Hawk

13

There are various reasons for preferring a delivered message to psychic communication. The three most usual reasons are: that a piece of paper signed by a witness is more official; that you don’t know the other person well enough to communicate psychically; and that if you remove the amulet you’re wearing that prevents psychic communication, the Jhereg will know where you are, and it will thus be easier for them to plunge a Morganti weapon into some appropriate portion of your anatomy. This last reason, I would guess, is less common than the other two.

Dotted throughout Adrilankha are small “offices” (sometimes nothing more than outdoor stands) marked by a yellow stripe. Here you can find a runner who will, for a small fee, deliver a message anywhere in the city. Rumor has it that the original owner had a gambling problem, followed by a not-paying-his-debt problem, followed by a someone-now-owns-half-your-business problem. If true, whoever the Jhereg was has to be pretty wealthy by now, because the business keeps growing, with more and more of these places appearing all the time.

The nearest one was a quarter of a mile away. I went there, composed a message addressed to Lady Saruchka, care of the Ball of Yarn Tavern and Music Hall, and sent it on its way.

Back in the office, I had a quick meal of bread, cheese, sausages, and Loiosh complaining about eating the same thing all the time. I went through the list of what we’d eaten lately, but those were only facts, so they didn’t impress him. I told him we’d have a good meal when this was all over. He pointed out that I’d likely be dead. I suggested that would be fine, and asked if he would be willing to deliver his complaints then. He gave me an evasive answer.

Then he said, “Next we get in touch with Daymar?”

“I think we’re out of excuses.”

I reviewed the list. I had the cloak, the ring, the lockpick, and the wand was coming-almost everything.

My heart gave a thump. It had been doing that a lot lately. I wished it would stop. I mean, stop giving random thumps, not, you know, stop.

I wrote a note and gave it to Loiosh. He sighed and flew off to deliver it to Daymar. I picked up the book on Imperial trade laws just to make sure that I knew the relevant section well enough. I tried reciting it from memory; succeeded. Tried again, succeeded again. I took out the koelsch leaves Auntie gave me, found a bowl, and used the pommel of a dagger to pound them into a powder.

I heard a commotion out in the office, and decided that Daymar was there. Someone stuck his head in and was probably about to tell me so when Daymar brushed past him. In his hand was a tube about four inches in diameter and maybe four feet long. And my heart thumped again, because he had what I wanted, which meant, on the plus side, that I was closer to being ready, and on the minus side, that I was closer to being ready.

He handed me the tube.

* * *

It is said that before the arrival of Men or Dragaerans, so long ago even the hills have forgotten, in secret caverns deep in the mountains, an ancient race called the Serioli constructed artifacts of breathtaking beauty, profound subtlety, and unimaginable power.

All of which is true, but has nothing to do with this. The object called the Wand of Ucerics was made by a Hawklord in Adrilankha about two hundred years ago. The creation of powerful magical tools, generally, is the result of one of three things: the desire to impress a lover; an accident while trying to create something else entirely; or a side project created to assist while working toward something considered more significant by the creator. This was the third.

Ucerics had been taken with the notion that it should be possible to teach a wounded or diseased body to heal itself, something sorcerers had been working on for more than ten millennia. Ucerics’s notion had to do with stimulating the nervous system in combination with the knowledge contained in the body’s cellular structure, and, from hanging out with Aliera, I almost know what some of that means. Ucerics made the wand to visualize cell structures, and, just for convenience, added in an enchantment to help keep him awake while he worked.

When he passed away from acute exhaustion, malnutrition, and sleep deprivation, the wand, with all of his other possessions, went to his only surviving relative: his nephew, Daymar. I found out about it many years ago, and wondered, even then, if it might be useful someday.

* * *

One end of the case had a cover. I removed it, and slid the contents out: a narrow rod that appeared to be made of glass, though it wasn’t.

“That’s it, Vlad.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know how to use it?”

I nodded.

“Why do you want it?”

I looked at him. That look was sending a message, a reminder, that I had already told him all that I wanted to tell him. The message, as it happened, didn’t get through; he waited.

I sighed. “Why do you think?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been trying to imagine. With that amulet on, you won’t be able to detect anything.”

“I know.”

“Will you take the amulet off?”

“No.”

He frowned. “Are you going to make me guess?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“You don’t have to guess.”

“Unless you worry about falling asleep suddenly.”

“Yes, I do. The fear of it keeps me awake at night.”

He nodded, then frowned. “Ah, I see. Yes. The fear of falling asleep keeps you awake, so you aren’t worried about falling asleep. Yes. That’s why it’s funny. I see what you did there.”

“Thank all the gods for that.”

“And you still won’t tell me?”

“When it’s all over, I’ll tell you.”

“What if you’re dead?”

“Then I won’t tell you.”

“No, I suppose you won’t.”

“Thank you for the loan,” I said. “I should be done with it by nightfall tomorrow, one way or the other.”

“All right. Is there anything else you need?”

“A good night’s sleep.”

“Yes, well, good luck with that.”

“Thanks.”

“And with, you know, the other thing.”

“Thanks.”

He turned to go, and I said, “Daymar.”

He turned back. “Hmmm?”

“Thanks.”

He nodded and walked out, shoulders a little stooped, his tread heavy. I wondered if I’d ever see him again.

“Cut it out, Boss.”

“What. I’m in danger. I could be killed. I can’t even look on the bright side?”

I sat down, leaned against a wall, and closed my eyes. A last meal at Valabar’s would be nice. A last talk with my son would be even nicer. And Cawti. What was I-no, stop it, you idiot. All of those are out of the question anyway. Just think how good it’ll be when that becomes your biggest problem, Vlad. So forget the crap and make things work.

Heh. Now Loiosh had me so well trained I was doing it myself.

I went over it all in my head, yet again, looking for things that might go wrong and figuring out what to do about them; or as many of them as possible.

And, you know, it wasn’t that bad. Yeah, there were places I was playing probabilities instead of near certainties, but I had contingencies for most of those.

“I think we have a shot, Loiosh.”

“I think so too, Boss. But I don’t like it that I’m not in the room.”

“Actually, that works out better for us.”

“Yeah, you said that before. But I don’t see how.”

“It means you can be where I need you to be.”

“Yeah, I know. But where is that, and why?”

“Outside. Holding that, and being ready to use it.”

I pointed to the neat little clear ball that Morrolan had given me: a standard, military-issue smoke bomb, only mildly sorcerous, and very reliable.

“So you’re afraid of an attack from outside the room?”

“Exactly. And if that happens, I’ll be climbing up a cliff on a ladder built into the rock, and be in no condition to defend myself.”

“Got it,” he said.

Deragar clapped and opened the door. “Lord Taltos, someone is here to see you.”

“The most stunningly beautiful Issola you’ve ever seen?”

He nodded. “Expecting her, huh. Well, my opinion of you just climbed a few notches.”

“Good. Now I can sleep nights. So I don’t need the wand.”

“Wand?”

“Never mind. Send her in.”

“I will.”

I stood up. “Hello, Sara,” I said. “Thank you for coming by.”

She wrapped me in a hug, then kissed the top of my head.

* * *

I’ve heard a lot of people say music is magical, and a few say magic is musical. I don’t know. Both sound like the sort of clever things people say to make their listeners nod wisely, but when you pick it up to look at it, it crumbles. Or maybe I’m wrong; that isn’t my area.

But it is true-or at least, Sethra told me, and that’s close enough to true for most purposes-that music was one of the first things that magic was applied to, and that the magical arts have been enhanced by music for almost as long. By now, some have even gotten pretty good at it.

So, yeah, even if you don’t buy into stupid aphorisms, there are a lot of enchantments for music, and a lot of musical instruments that carry enchantments. Most Issola had a few, and Lady Saruchka was no exception. She had mentioned the ensorcelled euphonium as an instrument she had no use for: no interest in playing it, nor in being in the sort of orchestra that required one. For the most part, she played instruments that permitted her to sing at the same time, and I’d never known her to play with more than four other musicians at the same time. She’d told me once that it wasn’t the number of musicians that mattered, it was the size of the stage; she liked what she called intimate venues, which I guess means small.

The most basic enchantment that can be put on a musical instrument is, of course, the ability to play it. As I understand it, the more musical skill you have, the better it works, even more if you already know how to play that particular instrument. Or something like that.

And, since we’re doing the whole balance thing, the better you are at playing an instrument, the better you can use any spell that uses the instrument to enhance sorcery, the better your sorcery will work; and the better you are at sorcery, well, you know.

Sara had acquired-she was a little vague as to how-a euphonium that did both; it had a spell that permitted anyone to play it competently, and it had an enchantment that permitted fine control of psychic phenomena; and I imagine that now you’re getting an idea of why I wanted it.

When you don’t have the skill you need, you hire someone who does; and when you can’t do that, you find a way to fake it. Some days I think that explains most of my career.

* * *

“You’re welcome,” she said, handing me an instrument case. “Here is what you asked for.”

I took it, but didn’t open it. “Have a chair.”

She did, and looked around. “This is where you’re living now?”

I sat down facing her, relaxed, and crossed my legs. She sat upright, but on her it looked relaxed. “I’d put it as staying, not living. Just for another day.”

“Oh?”

“Then I should have things settled.”

“What things?”

“If it works, I won’t have to run anymore.”

“Vlad, really?”

“Yes.”

“You might get out of trouble with the Jhereg?”

“There’s a good chance.”

“What are you going to do?”

“You mean, afterward, instead of running? Well, I thought-”

“You know very well that isn’t what I meant.”

I sighed. “It’s complicated, and involves some internal Jhereg matters, and arcane magic that I don’t understand, and Imperial trade laws that I understand even less.”

“You said if it works.”

“Yeah.”

“What if it doesn’t.”

I didn’t answer.

“Oh,” she said.

“Like I said, I think I have a good shot.”

“And you need the ensorcelled euphonium?”

I nodded.

“For something mysterious and arcane.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you couldn’t perform magic with that amulet on.”

“I’m taking it off.”

“Is that safe?”

“No. But I’ve reason to think I’ll be able to get away with it.”

“I hate it when you’re mysterious. It means you don’t want to tell me the details because I’ll know how idiotic it is.”

I tried to keep my face inscrutable. I didn’t do well. She studied me carefully, then said, “All right.”

“Have you heard from the Teckla boy?”

“Last month. He’s still improving. He’s able to do his chores, and some of his lessons, and he even talks a little around the dinner table sometimes.”

“Good.”

“Maybe, if this works, we could visit him.”

“Because I’m so well-loved around Smallcliff?”

She smiled. “We’ll see.”

I cast my mind back to that time in that little village. It’s strange. I know I was almost killed. I know that it took everything I had, plus a lot of luck, to get out of that mess. But somehow, looking back, I couldn’t understand how I could have even been worried about it. It’s like everything then was so easy, so simple. Someone wanted me dead, I had to fight him. I did. I lived. Simple. I know that isn’t true; it’s the sort of trick your mind plays on you in retrospect. But it sure seemed like it.

“Vlad? What is it?”

“Yes. If we can manage it, after I’ve had some time to catch up with my son, I’d very much enjoy going back to Smallcliff.”

She smiled. “It’s a plan then.”

“Boss?”

“Yeah?”

“You told her you were going to remove the amulet.”

“Yeah.”

“You told Daymar you weren’t.”

“Yeah.”

“Which time were you lying?”

“Maybe both.”

“I hate it when you try to sound mysterious,” he said.

“That’s not the only reason I do it, you know.”

“I’m reassured.”

By now, Sara knew me well enough to recognize the signs of a conversation with Loiosh she wasn’t privy to. She smirked a little, then turned serious and said, “What can I do to help?”

“The euphonium is a great help.”

“Do you know how to use it?”

“Um. I thought it did that by itself.”

“Mostly. But the more you can play it, the more-”

“I can’t play at all, Sara.”

“I can show you how to hold it, at least. That will help.”

I nodded. “Good. Everything I can do that will-yeah, you know.”

She nodded. “Open it up.”

I managed that part. It was shiny and made of brass and looked like a thick tube twisted around and around itself, with knobs here and there. It was the sort of thing that looked like there couldn’t possibly be a comfortable way to hold it. It wasn’t as heavy as it looked.

“Pick it up,” she said. “Hold it in your lap. Let me-”

She stood up, walked behind my chair, and adjusted it in my lap.

“That’s rather distracting,” I said.

“Work on concentration.”

“Um, yeah.”

“No, more like this. Your mouth goes there. And your right hand there. No, turn your wrist more, like that. Try pressing down on the valves.”

“That isn’t comfortable.”

“It isn’t supposed to be.”

“And it is very distracting.”

“Think about the discomfort. This arm holds the instrument in place, and your fingers rest there.”

“Is my missing finger going to be a problem?”

“It’s usually just used for support, so just put the next one through that loop. Yes, that’s right. How did you lose it, anyway?”

“A dzur wanted my hand for a snack and mostly missed.”

“All right. Now, make your mouth do this.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. When you want to play, you don’t just blow into it.…”

The following half an hour was bizarrely irritating and pleasant, but by the end of it, I was making sounds come out of the thing without the help of spells.

They weren’t terribly good sounds, mind you; nothing I’d be inclined to call music. But Sara was very kind about it, and even told me that the weird ache I was feeling below my ears meant I was doing it right. That was sort of a disturbing thought. We spent a little more time on it, so I could at least sometimes hit the right “valves” as she called them. She said that would help with the spell.

“Not bad,” she said.

“You’re a good teacher.”

I thought about trying to kiss her right then, or at least asking her if I could; but things were complicated. For one thing, we were different species and I wasn’t sure how she felt about that-I wasn’t even entirely sure how I felt about that. For another, I wasn’t over Cawti, and she knew it. And for another, I might be dead in a day or two. Plenty of time to decide about that sort of thing if there was plenty of time; not very nice if there wasn’t.

Or, I don’t know; maybe I was just worried about being embarrassed if she said no. I put the instrument back in its case, which required a lesson in itself, but let’s not dwell on that.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” she asked, breaking what was about to become an awkward silence.

I shook my head. “No, this is good.”

“You’ll get hold of me, once this is over?”

“First thing,” I said.

“Thank you,” she said, and stood up. “I should be going.”

I nodded.

“Vlad-” she said, then shook her head and didn’t finish.

“Yeah,” I said. “You’re about to say good luck.”

She gave a sort of smile. “Yes. Good luck.”

She gave me a kiss on the top of my head and walked out of the office.

“Boss.”

“Yeah, I’m over it.”

“I don’t believe you, but all right.”

“Heh.”

“Okay, now what?”

“Now we get a message to the Demon and have him set a time for tomorrow.”

“Then we’re ready?”

“Not really, but we’re going to do it anyway.”

“Tomorrow!”

“Yeah, that’ll be a busy day.”

“We should eat something.”

“I need sleep more than food. But we have to go out again. Dammit. A long walk this time.”

“Important, I take it?”

“Well, everything depends on it, if that’s what you mean.”

“In that case, we really should have food first.”

“Oh, all right. Food first.”

“You know, Boss, I’m not used to doing all these things that make me happy. Getting out from under the Organization, killing Terion, and now food.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you get used to it.”

“This is my surprised wing-flap.”

Deragar was willing to get some food for the mere price of a share in the meal. He retrieved some baked felua in coriander-plum sauce from a place called Jarad’s, because I’d been in a mood for flying things for a while. Loiosh commented on it in terms I don’t feel like telling you about. The food was good, even though Jarad’s was far enough away that it wasn’t quite as hot as it should have been. Deragar also picked up a bottle of Descani, which reminded me of the evening all that time back that, in some sense, had started this. More important, however, was that it was a good wine and treated the felua well. I wondered if Deragar knew more about wine than most Dragaerans, or had just gotten lucky. There was no polite way to ask him, however, so I didn’t.

We ate in companionable silence. Deragar kept watching Loiosh and Rocza eat, but he didn’t say anything about it, and neither did they.

When we’d finished eating and had quite demolished the wine, I gave Deragar a little money, and asked him to buy me a wheelbarrow and some clothing appropriate for a peasant. I also gave him a message for delivery to the Demon; tomorrow would be the day.

Deragar gave me a raised eyebrow that suddenly reminded me of Kragar, and headed out.

I sat in an uncomfortable chair and crossed and re-crossed my legs and stretched and got up and sat down again until he came back. It wasn’t long, maybe half an hour.

“This is bound to be good,” he said.

“Not as exciting as you might think.”

“Can I watch?”

“No, not for this.”

He shrugged, reminding me of Kragar again. “All right.”

“Where’s the barrow?”

“Downstairs.”

“Good.”

“Boss? Why do we need a wheelbarrow?”

“To complete the peasant disguise.”

“Really? That’s all?”

“Really. That’s all.”

“Even though it’s empty?”

“When’s the last time you noticed whether a wheelbarrow was empty?”

“Um. Okay.”

I transformed myself into a lowly peasant Easterner. I’m glad I didn’t have a mirror. I threw some dirt on myself and rubbed it in a bit, just to put the final touches on.

Then I collected Rocza, Loiosh, and Loiosh’s attitude, and the four of us snuck out of the tunnel once more, complete with wheelbarrow. For once I wasn’t too worried about an attack, since no one would imagine I was, you know, me. It’s the sort of thing you can get away with for a while, if you’re willing.

Wheelbarrows are, no doubt, fine machines; but they’re still machines. And as far as I’m concerned, mechanical devices have no reason to exist except to do a bad job of something sorcery can do a good job of. There must be more to it than that, or there wouldn’t be all those mechanical devices. I mean, would there? Yeah, okay, so maybe not everyone is good enough at sorcery to pull it off, or rich enough to pay someone else to. I’ve also heard the argument that some things are just easier and more natural when done the hard way; I’m just not sure I buy it.

If I had had any idea how hard it would be to keep wheeling that thing through the streets of Adrilankha, I might have changed my mind about the whole plan. And when I reflected that Teckla usually had something heavy in one, my opinion of Teckla went up; I made a mental note to tell Cawti that when I could. If I could. The good part was that inside of ten minutes I was as filthy and stinky and sweaty as any peasant, and I felt safer than I had in some time. Though if the choice was to live like this or face soul-death, I’d go for the soul-death. No I wouldn’t. Yes I would. Maybe.

Glad the situation hasn’t come up, though.

Amazing how loud those things are, too.