stickpin?”

“That would work.”

“Then what?”

“I’ll arrange to have it picked up.”

“Oh, so I get the glamorous work again?”

“Shut up, Loiosh.”

Ernest nodded.

“I think that’s it, then. Interested?”

His mouth worked. “How much?” he said at last.

There are advantages to having a lot of money. He agreed. Over the next couple of days, I had that same conversation eleven more times. None of them said no. After that, it was a matter of pointing out the runners to them, emphasizing the importance of not letting it be apparent what they were doing, and setting them to work.

By the time I had finished instructing the last of them, infor­mation was only starting to trickle in from the first of them. It would be a while before I had enough to be useful, and, by that time, I needed to have a more solid background. I did something I’d never had to before: my own research. I crossed over to the City, and, still in disguise, I made my way into the Imperial library.

I worked my way down to the history section, settled in, and started studying. 10. Salad

A young man I didn’t know came by and removed the plates with the remains of the fish, then returned a moment later and gave us each a slightly smaller plate. Then Mihi returned with a large wooden bowl, and a pair of wooden spoons.

Valabar’s has several salads. Today’s was a combination of the round and the tall, broad-leaf kinds of lettuce, along with flatnuts, blanched tomato wedges, soul of palm, pimentos, scallions, and artichoke heart marinated in sweet vinegar, which functioned as a dressing. A grated nithlan cheese—sharp and musky—was shredded over it, and the whole thing was topped with candied rose petals.

Mihi dished it up with his usual matter-of-fact fluid elegance, and my mouth was watering.

“What are those?” asked Te1nan.

“Candied rose petals.”

“Candied rose petals?”

“Yep.”

“Is that a term for something, or are they actually rose petals?”

“They’re actually rose petals. Candied.”

“Very lightly candied,” said Mihi. “They aren’t too sweet.”

“Uh ...”

“Just eat it,” I said. “Trust me.”

“All right.”

He took a forkful, a dubious expression on his face. I blissfully dived into my own.

After a while, I said, “Well?”

“Hmmm?”

“How is it?”

He swallowed. “It’s wonderful.”

I wished I had someone like Kragar to kick the information around with; he was always an excellent sounding board. In some ways, that’s what I missed the most. I could always talk to Loiosh, of course, but Loiosh’s job involved keeping my emotions balanced, not working over information and helping me look for patterns. Something about the way the reptilian brain works, I suppose.

But I didn’t want to bring Kragar in on this, which not only left me on my own as the information trickled in, but left me spending hours at the Imperial library learning things I could have had him get for me. It did give me a bit more of an appreciation for the sort of legwork I always used to assign him. If I ever spoke with him again, I’d have to mention that.

No, I wouldn’t.

But I did learn things.

The Imperial library is not, in fact, organized so you can, say, go to the far corner of the third subbasement and find a book called Here Is What the Left Hand of the Jhereg Is Up To. It isn’t even orga­nized so you can find the history of the Left Hand of the Jhereg. In fact, I’m told that in comparison with various university libraries, it isn’t even organized. And, to make matters worse, the librarians tend not to be excessively helpful to Easterners; I got looks that ranged from the mildly puzzled to the downright unfriendly.

But, eventually, after wandering aimlessly for a while, I found myself among piles of unsorted manuscripts where I ran across a very tall and, for a Dragaeran, portly fellow with wispy hair and heavily lidded eyes who didn’t seem to notice my race. He seemed to be involved in making notes on these manuscripts and moving them from one pile to another.

When I told him I was trying to track down the history of the Left Hand of the Jhereg, he got a sort of feral gleam in his eye and nodded to me.

“This way,” he said, and led me off.

His name, it turned out, was Deleen, or something like that. He was a Tsalmoth, and I think loved his work. He never asked why I was interested, never appeared to notice that I was an East­erner and never even gave me lectures on how he did his work—something that’s pretty much endemic to specialists forced to work with amateurs. I got the impression that sifting through disorganized documents and obscure books in order to pull scraps of information out of them was what he lived for.

I didn’t especially care for it, myself.

I noticed him performing spells from time to time and asked about them. He grunted and said something about finding recurring patterns of symbols within documents. I had never known sorcery could do things like that.

We spent about eleven hours a day at it for three days, most of it with him digging through documents and making notes, me standing there, occasionally holding things for him, or taking notes to colleagues of his which resulted in them handing me a manuscript or document of some sort, which I would deliver to Deleen. Every day I would offer to buy him lunch, and every day he would decline and shuffle off to eat on his own. We’d meet an hour later and resume. He spent his time about evenly between histori­cal records and contemporary reports—most of these latter being in the form of quasi-legal gossip sheets. I observed at one point that I was surprised the Imperial library collected such things. He mut­tered something incomprehensible and I didn’t bring it up again.

It was not the most exciting time I’ve ever had. Loiosh didn’t like it much either—we weren’t used to being apart, and he com­plained of boredom a great deal. I knew exactly how he felt.

In the evenings, I would speak with my “investigators,” if I can call them that, and try to figure out if they’d learned anything.

Those are three days I would not care to live through again. On account of I’m such a nice guy and all, I’m going to give you what they call a precis instead of making you live through them with me. I accept gold and silver tokens of gratitude.

First of all, it turned out that Kiera was right—there was no history whatsoever of the Left Hand interfering with anything the Jhereg did. They were, or, rather, had been, entirely their own or­ganization, with the only overlap being that they sometimes used the same contacts within the Imperial Palace. Next, I learned (or rather, Deleen deduced) that while the Empire monitored the ac­tivities of the Left Hand as best they could, they had never had much luck in actually prosecuting them for anything, except for the occasional individual who was caught with an illegal artifact in her possession. And third, it seemed that the Left Hand was even more loosely organized than the Right; they almost never exercised any control over their members.

Deleen kept digging away.

He’d occasionally ask me a question, like, “Ever heard of someone called Daifan?”

“No.”

He’d grunt, nod, and go back to work.

Then he’d ask about some incident in the history of the Jhereg, like the Shay Market Slaughter, and I’d tell him what I knew. He’d grunt and go back to work.

On the second day he said, “Who was Curithne?”

“Was?” I said.

He nodded. “He’s dead. Who was he?”

“When did he die?”

“About a year and a half ago.”

“Murdered?”

“No. At least, not as far as anyone knows. Who was he?”

“According to rumor, the number-one man in the Jhereg.”

“Do you believe the rumors?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

“He died, eh?”

But Deleen was already back running his fingers through sheafs of something called the Adrilankha Town Crier.

Curithne had died while I was gone. Interesting. Who was sitting at the head of the table now? The Demon? Poletra? Cu­rithne dying would set off—

“Can you ask Dotti for the Candletown Flame for the last year?”

“On my way,” I said.

By the time—early the next day—that he informed me that there appeared to be some sort of power struggle going on in the upper echelons of the Jhereg, I had just about come to the same conclusion myself.

“It looks,” he said, “like no one has yet taken the place of Lord Curithne, within the Right Hand of the Jhereg.”

“Have there been bodies turning up at an unusual rate?”

“No. One sorceress from what you call the Left Hand was killed with a Morganti weapon not long ago. That’s been the only murder associated with the Jhereg lately.”

I kept my face expressionless and said, “Then there’s no war going on.”

“That would seem to be the case. There are certain actions that the Empire takes when Jhereg start killing each other, and—”

“Actions?”

“Certain departments within the Phoenix Guard are increased in size. Others are moved to the area where there is trouble.”

“I see.”

“Yes, and the Empire hasn’t done those things.”

“So, all right. A bunch of the bosses of the Jhereg are trying to get into position to run the thing. Have you found names, yet?”

“I’m looking for that, but it’s difficult. Even the small local sheets don’t like to give the names of high-level Jhereg.”

“Go figure.”

“But there is one who is known as Poletra.”

“Uh huh.”

“Another named Daifan, usually called ‘the Demon’.”

“Oh.”

“Hmmm?”

“I thought his name was ... never mind.”

He started to say something, then stopped, then said, “There are at least two others, maybe three. I’m still trying to find out who they are.”

“But no bodies turning up.”

“So far.”

“All right,” I said. “But what does that have to do with the Left Hand?”

“Nothing that I can tell.”

“Oh.”

“Although—”

“Yes?”

“Have you heard of someone named Terion?”

“Sure.”

“Would he be one of the contenders?”

“Probably.”

Deleen shuffled a few copies of some gossip rag, and said, “There’s a story that he has a mistress who is in the Left Hand.”

“You get a name of the mistress?”

“Triesco.”

“Ah ha.”

“Hmmm?”

“That means something; I just have to figure out what.”

“Oh. All right. What can you tell me about her?”

I won’t add that I felt like an idiot for not starting with her, the one name I had. Deleen did a bit of checking around and got me what little there was; then I headed back out onto the streets, and made my careful way back to South Adrilankha, Loiosh and Rocza watch­ing over me.

“Hey, Boss. How was the library today?”

“Boring, but I may be getting closer to knowing a part of what some people think might be an aspect of a bit of what is going on.”

“So everything is solved, then. Good. What about the Irregulars?”

“The which?”

“The Jhereg Irregulars.”

“Loiosh, I’m not sure what—”

“It’s easier than calling them Those Friends of Ric Who Are Wandering Around Trying to Find Things Out for You.”

“Oh. Them. I’ll be meeting with a few of them tonight.”

“Good. That might get you closer to knowing a part of—”

“Don’t start, Loiosh.”

I did meet with several of them. We’d arrange to get together in some local inn, sit in a back corner, and talk for a while; then I’d move on to a different place and meet with another. It kept me busy, and I discovered to my annoyance that I was now thinking of them as the Irregulars. I was also starting to get a pretty good feel for the scope of the Left Hand’s involvement in the area.

They were trying to determine the outcome. They wanted to be the ones to decide who held the top seat on the Council of the Jhereg.

Which, of course, begged the question why.

Because Triesco was Terion’s lover? Was that all there was to it? Could all of this nonsense have its source in nothing but a love affair?

Well, but then, that’s what had gotten me involved, hadn’t it? Well, yes, but I was an Easterner.

Which meant what, exactly?

I mentally scowled and put that thought away for a while, along with the additional and related question of why that sor­ceress had shown up and done, well, whatever it is she had tried to do to me.

I had been figuring that last to be connected to the Jhereg’s intense, burning desire to make an empty pair of boots out of me, even though it made no sense. It occurred to me now that it could be part of the power play within the Jhereg, only that made even less sense.

I returned to my room from the last meeting, scowling and muttering as I walked.

“Boss!”

I stopped, about forty feet from the entrance to the inn. “What is it?” I was in an inset doorway, my hand on the hilt of Lady Tel­dra, which was comforting in a couple of different ways. I wasn’t certain of exactly how I got there.

“Someone is in the room. I think. I’m outside, and I smell something.”

“Wonderful. Can you check it out without getting yourself fried?”

“I think so.”

“Don’t take chances. There’s nothing I need to go back there for.”

“Understood. I’ll just sort of peek in the window.”

Two minutes later I pushed the curtain aside, walked into the room, and said, “Hello, Kiera. How did you find me? Did you track Loiosh?”

She stood up and smiled. “I had a friend do it.”

Loiosh flew over from her shoulder to mine. “Sit down,” I said. “You gave me a start.”

“Yes. Sorry. There’s no way to reach you, you know.”

“I know. And I wish it weren’t so easy to find me.”

“It isn’t easy.”

“Still, if your friend can do it—”

“That doesn’t mean someone else can.”

“Maybe.”

“Well, first someone has to think of it, which isn’t as likely as you might think.”

“Actually, it’s a certainty. Someone tried not long ago.”

“Oh.”

“You seem surprised.”

“I am. It requires either a very close knowledge of Loiosh, or some object connected to him. And then it requires a skill in witchcraft. And that’s after even thinking about it, which sur­prises me to begin with.”

“I know, Kiera. It makes me nervous. Speaking of witchcraft, how is Morrolan?”

“I don’t know him that well.”

I felt myself flushing a little. “When you said witchcraft, I assumed—”

“You were right, but it was a favor for my friend Sethra, who then communicated the results to me.”

“Oh. I see.”

“I’m told that Morrolan is still in mourning for his friend Lady Teldra. He took her death hard.”

“Well, she didn’t die. Exactly.”

Kiera the Thief stole a quick glance at me and didn’t answer. I touched Lady Teldra. It’s all right, she seemed to say. Or else I imagined it. I might have imagined it. I might have imagined—

“The Demon Goddess has been messing with my head, Kiera. My memories, maybe my perceptions, possibly even my, I don’t know, my thinking.”

“Yes. I’m told she’ll do that, now and then, when she needs someone to do something.”

“Oh. Well, that’s all right, then.”

She laughed. “What, Vlad? You don’t accept that there are those who may know what’s best, and use you for the good of everyone?”

“Not hardly,” I said. “Do you?”

“Only when I have no choice.”

“And I have no choice. Yeah. That’s what I love about it.”

“I imagine.”

“Actually, I do have a choice.” I touched Lady Teldra again.

“I suspect, Vlad, that that may not be the best option.”

“For whom?”

While she tried to work out an answer to that, I said, “In any case, that isn’t what you came to see me about. What’s on your mind?”

“Blood, death, friendship, the Jhereg, the Left Hand.”

“Odd. Those are the same things I’ve been thinking about. Care to be more specific?”

“You keep forgetting you have friends, some of whom are willing to help you, and some of whom worry about you.”

“Which are which?”

“I’m almost tempted to answer that, just because I know you don’t want me to.”

“Okay, one for you. But, Kiera, the Jhereg is after me. They want it Morganti. I can’t—”

“I know.”

“—get other people involved in this.”

“What would you do if someone were threatening Morrolan with a Morganti weapon?”

“Laugh at the stupid son-of-a-bitch.”

“Vlad—”

“All right, all right. But—”

“Do you know that Kragar has sent a message to Aliera?” I blinked.

“My word. Has he indeed?”

“He wants to know how to reach you, so he can offer to help.”

“I didn’t think he had that much nerve.”

“He does.”

“I mean, the nerve to risk a snub from Aliera.”

“I knew what you meant.”

“He’s nuts.”

“Maybe.”

“Kiera, he is in the Jhereg. He wouldn’t last three minutes.”

“So am I, and I’m not worried.”

“You should be.”

She smiled.

“Yeah, well, all right. Maybe not.”

“To answer your question, I’m here to see if you need any help.”

I sighed. “I’m not sure. My biggest problem is trying to figure out what’s going on, why the Left Hand is here. And I already asked you about that.”

“Yes. Have you learned anything?”

“There is a sorceress named Crithnak who doesn’t like me very much.”

For just an instant a flicker crossed her face. Either my read­ing skills are way off, or she knew that name, but then remem­bered that she wasn’t supposed to know that name.

“What else?”

“Power struggle within the Jhereg.”

She frowned. “Are you sure? I knew that Curithne had died—”

“How?”

“How did I know? Or how did he die?”

“The latter.”

She shrugged. “He was an old man, Vlad. His heart failed.”

“Are you sure?”

“One can never be sure, but I’m pretty well convinced.”

“All right.”

“You hadn’t known about him?”

“No. I’ve been away.”

“Sorry. I should have mentioned something. In any case, I haven’t seen signs of a power struggle; it’s just there isn’t anyone yet who has taken his place. It isn’t like there’s a big hurry; busi­ness goes on.”

“It always does. But, yeah, there haven’t been any bodies turning up, but there are signs of various people, including my old friend the Demon, trying to get into position to take his place.”

She frowned. “Are you certain of that?”

“I wouldn’t say certain. I don’t have access to the sources I used to. But I guess I can say there are good indications.”

“I hadn’t known that. They must be keeping things pretty quiet.”

“Yes. No bodies. For a Jhereg power struggle, that counts as pretty quiet. Does it change things?”

“Well, yes. No. I think so.”

“What I can’t figure out is, what that has to do with the Left Hand.”

She sat back and considered.

I said, “Terion.”

“What about him?”

“Do you know him?”

“We’ve met. I don’t send him salutations on the new year. How does he fit into this?”

“He’s the only Council member I’ve heard of with a connec­tion to the Left Hand.”

“He has a ... what is his connection?”

“Triesco.”

I could see the name register. “I see. Yes. That would do it. What’s the connection? Family?”

“His mistress.”

“Oh, grand. What do you know of her?”

“She’s a sorceress, born into the House of the Athyra, left it and became a Jhereg some years before the Interregnum.”

“Why?”

“For love.”

“Oh good grief,” said Kiera.

“Yeah.”

“This Triesco is, I take it, high up in the Left Hand?”

“I would imagine, but I know pretty much nothing of their structure. In any case, it’s another name to dig at.”

“Dig at?”

“I’ve been spending time at the Imperial Library, trying to fig­ure out what’s—”

“That’s where you’ve been hiding? In the Imperial Library?”

“Well, not hiding exact—”

She threw her head back and laughed. “Vlad, you are priceless.”

“Uh, okay, what am I missing here?”

“Oh, nothing at all, I’m sure.”

“Kiera—”

“Aside from the idea of you just gallivanting across the Chain Bridge, or whichever one you use, twice a day—”

“I’m in disguise, you know.”

“—you can’t have failed to notice that Imperial Library pretty much stares at the Jhereg Wing of the Palace.”

I shrugged. “No one who matters ever uses that wing anyway. Stop grinning, Kiera.”

“I’ll try.”

“You—”

“I’m just admiring, Vlad. The Imperial Library, forsooth.”

I shrugged.

“I take it, at least, that it’s been productive?”

“I’d say so, yes. I mean, I learned about the power struggle in the Jhereg, and the connection between Terion and Triesco.”

“Good. So, what do you need?”

A list began to form in my head, but not one I was inclined to share with Kiera. “Mostly,” I said, “someone to kick ideas around with.”

“I can do that. Start kicking.”

She was in the chair, so I sat on the bed. “Okay, then. We know there is a power struggle within the Jhereg—the Right Hand—and we know that the Bitch Patrol is involved. We’re pretty sure that this Triesco is trying to see to it that Terion gets the head seat on the Council. So, the question is, how does the Left Hand being in­volved in South Adrilankha help Terion in his maneuvering?”

She shook her head. “I think you have it backward.”

“Oh?”

“South Adrilankha is the price Terion is paying for the support of the Left Hand.”

I frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that. Payment in advance?”

“That’s the usual method.”

“True. That’s going to create conflict in the Jhereg—I mean, the Right Hand—and in South Adrilankha. And I have no idea if it’ll do anything to the Left Hand.”

“No more do I.”

“But the conflict in South Adrilankha itself might create an opening for me. I can do things here that most Jhereg can’t.”

“What sort of things do you mean?”

“I don’t know yet; I don’t know enough about what’s going on. But something could open up. I need information sources.”

“For South Adrilankha, I can’t help with that.”

“I understand.”

I considered what she’d told me. “Okay, then the question becomes, exactly how is the Left Hand, or maybe just Triesco, helping Terion? And, secondly, what does this have to do with the sorceress attacking me? Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Well, I got a piece of that.”

“Yes. Now that I think of it, me too. The Jhereg wants you badly enough that Terion delivering your head will put him in a good position.”

“Yeah. Or else it was part of the deal to begin with. Either way, it means that sorceress was planning to kill me. Good. That makes me feel better.”

“It does?”

“Yeah, a little anyway.”

“Uh, you’ll have to explain that to me.”

“I haven’t told you what Daymar learned.”

“Daymar? Yes, I remember him. What did he learn?” I told her.

“Okay,” she said. “Yes. That makes sense. And the sorceress is called Crithnak?”

I nodded.

“I should see what I can learn about her.”

“I would certainly appreciate that. Then, I have to see how I can get her to attack me on ground of my choosing.”

Kiera frowned. “Get her to attack you?”

“Why, yes,” I said innocently. “Sethra Lavode once told me that defending is stronger than attacking.”

“Ah. I see.” Her face gave away nothing. “Well, I wouldn’t know, but I imagine that, first of all, she was speaking tactically, not strategically. And, second, that she would tell you that this de­pends on the particular tactics involved at the time. She might mention that there are times—such as when offensive battle spells have acquired an advantage over defensive battle spells—that the reverse is true.”

“Oh. You think she’d say that?”

“I’m just guessing, but yes.”

“I’ve never been clear on the difference between strategy and tactics anyway.”

“Haven’t you? Tell Sethra that. She’ll probably make you a general.”

“Because of what I don’t know?”

“Because you don’t have the preconceptions that tactics are always tactics, strategy is always strategy, and the one never turns into the other.”

“I didn’t realize they did turn into one another.”

“But you didn’t assume they don’t, which is a problem Dragons tend to have. Strategy only remains strategy, apart from tactics, in our heads. Once you get into battle, into war, they may turn into one another at any time. Dragons often have trouble with that. That’s why Dragons always try to recruit a few Dzur. Or, at any rate, that’s what I think Sethra would tell you.”

“At which point Sethra would have lost me entirely.”

“When a Dzur sees an opening, he’ll take it.”

“And Dragons don’t?”

“Some do. But too often they get an idea into their heads and just plow through with it, regardless of what the obstacles are, or if a better way has appeared.”

“I think of Dzur as just charging in, no matter what.”

“They do that, too, but in different ways. The Dzurlord will charge into a fight without thinking, because they do their thinking in the middle of the fight.”

“I’m not sure if you can call that thinking.”

“Maybe. Sethra would tell you it’s the purest form of thinking.”

“Well. Good thing Sethra isn’t here. I never win arguments with her.”

I considered Morrolan and Aliera and what Kiera had told me about preconceptions. After a moment, I decided to file it away for future thought. I said, “Dzur are more complex than they appear.”

“Yes.”

“But then, everyone is.”

“You’ve changed, Vlad.”

“Have I?”

“Yes. You talk different. You, I don’t know. You’re different.”

“Maybe. I suppose it was going back East. That was—”

“You went back East?”

“Yeah. Scouting for Sethra the Younger.”

She gave me a courtesy smile and said, “How was it?”

“It managed to be nothing like I expected. Which was odd, since I went in with no expectations.”

“What happened?”

I let my memory drift for a moment, then said, “I lost a finger, and gained ...”

“Hmmm?”

“Nothing. Another time.”

Kiera nodded. “One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“There’s another who wishes to know if you need his help.”

“Anoth—oh. Mario?”

She nodded.

“Not yet,” I said. “Perhaps soon, though.”

She stood up. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“You really shouldn’t risk—”

“I promise, Vlad. I won’t show my face in the Imperial library.”

“Ah. Well. That’s a great load off my mind. Really, Kiera. I’ve got you, Mario, and Lady Teldra working for me. What could they come up with that even presents a good challenge?”

“I assume that’s intended as irony.”

“Well, yeah, maybe a little.”

“Be well, Vlad.”

“Kiera—”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

She nodded and went through the curtain. 11. Descani Wine

Mihi came and replaced the wine with a Descani, which is something like what you’d get if you poured half a glass of white into half a glass of red. It sounds awful, but it really isn’t that bad. And this, whatever it was, produced a very mild tingle on the tongue that went well with the sweetness of the candied rose petals.

“They seem to like you here,” said Telnan.

“Hmmm?”

“Just, the way that guy—”

“Mihi.”

“Yes. The way he always smiles at you.”

“Well, I’ve been a regular customer for a long time. And, of course, I’m an Easterner like they are.”

He nodded. He was right, though. I was pretty popular with the staff here. I’d found that out some years ago. I had accidentally come across Vili at an inn in South Adrilankha, and he’d been drinking. We talked a bit, and it turned out that, well, they sort of knew what I did, and they knew I was successful at it. In other words, I was an East­erner who walked around the upper echelons—or, the middle echelons at least—of Dragaeran society. I was one of them who’d made good, and the exact way I had either didn’t matter, or maybe even added a little spice to it.

And, in turn, knowing they felt that way made eating atValabar’s all the more pleasant for me.

But I didn’t care to explain all of that to Telnan.

“How you doing, Boss?”

“Better. It was good of her.”

“It doesn’t scare you that she found you?”

“Not as much as it should”

“So, what now?”

“I’m thinking about sending you to the Imperial library to continue my research.”

“That’s really funny, Boss.”

“Okay, then how about you find out everything you can about Triesco and Terion.”

“Sure, Boss.”

“Okay, then. Skip that. You’ll just keep guarding me when I step outside, and I’ll ...”

“Yes?”

“I haven’t worked that part out, yet. Fortunately, however, I’m hungry and tired, so I can get some food, then sleep, and put off the decision for a while.”

“I knew I could count on you to have the answer, Boss.”

Having made a plan, I promptly put it into action. It worked perfectly.

The next day I returned to the Imperial library—albeit a bit more worried thanks to Kiera—and spent another day with Deleen. I didn’t expect him to turn up anything new, but I couldn’t think of anything else I should be doing instead.

In fact, he didn’t turn up anything new. As the long day drew near its end, he said, “I’m starting to think we’ve found what there is to find.”

“I imagine you’re right,” I said. “And I’d like to thank you—”

“It’s what I do,” he said. “I’ve enjoyed the challenge.”

“Good. It’s helped.”

“Helped?”

“I mean, you’ve found some information that will be of use to me.”

He frowned. I think it was just entering his head for the first time that I wanted that information for a reason. For a moment he looked at me, as if seeing me for the first time. Then I could almost see him mentally shrug, dismissing the notion as having nothing to do with him or his life.

“Well,” he said, “Good, then.”

“If there is anything I can do for—”

“No, no.”

He nodded and turned away, off to be about whatever business he had. I think he’d forgotten I existed before I left the building. On my way out, I gave one nervous glance at the gray slate Jhereg Wing of the Palace, rising over my head. No one seemed to be looking for me.

Kiera did have a point though. I was glad I wouldn’t be com­ing back this way. Just to be safe, I took the Five Mile Bridge. Most likely it didn’t make me any safer, but it gave me a few extra hours to walk and think.

The streets of Adrilankha, even South Adrilankha, were first dug out, I suppose, from whatever paths people happened to make, so long ago that I can’t conceive of it. They were paved with stone, and then trampled down farther into the ground, and new stories laid on top of the old ones. They tell me that the entire city has sunk several feet since it was first established; the streets sinking farther than the buildings, but both of them dropping. I don’t know if that’s true. I do know that by the time I got back to Six Corners, my feet hurt more than they had from walk­ing hundreds of miles across the continent. It’s funny how, after being cut, stabbed, and beaten by professionals on both sides of the line of justice, one can still be deeply annoyed by a pair of sore feet.

I was certainly grateful for my new boots, though, or it would have been much worse.

Eventually I reached Devon’s House, a public house about a quarter of a mile east of Six Corners. I was early, so I sat in the corner and drank a white wine that was too sweet and not cold enough. My feet appreciated it.

The place began filling up—mostly workers from the slaughter-houses, to judge from the smell that accompanied them. There were a few tradesmen as well. And all Easterners. I felt safe, maybe safer than I should have, in disguise and surrounded by Easterners. I cautioned myself not to let myself feel too safe, especially when I didn’t have Loiosh and Rocza in the room to watch for me.

An hour or so later my man came in. It took him a while to spot me, which gave me a certain amount of pleasure. He was a stocky guy, not unlike Ric, balding, with thin lips and a nose that looked like it had been broken.

“Sandor.”

I nodded. “And you’re Vincent, as I recall.”

He nodded.

“Please,” I said. “Sit down. Wine?”

“Sure.”

I poured, and passed him the glass, along with a pair of gold imperials.

He nodded and said, “I’ll give you what I have.”

“That’s all I can ask.”

He gave me a list of three names, Easterners, who ran small operations and paid off the Left Hand. Nothing surprising, and not exceptionally useful.

Then he said, “You know about the guy they’re looking for, right?”

I frowned. “No. Tell me.”

“The word is to keep an eye out for a guy, an Easterner, who walks around with a pair of jhereg on his shoulders.”

“Is that right?”

“It’s worth a hundred imperials to whoever spots him and gets word back.”

“That’s a lot.”

“You don’t seem interested in the news.”

“No, actually, I am. It’s good to know, and I’m glad you told me about it.”

He nodded. “You seen him?”

“No. How are they spreading this, uh, word?”

“The runners were told. The guy who mentioned it to me said if I spotted him, he’d split it with me.”

“Generous of him.”

Vincent shrugged. “I haven’t seen the guy.”

“All right. Anything else going on?”

“Nothing that would matter.”

“What does that mean?”

He shrugged. “The Ristall Market was closed, but that doesn’t have anything to do with—”

“It was? When? I was just there yesterday.”

“Today. I went by there to pick up something to eat, and it was shut down. The whole market. Carts gone, tarps over the stalls, everything.”

“Why? Did you hear a reason?”

“Just gossip.”

“I love gossip.”

“Well, they say someone threatened to beat anyone who opened up.”

“Someone? And you say it doesn’t have anything to do with what’s going on?”

“This is some local thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are, you know, gangs here, that like to collect from the merchants, and when the merchants don’t pay—”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Well, I’ve never heard of the Jhereg operating like that.”

“What, you think the Jhereg wouldn’t muscle in on mer­chants?”

“Not on this scale, no. And they wouldn’t be so clumsy about it. Making a whole market shut down and drawing attention to themselves.”

“You know something about the Jhereg.”

“A little. A few years ago I was a runner myself for a while. That’s how I know so many runners.”

“I see. Yeah, you know almost enough to get in the way of find­ing out anything useful.”

“Eh?”

“But not quite.”

I passed him five more imperials.

“What’s that for?”

“Useful information.”

“Well, okay. I’ll look for more.”

“Don’t look so hard you become some.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Just be careful.”

He nodded, finished his wine, and walked out.

“Hey, Loiosh. I think we’re in business.”

“Is that good? It sounds like it should be good.”

“Yeah, I just got a big piece of the puzzle.”

“Oh?”

“Oh.”

“How big?”

“Big enough that I have an idea of what to do next.”

“Does that mean you’re going to need rescuing in the next hour?”

“Not until tomorrow, I think.”

“Oh, good. I can rest up.”

I had, of course, overstated things to Loiosh—nothing was yet certain. But I was pretty well convinced, and, more important, I knew how to make sure.

My next appointment was a quarter of a mile away, and I was early. The guy was named Claude, and he was big and hulking and bowlegged, with an extraordinarily large head. He was about two sentences into his report when I said, “You know the Ristall Market?”

He stopped in mid-sentence and said, “Sure. Just follow Cut-back Lane to—”

“I know where it is. You know anyone who has a shop there, or a stall, or anything? That is, you know a name, and maybe an address?”

He considered, then said, “Yeah. There’s a guy named Francis, uh, Francis Down-something. He has a fruit stand. I don’t know exactly where he lives, but it’s within a few steps of the market, I know that.”

“Good. Anyone else?”

“Well, I know a couple of them by first name. You know, like, ‘Good morning, Petrov. How is your bread today?’ and like that.”

“Okay, never mind the others. That’s good enough.” I paid him and sent him on his way. I sat there for a while and thought about things. I had that familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach—a good feeling, the feeling of, it’s happening. I hadn’t had that feeling in some time; I gave myself a moment to relish it.

It took a little bit of work to find Francis Donover, but not too much. As promised, he lived right at the market, above the shop of a cobbler who made a little extra renting out rooms because he wasn’t as good as Jakoub.

If Francis Donover had been a Dragaeran, he’d have been a Teckla. I mean, I was being Sandor, who is about as harmless in aspect as it is possible to be, but Francis was still terrified of him. He opened his door just the barest crack, and seemed ready to slam it again.

“My name is Sandor, and I mean you no harm. Might I trouble you for a few minutes’ conversation? It may be to your advantage.”

The “no” that was forming on his face changed abruptly at the last word. Did I say Teckla? Maybe Orca.

“What is it?” he said.

“May I come in? I assure you, I mean you no harm.”

He hesitated, looking at me carefully. Either he could see through my disguise that I wasn’t as harmless as I looked, or else he was scared of his own shadow.

Yeah, Teckla.

I showed him my almost-empty hands, as a demonstration of harmlessness. Almost empty, because there was a bright gold im­perial in one of them. He let me in.

His place was small and packed with more furniture—mismatched chairs and small tables—than wanted to fit into it easily. All those chairs, and he didn’t offer me one. “What is it,” he said, his eye on the hand that held the coin. I handed it to him.

“I’d like you to answer some questions for me. I have another one of these for you when you’re done.”

“What do you want to know?”

“You’ve shut down your stall. The whole market is shut down.”

“Yes, well, there have been problems.”

“Yes. I have a pretty good idea of what the problems are. There’s someone—no, you needn’t tell me who—who is trying to pry money out of all of you.”

He hesitated a long time, then said, “Maybe.”

“Do you want that imperial, or not?”

“Okay, yes. Someone—”

“Good. What I want to know is, who had the idea to shut down the whole market?”

He turned slightly pale. “Why do you—”

“No, no. You don’t get to ask questions. I can tell you that I have no plans to hurt whoever it is. I have no plans to hurt anyone. I’ve never hurt anyone. I just get paid to collect information. My principal—that means the fellow who is paying me–doesn’t plan to hurt whoever it is, either.”

“It isn’t that. It’s—”

“Oh. You mean, can we protect you from him?”

He nodded.

“He’ll never know you told me.”

He still looked hesitant.

“But,” I said, “if it’s someone who scares you, I’ll make it two imperials.” I gave him Sandor’s friendliest smile, which is even friendlier than my friendliest smile.

He hesitated again, then said, “It was one of, you know, of them.”

“A Dragaeran?”

He nodded.

“Male or female?”

“It was a man. A male.”

“How was he dressed?”

He frowned. “I didn’t really pay much attention.”

“Think. This is important. Try to remember the colors of his clothing.”

“I don’t know. Nondescript. Gray, I think.”

Go figure.

“And what did he say?”

“He said that he had heard about our problems and he wanted to help.”

“I see.”

“He said they couldn’t do anything if we all just shut down.”

“How could you afford that?”

“He gave us money to survive on.”

“I see. How much money?”

He looked worried again, but said, “Enough to get by.” I nodded.

“Have you seen him again, or just that once?”

“Twice. Once, about three days ago, when he suggested the idea, and then yesterday when he showed up with the money. He went around and saw everyone.”

“Three days ago was when he first suggested it?”

“Yes.”

“And when did you first hear from the guy who was muscling you?”

“Pardon?”

“Whoever wanted you to pay up, and threatened terrible things if you didn’t.”

“Oh. Uh, I guess that was a week ago.”

I nodded. “One last thing.”

“Yes, sir?”

Sir? When had Sandor become a “sir”? I suppose when he started flashing gold imperials. I said, “I’d like to speak to a couple of your colleagues.”

“My ...”

“Others who work that market.”

“Oh.”

“Just a couple of names, along with where I can find them.”

He gave them without hesitation. I wrote them down.

“Okay,” I said. “You’ve been very helpful.” I gave him three imperials because I like to leave people happy in case I need them again, and because I could afford it. There had been a time when I would have done all manner of things for those imperials I was now throwing around. There was a time when I had.

“With this,” I said as I opened the door, “you’re liable to turn a profit.”

He looked a bit embarrassed, as if I’d discovered a secret. Which I had, but not that one, and it was one I had expected to discover. I headed back out onto the street.

I was only a little worried, and that was because I always get nervous when I go to collect information and learn exactly what I expect to learn.

Yeah, he’d gone right down the line with what I’d been looking for. No surprise; I’d been pretty sure from when Vincent had first given me the information.

You see, Vincent was right.

When I was young, sometime before Loiosh, some people had run an operation like the one Vincent had described, and had tried to muscle in on various local merchants, “shredding the car­rion,” as the saying is. I knew about it even then because one of the merchants they’d gone after was my grandfather, who, while not exactly a merchant, made a good enough income to attract their attention.

Things got a little complicated, but they had eventually learned not to mess around with an old witch and a young punk. So, yeah, I was familiar with that sort of operation. My grandfather, in a futile effort to keep me from being involved, had told me that this sort of thing happened from time to time in South Adrilankha, when the greedy had no one to prey on but the desperate.

But Vincent was right; the Jhereg didn’t operate that way. Putting pressure for a few coins on a few merchants was small-time, and involved more risk of attention by the Empire than the payoff could ever be worth. Sure, once in a while some indepen­dent operator might do something like that, and the Jhereg would either absorb him or crush him, as the case may be. When I was running an area, I wouldn’t have put up with anything like that for more than about five minutes. No one else I’d heard of would have either; it’s just bad for business.

So, the fact that it was happening now was either a hell of a coincidence, or it meant something else entirely, and you can guess which way I’d bet.

I made two more calls, and spent another eight imperials, and didn’t learn anything new, but confirmed what Goodman Donover had told me, and got a name, description, and address for at least one of the Easterners who were putting the squeeze on the merchants in Ristall Market. His name was Josef; a good, Eastern name.

I had never put a shine on an Easterner; I hoped I wouldn’t have to this time. Chances are I wouldn’t. But I might have to mess him up a bit.

“Well, Loiosh. We now know everything we have to know in order to go out and get killed.”

“Oh, good, Boss. That’s just what I was hoping for.”

“Okay, almost all. I need to reach a couple of the Irregulars for another piece, but it ought to be easy enough!’

It was. It took being patient for a few hours, but I got it.

I got back late that night after picking up a celebratory bottle of a wine I’d never encountered before. Lying on the bed I found a brief note from Kiera saying she would look for me tomorrow. I was pleased that my friends were watching out for me, and sorry that I’d missed her; especially as I’d have had the chance to brag a bit about having solved the puzzle, or at least a big chunk of it.

What would I have told her if she’d been here? Maybe something obscure and epigrammatical, like, at some point, every complex situation will resolve itself into something simple and straightforward. The trouble is, by then it’s usually too late.

Maybe this time it wasn’t.

“You sure, Boss?”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, I’m just thinking, if the Demon Goddess has been messing around in your head—”

“Loiosh, are you trying to be funny?”

“No, Boss. I mean it. I’m just a little worried. You have a plan, you’ve figured out what’s going on, only what if—”

“This is just what I need right now. I desperately need to have my confidence shattered by—”

“Boss, I’m just—”

“Yeah, okay.”

Well, he’s my familiar. That means that it’s his job to worry about stuff like that. It also means that, if I have something nig­gling around in the back of my head, sometimes it’s his job to bring it to the front. But I didn’t like it much. I didn’t like think­ing about it, and I particularly didn’t like it that he might be right. If you can’t trust your own thoughts, what do you have?

“Uh, did that help, Boss?”

“No, but it didn’t hurt. It was lousy wine anyway.”

I went downstairs to borrow a broom and cleaned up the bro­ken glass. The wine-stain on the wall I left there, figuring it would make a good reminder, though of what I wasn’t exactly sure.

What if Loiosh were right? What if everything in my head was planted there by the Demon Goddess for her own reasons—reasons which I no longer trusted, if I ever had? Or what if it was just the product of illusory logic and warped perceptions?

And what if I spent all my time so worried about that I couldn’t do anything?

Well, okay then. Sometime, there was a reckoning due be­tween me and the Demon Goddess. But for now

“You’re right, Boss. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Don’t worry about it, Loiosh. You’re just bouncing back what’s in my own head. We move on. It’s time to make it bloody. And if some of the blood is mine, so be it.”

I took out my daggers and sharpened them up.

Tomorrow was liable to be an interesting day. 12. Chicken With Shallots

Mihi cleared away the salad plates, and topped off our wine. I only knew in general what was coming next—it would be some sort of fowl. In the past, there had been the old standard capon in Eastern red pepper sauce, duck with plum sauce, pheasant stuffed with truffles, skirda in wine sauce, and what Valabar’s modestly called—

“Chicken with shallots,” said Mihi, holding a platter and those won­derful spoons he wielded so deftly.

“What are shallots?” said Telnan.

“Something like scallions,” said Mihi, before I could say the same thing.

As Mihi served us, steam rolled up like a beckoning hand.

I can’t tell you everything about how they build it, but I know that it involves de-boned and skinned chicken (which is unusual—Valabar’s generally prefers its fowls with bone and skin) and then sliced up, and pan-fried in butter, along with minced garlic, shallots, and the delicious (in spite of its name) Imperial fungus. There is salt, of course, and I’m pretty sure there’s white pepper. They pour a sauce over it, and I’m afraid I can tell you little about the sauce, except that it’s built with the chicken, and so has a lot of the same flavors, along with a bit of tomato, the ubiquitous Eastern red pepper, and wine.

Along with the chicken, they served us baby steamed carrots and miniature red tubers with clarified butter.

I had to just sample things; there was no way to eat it all if I were planning to even taste the next course. But that’s the sort of decision you have to make—less of one thing to have some of another. I wish all of my decisions were as painless.

“This is very good,” said Telnan after his first bite of the chicken.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, it is.”

We ate in silence for a while. I was communing with the chicken—the slight sting on the tongue, the surprise of the fungus, the way the hint of wine and the red pepper bounced off the shallots. Separate fla­vors, which suddenly come together in the mouth producing an amaz­ing combination that isn’t inherent in any of the parts, but, after a few bites, you realize was there all along.

Whether Telnan was having the same joyful discovery, I couldn’t know. I decided I was glad he was there; it really is more pleasant to share a meal, even with a comparative stranger. And I’d certainly had less pleasant dinner companions. It occurred to me with a brief pang that I had never shared a meal with Lady Teldra, and now I couldn’t. I wondered if she were able to take vicarious pleasure.

“Do you think your weapon enjoys the meal, Telnan?”

“Hmmm?”

“I mean, you’re enjoying the meal, right?”

“Oh, yeah! This is great!”

“Well, you have this link to a weapon. Do you know if it can share any of the pleasure from—”

“Oh, I see.” He frowned. “I’ve never thought about it. Maybe. My communication with Nightslayer isn’t all that—”

“Nightslayer?”

“My sword is called Nightslayer.”

“What is the Serioli name for it?”

“Um ... I think it was something like—” He made a sound that, if it had been louder, might have made the staff think someone was choking to death.

“Okay. And that means what, exactly?”

“Sethra said it means something like, ‘Loci for different levels of energy from various phases of existence.’”

“Loci for different ... How did they get Nightslayer out of that?”

“Oh, they didn’t. I call her Nightslayer because I like how that sounds. You know, dangerous, and evil, and like that.” He grinned. Dangerous, and evil, and like that. “Okay.”

Which didn’t tell me if Lady Teldra were able to enjoy my enjoy­ment of the food. I hoped she could. Well, maybe someday I’d know.

I woke up fast the next morning. Not fast in the way I wake up when Loiosh screams a warning, or when I hear some sound that makes me reach for a weapon, but fast in the sense that I was in­stantly wide awake, thinking, “Today I’m done waiting. Today I can move. Today I can start to act.”

You see, it’s all about contrasts: I don’t usually get that excited just because I’m about to go charging into a situation where I might get sliced up into my component parts. And, to be sure, there was an element of fear in my belly. But after days of the sort of drudgery I despise it was such a relief to know that I was going into action at last, that I could almost understand how a Dragonlord felt before a battle, or a Dzur before a duel. Or, well, maybe I couldn’t, but I thought I could, and that’s almost as good.

“In a mood today, eh Boss?”

“A good mood, Loiosh. For the first time in longer than I care to remember.”

“I’m not sure I believe it. So, what are we going to do first?”

“Kill the Demon Goddess.”

After a moment, he said, “Boss, any other time, I’d say, ‘ha ha: But—”

“No, you can say ‘ha ha. We aren’t really going to put a shine on the Goddess—”

“Good!”

“—today.”

“Then what are we doing?”

I outlined the plan. He didn’t make any remarks about how stupid it was. Since every time in the past that he’d told me my plans were stupid I had survived, the fact that he liked this one gave me a moment’s pause. I put some things in a bag, slung the bag over my shoulder, and headed out.

For the first order of business, I went out into the morning and had myself a fresh, warm langosh from the cart down the road. I went into the inn across the street from it and drank a cup of mediocre klava. Don’t think I’m complaining about that klava, by the way—I enjoyed it thoroughly. Living without any klava at all was still fresh in my mind.

In any case, the langosh was magnificent.

I left the inn and walked around to the back.

“Loiosh, is—?”

“You’re clear, Boss. No one is watching.”

Sandor went into a neat little package behind a trash con­tainer, and Vlad was back for a few hours. Loiosh and Rocza ap­peared, waited, hovering uncomfortably with much flapping of wings until I had adjusted my cloak, and then landed on my shoulders.

“Good to see you, Boss.”

“It’s good to be back.”

I checked to make sure this and that were accessible and loose enough to get at, then said, “All right. Let’s do it.” Lady Teldra, her sheath slapping at my leg, almost seemed to agree.

It was a long walk to Falworth Square, most of the way to the Five Mile Bridge. The air was sweet with the ocean and no trace of the slaughterhouses.

“Always best to get killed on a nice day, eh Boss?”

“That’s more like it. I was missing your cynicism?”

At one point, I noticed that I was humming, and stopped.

Loiosh and Rocza took turns flying above me, circling, sometimes landing on my shoulder. I had the feeling that Rocza, too, was glad to be back with me. I was glad to have her back, too. I reached up and scratched under her chin.

“Okay, Loiosh. The action gets going on Falworth Hill.”

“I thought we were going to that place on Harmony.”

“We are. That’s first. But the action doesn’t start until we get to Falworth.”

“Oh. So I can nap through this first part?”

“Actually, you probably can. But just to be safe—”

“Right, Boss. So, what now?”

“Now we get to spend several hours bored out of our skulls.”

“I can hardly wait.”

I was right, too. I found the place easily enough, on Harmony about a quarter of a mile northeast of Six Corners, positioned myself across the street from Number Four, ducked into a shadow, and waited. Loiosh went around to the other door. He waited, too. About three hours and a little more, which is what you get when you start early in the morning.

“Check me on this, Boss: An Easterner, a little taller than you, clean-shaven, short blond hair, gold ring in his left ear, wearing a sort of short sword in a brown leather sheath?”

“That’s our man. Score one for the Irregulars. So he went out the back?”

“Yes, and he’s heading north.”

“On my way. Don’t lose him.”

“That’s not likely.”

I fell in about a hundred and fifty feet behind Josef. The streets curved too much for me to see him, but Loiosh was there. The guy’s first stop was useless to me—he just stood out on the street, talking to someone in a doorway. That was all right; I had plenty of time.

He headed off toward Ristall Market, which was no surprise. About halfway there, he stopped at a blacksmith shop.

“What do you think, Loiosh?”

“He might just need some nails.”

“I mean, does this look like a good place?”

“From the outside, it seems good. Not too much traffic, anyway.”

I had actually already made the assumption that he didn’t need nails. Loiosh and Rocza landed on my shoulder as I entered the place, about two minutes after Josef. As I walked in, I wasn’t holding a weapon, because I can get to one fast enough if needed, and because once, long ago, I walked into a place wielding and stepped straight up to a pair of Phoenix Guards who didn’t think it was funny at all.

It was four walls with no ceiling, and a door in the back that I suppose led to his living quarters; and even with no ceiling, the heat struck me at once. The forge was huge and glowing orange, there were two long tables, one on each side, and they were full of weapons. Excuse me, tools. The blacksmith—at least, I assume he was a blacksmith; he was wearing an apron, anyway—had olive skin, a neat little beard, and bright blue eyes. As the eyes shifted to me, I nodded a greeting and told him, “I need to speak to this fellow; would you mind leaving us alone for a minute?”

Josef turned around. “Just who are you suppos—”

I slapped him hard enough to rock him back on his heels, and by the time he recovered I was holding a knife at his throat—a nice stiletto with about nine inches of skinny blade and a wicked, wicked point. The blacksmith retreated through the door in the back of his shop. A little part of me observed that I was enjoying this more than I should.

“We’ll just be a moment,” I told the door the blacksmith had gone through.

The place smelled like sulfur and charcoal. Josef’s head was tilted back away from the knife and he was glaring at me. I said, “How do you do, Josef? My name is Vlad. I’m just here to give you a little information. And don’t glare at me, I have a knife at your throat. When you have a knife at my throat, then you can glare at me. As I said, I have information for you. Do you want to hear it, or do you want me to find out if I can tickle the top of your skull from the inside?”

“Say it, then,” he said, just barely not spitting.

“You need to find honest work. Or a different kind of dishon­est work. But your scheme for Ristall Market is over as of now. Tell your associates, unless you want me to talk to them.”

“Who—?”

I pushed a bit with the dagger, forcing his head further back and breaking his skin a little. “No,” I said. “You aren’t talk­ing yet. I’m still talking. When I ask you questions, you can talk.”

I cleared my throat.

“As I was saying, you’re done. You don’t need to tell the mer­chants, they’ll figure it out. And you don’t need to tell the Jhereg who set you up in this, I’ll take care of that.”

A flicker behind the eyes? Oh, yes. I’d known anyway, but the confirmation was nice.

“Now, to my question: Who was it? I need a name, and I need to know where he can be found.”

He hesitated. I moved the knife just a little bit away from his throat before hitting him in the stomach with my left hand. Then, when he doubled over, I smacked the side of his face with the hilt of the knife. Loiosh flew down from my shoulder and hovered for a moment in his face before landing on the floor in front of him and hissing.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t quite catch the answer. What did you say his name was?”

He coughed, which wasn’t responsive, but I didn’t hit him again. He spat out some blood and said, “I’m going to—” and I kicked him in the face. He was tougher than I’d expected, but the kick finally did it.

“Vaasci,” he said.

“How do you get hold of him?”

He hesitated only a second, then said, “Back room. The Twig on Falworth Hill.”

“Good. Now listen. I’m going to talk to your friend Vaasci. If it turns out that he’s expecting me, I’m going to come back here and decorate Ristall Market with your intestines. By the time I’m done talking to him, you might want to be out of town, because I’m going to tell him you gave me his name, and that might irri­tate him, if he’s still alive.”

“You—”

I hauled my foot back to kick him again and he shut up.

I said, “In case you haven’t picked up on it, I don’t like you very much. You’re better off not giving me any reason to like you less. Feel free to tell your buddies about me, though. If they leave town, it’ll give me less to do. And if they come after me, I’ll enjoy it enough that I won’t care about the extra work.”

Loiosh resumed his place on my shoulder. I turned my back on Josef and walked out.

South Adrilankha smelled unusually sweet.

“Boss, you know you’re a bully.”

“Yeah.”

“And worse, you enjoy it.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve missed being a bully all these years.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m proud to know you.”

“Uh huh.”

I headed generally west until I found a market that was open. I got some klava from a street vendor, paying an extra few coppers for a glass to drink it out of. I stood there drinking it. Right out in the open, looking like me, two jhereg on my shoulders. The klava was wonderful.

“So, okay, that was the easy part, right, Boss?”

“You nervous?”

As I said it, Rocza shifted on my left shoulder. “A little,” said Loiosh.

“What about?”

“Standing here like this.”

“Okay. We’ll walk.”

We did; aimlessly, but generally west, veering a bit northward now and then. It was still early, and I didn’t figure Vaasci to be the early type. At least, I never had been when I’d been with the Organization.

“Okay, Boss. Can you explain something to me?”

“Probably not, but I’ll try.”

“Are you deliberately giving that Easterner time to do what you told him not to?”

“You mean, time to alert Vaasci? Yes.”

“You didn’t explain that part of the plan to me.”

“It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

“Mind telling me why?”

“I don’t think I can explain.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll try, though. First, I want to know if he will. I mean, if Josef actually gets the message to Vaasci, that will tell me whether there’s a loyalty, or maybe just that Josef is more afraid of Vaasci than he is of me. I need to know that.”

“At the mere cost of walking into a trap?”

“Heh. Like we’ve never done that before?”

“Not on purpose. Well, not often on purpose.”

“Second ... it’s harder to say.”

“You’re hoping for the chance to kill someone?”

“Not exactly.”

“You’re hoping someone will try to kill you?”

“That’s closer.”

“Boss—”

“Kicking that bastard in the face gave me a taste, Loiosh. I need more than a taste.”

“Boss, I don’t understand.”

“I know.”

“But I don’t like it.”

“I know.”

“It’s not like you to make decisions based on—”

“I know. Have you ever been half asleep, where you aren’t sure if you’re dreaming or not?”

“I don’t dream, Boss.”

“Yeah, well, I said it was hard to explain.”

“Boss—”

“The thing is, if you’re in a situation where you don’t know if you’re dreaming, you try to wake yourself up to see.”

“I’ll take your word for that.”

“And if that doesn’t work, you play it as if it’s really happening, because what other choice do you have?”

“Half asleep is no time to make decisions.”

“I never said it was.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Besides, there’s still useful information to be gathered. So there’s a practical side of this.”

“Right. Useful information. Okay, Boss?’

“Then again, I could get to the Demon Goddess, wave Lady Tel­dra in her face, and say, ‘You caused this problem, now fix it.’ I have to admit, I like the idea of the Demon Goddess appearing in the middle of a Council meeting and setting the Jhereg straight?”

“I like it too, Boss. But I doubt it’s practical.”

“Yeah. I don’t know how to get to her Halls, for one thing.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Uh ... come to think of it, maybe I do.”

“Boss—”

“Never mind, Loiosh.”

I finished my klava and handed the cheap glass to an old beggar, along with a couple of copper pieces. You see a fair num­ber of beggars in South Adrilankha; I’ve never seen one in the City. Maybe Dragaerans kill their beggars. I wouldn’t put it past them.

I walked the streets aimlessly for a while. At the time, I was just thinking about giving Vaasci time to show up. On reflection, maybe I was tempting fate and the Jhereg. But no one took a run at me.

“I’m trying to decide if it’s time to cross over to the City and have that talk.”

“Boss, what’s the point in pulling a weapon before you have a target?”

“I have a target, Loiosh.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“The thing is, that’s going to really set things popping.”

“Yes, it will.”

“The timing is going to be tricky.”

“Yes, it will.”

“Especially because I don’t know how long the, uh, weapon is going to take. I mean, I have no idea. A day? A year? Something in between?”

“Well, you could always tell him to make it fast.”

“You’re funny.”

“You make a good example, Boss.”

“And then, really, when you’re calculating how someone will react to something, you never know. I mean, I think I know what he’ll do, but what if I’m wrong?”

“Yeah. What if.”

“So I’m trying to figure out—”

“You’re scared, right, Boss?”

“Not scared exactly. Call it nervous.”

“Uh huh.”

I juggled this and that in my head. It was a couple of hours af­ter noon. I said, “All right, Loiosh. Let’s head over there.”

“To the City?”

“No. We’ll hold off on that part.”

“Oh, the fun part.”

“Uh huh.”

He and Rocza launched themselves into the air, and we set off.

Falworth Hill overlooks the Stone Bridge, which, someone once told me, is the bridge the Empress would take if she ever crossed the river. It is the place where the elite among Easterners live next to, or, at least, not too far from, Dragaerans in that odd in-between station in life where they are willing to rub shoulders with us. I’ve met a few of them; they are mostly Chreotha and Tsalmoth, with a few odd Iorich here and there. They’re strange. To Easterners who live on Falworth Hill, they are either gen­uinely friendly or they fake it enthusiastically. To other Eastern­ers, they are even worse than your typical Dragonlord, if you can imagine it.

“What’s the play, Boss?”

“They have a glass window.”

“Okay, so they’re rich.”

“Yeah. You and Rocza ready to break a window?”

“Can do.”

“You sure? Remember—”

“I can do it, Boss.”

“Okay. I’ll let you know where I am. The better the timing, the more boring this is going to be.”

“I’m in favor of boring.”

“That’s two of us.”

Between Pear Orchard and Driftwood Streets in the Falworth Market is a great, square, red stone building that rents out space to several businesses. The front, where it faces the market, is a public house with a piece of wood painted on the sign. I think it was supposed to be The Driftwood Inn, but everyone calls it The Twig. It was a nice place; padded benches and chairs around dark hardwood tables, etchings on all the lanterns, and like that.

I got some stares as I walked in. The host frowned at me and might have said something about Easterners not being permitted, but I gave him a look before he could say anything, and I guess he thought better of it. Besides, I didn’t sit down; I walked straight through to the back of the room and pushed aside a curtain.

“Straight to the back, and through a—”

“I saw, Boss.”

Two Dragaerans sat at a table, looking at a ledger of some kind. Both wore the black and gray of House Jhereg.

One of them looked up at me. “Who are you supposed to be?”—which would have been an interesting question if I were still being Sandor.

“You must be Vaasci.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“I’m a messenger.”

“From?”

“Your friend Josef.”

“Who?”

I suddenly got worried; he looked sincere. “Josef,” I said. “Easterner? Ristall Market?”

“Oh, that. Well, what does he want?”

“He said that the operation is over and he’s leaving town.”

Vaasci frowned. “Why?”

“Because if he didn’t, he was going to be harmed.”

“Harmed?”

“Yeah.”

“Now, Loiosh.”

“We’re on the way.”

“By who?”

“Me.”

I smiled.

His eyes narrowed, and I had the sudden feeling he might have recognized me. Then the curtains moved and Loiosh and Rocza came flying in. Or, actually, Rocza came flying in. I was go­ing to ask Loiosh where he was, but then things happened quickly.

They both stood up, and Rocza flew into the face of Vaasci’s friend, who lost his balance and landed in his chair again. I rammed a shoulder into Vaasci, drew a dagger, and shoved it into the one who was sitting. I caught him below the heart, left the knife there, and turned to face Vaasci. It was like a dance. Pretty slick.

I drew Lady Teldra, and drawing her, felt a sudden rush of invincibility. I’d have to make sure not to believe that rush; it could get me into trouble. But this time, at least, it seemed justified: Vaasci made a little squeaking sound, very un-Jhereg-like, and flinched.

I heard myself say, “Drop it,” which was when I realized he was holding a dagger.

He didn’t hesitate; he just dropped it.

Lady Teldra, sweet and firm in my hand, had gotten a little shorter and a lot wider—a throat-cutting weapon. Perfect for the occasion. What a coincidence.

I said, “If I get so much as a hint that either one of you are attempting psychic contact, I will have your souls.”

I had to admire Vaasci; there wasn’t even a flicker. His friend moaned, but that was because of the steel sticking out of him. I spared him a glance and said, “You’ll live.”

He started to say something, but coughed, and there was a trickle of reddish foam around his lips. I might have been wrong. “Loiosh—”

“Be right there, Boss. You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay,” I told Vaasci. “Now, we need to talk. I’m—”

“I know who you are.”

“Good. That saves time.”

Loiosh flew into the room and landed on my right shoulder. Rocza took up a position on my left.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“I felt something. I couldn’t pay attention, but you were—”

“Don’t worry about it, Boss.”

I studied Vaasci in silence while I thought things over. “Got caught in the curtain, didn’t you?”

“Shut up, Boss.”

“Watch them close, Loiosh. I need to know if either one attempts psychic contact.”

“I’m on it.”

“There aren’t any curtains in the way.”

“Shut up, Boss.”

“Okay, m’lord Vaasci. We have a problem, you and I.”

He glowered. Or maybe glared. I’ve never been too sure of the difference.

“I admire your cleverness,” I said. “It was a nice move. But I can’t let it happen. Personal reasons.”

“You are so dead, Taltos, that it’s hardly worth talking to you.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. But there are things I can do before I lie down. And you probably don’t want me doing them on you.”

“Okay. Keep talking.”

“That was my plan.”

I cleared my throat.

“Like I said, the operation is over. You are out of South Adri­lankha as of now. I know who you’re working for, by the way, and he doesn’t scare me. Not much scares me at this point, since, as you said, I’m pretty much dead already.”

“What aren’t you telling me, and get on with it.”

“You’ve got nerve, Lord Vaasci, I’ll give you that.”

“Spare me the compliments, dead man.”

For just a second, I wanted to shove the blade home. But I didn’t do it, and he knew I wouldn’t do it, so—“You tell your boss that ... no. Tell your boss to tell his boss that South Adrilankha is off limits. For you, and for the Left Hand. All Jhereg operations here are off. Whatever the Easterners want to do here, they do.”

“Right, Taltos. And he’ll listen because you said so.”

“No, he’ll listen because I’m very persuasive, and because it’ll be much cheaper to leave it alone.”

“And you’re going to convince him of that.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll pass the word on.”

“Meantime, you get out of here. If I see you on this side of the river again, I don’t have to explain what will happen, do I?”

His eyes never left mine. “No, I think I’m clear enough on that.”

“Okay. Take care of your associate. He looks uncomfortable.” I turned my back on him and walked out. Smooth.

“Loiosh?”

“They aren’t moving.”

“Okay, I’m clear. Come on out. Careful of the curtain.”

I walked through the room. The host glanced at me then quickly looked away. Two or three patrons were carefully not look­ing in my direction either. It was just like after an assassination, except that it had taken longer, and no one had died. Well, unless Vaasci’s friend succumbed to the dagger I’d left in him.

I was shaking just a little when I got onto the street. Loiosh and Rocza flew through the broken window and joined me. I felt bad about the window.

We moved quickly back east. Loiosh said, “We survived.”

“Yes. Were you worried?”

“Me? Of course not, Boss.”

“I was. That was a risky move.”

“Well, I admit if there had happened to be a couple more there, it could have gotten interesting.”

I made it back to Six Corners, and found the pieces of Sandor right where I’d left them. Loiosh assured me that no one was around, so I put them on once more, not without a certain regret mixed with the sense of relief.

Okay, I had certainly opened the dam; now I got to see whose fields got flooded. 13. Descani Wine (Continued)

If you follow your waiter’s recommendation, which I almost always do at Valabar’s, the wine that goes with the salad is also the wine that ac-companies the fowl. I don’t actually know the reason for that, though I could speculate that it has to do with transitions.

Transitions are important in a good meal, whether the next flavor has only the most subtle differences from the previous, like between the fish and the goslingroot, where the butter and the lemon defined the fla­vor, or drastic differences, like between the salad and the chicken.

In this case, it was the wine that provided continuity, and reminded my mouth that, however much things changed, and however one moment was completely unlike the one that preceded it, they were both still mo­ments in an endless stream, the product of all that has gone before, and the producer of what will follow; the lingering chill of the wine, now partaking of the fullness of a red, now of the elegance of a white, making us step back a bit from the irresistible now of the chicken, and declaring an eternal context of life, or meal.

Yeah, if you haven’t figured it out yet, food makes me philosophical. Poetic, too. Deal with it.

But there’s a point I want to make: The wine that you drink with the salad is different from the wine that you drink with the fowl. They are the same, but what is happening in your palate is so different that the wine is different too. Like when you greet a particular gentleman with the same words and in the same tone the day before and the day after you’ve agreed to put a shine on him; the context changes the significance of the greeting.

The difference in the food made it different wine; it changed everything.

“This is some good stuff,” said Telnan.

He’s not as poetic as me.

The lack of a course is a course, just like the spaces between the notes are part of the music. Actually, I wouldn’t know about that last part; it’s something Aibynn told me. But I can testify that it’s true of a good meal.

After the fowl, you know what is coming next, because it is the thing that you actually ordered—half a lifetime ago, it seems. Your order has been sitting in the back of the mind for the entire meal. Every sip, every morsel has been a delight in itself, and, at the same time, a preparation for what is next.

And so, of course, Valabar’s makes you wait for it while you drink the wine that went with the fowl.

They clear off the table, leaving you half a bottle of wine and your glasses. Then they come by and give you a whole new setting. I can’t think of any reason for them to do that unless they are deliberately delaying, building the tension. If that is the reason, I can only say it works. New plates, new flatware, new wineglasses. The sound—soft but unmistakable—of each item set on the table was like music. Or, I imagine, what music would be like to those who felt about music the way I feel about food.

“What comes next?” said Telnan.

“What you ordered.”

“Oh.”

He frowned. “I don’t remember what I ordered anymore.”

“Then you get the pleasure of being surprised.”

He nodded. “That works.”

“You pretty much take what comes, don’t you.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Not the way I mean it?”

“Uh. I guess I do?”

“Is that a Dzur trait, or is that just you?”

He blinked. I don’t think he knew how to answer that. He eventu­ally settled for, “Why do you want to know?”

“Good question. I’m not sure.”

“You’re trying to figure out what it means to be a Dzurlord, aren’t you?”

“I guess maybe I am.”

Why?

“Telnan—”

“Hmmm?”

“Are you trying to figure out what it means to be a, well, a me?”

“Sure.”

“Why?”

“Fair is fair.”

“Oh. All right.”

“I wish the food would arrive.”

“Enjoy the anticipation, my friend.”

“My favorite part of anticipation is when it’s done, and the action starts.”

“Ah ha.”

“Hmm?”

“Just made a discovery about Dzur?”

“Oh. You still haven’t told me why you care.”

“Because I don’t believe you guys.”

“Beg pardon?”

“You could say that Dragaerans have been a sort of study of mine all my life.”

“Why?”

“Necessity. Survival?”

“Okay.”

“And I can make sense of most Dragaerans, but not Dzur. You seek out situations that I work as hard as I can to avoid. I can’t make sense of it.”

“Oh.”

“Answer your question?”

“I guess. But—”

“Yeah?”

“I wish the food would get here. I like it when the action starts.”

“All right, Loiosh. Ready for another long walk?”

“We’ll fly, if it’s all the same to you. Where are we going?”

“Back to the City.”

“Oh. Is it time for that errand?”

“Past time, I think.”

“And who’s going? You, or Sandor?”

“Sandor. I don’t think I’d make it.”

“That’s just what I was thinking.”

We took the Stone Bridge across the river, which added sev­eral hours to the walk; but it wasn’t like I had anything else to do. The day was chilly and the breeze stung a little, but I enjoyed walking in my new boots. When I’d left town before, with the Jhereg after me and my life in a shambles, I should have taken the time to get new boots. But now things were different. Now my life was in shambles and the Jhereg was after me.

Yeah.

I did get a few glances from travelers on the Stone Bridge, but I kept my eyes lowered and nothing happened. The Stone Bridge, I’ve been told, is the oldest of the bridges connecting the two parts of the City. It is certainly the narrowest, and, these days, the least used. I don’t know why it was put where it was, unless both parts of the City grew in different directions than anticipated.

Which doesn’t make sense—you’d think that, once the bridge was up, it would determine how the City grew. But that was a long time ago, and just goes on the list of things I don’t understand.

The bridge has always felt solid, though; what more can one ask?

I took a wide detour around the Imperial Palace—or, more precisely, the Jhereg Wing—in part because of what Kiera had said. I am not entirely free of superstition. Loiosh was merciful, and didn’t make any remarks about it.

It was getting on toward evening when I struck Lower Kieron Road and my old neighborhood. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I could feel Loiosh become even more alert. I kept wanting to rest my hand on Lady Teldra’s hilt, but managed to restrain myself.

It was even hard not to stop outside of my old office and stare at it for a while. Again, I resisted. I went straight in; a harmless Easterner who couldn’t threaten a norska, that was me. Or, rather, Sandor.

I think after about two months of being Sandor I’d have to cut my throat.

The proprietor of the herb shop politely asked me if I wished assistance. This was gratifying; evidently working for an East­erner for several years had left its mark. I gave him a big smile.

“I’m looking for a gift for my uncle,” I said.

He didn’t respond at once; I suppose that wasn’t all that un­common a phrase. He said, “What sort of herbs does he usually consume?”

I cleared my throat. “I’m looking for a gift for my uncle,” I said again, very carefully.

“Oh!” He stared at me, but even looking couldn’t see through the disguise. Which was odd; it wasn’t much of a disguise. He said, “What sort of gift did you have in mind?”

“Anything you sell will be perfect.”

He nodded, gave me a funny look, and said, “We haven’t used that code in three years.”

“Oh,” I said. “Sorry. What’s the—no, never mind. Excuse me.”

He nodded, and I went past him into the next room.

The Shereba game was going, and I could swear the same stumps were in the same chairs in the same positions with the same piles of coins stacked the same way as the last time I’d been in there. If I’d looked at their faces, no doubt I’d have seen a differ­ence, but it wasn’t worth it. The muscle-on-duty gave me a glance. I differentially pointed at the far door, and gave a sort of bob of my head. He nodded, and I passed through to the stairway.

A Jhereg I didn’t recognize was leaning against the wall at the top of the stairs. I stopped halfway up and said, “Is Kragar in?”

“I think so,” he said. “Who should I say—”

“Tell him someone is here with a message from Kiera the Thief.”

His eyes widened a little, and I think I gained some respect. His face went blank for a moment, then he said, “Bide.” I nodded.

A moment later he said, “Okay, go on up.”

I climbed the familiar stairs, and it occurred to me that this place, that had once been my office, might be the only establish­ment in the Empire where an Easterner could expect to be treated politely. As a legacy, I could do worse.

I didn’t recognize the fellow sitting behind what had been Melestav’s desk before Melestav had succumbed to temptation. He nodded to me, and said, “It’s that door. Go right in.”

Yeah, I knew that door. It had been my door. I felt about a half a second of irritation at Kragar for taking my office, then realized how absurd it was. I was looking very carefully when I entered, and there he was, seated at the desk, looking at me with his general-purpose smirk, as opposed to his smirk of recognition.

“I’m Kragar,” he said. “Sit down. You have a message from—”

“Yeah, I lied about that part,” I said. “Mind if I shut the door?”

“Vlad!”

I took that as a yes and shut the door.

He said, “What are you—”

“Mind opening the window, Kragar?”

“Why? Oh.”

He opened the window. Loiosh and Rocza flew in the window and took positions on my shoulders. Loiosh hissed a greeting at Kragar, who shut the window behind them.

“Okay, Vlad. Now. What are—?”

“You,” I interrupted, “are just about the sneakiest son-of-a-bitch I know.”

“Huh? What did I do now?”

“It’s what you’ve been doing for years, and never told me about.”

“Uh ... Vlad, I’m not sure—”

“Tell the proprietor his shipment is ready, and he might need more space to store it all.”

Kragar’s jaw dropped, which provided me a measure of satis­faction.

“How did you ... I don’t know which question to ask first.”

I nodded. “My life is often like that.”

“Vlad—”

“Okay, we can get to your questions in a bit. But first, you have a job to do.”

“A what?”

“A commission to fulfill.”

“What commission?”

“Tell the proprietor—”

“You mean, you’re serious about that?”

“What would make you think I’m joking?”

After a while, he said, “Umm, all right. You’re serious. I need to—Verra’s tits, Vlad! You just come in here and ... all right. Do you have a name?”

“Sandor.”

“Okay, where do I find this Sandor?”

“No, no. That’s my name. While I’m in disguise.”

“Is that a disguise? I thought you’d just changed the cut of your clothes.”

“Shut up,” I suggested.

“Nice beret, though. It suits you.”

“Shut up.”

“Okay, well, good, now I know what to call you while you aren’t answering my question.”

“You mean the name of the target.”

“Yeah, that would be helpful.”

“It’s a sorceress named Crithnak. Left Hand.”

“Okay. Any other information?”

“Her sister is dead.”

“Okay. Is that important?”

“I doubt it.”

“What else?”

“She’s very good. She managed to find me when she shouldn’t have been able to.”

“I’m sure he’ll be terrified. What else?”

“How long have you been his contact, Kragar?”

“About, uh, ninety years, I guess.”

“How did you meet him?”

“A mutual friend introduced us.”

“A friend? I didn’t think Aliera even liked you.”

He chuckled. “One for you, Vlad.”

“Kragar, didn’t you once tell me, in so many words, that you didn’t know how to get hold of Mario?”

“Uh, I don’t think I ever said that. I may have implied it pretty strongly.”

“Heh.”

“But I also asked him if he wanted to get involved that time. He didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t think to ask him. I usually don’t.”

“Okay.”

He nodded. “Wait here. I have an errand to run.”

“Yep.”

I sat back to wait.

“You think he’s doing it, Boss?”

“You mean, as opposed to running off to arrange to get the bounty on my head?”

“Yeah.”

“I trust him. Don’t you?”

“Yes, but mostly because if he doesn’t get that message to Mario, Mario will kill him.”

“Good point.”

I glanced at the open door, and wondered if I should shut it. But, no, it wasn’t my office anymore. I looked around. Yeah, I missed the place. Maybe not all that much, but I missed it.

“Okay, Vlad. Now do I get to ask questions?”

I jumped about halfway to the ceiling and glared at Kragar. “Don’t ask why I’ve never killed you, because I don’t think I know the answer.”

He smiled. Maybe I’ve never killed him because he’s the only one who always knows when I’m joking.

“What about me?”

“You missed one just the other day.”

“So, where have you been, Vlad?”

“You mean, for the past few years?”

“Well, no, I meant the past few days. But I’m curious about the past few years, too.”

“All over. Went back East, northwest ... all over.”

“Okay. But, these last few days—oh. You’ve been in South Adrilankha, walking around like an Easterner.”

“Right. How have you taken to running things?”

“I like the money.”

“Yeah, that part is nice. Any problems?”

“Yeah. Finding someone so stupid that he’s willing to do for me what I always did for you.”

“That would be tough, wouldn’t it?”

He nodded. “So what’s been going on? I haven’t heard—”

“You’ve been working for Mario all this time, you sneaky bastard?”

“Well, yeah.”

I shook my head. “And the worst part is, you’re really enjoy­ing it that I’m so shocked.”

He smiled innocently.

“Bastard.”

“Does this mean you won’t tell me what’s going on?”

“Do you really want to get any more involved with my affairs than you already are?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

“Well, for starters, they’ll kill you.”

“Okay. What after that?”

“Chances are, that’s all.”

“So only one thing to worry about? That’s not so many.”

“How long did you say you’d been Mario’s contact?”

“About ninety years, and I prefer the term ‘business agent.’”

“You mean, messenger.”

“Something like that, yeah.”

I shook my head.

“So, what’s the plan, Vlad?”

I studied him for a little. He frowned. “Vlad, are you wondering if you can trust me?”

“Actually, no.”

“Good.”

“I know I can trust you. I’m having real doubts about getting you killed.”

“Why? You never did before.”

“This is different and you know it.”

“What’s so different about it?”

“Well, it’s Morganti. And it’s the whole damned Jhereg. And the Left Hand is involved. I’m gone. I’m out of here. If you’re known to be in this with me, and you live through it, then you’ll have to be gone, too. You can’t come back from this and go on with business.”

“Isn’t that my decision?”

“It isn’t that simple.”

“Yes it is.”

“Not to me.”

“That’s because you complicate everything.”

“Oh. So that’s my problem?”

“One of them.”

“Going to give the whole list?”

He grinned. “Not unless you ask for it.”

I sighed. “I’ve put things into motion that I can’t control. Things have started. I—”

“Just now? With my errand?”

“A little before that, actually. It all centers around South Adrilankha.”

“Yeah, I knew that part.”

“Do you know why?”

He smiled happily. “Not even a guess.”

“For one thing, Terion,” I said.

“What about him?”

“He’s pushing for the number-one spot on the Council.”

“Okay. And?”

“He’s enlisted the help of the Left Hand.”

“How did he do that?”

“His mistress is one of them.”

“Ah.”

“How is—”

“By gaining control of South Adrilankha.”

“Why there?”

“It’s the most lucrative area that’s up for grabs. They’re already fighting for it. I mean, the Jhereg. I mean, the Right Hand.”

“Bodies turning up?”

“No,” I said. “But one of the parties tried to start up a little en­terprise among the Easterners. Small stuff, but if it had worked, it could have eventually put the heat on the Left Hand, and maybe interfered with their business there.”

“Could have?”

“I sort of squelched it.”

“Okay, that leaves Terion.”

“As far as I know. And I’m pretty sure I know the whole way.”

“And Terion’s connection to the Left Hand is his mistress. Who is—wait. Crithnak.”

“Yeah.”

“Terion won’t be happy.”

“With any luck, Terion won’t be alive.”

“You going after him?”

“Yep.”

“How?”

“The usual.”

“Vlad, the usual doesn’t involve protection by the Left Hand.”

“They aren’t protecting him, Kragar. They’re just helping him take South Adrilankha.”

“How do you know that?”

I frowned.

Crap.

“Damn you, Kragar.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. Before you said that, I thought I had a plan.”

“Uh huh. Like the guy who found his walls were hollow when he saw a chipmunk making a home in them, and said, ‘Damn that chipmunk, I thought I had a nice place until he came along.”

“Yeah. Just like that. I thought I had a plan.”

“Damn good one, too. What exactly is the problem you just discovered?”

“I’m in disguise.”

“So?”

“So the fellow I just tried to smoke out won’t be able to find me.”

“Can you explain that?”

“I’m not sure.”

“All right. So, what’s your next plan?”

“There’s a house in South Adrilankha, on Stranger’s Road. The Left Hand runs their operations from it. I’ve been thinking of walking in there and just seeing how many throats I can cut before they take me down.”

“Hmmm. Been feeling frustrated, have we?”

“A little.”

“How about a backup plan, in case you come to your senses before trying that one.”

“You have something in mind?”

“Nope. Plans are your department. Blowing them up is mine.”

“Okay. Glad to know we have the division of labor figured

He nodded.

Except for him sitting on my side of the desk, it felt a lot like old times. I’d have enjoyed it more if I hadn’t been so busy trying to figure a way out of the mess I’d gotten myself into.

After a few minutes of contemplation, I said, “Things are already in motion. I have to take out Terion. Once his mistress gets shined, then the Left Hand will be after me in addition to everyone else.” I sighed. “It’s sad. “They all want me dead.”

“That’s true.”

“And yet, I’m such a great guy.”

“You are. Everyone says so. Can you tell me why you got in­volved in this in the first place?”

“Cawti,” I said.

“Oh.”

There were things Kragar and I didn’t talk about it, and Cawti was most of them. He cleared his throat into the moderately un­comfortable silence, and said, “Okay. So, you need a new plan.”

“Actually, maybe just a couple of small modifications to the old one.”

“All right. I can accept that. What do you have in mind?”

“You’ve sold me on one thing: I have to ask you for help.”

He smiled. He looked pleased. Sometimes I wondered about him.

“You want me to find out who on the Council has just gotten upset that his scheme in South Adrilankha has just been broken up.”

“Yes. Can you do it without anyone finding out that you’re working for me?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

I cursed under my breath.

“Anything else?” said Kragar.

“Maybe one other thing.”

“Hmmm?”

“Can you find Terion?”

“I imagine so. It might take a little time.”

“Okay. Just make sure no one knows you’re looking.”

“Just how do you imagine I’ll be able to do that?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never known how you do anything you do. But just be sure.”

He shrugged.

“Dammit, Kragar, don’t you get it? Don’t you have any idea just how big this is? If they know you’re helping me, they will kill you.

“Well—”

“They will kill you, Kragar. I don’t know how they’ll find you, but they’ll manage, and they’ll kill you. I will not wander around with that on my conscience. If you can’t figure a way to find him without it being known that you’re looking, then don’t find him.”

“And you’ll do what, then?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Right.”

“That isn’t an answer,” I said. “I want your agreement.”

“I don’t work for you anymore,” he said, smirking. “You can’t give me orders.”

I found a use for several of the more creative curses I’d learned from some Orca I’d briefly traveled with. Kragar waited. I said, “I suppose threatening to kill you would be counterproductive.”

He nodded. “And carrying out the threat would be entirely out of line.”

“Yeah.” I drummed my fingers on the arm of my chair.

I leaned back. “Okay. Let’s go back to the beginning and take another look at it.”

He nodded and waited.

“What happens if I kill Terion?”

“He doesn’t get the Council seat. There are rules about dead people—”

“Yeah, yeah. What else?”

“I don’t know who does get it. Probably the Demon. Maybe not.

“What about South Adrilankha?”

“What about it?”

“Who takes it?”

“Without Terion getting the Left Hand involved, then I guess they get out of it. Probably goes as a prize to whoever gets the seat. Or else maybe he gives it to someone else who supported him.”

“Yeah, either of those are reasonable. What else?”

“Well, they can’t try to kill you any more than they already are, so no change there.”

“True enough.”

He frowned. “If you really want my help in figuring this out, you’ll have to give me a better idea of what’s going on.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You keep saying things like, ‘things are in motion,’ but you don’t say what things.”

I nodded.

“So, you want to tell me?”

“Not especially.”

“Vlad—”

“Okay.” I took a deep breath. “The Left Hand seems to be—”

“Seems to be?”

“Kragar, I’m giving you my best guesses. If you’re going to demand certainty, we need to give it up now.”

“All right.”

“The Left Hand seems to be backing Terion in his bid for the Council, because his mistress is one of them. They—the Left Hand—are trying to take over the action in South Adrilankha, figuring that will tip things in Terion’s favor. With me so far?”

“Uh huh.”

“Okay. Now things get fun.”

“Oh, good. I’ve been waiting for the fun.”

“Well, what happens when you send your forces against a particular part of the enemy’s lines?”

“Vlad, have you been hanging out with Sethra?”

“Okay, sorry. Anyway, because Terion has gotten involved in South Adrilankha. It’s become a battleground.”

“Yes, you mentioned one other was involved. The one I’m supposed to find out about.”

“How do I find you, once I know?”

“Ugh. Good question. There’s a shoemaker named Jakoub. Leave a note with him.”

“You sure he won’t read it?”

“You’re funny.”

“I know. So, you were saying South Adrilankha has become a battlefield; so, while you’re smoking out this guy—”

“Right. And, at the same time, I’ve just given Mario the commission—”

“To kill Terion’s mistress.”

“Yep.”

“So, you figure, you’ll find out who is running that operation in South Adrilankha, and kill Terion, and mess up the Left Hand when Mario kills that sorceress ... uh, and then what?”

“That’s the problem. I’m no longer sure.”

“What if you do all of that, and leave Terion alive?”

“What does that do?”

“Gives you bargaining power.”

“How ... oh, right. Anyone else who’s interested.”

“You have something to give them.”

“That could do it,” I said.

“And it removes the problem of exactly how you get to him before someone gets to you.”

“Yeah, that was a problem I hadn’t solved yet.”

“So we go with it?”

“I admit there’s a lot to be said for it.”

“But?”

“But I’d really like to kill Terion. He’s a bastard.”

“No shortage of those.”

“Yeah. No, you’re right. That just might be the one number that might work for getting Cawti out of this jam.”

“It gives you a wedge, but how to use it—”

“Oh, that part I have worked out already.”

“Oh? Well, now you’ve gotten me interested. What’s the big plan?”

“That’s your other part.”

“Uh huh.”

“And at least one person is going to have to know you’re working with me.”

“Okay”

“And that isn’t going to be safe.”

“I got that part.”

“Okay. Set up a meeting with the Demon for me.”

He kept his face expressionless. “Are you going to kill him?”

“No.”

“I just ask because I’m sure he’s going to kill you.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you ... okay.”

“You’ll do it?”

“Yeah.”

“Not quite yet.”

“Oh?”

“We need to wait for things to ripple in.”

“You mean, for word to get out—”

“Yeah.”

He nodded. “Is this going to work?”

“Maybe.”

“Best shot, right?”

“Right.”

He grinned. “It’s good to be working with you again, Vlad.”

“I hope you’re still in a condition to say that in a couple of days.”

He nodded judiciously. “That would be good,” he said. “Oh, by the way ...”

“Hmm?”

“What do I get for this?”

“I’ll buy you a meal at Valabar’s.”

“Done,” said Kragar. 14. Brisket Of Beef

Telnan shook his head in wonder. “How can they make food this good?”

“It’s not actually all that difficult,” I said, “if you know how to make pepper-essence and you’re a genius.”

I’d just given him a small bite of my beef. He had the look on his face of a man who had just discovered that food can be sublime. Yeah, I knew that look, and I envied him his epiphany.

I communed with the brisket for a while, which left me too busy to be envious. A little later he said, “What is pepper-essence?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“If it goes into that, yes I do.”

“Melt a couple of spoonfuls of goose fat, stir in a few spoonfuls of powdered Eastern red pepper. Stir it, don’t let it burn. You get an inten­sified pepper flavor.”

“Oh. Yes, it’s very intense. It’s ...”

He groped for the word.

“Sublime,” I suggested.

“Yeah.”

They start with a brisket of beef. I don’t know exactly what con­nections they had, but it was better beef than my father was ever able to get. The sauce was built with onions, garlic, Eastern red pepper, salt, and just a little tomato. And then the pepper-essence with sour cream. That’s about it.

Amazing, isn’t it? That simple, that basic, for such an effect. There’s a moral in there, somewhere.

I made it back to South Adrilankha safely, and threaded my way through familiar streets, to Donner’s Court. There weren’t many people here, and the few who were, weren’t paying any attention to innocuous little Sandor.

“Boss, what are we doing?”

“Now is when I kill the Demon Goddess.”

“Now is when you reassure me you aren’t joking.”

“I’ll be back in a bit,” I said. “Don’t go too far.”

I drew Lady Teldra.

“Boss, what—”

I laid her blade flat against the top of the shrine.

Something ripped somewhere inside and outside of me, with a grinding sound and a feeling that wasn’t painful, but seemed like it should have been. There was a space of time of unknowable duration where I saw only a terrible bright blue, and as it faded, my right hand seemed to have turned into a golden shimmering spear, which resolved itself almost at once into just my hand, still holding Lady Teldra.

“Hello, Goddess,” I said.

It worked better than I’d expected: I was standing in her Halls, just as I remembered them, and she maybe four feet away from me; and Godslayer was naked in my hand. I could see her relax a little as she regarded me.

“I hadn’t known you could do that. I must be certain to seal that portal.”

“If you have the chance.”

“If you’d planned to kill me,” she said, “you wouldn’t have spoken to me.”

“It still isn’t too late.”

“I do not bargain with mortals.”

“Even mortals who have the power to destroy you?”

“Especially those.”

“How’s that policy worked out for you?”

“Mixed. Where is your familiar?”

“Back in the real world steering clear of your wrath.”

“Good plan. So, what put a burr under your saddle?”

“A what under my which?”

“Sorry. I still think of you as Fenarian. What put a notch in your blade?”

“Some memories have returned.”

“From where?”

“From wherever you stowed them.”

“I? You give me too much credit, Fenarian. Or too little.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve remembered that you’ve been messing with my head.”

“That wasn’t me—”

“You’re lying.”

“—exactly. And don’t call me a liar. And would you mind putting that thing down?”

“I’d rather keep her in my hand. I find her reassuring.”

“Even with that, I don’t believe you can harm me. Not here, not after giving me time to prepare. And in these few moments, I have had time to prepare.”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I can’t harm you. But while we consider the matter, let’s chat. I want to know what happened to my memories. To my thought processes. I want to know what you did to me, and why. And unless you feel like testing that ‘maybe’—”

“Taltos Vladimir, you cannot walk into the Paths of the Dead as a living man and expect to both retain all of the sensations you receive, and remain sane. I acted to keep you from going out of your mind.”

“There’s more to it than that, Goddess.”

“Some.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“You have a plan for me. Or I’m part of a plan involving something else, something too far-reaching for me to comprehend, and too sensitive to trust me with, and too important for me to risk.”

“That’s not impossible.”

“Tell me about it. Make me comprehend. Trust me with it. Take the risk. One of us has to take a risk. If you won’t, I will.”

She considered me the way I might consider a brisket of beef into which I was about to stick sharp things. She was taller than a Dragaeran, which meant much taller than me. Her features were angular, her hair dark and swept back, and there was an extra joint on each finger. Eventually she said, “I have said all I choose to say, and threats will not compel me to say more. Attempt to carry out your threat, and I will destroy you utterly. You are in my Halls, Easterner. Don’t make me show you what I can do.”

It was odd. I had this terrible anger in my belly. I wanted to see about that “maybe.” I wanted to in the worst way. I didn’t care if I got her, or she got me, I just wanted to start the show. But there was something else going on; something that kept the lid on. Something that kept my voice calm. Something that—

Something that was Lady Teldra.

As if from a distance, I wondered if I was glad or sorry she was there.

“You owe me, Goddess. I’m not sure what for, or how much, but you owe me.”

“That is a way of looking at it. There are others.”

“Goddess, there are stories among my people about you and the Jenoine.”

“What of them?”

“Would you treat me as they treated you? Or expect me to respond differently?”

“Don’t even start. The cases are nowhere near each other.”

“It seems to me—”

“But on reflection ...”

I stopped and waited for her to continue.

“I admire your courage in coming here like this,” she said after a moment. “It is unlike you.”

“I’ve been hanging around Dzur.”

“But you didn’t come here to destroy me. What do you really want?”

“An explanation.”

“You know you aren’t getting that. What do you want?”

“I—”

“Don’t play me, Taltos Vladimir. You need help, and you’re too angry to beg me for it, as is traditional. Well, I’m inclined to help you for several reasons, mostly because, as you know, I have use for you. But you must cooperate. You must tell me what it is you want. Otherwise, I can’t do it.”

“Goddess, you don’t know me as well as you believe you do.”

“Were you actually intending to kill me?”

“What do you think?”

“What do you wish of me?”

“We’re not finished with this, you know.”

“I know that better than you. In the meantime, what do you wish?”

I actually hadn’t thought about it. But ...

“I’m not sure. If I were to walk into a house filled with sorcer­esses of the Left Hand, all determined to kill me, could you pro­tect me?”

“I can’t interfere with internal matters of one of the Great Houses.”

“Great.”

“At least, not directly.”

She smiled, did the Goddess.

“If you know an indirect method for getting me out of there alive, I’d be glad to hear it. I had been thinking in terms of break­ing a teleport block.”

“No, that would be direct.”

“Then I suppose a divine manifestation is out of the question?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Well then?”

“I’m rather good at sending dreams.”

“Yeah. You’ve sent me a few, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“The last one sent me off East and cost me a finger.”

“That wasn’t the last one.”

“Oh.”

“Well? What about it?”

“I think I see what you’re getting at.”

“And?”

“All right.”

“Then I’ll return you.”

“Well, tell me what’s going to—”

That’s as far as I got before Verra’s Halls were gone from around me, and I was once more standing next to her altar in South Adrilankha. 15. Dumplings

My father spent hours and hours trying to teach me to make good dumplings, but I guess there are just some things I wasn’t cut out to do. On the other hand, even if they had been good, they wouldn’t have had the perfect consistency of Valabar’s.

The thing about dumplings, more than perhaps anything else I’ve ever tried to prepare, is that they take patience: patience to get the mix exactly right, patience to push out each individual dumpling, patience to make sure to pull them from the water at exactly the right moment. I used to put about the same amount of work into preparing to put a shine on a guy, but guess I must have enjoyed that more or something.

Since I’ve been spending so much time making analogies between murder and cooking, I ought to dwell on patience for a bit, because it really is a key factor in both. It’s funny, but until I got into this line of work, I had thought I was by nature an impatient person. It turns out that, when it came to committing murder, I had no trouble sitting around waiting for the perfect moment before striking, or standing outside someplace watching for someone, or following some guy around for days and days to track his movements.

I’m not sure why it is that I’m able to exercise great patience with some things, but with others I get jumpy, jittery, and eventually just curse under my breath and declare the task finished, or else convince myself that it’s good enough.

With cooking and murder, there really shouldn’t be a “good enough.” You need to get as close to perfect as possible, otherwise find another line of work. Which, in fact, I did.

I studied Telnan, who was working on his kethna, accompanied by Valabar’s cabbage, about which I could say a great deal if I felt inclined. One of the arts of putting together a meal—and one that Valabar’s has completely mastered—is determining what goes well with what. I guess it’s like selecting the proper weapon to finalize someone; it goes along with all the other factors, like the individual’s particular skills, and the right time and place.

So there is another similarity between murder and cooking, to ac-company my thoughts about the need for patience when making death or dumplings. But these are my thoughts now—well after the meal and all that followed it. At the time, I was just eating, I wasn’t thinking about murder at all though I guess I did have a few passing thoughts about how I’d never been able to make dumplings to my father’s satisfac­tion. Or my own, for that matter.

The reward for doing the dumplings right is that you have the perfect accompaniment for the Valabar’s brisket of beef. I mean, you bite into one and you get an explosion in your mouth of the pure sauce that it’s been absorbing. It’s magnificent.

The only problem is that by this time, you really have to pace yourself; there’s been just too much food in too short a time, and you are very much aware that soon you’re going to reach the end of your capacity.

I think Telnan made a couple of comments that I didn’t hear dur­ing all of this, or else that I heard at the time but no longer remember; I think they were about the way the sausages worked with the kethna, but I’m not sure. What with the beef, the sauce, and the dumplings, I just didn’t have a whole lot of attention to spare.

Another similarity, if you will, between committing murder and indulging in supreme pleasure: Both take one’s full concentration.

“Boss!”

“Damn.”

“What is it, Boss?”

“All is well, Loiosh.”

“If you ever do that again, I’ll bite you. I mean, really, really hard.”

“Understood. How long was I gone?”

“Forever. Almost an hour.”

I checked with the Orb. I’d been gone about twenty minutes. “Okay. Let’s go home.”

I returned to the sanctuary of my room, and settled in to wait. The waiting lasted about three minutes before I realized that sitting there doing nothing would drive me nuts.

“You know, it could be days, Boss.”

“It could be weeks.”

“You can’t just walk around for weeks.”

“I’m not just walking around. I have a destination in mind.”

“Oh, all right. Where to, then?”

“Anywhere.”

We went out and walked anywhere, Loiosh and Rocza staying above me, but pretty close. I guess Loiosh was nervous.

Mostly what I remember from that day are faces, passed in the street. The faces of Easterners, of my people: old and young, one who seemed pleased about something, a couple who appeared unhappy, several who were lost in thought, a couple who were looking around. One guy, about my age, made eye contact with me and gave me a nod. I remember nothing of where I saw them, or what I was doing—just walking, I suppose. But I remember the faces.

“There is a moment,” Telnan had told me, “when you either attack with everything you have, or you do something else. That moment, right before you commit yourself, that’s when you learn who you are.”

“Okay,” I had told him. “What if you don’t like yourself?”

He’d laughed, like I was kidding with him. But what I ought to have asked was, how do you survive the interminable seconds, or hours, or days, that lead up to that moment? If I saw him again, I’d ask, but it was unlikely the answer would do me any good. Whatever I was, I wasn’t a Dzur.

“So tell me, Boss. Do you plan to just wander around South Adri­lankha for however many days or weeks it takes?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Oh, joy.”

A few hours later, I swung by Ristall Market. It was full of people buying and selling things. So, at least that part of the op­eration was working. While I was there, I picked up a bag of pecans and chewed on them as I walked. Pecans don’t grow near Adrilankha, they have to be imported from, uh, from somewhere. They’re ridiculously expensive. I think that’s why I like them so much.

Eventually I returned to the room and got some sleep.

Then I was holding a dagger, then Loiosh told me it was okay, then Loiosh yelled, then I woke up. It was another one of those things where what I remember isn’t what actually happened, only now those were beginning to bother me more than they used to. Was it because of Verra, or does everyone goes through that when his familiar wakes him in the middle of the night to warn that someone is about to kill him only to then tell him no, don’t worry, it’s only your friend the assassin?

Hmmm. Let me rephrase that.

On second thought, skip it.

“It’s Mario,” said Loiosh. “Sorry to scare you.”

“Better that than the alternative.”

Aloud I said, “Come in, Mario.”

The curtain moved and he entered. I lit the lamp and pointed to the chair.

He sat down and said, “Sorry to awaken you.”

“I wasn’t sleeping. What’s up?”

“It’s done.”

I yawned and nodded. “Hmmm?”

“It’s done.”

“It’s ... oh.” I wrapped my head around that. “What hap­pened?”

“Excuse me?”

I cleared my throat. “What’s the word on the street? Or, what will it be?”

“Oh.” He considered for a moment. “The sorceress was stabbed to death by a person or persons unknown as she emerged from a teleport in the middle of the night at Di’bani Circle near the Im­perial Palace. The cause of death was a single stroke by a large knife administered to the back of her neck, severing her spine. There were no witnesses. No doubt, after a thorough and lengthy investigation, the Phoenix Guards will shrug and say, ‘Mario did it’.” He didn’t smirk as he said it, which must have required great restraint.

I said. “Uh huh. I get it. No, wait. As she emerged from a teleport?”

“Sure. There’s always an instant’s disorientation when you—”

“Yes, but how did you ... never mind.”

Mario smiled.

“Thanks,” I told him.

“Least I could do, under the circumstances. Anything else you need?”

Now there was a question.

“Feel like putting a shine on the whole Jhereg? And half the Left Hand?”

“Sometimes, you know, I do.”

I nodded. “I can respect that.”

“Anything you need that’s within the bounds of reason?”

“Except for mass slaughter of the Jhereg, I don’t think this one can be solved by making anyone become dead.”

“Yeah, some things are like that. Odd, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes I can hardly believe it.”

After Mario left, I lay back down on the bed.

“Tomorrow, Loiosh. We move tomorrow.”

“I know, Boss.”

The next morning I didn’t waste any time; I was up and out in minutes. It wasn’t so much that I was in a hurry as that I was tired of doubts and second thoughts. I went to Six Corners and waited there, looking like I had nothing to do, watching. While I watched, I scribbled a note and folded it. On the outside, I put the address of the office, and directions for getting there.

In about five minutes, I spotted a candidate. I said, “Hey, boy. Come here.”

I got a suspicious look from a kid who looked like I might have looked when I was nine.

“Come here,” I repeated. “As long as you promise not to hurt me.”

That turned out to be the right tack. He came up to me, and I flipped him an imperial. “Want another one?”

He stared at the coin, tapped it, pocketed it, and grinned. “Who do I have to kill?” His voice hadn’t changed yet. He was dressed in a cotton tunic that had been bright blue a long time ago, and brown wool trousers.

“Never kill anyone for less than a thousand,” I told him. “This is easier.”

“What—”

“Run over to the City and deliver a message.”

“I’ve done that before.”

“Never for this much, I’ll wager.”

He shrugged. “I get the other one when I get back with a reply, right?”

“Right.”

“And if he doesn’t give me a reply?”

“Then you’re out of luck.”

“All right. You’ll be here?”

I nodded and handed him the note. “Do you read?”

“A little.” He frowned and stared at the writing, then he nod­ded. “I can make this out.”

“Good. If you’re back in less than two hours, I’ll make it two imperials.”

He set off at a walk, just to show me how independent he was. I’m sure he broke into a run the instant he was out of sight. I liked him.

“I could have saved you a few imperials, Boss.”

“I know. But I want you around me right now.”

“Expecting trouble?”

“No. I’m just ... I want you around.”

“Okay.”

I returned to the room, put all that was Vlad, at least exter­nally, into a sack, and said good-bye to the room. Whatever hap­pened, I wouldn’t be back there. That part didn’t make me sad.

I returned to Six Corners and bought a pear. I took my time eating it. I rinsed my hands off at the market pump and left a copper for the poor, because it would have looked funny if I hadn’t.

I spotted the kid about a minute before he spotted me. He handed me a note. I glanced at it, verified the signature, and gave the kid two imperials. He gave me an odd look.

“You’re wondering what someone like me has to do with the Jhereg.”

He nodded.

I smiled. I was briefly tempted to have him watch while I turned back into Vlad. Strange. Why would I want to impress the big comfortable chairs. It was a good place for me, because Jhereg stand out there; mostly you’ll find Dragonlords, Dzur, Lyorn, and Tiassa. I stood out, but so would the Demon, as well as anyone placed there with unfriendly intentions toward me. Also, killing someone there was liable to bring on a lot more heat from the Phoenix Guards than the Jhereg would like.

I got looks from everyone there when I came in. That was good. I’d have been worried about anyone who didn’t give me a glance or two. I walked straight to the rear, where there were two doors back-to-back. I glanced at the host. He pointed to the right-hand door, and I took it.

It was a private little room, well lit, with no windows, and, above all, no one in it. I left the door open and took a seat around to the side, where I could see the only door well enough, but without ostentatiously placing myself in an ideal defensive position. Loiosh and Rocza sat on my shoulders, unmoving, waiting, like me. I caught the faint psychic whispers that indicated they were having some conversation with each other. There was a steady, quiet hum of conversation from the next room. No one was loud at the White Lantern.

I checked the time. It was just the sixth hour. I waited.

About two minutes later, a Jhereg I didn’t recognize came in, glanced at me without acknowledging my presence, let his eye flick over the rest of the room, and then nodded back toward the door. The Demon came through next, followed by another bodyguard, who closed the door. The Demon hadn’t changed much. I didn’t stand.

He sat down across from me and said, “All right. Talk.”

“Shall we get a drink first?”

“Talk.”

“You don’t want to be sociable?”

He looked at me.

“Damn,” I said. “And here I thought we were friends.”

“Talk,” he said, with a sort of “this is the last time I’m going to say it before I have people kill you and I don’t care what deal we’ve made or what the consequences might be you scum-sucking asshole” intonation to it. I’m good with intonations.

“A bunch of people want the number-one seat on the Coun­cil. I—”

“You applying for the job?”

I chuckled. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass. I’m thinking of going into dry goods.”

“Uh huh.”

“Terion’s got the backing of the Left Hand, for reasons we don’t need to go into. You—”

“You did it!” he burst out suddenly.

I raised an eyebrow and didn’t say anything. He grunted. “All right. Go on.”

“I can get you the game.”

“You can, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“That’s my business.”

“If you think that’s going to let you off the hook for what you did—”

“No, I don’t. Me getting off the hook isn’t part of the deal. But I do want thirty hours, just so I can finish this.”

“I don’t speak for the Jhereg.”

“Thirty hours from your people.”

“That would not be impossible. Let’s hear it, then.”

“South Adrilankha.”

“What about it?”

“I want it to be hands-off for the Jhereg. All of it.”

“For how long?”

“Let’s say ... until the end of the next Dragon Reign.”

“That could be quite a while.”

“Yes.”

“You are unlikely to still be alive by then.”

I chuckled. “That’s something of an understatement.”

“My point is, Lord Taltos, how do you expect to enforce it?”

“I trust you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Well, yeah, I guess I don’t.”

“So, then?”

“I have friends.”

He look at me and waited.

I said, “I imagine you’ve already heard about who had a shine put on her last night.”

He put a few things together in his mind and nodded slowly. “I see.”

“Yeah.”

“That would do it, I expect. You’re asking a lot, you know.”

“I know.”

“The Organization will grow there on its own, and it will be crying out for someone to run it. There will be a lot of work in­volved in keeping the Jhereg out of there.”

“That’s how I see it, too. But you know what you get for it.”

“Can you deliver?”

“I think so.”

“You think so.”

I nodded. “And, of course, if you don’t end up in the number-one spot, you don’t pay.”

“And your life isn’t part of the deal?”

“Nope.”

“Okay. What else?”

“As part of leaving South Adrilankha alone, you negotiate with the Left Hand. They’re the ones running it, and—”

“Your wife. That’s the meat of the whole thing, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“All right. I was trying to figure out why you got involved in this in the first place. Now I know.”

“Uh huh.”

“You dived into this whole thing for her.”

“Yep.”

“Like a Dzur hero come to save the maiden.”

“You got it.”

“How does she feel about that?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“That’s what I figured.”

“Do we have a deal?”

“I gotta be honest. I don’t know if I can call off the Left Hand at this point. They aren’t under any authority but their own.”

“No, but if they get, uh, called off, as you put it, I think you can negotiate with them to stay out.”

He gave me a contemplative look. “I don’t know what you have in mind, of course. But that would depend on exactly how they get called off.”

“Yeah.”

“Care to tell me about it?”

“No.”

“Then I can’t give you an answer, can I?”

“I’m negotiating with them.”

“Negotiating.”

“Uh huh. If you want, you can show up for the negotiations.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll be meeting with them around seventh hour, give or take.”

“Where?”

“In South Adrilankha. There’s a district called Six Corners. Not far from there is a house, Number Eleven Stranger’s Road. We’ll be meeting there.”

“And I’m invited?”

“Yes. At least, that’s where we’re starting the negotiations.”

“And when will these negotiations be concluded?”

“Like I said before, I’ll need about thirty hours.”

“Then I can’t give you an answer before then.”

“Sure you can. A conditional answer.”

He nodded slowly. “You’re asking a lot, you know.”

“You’re getting a lot.”

“Yes, I am.”

“And, as I said, feel free to show up.”

“Yeah. I might do that.”

I gave him some time to think it over. A part of me regretted that I wasn’t still in the Organization, working for someone like him. He’d be a good guy to work for. And life would be so much simpler.

After a moment, he nodded. “Okay on the thirty hours. And, yeah, depending on how these negotiations go, I’ll agree that if you get me the position, I’ll keep us out of South Adrilankha un­til the end of the next Dragon Reign, or until I’m knocked on the head, whichever comes first.”

“That works,” I said.

“You know it won’t make any difference, right?”

“Hmmm?”

“I mean, if you’re thinking that you’ll be doing something to help those people—”

“I’m not. If anything, it’ll be worse for them, unless they find someone who knows how to run this sort of operation efficiently.”

He nodded. “She must be some kind of woman.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“It’s too bad things worked out this way, Vlad. I’d have liked to have you working for me.”

I nodded.

“Good luck,” he said.

“Thanks.”

He got up and walked out, taking his bodyguard with him.

“Good going, Vlad,” said Kragar. “Now, can you pull it off?”

“I hope so,” I said. 16. Red Wine

There was a place I passed through when I visited the East a couple of years ago. It was sort of a meadow, extended downward from a bare, rocky slope, and ending in woods. It wasn’t very big; standing on the top of the slope you could see the woods clearly enough. But in that place, there were an odd collection of berry plants and flowers, and I happened to hit it at a time when they were all emitting their specialized scents. There were wild roses, brittleberries, whiteblossom, honeykeolsch, and clover.

I mention this, even though at the time my mind was on other things and I didn’t pay much attention, because, though it was of the type that is called “full” and “deep” and “strongly flavored,” there were hints of most of those in the wine Mihi brought to accompany the beef.

I set the glass down and opened my eyes.

Mihi winked at me and walked away as Telnan drank some wine and nodded. “Goes good with the food,” he said.

“Got lucky,” I said.

He flashed me a grin. Only one meal, and he was already figuring out my sense of humor.

“I’ll bet there’s a whole art to that, isn’t there? I mean, picking the right wine to go with a meal.”

“There is,” I told him. “I don’t know how they do it, but I’m glad to reap the rewards.”

He nodrlcd. “Think you can really tell the difference, though? I mean, between a wine that goes perfectly with what you’re eating, and wine that only sort of goes with it? Is there, I don’t know, a lot more pleasure, or something?”

I actually had to think about that, for more reasons than to try to figure out what he was asking. “There are a lot of things,” I said, “that you don’t actually notice, but have an effect anyway.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” said the Dzur. He looked lost in thought for a minute. “That really is true,” he repeated, as if I’d said something profound.

I let him think so while I ate some more of the beef.

I said, “They chill it just a bit, for me, even though it isn’t supposed to be served that way. Not chilled like a white wine, but just a little chilled. I just think wine is better when it’s a little bit cold. Unlike brandy.”

“And heroics,” he said, grinning.

“Hmmm?”

“It’s hardest to be a hero when you have to do it cold.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“I was just making a joke.”

“Oh, all right.”

“But it’s true, though.”

“I don’t—”

“It’s one thing to go charging into a fight when you’re outnum­bered, and you just, you know, hack away as best you can. It’s another when you have to just sit there, everything against you, and no one to actually attack. All the demons in your head start on you, and, it’s like, you’re giving yourself every chance to be afraid, but you have to keep on anyway. I’m not describing it very well.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in that situation.”

“It’s not as much fun as you might think.”

I nodded and took another sip of wine. Just a little bit chilled, the way I like it.

“You were there for the whole thing?” I asked.

Kragar shook his head. “I arrived late.”

“I thought you might do that. Were you expecting him to make a play for me?”

“Vlad, you aren’t out of here, yet.”

“True.”

“I’ll go out first.”

“Just like the old days.”

“Sort of.”

“Hey, Kragar, I’m trying to remember something.”

“Yeah?”

“You know, all those times I walked out of a door wondering if someone was on the other side waiting to put a nice pretty shine on my skin, was there ever anyone there?”

“You mean, has anyone come after you when you were looking for it? Not that I recall, but maybe I wasn’t around.”

“This might be the first time, you know.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re a superstitious East­erner, and you think if you say it, it won’t happen.”

“Exactly.”

“Good plan.”

It worked, too. At least, no one took a shot at me when I left the Lantern.

“What now?” he asked. “You hungry? We should have gotten something to eat.”

“Yeah, I’ll just sort of hang out here for another hour or two, that would be smart.”

He chuckled. “Office?”

“Sounds good.”

We made it there with no trouble, but I’d be lying if said I wasn’t nervous during the walk.

The guy running the game nodded to me as I went past. He ignored Kragar.

“How do you do it?” I asked him when we were in my old office, with him behind the desk.

“Do what?”

“Get people to obey your orders, when they don’t even know you’re there.”

“Oh. I write a lot of notes.”

“Dangerous.”

“They get burned. And you know how it is: There’s usually nothing incriminating in them anyway.”

“I don’t know, Kragar. All it takes is one that—”

“You want the job back, Vlad?”

“No, thanks.”

“Then shut up.”

“Right. Shutting up.”

“What happens next?”

“The Left Hand comes after me.”

“How are you avoiding them?”

“I’m not.”

He studied me. “You’re going to let them find you?”

“I’m going to them.”

“Mind if I ask why?”

“Because I can’t have them chasing me. Having the Jhereg chasing me is bad enough; having the Left Hand—”

“Wait. You don’t want them chasing you, so you’re going to give yourself up to them? I mean, in one sense it’s logical, but—”

“I probably shouldn’t have tried to explain.”

“Yeah, that was a mistake. Where is this happening?”

“There’s a house in South Adrilankha where the Left Hand has set up shop.”

“Where exactly?”

“You don’t need to know.”

“A house full of sorceresses, and you’re going to just walk into it?”

“Pulling them out of it, actually. And there aren’t as many of them as there were yesterday at this time.”

“Ugh. Need backup?”

“You can’t help with this one, unless you’re a better sorcerer than I think you are.”

“You aren’t that much of a sorcerer yourself, Vlad.”

“I have help arranged.”

“All right. But if you want a spare knife, I don’t mind—”

“No, thanks.”

He nodded. “I knew you were going to say that. That’s why I didn’t mind asking.”

“Uh huh. You hungry? I’m buying.”

“How about if I send someone to pick something up?”

“Embarrassed to be seen with me in public?”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

“Well, yeah.”

He arranged for seafood soup with sour bread from the Locket. It showed up and we ate it. I’d never eaten at the Locket, though it wasn’t far from the office. I don’t know why I’d never gotten there. Too bad; they made a good soup.

While we were eating he said, “Aren’t you going to ask me about that name you wanted?”

“You mean, you have it already?”

“Yeah, that’s really why I showed up there. Finding a shoemaker in South Adrilankha seemed like too much trouble.”

“Okay, I’m impressed.”

He bowed.

“So, who is it?”

“Nylanth.”

“I’ve heard that name. Who is he?”

“He’s on the Council. He controls part of South Adrilankha anyway, so I guess he figured—”

“What part?”

“Shipping.”

“Shipping? What is there to control with shipping?”

“Vlad, not everything shipped is exactly legal.”

“Oh. Don’t the Orca handle that?”

“Yeah. He buys Orca as he needs them. And he also runs some gambling by the piers.”

I nodded. “Okay, makes sense, then. How is he reacting?”

“To you messing up his plans? Well, if he wasn’t already trying to kill you, as was the whole rest of the Organization, I’m sure he’d start trying now. As it is, nothing much has changed.”

“Yeah, that’s the nice thing about the position I’m in: It’s hard to make it any worse.”

“I don’t think that’s true. You could make it worse. You could put yourself in the hands of a bunch of sorceresses who want to kill you; that would be worse.”

“I’d never do anything that foolish.”

“Oh. Good, then. Any steps to be taken?”

“Steps?”

“Regarding Nylanth.”

“Oh.” I thought about that.

“No,” I finally said. “Let him keep chasing me around South Adrilankha; I don’t think he has much of a role to play anymore.”

“Okay.”

We finished up, and left the crockery on Kragar’s desk. I said, “Okay, I think it’s time for me to move.”

“Just a minute.”

He closed his eyes for about a minute, then said, “I wouldn’t go out the front, Vlad.”

“Someone waiting?”

“My people didn’t see anyone, but said they can’t promise anything. Too much street traffic.”

“Oh. If there is someone waiting, the back will be covered, too.”

“Yep. Take the tunnel.”

“Excellent. Good. Perfect. What tunnel?”

“I’ve made some changes.”

“Why? I mean, why you of all people? You could walk out the front door and no one would notice.”

“I figured you might be back, and I know you aren’t teleport­ing much these days.”

“So you put in a tunnel?”

“Just a short one.”

“Where does it come up?”

“Behind the haberdasher’s just this side of Malak Circle.”

“Okay. Where does it start?”

“There was the room in the basement where an ancient people used to practice their heathen rites.”

“My lab?”

“I had no use for it.”

“I guess not. All right, lead the way.”

“Oh, Vlad—”

“Hmmm?”

“Nice boots.”

He lit a lantern and led the way down the stairs and into the basement. The musty smell and the feel of the dirt floor brought back a lot of memories. Most of my old gear was gone, but the bra­zier was still there, on its side up against the far wall. I didn’t see any doorway, so I looked a question at him.

He smirked and gave one of the sconces on the wall a twist. Nothing changed, but I heard a faint “click.”

“A secret entrance with a hidden passage with a secret latch,” I remarked. “I don’t hardly believe it.”

“I couldn’t resist.”

“Did you go all the way and kill the builders?”

“I forgot that part.”

He went over to the middle of the left-hand wall and gave it a push. It swung open without a sound. He led the way. It was narrow—just barely room to walk forward—but tall enough that Kragar didn’t have to stoop. The walls looked finished, probably with tile, and his boots went clack against the floor. When I spoke, there were echoes.

“You left the basement floor dirt, but put a floor in this?”

“Well, when you turned things over to me, I had all this money I didn’t know what to do with.”

I didn’t have an answer for that, so I shut up and followed the dancing light of the lantern he held. It seemed like a very long walk.

The tunnel didn’t branch, but led straight to a stairway, which ended in a narrow door. Kragar put his face against it.

“A peephole?” I said.

“Of course.”

He pulled on a rope that hung from the ceiling, and the door opened.

He stepped out, looked around, and nodded to me. Loiosh left my shoulder and flew out, then I followed. There was no one there.