Jhegaala

I strained, and there was whispering, followed by the drunk again: "Lemme sleep."

The whisper again, and this time I could make out words: "Lahchi, someone's in the house!"

I considered calling back, "No there isn't," but it didn't seem like that good an idea. I set the candle down.

My eyes had adjusted enough that I was able to position myself next to the door. I turned to the side and pulled up the collar of my cloak. I could hear him fumbling around in the room, and when the door opened I got enough of a glimpse of the bedroom to note the position of people and objects.

I reminded myself that with humans, the throat is more intimidating than the back of the neck; I'm not sure exactly why that is, but it's the sort of thing worth knowing.

This was going to have to be fast. The dagger I carried at my I belt had the heaviest pommel, so I picked that; as he walked by me, I gave him a sharp one to the back of the head; I had no idea if he'd lose consciousness, but in his present state it ought to be enough to complete his disorientation. Before he hit the floor I was next to the bed pressing the back of the dagger against the woman's throat. Cold steel against your throat in the dark is going to get your attention, and by using the dull side I could press hard without getting blood everywhere. I spoke in a normal tone of voice.

"Not a sound, not a motion, not a whisper, or you're both dead."

The moment when she might have screamed came and went. I heard him moaning a little.

"Got an eye on him, Loiosh?"

"Got it, Boss.”

I said, "I have no intention of killing, hurting, or even stealing from you. Don't do anything to change my mind. I have questions. You'll answer them, then I'll leave. Nod your head."

She nodded once. Her eyes were very wide.

"Your husband is a witch. Are you as well?"

Her eyes widened. I repeated the question.

She nodded again. Good, that saved some trouble.

"Are you a member of the Coven?"

Hesitation, then a nod.

"Who runs it?"

"I, we, I don't know."

"You don't know."

"The heads of the Coven, they appoint each other, secretly. They wear hoods at gatherings. When they invite you, they're all hooded and you never know who they are."

Well, okay; Noish-pa had mentioned that it worked that way sometimes. At least I had confirmed that there was a Coven; that was progress.

"I need to know about the two sorts of witchcraft in this town. You'll explain it to me."

From ambient light from the candle in the next room, I could see her just well enough to observe that she looked puzzled. I pulled the knife from her throat, but kept it in my hand. I said, "Take a moment to think. It is important to me to understand, and no one will answer my questions. You will answer my questions. Yes?"

"I don't understand," she whispered.

"You don't need to understand, you just need to tell me what I want to know."

"Who are you?"

"The one with the knife. Someone said something about witches who follow the light, and those who follow the dark. What does that mean?"

I had a certain amount of sympathy for the woman. You wake up in the middle of the night, your husband is dead drunk and then he gets slugged by a stranger who's invaded your home, and the stranger wants to ask you esoteric questions about the nature of the arcane arts. It can't be easy to wrap your head around that well enough to give a coherent answer, no matter how much you want to, so when her mouth had opened and closed a few times, and I saw panic building in her eyes, I said, "All right, let me try something easier. Why did most of the Merss family leave town?"

"The Merss family?"

"Yes. The ones who weren't killed yesterday."

"But they left years ago."

"I know. Why?"

"I don't know. It was years ago. Before I was born. I just heard about it."

"What did you hear?"

"They were the last of the followers of the dark way."

"What do followers of the dark way do that followers of the light way don't?"

"They practiced forbidden magic."

"What magic is forbidden?"

"They summoned demons."

As far as I could tell, she actually believed that. She was a witch, and she believed that. How can you practice the Art and yet remain so ignorant of it? It was nonsense, of course. There are such things as demons, and, yes, they can be summoned, but not by witchcraft. To summon a demon requires breaking through the barriers that separate realities—and no, that makes no more sense to me than it does to you, unless you happen to have studied necromancy, in which case you know a lot more about this stuff than I do so why are you asking me? But the point is, the art of the witch is simply to use the energy of the mind to manipulate probabilities, and there are strictly limited ways in which that can be done. Yeah, one time I caused a small object to be transported to me from thousands of miles away using witchcraft, and I know you aren't supposed to be able to do that, either; but that is a lot different from bending the entire shape of reality within a given space to make a rift in something that doesn't exist in the first place.

Besides, I was desperate that time. I don't want to think about it.

What mattered here wasn't whether the "dark" witches had actually done this, what mattered was that this woman thought they could. And this whole "dark" and "light" business had a smell to it that reminded me a lot of the mill—meaning it stank, if that was too subtle for you. The dark way? The light way? Who thinks like that? Who sees the world in those terms? It isn't something to be believed by anyone with any sense; it's something to convince the gullible of.

Which was the answer, wasn't it? Someone was trying to put one over on a lot of people. And, to judge from this woman, it was working.

So, then, why? In whose interest was it to believe that there were a group of people with this sort of power? Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to sell one hell of a big lie, and there had to be a reason for it.

And my family had been the casualty of a big lie; at least, those who hadn't gotten out—

"Wait, you said they left before you were born?"

She nodded.

"I thought they had only left ten or fifteen years ago."

"Oh, them. I don't think they were witches. They just left because, well, because having the name Merss isn't easy around here. I think they went to the City. It wasn't me!" she said suddenly, looking frightened again. "I mean, I didn't do anything to them, or even say anything about them. It was the others, you know."

"What about the ones who were witches?"

"They left the country. Some say they went West to sell their souls to the elfs."

Yeah, some would say that.

"And the ones who were killed—who did it?"

"I don't know!" She sounded close to panic.

"I'm not accusing you. But you must have an idea, a theory. You heard about it, you must have, had a thought about who it was."

She shook her head.

Was there any way to get more information out of her? Probably not. I could spend an hour getting her calmed down and she still wouldn't want to name anyone. And if I applied pressure, she'd be much more likely to lie than to point the finger at someone who deserved it. That still might be useful information, though. I was in a sort of mood to apply pressure anyway, just for the satisfaction of seeing someone sweat. But I had something to do, and I'd get more pleasure out of squeezing when I knew it was the right person being squeezed.

Which brought me back to the point that this woman might well know who that was, if only I could find a way to convince her to tell me. Without spending all night at it. Damn, damn, damn.

"Are you going to kill me?"

I realized that I'd been standing there for quite a while, not saying anything. "No," I said. "The Coven, where does it meet?"

"East of town, in the woods. I don't know exactly. We come to a place near the creek, then they blindfold us and take us one at a time."

Yeah, they would.

"Okay," I said. "I'm done with you. Feel free to tell anyone you want about my visit, and about the questions I asked. No doubt someone will be angry and some people will come after me. When they do, I'll kill them. Then I'll come back and kill you. If you think that's a good argument for keeping your mouth shut, you're probably right, but it's up to you. In any case, I would suggest you remain here and not leave the house or make a sound for at least an hour or so, but that's also up to you. Meanwhile, rest well."

I put my knife away and walked out of the room. The fellow on the floor was now snoring. I gave serious consideration to kicking him, but didn't; I went past him, out the door, and into the star-studded night of Fenario.

"Well, Loiosh?"

"Well, what, Boss? If you want to summon a demon, I'm afraid you're on your own."

"Yeah, I don't think I'm up for that. That was a lot of information. I have to think about it, about what it means. If anything. Loiosh, didn't Sethra once say something about a lie being temporary? How did she put it?"

"I don't remember. But, Boss, I don't think the lie is your problem."

"No, I guess not. It's just another thing to add to the list. It's getting to be a pretty long list, Loiosh. And I am going to find out the name that needs to go at the top of it."

"Left here. There, that light on your right is the inn."

I made it back without mishap. I had to bang on the door to convince the host to let me in. I could have picked the lock in the dark, but I had no interest in letting it be known that I could do that. He glowered at me as he opened the door; I gave him a warm smile and went past him up to my room, where I stripped off my outer garments, and threw myself onto the bed. The last thing I remember was Loiosh and Rocza, perched next to each other on the chair, twining their necks around each other. It reminded me of something painful, but I fell asleep before I could remember exactly what it was.

9

Boraan: Nothing is confusing once the facts are assembled and the proper conclusions drawn. Lefitt: Nonsense, darling. All the facts and conclusions about a confusing situation simply confirm the confusion. Boraan: You think so? Lefitt: I'm afraid I do, though I do hate to dispute our lovely epigram. Boraan: Your lovely epigram, my dear. I was quoting you during the affair of the Fisherman's Lamp. Lefitt: Yes, my love, only I said it after we had solved the crime.

—Miersen, Six Parts Water Day Two, Act II, Scene 3

I'd forgotten to close the shutters again, and so woke with the Furnace burning painfully into my eyes. I cursed for a little while, then got up and closed them, because it is better to close the shutters than curse the light, or however that goes. I tried to sleep some more but it didn't take.

I dressed and went downstairs for coffee. The host's wife was behind the bar, and she gave me a look that indicated she wouldn't have been there if her husband hadn't been woken up in the middle of the night to let me into the inn. But she didn't say anything, so I kept my thoughts on the subject to myself and just drank my coffee: bitter on the tongue, but it works just as well as good klava when it hits the belly. That's the difference, I guess: klava is a pleasure, coffee is merely physic.

Pretty effective physic, though. As it started working, my attitude got a little better-or, rather, less bad-and when I got some toasted bread and cheese from her I tipped her well. This cheese, unlike what I'd had last night, turned out to be sharp and musky and neither crumbly nor salty, which I could have considered a reward from the gods for my generosity. I fed some to Loiosh and Rocza, who seemed to agree with my preference.

"Got a plan for today, Boss?"

"Part of one. I'm going to sit here and find out if our friend from last night kept her mouth shut."

"What if she didn't?"

"Then I will engage in acts of violence and mayhem."

"Oh, good. I've been missing those."

A little later the host came down and walked up to me. For a minute, I thought I was going to be evicted, and wondered how I'd respond, but he put a folded and sealed paper in front of me, saying, "This arrived for you from His Lordship," and stalked off with no other remarks.

I opened it. In four times as many words as it should have taken, it told the "Daylord" (whatever that might mean) to see that I was given full access to the mill and treated with all courtesy due to an honored friend of &c &c and to the boat crew to provide, to and from, transportation such as was available and befitting &c &c.

"Well, there it is, Boss. We going to visit it today?"

"Maybe. Not right away," I folded up the paper and put it away for later consideration.

I drank enough coffee to convince myself that no group of enraged citizens or dour law-enforcement officials were going to charge into the inn with the intention of pulling me out to face justice for my criminal actions of the night before. I think I was relieved.

"Okay," I said. "That's enough. Let's take a walk."

"Anywhere in particular?"

"I'll tell you when we get there."

"That means no, which means we're going to the dock."

"Shut up.”

I headed for the dock, and stood looking out at the mill, churning away, smoke rising and dissipating and meandering off to the northeast. The smell wasn't quite as bad today. I wondered if there were people living to the northeast, and how they were liking the breeze about now.

"What is, Boss?"

"Hmm?"

"You muttered 'trap.' "

"Oh, did I?"

The mill across the river was squat and long and built of stone, and I didn't see one single Verra-be-damned window in the place.

"Yeah, well, I don't know if it is, but it looks like one."

"I see what you mean. Let's not go there."

"Not until we know more, anyway."

It was well before noon, and the Furnace cast long shadows of the houses to my left. My grandfather had once mentioned something called "Shadowreading," which involved somehow seeing portents and omens in the shape of shadows of various objects at certain times. I never learned much about it, because he thought it was nonsense.

I wondered what he'd tell me about this. He approved of the idea of me finding out something about my mother; I know because he said so, and because he gave me that note. But I'd dearly love to hear his thoughts on "light" and "dark" forms of the Art, and all of the strange politics of this place.

He'd tell me not to be distracted by the shadows, but to concentrate on the target. And I'd tell him that all I could see were the shadows. And he'd point out that shadows need a light source, and a real object to define the shape.

Well, okay, Noish-pa. I'll describe the shadows, and you tell me what object has a shape like that, eh? We have a Count who owns a paper mill. We have a family killed because I was asking questions about them. We have a coachman killed because he answered the questions. We have Dahni, who carries on conversations in the dark and wants to recruit me to his side, but won't say which side is his, or even what the sides are. We have Orbahn, in the bright blue vest, who gives me vague hints and warnings and then vanishes. We have a Merchants' Guild that runs the entire town and the rest of the county too, for all I know, and may or may not be tied into bizarre customs of witchcraft, one of which forbids the summoning of demons, which, in turn, is impossible to begin with. Which parts are shadow, and what is casting them, Noish-pa?

I paced, and stared at the mill across the river, and listened to water lap against the dock. As I stood there, the Furnace rose, and the shadows became shorter. It was becoming warm, and I thought about going back to the inn and getting a lighter cloak, but transferring even those few surprises I still carried with me seemed like too much work. I really wanted someone to attack me, so I could hit something and watch it bleed. The sight of the Merss farm, burned and smoking, fixed itself in my mind's eye, superimposed over the river and the smoking mill.

A sort of boat—long and ungainly—set out from the mill and began to work its way downriver, mostly drifting with the current. There were two or three figures on it; though what they were doing I couldn't say. I watched it until it was out of sight, then turned my back on the river.

A few women, some with babes, went into shops along the street; a few children played here and there. Everything looked innocent. Whatever was going on, it was well concealed.

Damn this town. Damn this country.

All right, then.

I could allow myself a certain amount of moaning and complaining and wishing the world were something other than it is, but enough is enough. Besides, I had to tell myself to stop feeling sorry for myself before Loiosh got around to it.

Sometimes if you can find a thread, you can take it and start following it to see where it leads. When I thought about it, I realized that the trouble wasn't lack of threads, but rather too many. So: Pick one, grab hold, see where it goes, and hope someone tries to stop me because that will give me someone to take my frustrations out on.

Dahni.

He'd come out of nowhere, in the middle of the night, talking in all sorts of vague circumlocutions. He wanted me to do something but wouldn't say what it was: therefore, he knew something, and I needed to know it.

"Loiosh."

"Dahni's house, Boss? Keep a watch on it?"

"Yep.”

"On my way."

I could have gone back to the inn and waited there, but I was getting tired of the bloody place; and besides, I had the feeling that the host and I were reaching the point where something would happen, and unless he turned out to be a key player in all of this (after all, anyone might be), that would just be a waste of perfectly good violence. So I went over to the west side of a warehouse a few steps from where I'd been watching the mill, squatted down in its shade, and waited.

After about half an hour, Loiosh said, "Either he isn't here, or he's asleep. I haven't heard a sound"

"All right. Stay with it.”

That's how I spent the morning and the afternoon. Well, how Loiosh spent it; I was able to run off and get some bread and sausage, whereas he was stuck there. I mention this because Loiosh did. Repeatedly. I gave Rocza some sausage and sent her to Loiosh, but this just barely diminished the remarks I was getting. When Rocza returned she seemed amused, which meant that either I was finally beginning to get some level of rapport with her, or I was imagining things. I'd call it fifty-fifty.

But for the most part, I just sat there, under the shade, watching nothing happen in several directions. This time, there wasn't a friendly tag showing up to offer me her services and sell me information. Information aside, I'd have welcomed the distraction.

As it got toward evening the wind shifted, now coming directly at me from the mill. You can imagine how pleased I was about that. But then half an hour or so later it shifted again, now blowing back toward the mountains, which doesn't make sense, but I've never claimed to understand weather.

Loiosh wanted to know how long he was going to have to sit there. So did I, which answer pleased him about as much as you'd expect. We were getting on each other's nerves, I guess; which is surprising only when you consider how rarely it had happened over the years. I was aware of it, and tried not to push things; for his part, he did his job.

There was still plenty of light left in the day when he said, "Here he is, Boss. Just coming home."

"Walking?"

"Nope. A small coach and two men, Boss. Unmarked."

"Hmm. Means nothing."

"Boss? I think I recognize the guy driving it."

"Give me a look. Ah. Good one, chum.”

"Who—?"

"Can't really see the red hair in this light, but he was one of the Count's men-at-arms outside the manor."

"Okay, Boss. Now what?"

"Now I get to say 'ah ha.'"

"Good. Say it. Then you can explain what it means."

"I haven't gotten that far yet. One ah ha at a time."

"I'm just saying, it doesn't prove he's working for the Count. He might have been on an errand to—"

"I know. But it's something to start with."

"Sure, Boss. Do I watch for Dahni to leave again, or are you visiting him at home?"

"I'll be right there.”

"Boss, you might want to wait until full dark; it's awfully exposed here. Lots of shacks in the same place, all looking at each other, and people coming and going."

"You know that leaves you stuck there watching until I can make it?"

He sighed into my mind, which I took as a yes, so I settled back to wait some more. Presently, as the darkness came, the docks across the river began to come to life as the boatmen prepared to bring the mill workers back to this side of the river. I wondered why none of them seemed to have built houses on that side, and saved themselves the trip twice a day. Maybe because of the stench, or because the Count forbade it. The latter was more likely.

They poured out of the place like small insects with a predator in the nest—emerging from all the holes, desperate to reach the boats and get away from the place. From what I could see, there was pushing and shoving and maybe a few fights as some were left behind until the return trip. And now there were I a few more people—women showing off their ankles—out on the street, walking past me and some of them giving me quick Speculative glances. The boats began to arrive, and there were the sounds of talking and laughing and cursing and the trampling of feet. Twenty minutes later, the second boatloads arrived, and this was repeated on a slightly smaller scale, finally falling silence as the darkness thickened.

Sometime, watch it get dark in a lightless city—preferably somewhere like the East where the Furnace blazes in such plain sight that you can't bear to look at it. It's different than in a place with Enclouding, and also different from the country. The shadows of the buildings and the occasional lonely tree gradually get longer and longer until they blend in with other buildings, with other shadows, and with the night itself, and you realize that dark has quite fallen, and you are in a new place, in a town in the night.

Loiosh guided me there, using Rocza's eyes and giving me directions. Occasionally a bit of light spilled from a house, so I could see my way for a few steps, or sometimes someone would come along swinging a lamp, used by everyone in town with any sense—that is to say, everyone but me. But for the most part Loiosh guided me. The greater part of my effort went into staying quiet; you'd be surprised how much harder it is to stay quiet when you can't see anything. Or maybe you wouldn't.

When I reached the house, Loiosh gave his wings a quick flap so I could identify where he was. He usually flies as quietly as an owl, but can make noise if he wants. I asked him about that once and he said owls are stupid, which hadn't been what I was asking about at all, so I dropped the subject.

He landed on my shoulder. There was a tiny bit of light leaking from a shuttered window.

"What's the play, Boss?"

"I bash in the door, you and Rocza get in his face, and we improvise from there. You're pretty sure he's the only one in the place?"

"No sounds from in there for hours, Boss."

"All right. Ready?"

"Yeah. I didn't hear the door lock, by the way."

"You mean I don't get to break it down? Damn."

He was right, the latch lifted easily, and I flung it open. The damned light assaulted my eyes, and I was mostly blind. Loiosh and Rocza flew in and I followed, hoping for the best.

There was a flurry of movement, some cursing, and I squinted hard and got my hands on him; then I had a dagger out and was holding it at the back of his neck. He lashed out and caught me one in the face, then kicked, but I saw that well enough to dodge it. I grabbed him harder and remembered I was dealing with a human, so I shifted the knife to his throat and he obligingly stopped moving. The loudest sound in the room was his breathing. I had the feeling he wasn't happy.

"Well met, friend Dahni. How are you on this fine evening, with the stars shining and all crickets chirping merrily and night-finches cooing so sweetly?"

He just kept breathing.

My eyes were starting to adjust. I pushed him backward and onto a stuffed chair, keeping pressure on the knife at his throat. He brought his chin up. I could now see that he was glaring, which failed to startle me.

"I will ask questions," I said. "And you will answer them. If you don't answer them, I'll decide you have no value to me. If you do answer them, I'll let you live. If I later find out you've lied to me, I will return. Are we clear on the basics?"

"It was the jhereg," he said. "They followed me."

"My familiar has skills which aren't exactly traditional," I said.

"It isn't too late," he told me. "Walk out the door, and I'll just forget this happened."

"Kind of you," I said. "Now, first of all, who do you work for?"

"You have no idea what you're—"

I slapped him, hard. "Don't even start."

He just sat there, glaring at me.

"No," I said. "That won't do. I need an answer. If you don't answer me, I will kill you. Has your employer earned that kind of loyalty?"

Somewhere, behind his eyes, he was thinking. I gave him some time.

"I work for Count Saekeresh," he said at last.

I released the pressure on his throat just a little—call it a reward of sorts. "What do you do for him?"

"I, ah, handle problems I'd guess you'd say."

"I guess I would. What did he want to recruit me for?"

"I don't know," he said. "He never told me."

I considered whether I believed that. While considering, I said, "Then I suppose you have no idea why he didn't just ask me himself when we spoke?"

There was a little flicker there as I watched him; a hint of confusion, as if the question puzzled him. That deserved some consideration.

About two seconds' worth.

"When were you given the job?"

"What job?"

"Of recruiting me."

He blinked. "I don't know. Two, three days ago, I guess?"

"And what, exactly, were you told?"

"To recruit you."

I quickly pulled the dagger from his throat, turned it in my hand, and smacked the side of his face with the hilt; not too hard, but hard enough to leave a little cut on his cheekbone. Before he could react, the blade was back at his throat, pressing almost hard enough to cut. "You've been doing so well. Why mess it up?"

He glowered. I waited. He said, "I was told to find out what you were up to."

I nodded and once more relieved the pressure a bit. "It's much better when you tell the truth."

His eyes glinted. "My ma always told me that," he said. "But when I told the truth, I'd get a whupping."

I decided I liked him. I hoped I wouldn't have to kill him.

"And what did you find out that I'm up to?"

"I haven't come to any conclusions."

"You'll let me know when you do?"

"I'll send it by the post."

"Is there a good post system in this country?"

"So-so. The county system is good, though. The Guild runs it."

"Is there anything they don't run?"

"The Count. Me. Perhaps you."

"Perhaps?"

His eyes flicked down to my wrist, still holding the knife at his throat, then back to my face. "I shouldn't presume. Isn't your arm getting tired?"

"No, I'm fine. What happened to Orbahn?"

"Who? Oh. Him. I've no idea. He might be traveling. He travels a lot."

"Does he work for the Guild?"

"Everyone either works for the Guild, or works for the Count. Everyone."

"Including the witches?"

"Hmm. I don't know. I think you need to have lived here all your life to understand how that works. And maybe you still wouldn't."

That agreed with my assessment too, but I didn't say so. "And this business of 'light' and 'dark' witches?"

"I've heard of dark witches. I'm told the Merss family practiced the darker sort. I don't know if it's true. And I don't know what it means. It sounds odd to me. Am I going to get

a turn asking questions?"

"Sure, when you're holding the knife."

"Speaking of, would you mind taking that thing away from my throat? I get the feeling that if say something that annoys you it might slip."

"I have to admire your instincts. Keep talking."

He looked unhappy. He evidently didn't want to tell me. People seem never to want to tell me the things I want to know. It could get on my nerves, if I let it. I increased the pressure on his neck.

"You must know," he said, "you made quite, um, an impression when you arrived."

"Go on," I said.

"I mean, you immediately found the representative of the Guild and, as I understand it, as much as told him to his face you were going to break up the Guild."

"Orbahn," I said.

He nodded. "And then, of course, the Guild put word out to keep an eye on you."

"Uh huh."

"And then you started looking for Black Witches."

Of course I did. Yeah, it even made sense. Sometimes I just assume people are lying, and I try to figure out the motive behind the lie. That's not that bad, really; only I forget that other people might be doing the same thing to me.

"Right," I said. "Keep talking."

"This wasn't what His Lordship told me, this was just stuff I've heard."

"Yes, I understand. You hear things. Go on."

"So His Lordship called me in, and said I was to approach you about working with him, but wasn't to say who he was. I was just to see if you had any interest in working with, ah, an unnamed party in finding out who had killed those witches. He told me—"

"Witches," I repeated. "It was a family. There were kids. One of them couldn't have been more than...okay, go on."

He swallowed and nodded. "He told me that you had been representing them as your family, and were using their name, so that I was to stick with that."

"Did you ask him what he thought my real name might be?"

He shook his head. "I don't ask him things. He just—"

"Yeah, yeah. I got it. Would you say he had an idea of what my name might be?"

He spread his hands. "I have no way of guessing, Lord M . . . my lord. I'm sorry."

"Keep calling me Merss. You might as well."

"Yes, Lord Merss."

"What else did he tell you? Anything to imply that I might be dangerous?"

He frowned. "Not in so many words, but, well, there was something about the way he talked about you that made me nervous."

"You know, friend Dahni, this is the strangest town I have ever been in."

"You need to get out more."

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind. Who killed them?"

"Who?"

"You know who."

"The Merss family? I don't know. The Count doesn't know. He doesn't think you did."

"Yeah, I don't I think did either."

"But he isn't sure."

"Who is supposed to be finding out?"

"I'm sorry?"

"When something like this happens, when someone is killed, who is supposed to be finding out who did it? Who is responsible?"

"Oh. Ah, the Count, I imagine. Or maybe the King. I'm not sure."

"And the Count, who would he assign it to?"

"Well, I guess that would be me."

"You?"

"I guess."

"And instead, he has you following me around and proposing alliances in the dark."

"You have to admit, it was dramatic."

"Not good enough, Dahni. Why there and then?"

"Well, I saw you heading out there. I thought it might give me an edge. I didn't know about your familiars."

"Yeah. How long had you been following me, waiting for an opportunity?"

"Not long. A couple of days."

"A couple of days?"

He nodded.

"Well. Now you've hurt my pride."

"And mine, Boss. I think he may be lying."

"I always think that, Loiosh. And look where it's gotten me."

"You're still breathing."

"You really followed me for two days?"

He nodded. .

"Mind if I test you on it?"

"Go ahead."

I asked some questions about where I'd gone and who I'd seen, and he knew most of the answers. I'd rather not dwell on it. It was humiliating.

"All right," I said when I'd heard enough. "And what conclusions did you come to?"

"My lord?"

"You spent two days following me. What do you think I'm up to?"

He shrugged. "You're good. I haven't been able to come to any conclusions."

"And you told the Count that?"

He nodded.

"And that," I said, "would have relieved any suspicions he might have had."

Dahni looked uncomfortable.

"What if I'd accepted?"

"It was a legitimate offer."

"Was it?"

"Yes."

"Is it still on the table?"

"Not if you slit my throat. That's a deal-breaker."

"Yeah? Tough bargainer."

"Not me. It's the Count. He's pretty hard-nosed about that sort of thing."

I put the knife away. "All right," I said. "If he wants to find and—to find whoever killed the Merss family, I'll help. You know where to find me."

He rubbed his throat. "In the middle of a field in the dark?"

"I was thinking of the inn, myself."

"That'll work."

"Good. Don't get up. I'll let myself out."

I turned my back on him with complete confidence. And I did have complete confidence—complete confidence that Loiosh was watching.

"Well, well. We've learned something, I think."

"Seems like, Boss. I'm surprised."

"I'm slightly stunned myself."

We made it back to the inn without undue incident. It was busy enough that my entrance wasn't remarked. My table was occupied, so I got another, feeling unreasonably resentful about it. The lamb stew hadn't changed, however, and I felt better with a good bowl of it inside of me.

As I scraped up the last bits of stew with good, warm bread (one of my favorite parts of eating stew, and yours too if you have any sense), I ignored the hum of conversation around me and tried to consider what I'd just learned.

A fair bit, really, depending on whether and how much Dahni was telling the truth. I was inclined to believe him on at least a number of points. At any rate, I now understood more of what he was up to. Was he acting on his own? Of course he was; working for Saekeresh, and running a little free-lance business on the side. On a certain level, I couldn't blame him. The question was, what to do about it.

Could I make a good guess on timing? No, not really. At least a day, no matter what. Probably not more than a week. Could be anywhere in that range. Damn, damn, damn.

Yeah, no question, I was going to hurt someone very badly. And I was beginning to get a pretty good idea who it was going to be. In any case, it was best not to mention my latest conclusions to Loiosh, who was already upset at sticking around this place.

He picked up a bit of that thought, I guess. He said, "We should be getting out of here, Boss."

"I know."

"We aren't going to, are we?"

"No. You'll just have to stay alert."

"Can we at least get out of this inn?"

"Where would you suggest we go?"

"The other inn?”

"I just told Dahni he could get a message to me here."

"Boss.”

"Yeah, all right. I'll see if there are any rooms at the other inn."

Presently I did. Either the wind was blowing the stench elsewhere, or I really was getting used to it, because it was a pleasant walk, from one end of the little town to the other. The place wasn't too crowded, and the hostess, a delightfully rotund woman of middle years, was pleased to let me a room at reason able cost. After some consideration, I decided not to tell the host at the Hat that I'd checked out. Loiosh was annoyed because I'd had to consider it. Money changed hands, and a drab little man wearing clothes that were too big for him showed me upstairs.

I got a room with a window that looked out onto the street, and was assured that the Furnace (actually, the "nawp," but I figured out what she meant) wouldn't wake me in the morning, even if I forgot to close the shutter. The bed was narrow and too short, but soft and free of wildlife. There was also a washbasin and a chamber pot right in the room, and I was told that if I opened my door and rang that little bell there, someone would come up and bring me hot water in the morning. Could the person also bring me klava? No, but there was coffee, and it would be cheerfully delivered. Yes, coffee would do, with heavy cream and honey, although I said it with a sigh I couldn't quite repress.

10

First Student (whispering): I believe our hosts are drunk. Second Student (whispering): What should we do? Nurse: In the first place, stop whispering. It annoys them when they're passed out.

—Miersen, Six Parts Water Day One, Act III, Scene 2

I have to give this one to Loiosh: Even if no one was going to hit me in the head if I'd stayed at the Hat, I must have been worried about it, because I relaxed that night and I slept hard and long and until nearly noon. The same drab little guy in almost the same clothing brought me hot water and coffee klava and made no comments about the hours I kept.

Having a kettle of coffee brought up to me was so pleasant it almost made up for it being coffee. I drank it all, staring out at the street watching a couple of dogs chase each other. Eventually I dressed, then went down, and the hostess was there, chatting with a couple of middle-aged gentlemen who had that indefinable something that told you they were from somewhere else. She gave me a gap-toothed smile and said, "Good morning, Lord Merss."

"Good morning," I said. I sniffed. Hickory. "Something smells good. Lunch?"

She nodded. "Pig eatin's. We make 'em like nowhere else."

"I'll be back to try them, then." I touched my forehead with the tips of four fingers and went out and into the day. First thing was to visit the Hat and see if any messages had come in. No, no messages, unless the speculative look from the host was a message about the propriety of spending the night away. If so, I chose to disregard it. The lamb stew smelled good, but my loyalty had shifted. I'm just fickle, I guess.

I went back to the Mouse and had lunch. It was good, though I wouldn't have used quite so much hickory, myself. But I took my time with it, letting what I'd learned the night before bounce around in my head, trying to decide how much of whom I should believe. I actually felt pretty good. The anger was still there, but I knew that sooner or later—probably sooner—I was going to track down whoever it was that had caused that anger. Things hadn't come together, but I had enough pieces that eventually I'd see how they fit.

I got another glass of wine—it was a particularly harsh and acidic red that tasted better than it should have—and nursed it while I considered things.

An hour or so of that got me nowhere, so I went back to the Hat, and as I walked through the door, the host looked at me, frowning.

"Message for you," he said. Obviously, to him there was something very suspicious about me having asked if there were any messages this morning, and then had one delivered in the afternoon. Obviously, I was up to something.

I returned to the Mouse, found an ugly brown chair, and sat. Then I broke the seal, unfolded the heavy pink parchment, and read. It was, unlike the last missive, very simple and straightforward, with no excess words. It suggested I visit His Lordship tomorrow early in the afternoon.

"Looks like we have a deal, Loiosh."

"Or a trap.”

"Or a trap. Right now, I'll be happy with a trap. It'll give me something to break out of. There's nothing worse than wanting to push and not having anything to push against."

He started naming things that were worse until I told him to shut up. There's nothing worse than a smartass who pretends not to understand hyperbole.

The more important question was: Were there any ways to protect myself in case it was a trap? Were there any arrangements worth making?

"Go armed, Boss."

"Good thinking."

After a while, I noticed the place had pretty much emptied out. The hostess, whose name was Mahri, came over and poured me another glass of wine and asked if something was troubling me.

"No," I said. "Just making plans for an errand I need to run tomorrow."

"Plans?"

I nodded. "So far, I've picked the horse I'm going to ride."

"Well, may it prosper you," she said.

"Indeed." I passed a coin across the table. "Drink with me to that sentiment."

She smiled big and nodded, and went behind the bar and poured something golden into a small glass and lifted it to me, drank. I did too. She said, "Well, you think about your plans, then. I won't disturb you."

"I appreciate that," I said.

Usually when people say that, it's a prelude to an ongoing stream of disturbance, but she was as good as her word, and said nothing while I sat there beating into a headwind, as the Orca say. I wondered if she was the only one in town as good as her word. Which brought up the question of whether she was in on it too. I didn't really think so (and, just for the record, no she wasn't), but it gives you an idea of how my mind was working.

Eventually I sighed and raised my glass for more wine. I couldn't think of any steps to make this safer; I was just going to have to do it. As she brought the wine, I said, "Do you know a light-haired, freckle-faced foreigner named Dahni?"

She nodded. "He's been in a few times."

"Do you trust him?"

She frowned. I had the feeling she was one of those people who trusted everyone, and didn't understand why one wouldn't. "I don't understand."

I smiled. "He's made a business proposition to me, and I'm wondering if he's the sort who can be depended on to be honest in his dealings."

The question seemed to make her unhappy, like she didn't want to consider that the answer might be no. "I'm afraid I don't know him that well," she said.

"What have you heard?"

"Heard?"

"Gossip? Rumors?"

She looked even more uncomfortable.

"I don't know as I should say anything."

"I'd take it as a kindness."

"It isn't a kindness to pass on ill-tongue."

"It would be this time."

She studied me, squinting through troubled dark brown eyes. "Well," she said at last, "some say he works for His Lordship, the Count."

I had the feeling that that, in itself, wasn't necessarily something she might be reluctant to say about someone, so I just nodded and waited.

"Well some say...you know the Count is an old man."

I nodded, having not only heard but seen it.

"Well, he…" She coughed, and I noticed she was turning red, and I was suddenly convinced that whatever I was about to hear would be of no interest to me at all. "Well, I'm not saying there's anything wrong, mind, but they say he has girls who, you know, who do things for him. And Dahni, they say he's the one who finds them for him."

She finished quickly, blushing furiously, and I was pleased to know my instincts were still intact. I put forth all of my effort, all of my power, all of my will that had been hardened in the fires of death and crime—and I didn't laugh.

"Thank you," I said. "That is of great importance to me, and you have done me great good. I assure you, no one will hear of this through me."

She nodded and returned to the bar. I said, "Pardon me, hostess."

"My lord?" she said, looking worried.

I held up my glass.

"Oh," she said, blushing even more, if that were possible, and quickly filled it. "This is on me," she said, with a sheepish grin.

"Thank you," I said, passing over a coin. "Then call this a gratuity." She accepted it gratefully and found something to do in the back room while she recovered from her embarrassment.

"Damn good thing I'm so skilled at investigation, Loiosh. Some' one else might never have uncovered that vital scrap of information."

"You're just saying that because if you don't you know I will, aren't you, Boss?"

"See there? You have the makings of a skilled investigator yourself.”

If you can imagine the mental equivalent of the sound a horse makes when it exhales loudly through its nose, that's what I received then.

I drank my wine and thought many thoughts, none of them having anything to do with the Count's love life. Eventually I made my way back to the Hat, spoke with the stable-boy, and said I wanted to make sure Marsi would be available tomorrow. He agreed Marsi would be ready, and I almost thought I saw a flicker of something like amusement in his eyes. If I'd been sure, I'd have hit him. Not for mocking me, but for the implied insult to Marsi, that fine, fine beast.

"So, that's it, Boss? That's all we're going to do?"

"I'm open to suggestions."

He made muttering sounds.

I left the place and found another merchant, this one a bookseller, hoping to find something entertaining to kill the time until tomorrow afternoon. I'd left all my books with Cawti. I missed them. I missed sitting around with her, reading; listening to her giggle while indulging her weakness for light verse; reading favorite passages to each other.

They didn't have anything good in the place, so I left and walked around the town until I felt tired; then I went back to the Mouse and went to bed. I'd now been almost a week in the village of Burz, paper-making center of Fenario, if not the world. I'd come here looking for family, and I guess I'd found them, after a fashion.

My thoughts on waking were not excessively cheerful. But I still liked the part where hot water and coffee were brought to me at the pull of a bell; that was something I decided I could get used to. I wondered why Cawti and I had never hired a servant. We could have afforded one, and I'd obliquely brought up the subject now and then. I tried to remember her reaction on those occasions, and how the subject had been put aside, but I couldn't.

As I drank that harsh, bitter stuff, I removed the daggers and throwing knives I carried about my person, and took out my whetstone (practically new, I'd bought it on the way out of Adrilankha), and carefully sharpened and honed each one, then my rapier. It felt like it might turn into that sort of day. Dragons don't seem so concerned with getting a fine edge on a weapon; I guess because the way they fight they'll bludgeon you to death as much as cut you. My approach is more elegant and precise. And elegance and precision are important because, uh, because they're important.

Yeah.

Coffeed, cleaned, dressed, and armed, I went down the stairs, ready to face anything the world threw at me. That's more hyperbole, just in case you were wondering. Loiosh was on my left shoulder, Rocza on my right, and they both scanned the room, fully alert for assassins, hostile citizens, or pieces of sausage that had been left on the floor. It was a reasonably dramatic entrance; too bad the room was empty.

I went straight out onto the street, walking past a pair of dogs that looked like hornless lyorns, and turned left toward the Hat. There were lots of people around today, many of them looking like they worked at the mill, which was strange because it wasn't Endweek. Seems they had a different Endweek here. Well, why not? Everything else about the place was strange.

I stopped near the docks and looked across the river. Yeah, (here was no smoke coming from the thing, and the boats were all pulled up on this side. All of the shops were busy, even the bookseller's. The Guild, whatever it was, was prospering today. It was odd how I seemed to fit right in among all the passersby; I wasn't used to that.

"About how long do I have until I should leave for the Count's?"

"Boss, you have better time sense than I do. How should I know if you don't?"

Noish-pa had told me he used to be able to look at the position of the Furnace and judge the time to within five minutes. I glanced up at it, and looked at the shadows. Yeah, it was definitely daytime.

I thought about asking someone, but I had the feeling I'd sound like an idiot, and feeling like an idiot is bad enough. Muttering to myself, I went back to the Mouse, and found the hostess at her station. She greeted me with a warm smile; she apparently held no ill-will over my coercing her into revealing deep, dark, and vital secrets about one of her patrons. I said, "Pardon me, good hostess, but do you happen to know what time it is?"

She glanced quickly out the window. "Almost half past the twelfth hour," she said.

I thanked her, got more coffee, and sat down to drink it.

"It never used to matter, they tell me."

I looked up. Her hands were out of sight below the bar; I guessed she was cleaning something.

"The time of day never used to be so important, they tell me."

"Oh?"

"I mean, before the mill."

I said, "I'm told that was a long, long time ago."

She nodded. "Yes, it was a whole different world then. But they say time only started mattering when the mill opened, and you had to be somewhere at a certain time, and coordinate with a lot of other people. There are peasants around here, and free farmers as well, who still don't much care what time it is. Some mill worker will agree to meet a peasant at a certain time, and the peasant will be an hour or two late, and the mill worker will take offense on account of being kept waiting, and the peasant won't understand. It causes fights. I've seen it."

I nodded, wondering if this was going somewhere, or if she just wanted to talk. She moved down the bar a little and continued whatever she'd been doing.

"They say it mucks up the river, too. Count Noijlahb, downriver, he complains all the time about his people's stock dying. There have been skirmishes over that, too. And it stinks. They named the town Burz, you know, after the mill was built."

"Sounds like a bad thing all around."

"Yes and no," she said. "People eat better now, and the free farmers and even the peasants get better prices. It's good and bad."

"But it's been there for hundreds of years."

"Oh, not hundreds," she said. "About eighty, I think. It was in my grandmother's day."

"Oh," I said. "I was misinformed. And is that when there got to be all that talk of strange forms of witchcraft, and one sort not liking the other?"

"I wouldn't know anything about that," she said.

"And the Guild?"

She sniffed. "Them."

"What about them?"

"Well, I'm a member, like everyone else. But I can't say as I care for them much."

"Why is that?"

"Oh, you know how they are."

"No, actually I don't. But I'm curious."

"Well, you have to do everything their way. And turn in accounts, and all that nonsense. And they'll tell you who you have to buy from, and who you can't sell to. It's all such silliness.

Actually, it was starting to sound familiar. I smiled and nodded. She asked if I'd care for any pig eatin's. I declined, but accepted some bread fresh from a Guild-approved baker down the street, who did good work. Too bad the stench of the town overwhelmed his shop, or I'd have found him myself. I had the bread with lots of butter and honey from bees that had been raised on something I'd never tasted before, but had a very faint nutty flavor that I liked. I had one more cup of coffee, then stopped because I didn't want to spend the entire ride out to the manor stopping to relieve myself.

People started drifting in, and she started paying attention to them, so I got up and walked down the street to the Hat.

It was pretty busy, but the host found time to accept payment for another week's lodging, and to ask, in a carefully studious tone, where I'd been. That stopped me a little. He was being surprisingly open about it. Had something changed? Was the blade finally coming free? Did my concealed enemy now suddenly not care about being concealed?

I said, "Why do you want to know?"

"Eh? No reason. Just making conversation."

"Just making conversation. I see."

He went down to the other end of the bar to open a bottle of wine for someone. I watched him. The list of people in this town I didn't trust was too long to have any actual use. A little while later he came back. I said, "Have you seen Orbahn lately?"

"You keep asking about him."

"And you keep not telling me where he is."

"Why do you want to know?"

"No reason, just making conversation."

He gave me a look. "Haven't seen him in days," he said. "Probably off making a delivery."

"Probably," I said.

"So," he said with a sniff. "How'd you like the undercooked pork at the Rodent?"

I looked at him carefully. "You've been paid. What's your problem?"

"No problem," he said, scowling only a little. "Just wondered."

"The pig eatin's were fine."

"And did the bedbugs give you good company?"

"Not as much as I'd hoped. Just when the party was starting to get good they had to go off and study for exams the next day."

He sniffed. "Why the hell you'd want to—"

"A stranger needs to spread his business around, don't you think? Especially if he plans to set up shop, as it were. Create good-will everywhere: that's my motto."

"Set up shop?"

"Yep."

"Here?"

"I'm thinking about it. Nice town. I like it."

"What sort of... excuse me." He returned a moment later. "What sort of shop? You thinking of opening another inn?"

"Now, do I look like an innkeeper to you?"

He shrugged. "How would I know?"

"No, no," I said. "I'm in another line of work entirely."

He frowned. "What would that be, exactly?"

I smiled. "I'd rather surprise you."

"Well, surprising me is all well and good. But we have a Guild here, and they're pretty particular about who they let in."

"Really? I hadn't thought they were."

It sailed right past him. "Oh, they are, all right. Trust me. Can I get you something?"

"Do you have any pig eatin's?"

He scowled and didn't answer, so I got another one of his summer ales to make him feel better, then returned to my table and drank it slowly.

In fact, you know, it wasn't bad, for beer.

When I decided enough time had passed, I made my way slowly toward the stables, still thinking about everything. Things were happening quickly now—too quickly for me to take the time I needed to think them through. If someone was orchestrating this, I could be in severe trouble. I'd been in trouble before. I didn't care for it.

The stable-boy nodded to me and brought out Marsi, saddled her. He worked quickly and efficiently, like he'd done this a thousand times. He probably had. What a life. Marsi was able to contain her enthusiasm on seeing me again. Or maybe not—she did lift her head for a moment, and for her that might have been enthusiasm. The stable-boy looked things over carefully, tightened this and that, then nodded and put the reins in my hand.

I led dear Marsi out of the stable, and, with the assistance of the stable-boy, got mounted. Once again, I was struck by the sense of height—looking at a horse, you don't think you should feel as high up as you do. I wondered if this explained the attitude of the Mounted Guard—always the most obnoxious of the Phoenix Guard to deal with.

For her part, Marsi seemed bored with the whole thing. I took the reins in both hands, touched her flanks with my heels, and sort of urged her forward with my hips. I couldn't see her face well enough to know if she rolled her eyes, but she started moving forward.

"Boss!"

"What is it, Lot—"

"Behind you!"

I turned in the saddle, which wasn't as easy as it should have been. Marsi stopped. I looked. There were a few people in the street, but none close to me.

"What? Where?"

"About forty yards down, north side of the street, under the awning, walking away from you. Blue vest"

And there he was, easily recognizable even from the back. Now was a fine time for him to show up. I started to turn Marsi around. I guess I did something wrong, because she seemed confused. But then I thought about it. What was I going to do? Could I stop now and have a long conversation with him, and just ignore the invitation that was supposed to actually tell me what was going on? Make an appointment to meet him later? What if he didn't want to talk to me?

Damn and blast.

"Loiosh, stay with him."

"I don't like leaving you right now, Boss."

"I'm not crazy about it either, but I need to see the Count, and I do not want to lose that slippery bastard again. Go."

There were mutterings into my mind, but he flew off. I got Marsi headed in the right direction and started out of town.

"Where is he going, Loiosh?"

"Looks like back to the Hat, Boss, just as carefree as you please."

"I don't suppose you can go in there. I want to see if he's meeting with someone. Dammit."

"If there's a window open I can stick my snakey little head through it."

"Yeah, I guess that's the best we can do."

I continued my leisurely pace out of town.

"Whoops, guess I was wrong, Boss. He's not going into the inn, he's going behind it."

"Oh, that's interesting."

"To the stables"

"Good place to find a horse."

"He's talking to the stable-boy."

"Can you get close enough to listen?"

"I'll try ... yes. Boss, he's asking about you, Where you went and how long ago."

"Is he getting answers?"

"No. Wait. Money is changing hands. Yes, he's getting answers.”

I thought hard about turning around right then, but it seemed that as long as I was getting information, this was working and I should stay with it. And the visit to the Count was too important to throw over.

"Okay, he's done talking to the stable-boy. He's heading away from the inn and . . . he seems to be going across town."

It was a pleasant day for a ride, I have to say. And Marsi was as delightful as ever. Rocza seemed to consider herself fully on duty; she kept looking around, and sometimes leaving my shoulder to fly in a wide circle overhead.

Then, "There's a warehouse near the docks with an overhanging doorway. He's in the doorway, looks like he's waiting for someone."

"All right.”

More countryside went by. A few birds sang, and I passed a flock of sheep grazing on a low hill with no shepherd in sight. It was calm and peaceful and pastoral and I loosened my rapier in its sheath because I don't trust calm and peaceful and pastoral.

"Oh my, Boss! You'll never guess who just showed up to meet him."

"The Empress?"

"Funny."

"Tell.”

"Remember that tag who told you about the coachman? Well, she hasn't left town."

Well. Well.

Now, just how was I going to fit that into my calculations?

"Well, Boss? Just how are you going to fit that into your calculations?"

"I'm just working on that, Loiosh. Can you get close enough to hear what they're saying?"

"No way, Boss. I'm right above them, and they're talking too low to hear."

"Damn. Okay, can you instruct Rocza to follow one of them, while you follow the other? I really want to know where they both go."

"And leave you unprotected?"

"I'm armed. Can she do it?"

He hesitated, and I got the feeling he didn't want to answer. But he finally said, "If the conversation continues long enough. It's going to take her half an hour at least to get back here."

"Let's try for it, Loiosh."

"Boss...."

"Do it.”

Rocza flew from my shoulder, heading back toward town.

I almost chewed my nails. I very much wanted Rocza to get there in time. I very much wanted to know what they were talking about. Marsi picked up my nervousness and got a bit skittish, so I patted her neck and tried to calm down.

"You sure there's no way you can hear what they're saying?"

"Sorry, Boss. There's just no place I can slide my snakey head without them seeing it."

I had a suggestion about where he could slide his snakey head, but I kept it to myself.

Just about the time I was arriving at the Count's estate, Loiosh said, "Rocza is here, Boss, and they're still talking about whatever they're talking about."

"Good," I said. "Stay with them.”

"Will do, Boss. Be careful.”

"I always am."

As I approached the entry area, the groom seemed to recognize me, or, at any rate, Marsi. He came forward with his hand out to assist me down. I gave him a cool nod. Once I was on the ground again, he took the reins and said, "You are expected, my lord."

I stood there, waiting until I felt like my legs would start working again, which took a couple of minutes. I spent it looking around the grounds as if I were just sort of vaguely curious.

When I could move without embarrassing myself, I climbed the low stairway up to the door. I pulled on the rope, the low gong sounded within, and presently the door swung open.

The same butler as before made the same bow as before. "Welcome, Lord Merss. His Lordship is expecting you."

We met in the same room, and I was offered the same chair. I took a different one, partly to be contrary, and partly because I was a little jumpy. The butler pretended not to notice. The Count gave me a sort of look, but let it pass.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me," he said. .

"On the contrary," I told him. "Thank you."

He smiled. "Brandy? Ale? Wine?"

"Wine," I said.

He nodded at the butler, who went off to fetch the necessities.

"So then," said the Count, sitting back a little and folding his hands over his belly. "We have something in common."

"An enemy, it would seem."

He nodded, and the butler gave me my wine, and gave the Count a glass of the same amber liquid he'd had before. He lifted his, I did the same, we sipped. It was slightly sweeter than the last one had been, and agreeably spicy.

"Okay, Boss. They've split up. I'm staying with him."

"All right.”

"What I propose," said the Count, "is simply this: that we share information. I suspect you know things that will help me track down who is behind the murders, and I am certain that I could give you information that would be of use to you."

I nodded. "That makes sense, and I'm inclined to agree."

"Inclined?"

"There some things I'd like to understand first, my lord, before I make any agreements."

"Such as?"

I had some more wine and tried to figure out how to approach it. This was the tricky part.

"Just what sort of information do you imagine I have, my lord?"

"Eh? Well, it's obvious you've been investigating on your own. Haven't you found out anything?"

"As to that," I said. "Maybe. But, you know, I have no special skills in that field; I've simply been asking questions as anyone might."

"Indeed?" he said. From the expression in his voice, I couldn't tell if he was just skeptical, or knew I was lying, and that is exactly what I needed to know.

"Yes," I said. "That's what puzzles me about this. To be blunt: What help could I possibly give you?"

"Well," he said, and had another sip. He licked his lips. "That is a difficult question to answer."

I nodded and gave him some time, sipping wine and putting on my innocent inquiring look.

"I guess," he said, "that will require some background explanation."

"All right," I said. "I'm listening."

"The mill was first founded by my grandfather, some eighty-three years ago." He went on from there, but I wasn't really paying attention.

"Boss?"

I wanted more wine because my mouth was dry, but the glass wasn't in my hand, which was odd.

''Boss?"

And I couldn't move my arm, either, and the Count's voice was a buzzing in my ears, and the floor was very hard against my cheek.

Part Four

NOTONIDE

While there remains some question because of its short duration, most natural philosophers now agree that the notonide should be considered an actual stage; yet it is a stage of constant transformation. It is here, accompanied by a ninety percent loss in mass, that the wings are formed, the venom glands develop, and the eggs are fertilized. This all happens in an astonishingly brief time: a few days at the most. Needless to say, during this entire stage the jhegaala is exceptionally vulnerable....

Two interesting and contradictory phenomena occur during this stage: To the right, the intense pressure of the constant transformation overwhelms the individual characteristics of the notonide, each reacting for the most part identically. And yet, as is the case with all organisms, it is never so much itself as when under intense pressure. Thus the future nature of this particular levidopt becomes apparent from the present notonide if one knows what to look for....

—Oscaani: Fauna of the Middle South: A Brief Survey, Volume 6, Chapter 18

11

Boraan: My dear, have you ever wondered why it seems to go on so terribly long? Lefitt: It would hardly be punishment if it were short. Boraan: (glances at audience): Quite so.

—Miersen, Six Parts Water Day Two, Act III, Scene 4

Movement is meaningless without time. Movement, as an Athyra once explained to me, means that you're either in two places at once, or to put it another way, at a certain instant, you both are and are not in one place. In that sense, I wasn't moving, because there was no time, and I wasn't anywhere at all. The odd part is that there was the sensation of movement; a rattling, jolting, rocking thing. But sometimes we cannot trust our perceptions.

There was a damnable itch in the middle of my back, and a droning in my ears that wouldn't go away. I wanted to scratch my back, but I couldn't reach it.

My hips and my back hurt.

Horse, I thought. Been riding a damned horse. No wonder I hurt. I opened my eyes, but the droning kept going in my ears. I couldn't figure out why the droning didn't stop when I opened my eyes. After what seemed the longest time, I realized it was because my eyes weren't really open. That made sense. I tried to work out if I was feeling sick to my stomach, but it required too much concentration and didn't seem important anyway.

The humming got louder, and someone was calling my name, and the humming got softer, and several some ones were calling my name, in different tones, in different ways, and I felt not the least urge to answer any of them; all I wanted to do was open my eyes, because I knew that would make the humming stop. It isn't that the humming was painful, it just wouldn't stop, and I was getting annoyed.

Then someone in a soft, almost melodious voice I didn't recognize was asking me questions, and whoever it was seemed very friendly, and I'd have answered if the questions had made any sense. Then there was silence again except for the humming in my ears, and then more nonsense questions. It was only later— hours or days—that I was able to remember the questions and make some sort of sense out of them. "Who are you working for?" was the most frequent. And then there were lists of names that sounded like Fenarian noblemen, but I didn't recognize any of them. And once he asked, "How had you planned to open the vault?" which was enough for me to figure it out, later, when I could figure.

You can learn a lot from the questions someone asks; it seems like I had made that observation not long before. In this case, it was easy to put together, once my mind was clear. Not that it helped, especially. At the time, I only realized that I couldn't answer them because they made no sense and that I should try to explain that. I wanted to explain it. It was terribly frustrating that I couldn't seem to find the right words.

I know I threw up sometime in there, and I remember being pleased that my stomach felt better, although something about it seemed odd. And that damned humming in my ears wouldn't go away, which was the worst of it. I mean, it wasn't, but it was.

Something grabbed my head, not especially gently, and there was water poured into my mouth. I drank it, and noticed I was shivering. I wasn't sick, I was just cold. Well, no problem. I'd cover myself up just as soon as I could find a blanket. Cawti'd probably stolen the damned blanket again. Well, no, because then she'd be warming me up, and if she were warming me up, the humming in my ears would stop, wouldn't it? So where was she, anyway? Why wasn't she here? She should be here to warm me up and stop the buzzing in my ears. I'd stop the buzzing in her ears if she needed me to.

A child's voice whispered, "I'm sorry," and I have no idea what makes me think it was a child's voice—how can you tell from a whisper? But I thought so at the time, and I wondered what she'd done. But the voice seemed to warm me, somehow, and I stopped shivering.

"Boss?"

"What the—"

"Boss, don't let them know you're yourself!"

"Let—"

"Play dead!"

Loiosh doesn't sound peremptory very often, so when he does, I listen, and right then, when I was just becoming aware that I was just becoming aware, and had no idea how or what or where or like that, it seemed a good idea to listen to him, so I remained still.

"What-?"

"Boss, Rocza is hurt."

"How bad?"

"I don't know. She won't tell me. She's afraid if I think she's hurt bad I'll find a new mate."

"Is that what jhereg do?"

"In the wild."

"Did you explain that you're civilized?"

"She doesn't believe me."

"She doesn't know you very well, does she?"

"It's sort of instinct."

"All right. Do what you can for her. Any idea what happened?"

"That woman. She used a dart of some kind. Orbahn tried to get me, but I was expecting it."

"Expecting it."

"When they grabbed you, Boss. As soon as they grabbed you—"

"Who grabbed me?"

Fortunately, I had some time right then. Loiosh explained as best he could what had been going on, and gradually my memory kicked in, bringing me up to the point I've already brought you. After that, I hope you're confused about what happened, because if not I haven't explained it well.

By that time, I knew that I was naked, on my back, blindfolded, and couldn't move my arms or my legs. It seemed very likely that, whoever had me, they were planning to do unpleasant things to me. That had happened once before, and I hadn't done well with it, during or after. It was something, even now, my memory shied away from. Had I learned anything last time that might be useful this time? Not really, no. I knew that the anticipation was part of it—they wanted me to be afraid, to work on myself; and my memory of what had happened before was making it easier on them. I knew that.

It was astonishing how little it helped that I knew that.

Loiosh and I continued talking; he filled me in on the details of the attack, and said hopefully that he thought Rocza wasn't hurt too badly, and we talked about how thoroughly we had been set up, and I made some amusing—in intent, anyway—remarks about how they could have done it better. In short, he kept me occupied while I waited for something to happen.

Loiosh, still being hopeful, suggested that, if they hadn't done anything terrible to me by now, maybe they weren't going to.

By now?

"Loiosh, how long has it been?" "Three days, Boss." "Three—Loiosh, what have I been doing for three days?" "I don't know, Boss! I couldn't tell!" If he were human, it would have sounded like he

was on the verge of tears.

"All right, chum. Take it easy. We'll get out of this. The drugs have worn off. I can think now." Loiosh kept whatever wisecrack that might have generated to himself.

I was beginning to be able to see, and more important, my mind was clear enough to realize that I'd been drugged. My inquisitor wore a gray hood over his face; I couldn't help but wonder if he was trying to conceal his features or if he was just doing it for effect. Other than that, I had the impression that the room I was in was something like a larder, or small storage room of some kind. In any case it was small, not too much bigger than it had to be to hold the table I was strapped to. I was strapped in pretty well, by the way, and the table was solid.

The man peered out at me from under his hood and said "As you no doubt are aware by now, your familiars are no more."

"Hear that, Loiosh? You are no more."

"True, Boss. I'm no less, either."

"Funny guy."

"I have been asked to get information from you. You will tell me what I want to know. How much screaming you do before you give the information is up to you."

I cleared my throat, wondering if I could talk. "You could just ask. I've been known to be cooperative."

"Oh, I'll try that first. But if I don't like the answers I get, I will hurt you. I will cause you pain. If that doesn't work, then let me remind you that you have ten fingers, ten toes, two eyes, two ears, and various other bits and pieces that can be treated individually. Also remember that I don't much care what condition you're in when I'm done."

"If you're trying to scare me," I said, "its working."

"I can do a great deal more than scare you."

Where do they get this stuff? "Um, if I thought all you could do was scare me, you couldn't scare me, if you see what I mean."

"We'll see how funny you are in a little while."

I was mildly curious about that myself.

Then and then and now.

Then, it was all about the moment; each instant a transition from terror to its realization, almost as a relief; and then back. But each isolated, unique, individual.

Then it was sharp as a knife, clear as the sky in the East, distinct as the face of a loved one. Each event was pure and moments flowed together like a river, where no droplet has meaning save as part of those around it, and the entirety moving according to its own logic, regardless of what pieces of driftwood may be caught in a momentary eddy.

Now it is what memory has left. A single strip of cloth implies the garment from which it was torn, but yet I cannot, from a few dirty pieces, give you the cut and the fit and the blend of colors. The implication must remain implication, because memory preserves, and it protects, and in doing so picks for its own reasons, so if now I give you tattered rags, it is because they are what remain to me. You may regret this; I do not.

"Who are you working for?"

Blinding, impossible brilliance washing over me.

"What was your mission?"

High in an upper corner of the room was a spider, too small for me to see clearly, but her web grew as I watched, lines forming in patterns that reminded me of something I'd seen once, something associated with vast quantities of water. I tried to remember what it was. Spiders are by nature very patient. The flow of moments means nothing to them.

"Who do you report to?"

The room fading in and out, in and out, trying to focus on the spiderweb annoyed that it kept vanishing into a pale haze.

"How is Rocza?"

"Snappy and bad ‘tempered, Boss."

"Is that a good sign?"

"I wish I knew."

"Are you working for the Empire?"

"No," I said. I remember that. I said, "No."

"Very well. I will accept that provisionally, though I don't really believe you. But I'll give you a chance. Who are you working for?"

"I'm not working for anyone," I said. "I came here looking for my family."

"No, no," he said. "That won't do at all."

"Sorry," I said; and honestly, I was.

And fractured pieces of the spiderweb fluttered about inside my head, and I know it is impossible to grind your teeth when your mouth is wide open; why is it that I remember doing so?

Islands of calm in a sea of pain, a sky of fear covering all.

I know there were times when I was myself. I don't know who I was the rest of the time, and I'm glad of that.

"We know what you are doing here; we just aren't certain who you're doing it for."

"Well, all right. I'll be happy to say whatever you'd like, you know. If you give me a name—"

"Don't play with us, Lord Merss, or whoever you are."

I didn't answer that.

"Would you like some water, Lord Merss?"

"I don't know. Drugged or undrugged?"

"Oh, undrugged. I wish your mental faculties to be at their sharpest."

"Then I'd be delighted."

He held my head carefully as I drank; his eyes were brown, and actually seemed rather friendly, even kind. Shows how reliable eyes are, I guess. He put ice on the inside of my forearms; I'm not sure what that was supposed to do. It felt nice, though.

He gave me a few minutes, I guess to think things over.

"All right," he said. "Now, let us consider this. You are working either for the Empire, or for a private entrepreneur. In the latter case, it is a question of money. In the former, it could be loyalty. If it is money, how much pain is the money worth, not to mention being unable to spend it? In the latter, would the Empress truly wish you to endure great pain for what must be a minor project for her?"

He had a point. Well, if I said it was an individual, he'd want a name, and I didn't have a good name to give him. "All right," I said. "It's the Empire."

He smiled. "Good," he said. "Who do you report to?"

I don't remember what I said, then, or the next questions, but eventually he must have tripped me up, because I remember him saying, "Why would you lie about something like that? I admit it, you are puzzling me."

"I'll take my satisfaction in that, I guess."

And—days? Hours? Years?

What's time to a kethna? Sorry, private joke. In any case, call it a blank space of some duration.

I leaned against the back wall of a little room, massaging my wrists and studying the chain on my ankles, and where it was connected to the floor. It was a wooden floor; there ought to be a way to pry that connection out, if they'd leave me alone for a while. I felt weak—most likely lack of food—but I thought I could still do it.

Thinking about that, how to do it, focusing on—

The spiderweb was bigger now, more elaborate. "Be reasonable," he said. "It isn't that I want to hurt you; I don't. It's just that there are things we need to know. You are forcing me to do things I find distasteful."

"I hope that doesn't make me a bad person," I said. My voice, in my own ears, lacked the jaunty quality I'd been trying for.

My sweat stank.

"Boss?"

"How is Rocza?"

"I think she's going to be fine."

"Good!"

"I don't know what to do, Boss."

"Take care of Rocza, and stay out of sight."

He was running a cool cloth over my forehead; I have to admit it felt good. "You're stubborn," he said. "That's an impressive quality."

"If you're leading up to courting me," I said, "I sort of have my eye on someone already. But thanks."

What did he want me to tell him, anyway? His questions weren't making sense. I'd even tried to explain that once or twice, but he'd just gotten this idea firmly in his head, and it wasn't budging. That's a problem a lot of people have, I've noticed they get a notion locked in, and then refuse to examine it in the light of new evidence.

"Boss!"

"Loiosh, can't you see I'm trying to talk to, this nice man?"

"What nice man?"

"The one asking the questions."

"You're all alone, Boss."

"Oh, so I am. I must have dozed off. He's a boring fellow, really, though well-intentioned"

"I hope that's sarcasm."

"I prefer to think of it as gentle irony, but close enough."

"If a way opens up, Boss, will you be able to walk out of there?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Mmmm?"

"See if you can walk."

"All right, if it makes you happy."

I tried to stand up.

"Okay, I guess you were right to check. I need to complain about the meals in this place; evidently I'm not getting enough of something in my diet."

"Boss, do you know where they put your things?"

He sounded like he was fighting to stay calm. I wished I could think of a way to reassure him I was all right.

"No, afraid not" I said. "I'm not that concerned about it, frankly. Most of it is replaceable, and I don't know how much good Spellbreaker would do under these circumstances."

"I'm thinking of the amulet, Boss. The jhereg can trace you."

"Oh, the amulet I have. It's sort of attached to me. They must have figured out that if it weren't on me I could do sorcery, and they'd have trouble keeping me here."

"Can you remove it?"

"Uh, no."

"We'll have to come up with something, Boss. I don't know how much longer you can survive there."

"How long has it been?"

"You've been in there for a week now."

"Oh, have I?" That seemed odd, but not terribly important. "How is Rocza?"

"Boss, she's fine! Just..."

"What?"

"Nothing, Boss."

"Lord Taltos," he said slowly, "I'm having trouble understanding why you took the name Merss when you came here. Even if I were to believe your story of why you are under an assumed name why that name? No, no. I'm sorry, that is preposterous. What I would like you to say is the truth. Yes, I am convinced the Count was wrong in his initial idea about you. But you really shouldn't be so stubborn—I told you what I want."

"He found out my name, Loiosh."

"You told him, Boss.”

"I told him? Why would I do that?"

"We need to get you out of there, Boss."

"Yeah, well, mark me down in favor. Do you even know where I am?"

"No. Do you?"

"Basement of the paper mill."

"How long have you known that?"

"Just put it together now. I don't know. The smell. And the sounds. Didn't even know I was aware of the sounds. Isn't it odd that—"

"Okay, Boss. But how do I get you out? There's no one I can talk to.”

"It's just funny that I knew that. It's funny how the mind works—"

"How do I get you out, Boss?"

"Find Dahni, of course."

"Boss?"

"Find him."

"But how do I talk to him?"

"You won't have to."

"How does that work?"

"He's smart, and he knows you. He'll see you, ask about me, you won't answer, he’ll figure it out. It might take him a while. I'm sorry I won't be there to watch."

"You think he'll help?"

"He'll help.”

"Why?"

"He'll help.”

I didn't feel like telling Loiosh how I knew; he'd raise all sorts of objections, and I couldn't deal with those right now.

"My dear Lord Taltos, all you need to do is tell me a few, simple things, and all of this will stop: What is the name of the traitor, what does the King plan, and when will he be making his move?"

King? Now there were kings involved in this? Where was I, anyway? The East? Oh, yeah, I was. So, okay, I guess it made sense that there were kings involved. I just shook my head. There wasn't anything I could say by this time.

"I'm afraid," he told me, "that I'm going to have to get serious."

"Well, all right, though I've been enjoying the frivolous part."

"No doubt."

"One thing, before you get too serious."

"Yes?"

"Mind telling me your name, so I can remember you in my prayers?"

He just shook his head. I suddenly remembered the child's whisper I'd heard, and it occurred to me that the child hadn't been apologizing, she'd been expressing sympathy. I felt very pleased that I now understood that.

"Boss? We're coming. Can you hang on just a little longer!"

"No problem, Loiosh. I'm trying to get him to tell me his name. I'll see if I can get it out of him before you show up.”

The spiderweb was finished; that made me sad, though I imagine the spider took some satisfaction from it.

My questioner continued, and it got to be something of a running joke between us; he'd ask me questions I couldn't answer, and I'd ask him his name.

He never did tell me, though; he continued not wanting to tell me right up to the moment when the point of a knife suddenly emerged through the front of his throat.

12

Boraan: And, I suppose, you will want the explanation, my lord? Lefitt: Oh, let's skip that part. Boraan: My dear, you know we'd be killed. Lefitt: Of course. But it might be worth it, just for novelty.

—-Miersen, Six Parts Water Day Two, Act VI, Scene 5

He gagged and choked and clawed the floor and took a long time dying. I watched him carefully. I'm not sure why; I didn't feel any special malice toward him. But I just had the feeling that someday I would want to have been watching while he died. People were talking to me as it was going on, but I ignored them; I guess it was really important to watch. I don't know. I noted the details with a sort of professional detached interest— the terror in his eyes, the helplessness on his face. He wrapped his hands around his throat as if he could stop the bleeding, looking like he was choking himself—an effect increased by the bluish color that crept over him. I kept watching. I didn't miss an instant.

After a while, his mouth open, his hands tried to grip the floor, wet and sticky with his blood, as was the front of his clothing. There was a lot of blood. A whole lot. His eyes took on a glassy look, open-eyed, and he became mostly still except for some twitching, jerking motions for some time.

Eventually, he stopped twitching.

"Lord Merss?"

Still watching the body, I nodded. I think I nodded; I tried to nod. Hands I didn't know took me and unstrapped me and moved me from the table. I know I screamed then as they moved me, which is very odd, when you stop and think about it.

I saw a face I recognized. "Well, hello there, Dahni. What with one thing and another, I prefer your method of interrogation."

His face was like iron. He seemed not to hear me, which was possible. I didn't seem able to generate much volume. I tried again, but this time said, "Can you find my things?"

His expression became, if anything, sterner. "I’m sorry, we can't take the time," he said.

"Gold chain," I said.

"What?" He leaned closer. I repeated it.

He shook his head. "No, I'm taking you out of here."

"Bad move," I said.

For the first time, a bit of humor returned to his expression. "This time, Lord Merss, you're in no condition to be threatening anyone."

"Wrong," I said.

"Wait," he told those carrying me; four men I didn't recognize, but who had that same quality as people I'd known during my brief stint in the army. Odd situation, and not worth going into now. But I was convinced they were soldiers of some kind, which fit in nicely with my conclusions. Of course, the fact that Dahni had shown up at all pretty much confirmed my conclusions. Which, like so many things, was good and bad.

"Okay, let's hear it. I'll be curious about what you're going to threaten me with when you're so weak you can't even speak above a whisp—"

Their timing was perfect. Right in the middle of his sentence, they leaped up and flew at him. He ducked. They circled his head like they'd planned it, then perched next to me and hissed at him.

He stood back up, eying them warily. In his hand was a big, curved, clunky-looking sword with a wide blade, narrowing near the hilt. He seemed hesitant to use it—with good reason.

"The venom is very fast-acting," I said, as loudly as I could—which wasn't very. "You'll feel chest constrictions first, then be unable to breathe. Heart palpitations, sweat, and your body will shake as you become incontinent. The last minute or so you'll be entirely unable to move. You'll die by suffocation. The entire process will take about four minutes. There's no known antidote."

Just for the record, almost none of that was true; but few people actually know about the bites of poisonous reptiles; they know they're poisonous and that's enough, so you can tell them anything and have a good chance of being believed.

Dahni studied me carefully, then glanced at the four men holding me. "Set him down," he said. "Gently. I'll go look for your gear."

"Loiosh will keep you company," I whispered.

"Yeah," he said.

"You know, Boss, that was fun."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Someday, you're going to have to explain how you knew he'd rescue you."

"Someday," I agreed.

"Tomorrow would be good."

"If there is a tomorrow, I'll consider the matter."

After what seemed a long time, Loiosh flew back into the room, accompanied by Dahni, who was carrying a large box that had arcane writing on it that I guess described some sort of paper product. "Got it all," he said. "Want to look it over and see if everything's there?"

"Yes," I said, and I think I half fainted there. I'm not sure what happened next— maybe they just stood around the place waiting for my senses to return, or maybe it was only a second or two. But Dahni held the box while I looked inside, and then moved things around so I could see everything. My purses and my money belt seemed intact, and, more important, Spellbreaker was there. I tried to reach for it and I guess I passed out again.

The next thing I remember is a breeze in my face that felt so good I didn't even mind the stench. It was night, and the mill wasn't working. I saw a bit of wall, some sky, and the backs of those who were carrying me; evidently they had found a blanket somewhere and were toting me on that, though I had no memory of how or when they'd worked that.

"All right, the boat's waiting down there," said Dahni. "After that, I know a safe place—"

"No," I said, almost killing myself to make sure I was loud enough to be heard.

"Eh?"

"No," I repeated. "Bring me to the manor. The Count,"

He shook his head as if he hadn't heard me. He probably hadn't. He leaned closer and I repeated it.

"Boss! You aren't thinking! He's the one who—"

"I know.”

"Think, Boss. I know you've—"

"Back me on this, Loiosh. Make sure he brings me to the Count. If he doesn't, I'm dead."

"What makes you think—"

"The same thing that made me think he'd rescue me."

There was a pause, then, "All right, Boss." He sounded worried. Yeah, me too.

Meanwhile, Dahni had been saying things I'd missed while talking with Loiosh. I shook my head. "The manor," I told him. "I must insist."

Loiosh and Rocza hissed. Dahni looked at those who were carrying me, and I could see his thought process. The soldiers, or, if you will, Vlad-bearers, were giving the jhereg nervous looks. Thinking back, I have to admire them. Those fangs were inches from the hands of a couple of the guys; if it had been me, I'd have dropped me and bolted. But I was concentrating on Dahni. This was the crucial moment of the whole thing. I wondered if I was going to have to tell Loiosh and Rocza to attack. I hoped not. For one thing, there really is no way to predict how jhereg venom will affect any given individual; it could be anything from dropping helpless in seconds and dying within minutes to only becoming mildly ill, and I didn't like to chance it. For another, however it ended it was liable to leave me flat on my back, unable to move, at the mercy of someone who made a career of being merciless.

I told Dahni, "You can't make it."

After a moment, he said, "And what happens to me?"

"Once I'm at the Count's, you can go. The jhereg won't hurt you."

"Why should I trust you?"

"I trusted you to rescue me, didn't I?"

He gave a short, bitter laugh.

"Think it over," I said. "You were my best shot so I took it. Right now, doing what I want is your best shot."

He hesitated another second or two, then nodded to the men holding my blanket. "Get him to the wagon, then take him back home. On my authority."

One of them said, "Yes, lord," and they started moving with me again. I think I might have passed out somewhere in there, because I don't remember the boat trip across the river.

I remember the wagon ride, however. It wasn't as much fun as you might imagine. I'm sure I can't have been awake and aware for the entire journey, but it sure seems like it. Days. It took days. And it's funny how a wagon catches even the tiniest rut or pothole in the road. The worst part was when we stopped, and I thought we'd finally arrived; but it turned out the Count's guards were having words with a patrol. When the jolting and bouncing started up again I bit my lip because I didn't want them to hear me cry out.

At last it really stopped. They came around, and opened the back, and then I was slipping in and out of consciousness again for a while. It wasn't pain, it was just exhaustion. I remember the butler, looking down at me, and saying, "The east room," and thinking how appropriate it was, what with me being an Easterner. I tried to say something about that but it didn't get far. As I stared into his face, I wondered what he was thinking: How much of that bland indifference was hiding his emotions, and how much was training himself not to have any. He wasn't like an Issola; it wasn't a desire to make someone feel comfortable. It was something else. A natural or cultivated distancing of himself from anything beyond what he ought to display.

The more I thought about him, the less I thought about anything else, which was the point of the exercise, in case I need to spell it out for you.

The butler's face turned into that of the Count himself, and I couldn't read his expression, but he didn't give the appearance of someone about to kill me. I saw him walk away with Dahni, the two of them speaking in low tones. I don't think it was paranoia to conclude that my name might have come up in that conversation. I asked Loiosh if he could listen in, but they were being careful. Still, I was pretty sure he wasn't planning to kill me.

Not that I could have done anything about it at that point anyway. I'd pitched all my flat stones and now I was going to see where the round stones stopped rolling.

They carried me up a flight of stairs, which wasn't as bad as the wagon, and put me on a soft bed. Loiosh curled up by my ear with Rocza next to him. I could feel his head moving back and forth, watching everything. I could almost hear him thinking try something; let anyone just try something. That's my last memory for a while.

Later—I have no idea how much later—there was a bearded, gray-eyed older man bending over me, looking at me with great concern and speaking—I couldn't see to whom—to a low voice in an uncouth language I'd never heard before.

I tried to take an inventory of how I felt, but all I felt was numb—not that I was complaining about that. I also felt too weak to move, but I didn't mind so much. Then I became aware that my left arm wouldn't move at all and I started to panic. The old man said, "Shhhh," and held his palm out. "It's all right," he said in a strange accent, with a sort of singsong quality to the end of his phrases. "It was me. I have tied down your hand so you can't injure it more."

I tried to ask if something was wrong with my hand, but talking seemed like a lot of work.

Confused flashes of faces and lights in my face and concerned looks, soothing voices, worried voices, one fading into the other and the smell of herbs steaming reminding me of Noish-pa while I floated there, still, things happening to me as if they were happening around me and all the time my familiar's voice in mind, saying I know not what, but soothing and warming. I slept and dreamt and I woke and, I don't know how to say it, at some point the world stopped slipping in and out of the dreamland and I started to know what was real. I think it was getting toward morning when I finally fell into a real sleep that lasted more than an hour.

I remember Loiosh asking me if I was able to carry on a coherent conversation yet. I told him I was, but I preferred not to. He didn't seem happy about it, but let me alone for another timeless time.

I won't swear to it, but I'm pretty sure everything I've mentioned was the same night, that first night I was there, all before dawn. It was an event-filled time when nothing happened, and I wouldn't care to repeat it.

Sometime later, I think it was the next day, Loiosh said, "Is it time for you to tell me how you figured out Dahni would rescue you?"

"No.”

"That's because when I hear, I'm going to panic, aren't I?"

"Yes.”

A servant I didn't recognize poked his head in while I was awake. Loiosh and Rocza instantly became fully alert, but I decided he really was just a servant. He asked if I needed anything and I couldn't speak to answer. He went out, but returned later with another. They gave me thin soup and brandy—good brandy. I refrained from asking if it had been drugged.

The next several hours went that way. They seemed to think I needed to eat every five minutes or so, but that I couldn't be permitted much when I did. I was most often served by the butler, who never let a human remark pass his lips. If I'd had more energy, I'd have worked on him. After the first time, they didn't give me any more brandy, which was a shame. If the soup had any effect I didn't notice it.

"How much time do you think we have, Boss?"

"Before what?"

"Before whatever you haven't told me about happens."

"Oh. Maybe a day, maybe two. Hard to say."

Later, the old man made me sniff something pungent and peppery to knock me out, and the amulet was removed from my chest. I know this because he told me about it when I was awake again; I have no memory of any of it. He also put some sort of powder where it had been so that the wound wouldn't mortify.

When I woke up, it was lying by my pillow, and there were fresh bandages around my chest to add to the collection. He hadn't told me what he was going to do; if he had, I might have wanted to keep it there. Think how much trouble it would save. Then again, maybe not.

I spent a day there doing nothing except being fed and looked at by the old man, and nothing bad happened that day or that night, except that I didn't sleep particularly well. The next day, two men and one woman came, introduced themselves as witches, and tried to do what they could.

They worked, and had whispered conversations, and worked some more, and, at last, tried the measure of desperation: they talked to me.

"Our spells seem unable to aid you."

"Yes," I said. "The Art has no direct effect on me. I don't know why, it's been like that all my life. My maternal grandfather was the same way."

This seemed to throw them, but they didn't question it. One said, "You say, 'direct' effect?"

"Herbs, infusions, and things of that nature, prepared with the Art, appear to work normally, it is just that they cannot be prepared by me or close to me, and a glamour cast upon me will have no effect, and my aura is invisible. I have no idea why this might be."

I lay on my pillow next to the amulet of black Phoenix Stone and looked sincerely puzzled at them.

They ended by making poultices and infusions and such. They concealed what they were doing, or I might have been able to offer suggestions, but they did seem to know what they were about except for making infusions that looked and smelled like poultices.

I drank soup and infusions, and tried to decide if the poultices smelled worse than the paper mill, and let them tend me. The Count owed me that much, by Verra's tits! I dozed off, woke up, dodged Loiosh's questions, stared at the ceiling. Meanwhile, I was trying to figure out a way to keep all of their work from being wasted.

I didn't come up with anything.

Loiosh was getting jumpier by the moment. He finally said, "Boss, if I know what I'm scared of, it can't be worse than this."

"Yes it can.”

"And I have been known to come up with an idea once in a while.”

"Okay, that much I'll agree with."

"Well?"

I sighed. "All right. Dahni said that talking to me in the dark like that would give him an edge"

"And?"

"And why would it give him an edge?"

"Because you have—oh"

"Right. How could he know that?"

"Uh, how could he know that?"

"Only one way I can think of. He'd been in touch with the Jhereg. You know how we work. You know how I work. When I'm planning to take someone down, I find out everything about him. Everything. I learn what color hose he prefers, and how hot he likes his bathwater, and—"

"The Jhereg would have learned that you have bad night vision."

"Yes."

"And told Dahni, because it might give him an edge in—"

"In taking me and hauling me out to them, so they don't have to make a stir by coming into town as Dragaerans, excuse me, 'elfs.' Much less as elfs with a Morganti weapon."

"You say 'them’."

"Probably just one"

"You're telling me that there is a Jhereg assassin here?"

"Not here, exactly. But nearby, probably within an hour or so of town."

"Boss! We—wait, I still don't see—Dahni is working for the Jhereg?"

"Not working, exactly. I'm guessing they just found a local willing to do some things for them. You know, 'Deliver this guy to me, and I will make you a wealthy man indeed! That sort of thing."

"But then, you must have—oh. He'd be willing to rescue you because if he didn't, he wouldn't get paid."

"Right.”

"So, he was going to bring you—"

"Right to the assassin, yes. I had to count on you, chum."

"When did you put this together, Boss?"

"When Dahni made the remark about talking to me in the dark giving him an edge."

"Pretty clever."

"That's why you work for me, instead of the other way around."

"It thought it was the opposable thumbs.”

"That too.”

"You might have told me."

"It wasn't the time for long explanations and recriminations. And hearing about how I should have gotten out of town when you said, and about how—"

"—you shouldn't have taken the amulet off just because your muscles were tired?"

"That, too.”

"So you think that's how they found you?"

"Probably. If they'd trailed me they'd have taken me before I got to a town. A day to teleport into the mountains to somewhere someone has memorized, and, with a good horse, maybe another day or two to get here. Yeah, it's about right."

"So here you are, flat on your back, can hardly stand up, with your left hand..."

He trailed off. "What's wrong with my left hand?"

"We'll know when the physicker is done, maybe nothing."

A chill went through me.

"Two word's, Boss: Castle Black"

"You know I won't do that to Morrolan. Besides, we'll never make it there."

After a moment's thought, he agreed with the second.

"What will they do now, Boss? Sneak in here and put a shine on you?"

"They know about you and Rocza. They'll need to come up with a way to disable you."

"Which is why they tried to—no, that doesn't make sense."

"No, that was the Count."

"But then, I still don't understand why the Count is protecting you, if he's the one who first took you."

I sighed. "Let me rest for a bit, Loiosh. That's going to take more explanation than I can deal with right now."

"Okay, Boss. Get some rest. I'll try to get us out of this mess, since it's obvious that you can't."

"You just always pick the right thing to say to cheer me up."

I did get some rest, though the dreams were ugly and woke me up repeatedly, as did the itches and the physicker. Why is it that when you most need rest and healing, those in charge of healing you never let you rest?

Later that day, the Count stopped by to see me. "My lord Merss," he said. "I'm sorry. If there's anything I can do—"

"You're doing it," I said, trying to speak loud enough for him to hear me. "And it isn't done."

His pure white brows came together. "How—?"

"I imagine someone will be sneaking in here to kill me. Probably tonight or tomorrow. No, I shouldn't say that. He'll be trying to kill me; I have no way of knowing if it will involve sneaking in here or some other approach entirely."

He shook his head. "No. I've, ah, spoken to those responsible. They'll make no effort—"

"They aren't the ones who will be coming."

"Then who?"

"I can't tell you."

"Can't tell me?"

"That is, I don't choose to."

He opened his mouth and closed it. "Very well," he said. "Can you tell me how best to guard you?"

Now he was asking the hard questions.

Well, if it were me, how would I do it? I wouldn't bribe a guard; too risky if he said no. Pure stealth would be an option, but how to deal with guards in the actual room, which is an obvious step, not to mention Loiosh and Rocza? If it were me, I'd never have a plan that involved fighting. Fighting is dangerous, even if you have an edge because, say, you're invis—

"Sorcery," I said. "The attack will come using sorcery."

"Witchcraft?"

"No, the, ah, the Art of the elfs. It's different."

He rubbed the back of his hand over his lips. "I've heard of such things. I know nothing about how it works, or how to defend against it."

"Yeah," I said. "I know something about it, but defending against it, when you don't know what form the attack will take, well, that's rough. He can't come at me directly because, ah, he can't. But he could blow up your manor, or make a chunk of roof fall on my head, or, well, I don't know. There are many possibilities."

"Perhaps I should I hide you."

I thought about another ride on a wagon and moaned to myself. "Perhaps you should," I said.

"Aybrahmis says you shouldn't be moved, but—"

"Who?"

"The physicker."

"Oh."

"But if it's between that, and permitting you to be, to be taken from under my roof—"

"What about you?"

"Me? Once I have you safe, I shall retire to the City. I shall be having the servants pack what I need directly when we finish our talk."

"What a coward, Boss!"

"I knew there was something I admired about him."

"I'll never get tired of handing you set-ups."

"Someday I may ignore one, just to watch you twitch."

He sort of hissed a disbelieving laugh into my head.

"I don't suppose you know of a convenient cave?"

"Cave? No, I know of no caves. Why?"

"I don't know, hiding in caves is supposed to be traditional."

He looked dubious. I hadn't been serious anyway.

The trouble was, the assassin could do anything, especially if he were a sorcerer. Well, okay, he couldn't do anything to me directly; the gold Phoenix Stone prevented that. But he didn't need to, either. He could blow up the entire manor. Sure, assassins don't like to do things that will call attention to ourselves—that is, themselves—but out here in the East, who cared? And I had no idea how skilled he was. When you're after someone, you know who he is—as I told Loiosh, you know everything there is to know about him before you make a move. When someone is coming after you, you don't know anything.

Well, no, there was one thing we knew: that there was an assassin after me. And there was another thing that we could find out, if we went about it right.

"What do you think, Loiosh?"

"He might have bolted."

"Yeah, I know. But if he hasn't?"

"I can't think of anything better, Boss. But we'd best do it fast. It would be embarrassing if the Jhereg put a shine on you right before we were about to go into action."

"You're sounding like me."

"Easterners are short. Jhereg are reptiles. Water is wet. I sound like you."

I let him have that one and turned my attention—what there was of it—back to His Lordship. "Okay, here's what we're going to do."

"Eh?" He put his ear next to my mouth so I wouldn't have to shout.

"Get Dahni," I told him.

He looked like he was about to ask why but thought better of it, and just nodded. He went out to give the orders, and Aybrahmis came back in and fiddled with my left hand while I studied a painting on the wall to my right. It showed a waterfall. I like waterfalls. This one had a sort of dreamy quality, which is neither here nor there, but it did have the sense of motion, which is what a painting of a waterfall ought to have. There were also some effects where the droplets of water blended into the mist; a sort of fool-the-eye kind of effect that I liked. In my next life, I'll be an art critic. I wondered which House an art critic was likely to be found in. I hadn't read enough of them to know.

Unlikely to be any of the six (or five, or seven) Houses of the true aristocracy, unless perhaps an errant Tiassa wanted to go that way for a little while if he felt he could inspire better work; but eventually he'd get tired of it and want to do the painting himself.

An Issola might, if he could find a way to be critical without ever wounding the artist's feelings; and if anyone could do that, an Issola could, but, really I didn't think so. I had trouble imagining a Teckla getting the education and drive necessary to understand art and how to write out his thoughts and feelings well enough. An Orca wouldn't do it because there wasn't enough money in it. At least, I'd never heard of anyone becoming wealthy on the proceeds from writing art columns for the local rags. Jhereg? Please. It is to laugh. Vallista? Yeah, I could see that. Maybe a Vallista. When he isn't making something, perhaps he'd enjoy ripping apart the efforts of those who are. Those things sort of go together. Or maybe a Jhegaala at a certain stage in his life, when he's tired of one thing but hasn't yet gone on to the next. I'd known a few; young Jhegaala flock to games of chance. Older ones generally avoid them, but pay up promptly if they play. They're unpredictable bastards, though; just when you think you have a guy figured as a dull, boring clerk in a leather-goods store, he'll suddenly turn into an art critic on you. Hard to pin a Jhegaala down; you never know what one will be up to next. And that could trap you—thinking you understood a guy, only to find out you only understood what he used to be like. That's the thing about them, though: they're always moving. A moving target, like moving water: You can't pick it up, can't keep hold of it if you have it. You try, and find your hand doesn't work anymore. Because your hand is going from one thing to another, all the time, changing, moving, shifting. Everything shifts like that. As soon as you've figured out what something is, it becomes something different. Try to slap a label on it and you've just confused yourself. There's more to understanding than finding the right label, just like there's more to torture than causing pain. You have to keep the guy in the here-and-now; let his mind drift, and he's beat you, because whatever you're doing to his body, it's his mind you want. Just like trying to fix a label on someone, you have to stay on top of it as it changes. You have to ride it, keep with it, turn when it turns, let it carry you, let it change you. It's no fun, but what else can you do?

"Your legs are splinted, and I've treated the burns as best I can and, ah, made certain you didn't move in such a way as to hurt yourself further. There's nothing more I can do for you right now, Lord Merss."

I nodded, still studying the waterfall, and tried not to shake. I heard his footsteps receding, and relaxed a little. Then I very softly, under my breath, got caught up on all the cursing I might have missed in the last quarter century or so.

A servant I didn't recognize came in with more soup. Have I mentioned that they had to hold the spoon up to my lips? After they were done feeding me, I shook for a while, which probably took more energy than I'd gotten from the soup. It didn't taste very good either. Barley, I think, with not enough garlic and too much brownroot powder.

I guess I slept for a while after that, until His Lordship returned, with Dahni in tow. Dahni looked like he wanted to look confident and poised.

I managed to lift my right arm enough to beckon him. He tried to look jaunty as he walked. The Count gestured to the two men-at-arms—one of whom I think I recognized—to leave. I said, "No, my lord."

"Eh?"

"You'll want them here."

Part Five Levidopt

The female lays the eggs, the male protects them; yet, like the jhereg (and hence the common etymology of the names, see Appendix B, this volume), both sexes develop venom, as well as wings. No suitable explanation for this peculiarity has been postulated....

The most important and most often overlooked aspect of the levidopt is that, in a sense recapitulating the entire development of the Jhegaala, it, too, is in a constant state of change.

—Oscaani: Fauna of the Middle South: A Brief Survey, Volume 6, Chapter 19

13

Lefitt: Can't anyone tell me anything?

[Enter Tadmar] Tadmar: I can. Lefitt : Thank all the gods! Well then, please do! Tadmar: There's a merchant at the door. Lefitt (aside): I asked for that, didn't I?

—Miersen, Six Parts Water Day One, Act IV, Scene 3

The guards hesitated—I guess my voice was a little stronger— and looked at the

Count. He frowned. Dahni tried not to look uncomfortable.

"Where is he?" I said.

"And of whom might you be speaking?" Dahni asked.

I shook my head wearily. "I'm too tired for this, and there's no time. Unless you want His Lordship hunting you down wherever you go—and me, if I happen to live through it—just answer the bloody question. The Jhereg. The elf. The assassin. The Dragaeran. The man you've been paid to deliver me to. Where is he? Oh, and don't try to pretend to be carefree and calm unless you can pull it off, it just leaves you looking ridiculous."

He looked at His Lordship, who, to his credit, had picked up my play immediately and put on a stone face.

Dahni sighed. "Yes, well. If I tell you, do I get out of this alive?" He was looking at His Lordship.

"As far as I'm concerned," he said. "I can't speak for him."

I said, "Not much I could do to you if I wanted to right now."

He glanced significantly at Loiosh and Rocza.

"Oh," I said. "Yeah, we'll leave you alone."

"We're not really letting him go, Boss, are we?"

"I haven't decided yet"

He nodded. "About two miles northeast of town by the Lumber Camp Trail there is a row of old shacks. Right behind the third one is a trail that leads over a hill. At the bottom of the hill is a sort of office area the camp leader used to use. He's in there."

"I know it," said the Count.

Dahni nodded, and looked like he was about to leave.

"Not quite yet," I said. "Did he give you a name?"

"Mahket." He stumbled a little saying the name, I guess because the stress was on the last syllable, and Fenarian never does that.

I laughed a little. "Mahket" means "peace-lover." He had a sense of humor, did this assassin. And no more desire to give his real name than I would have had. "When did he first make contact with you?"

"It would have been, ah, two weeks ago."

I made the adjustment from the Eastern "week" to the Dragaeran, and nodded. "How did he find you?"

"I don't know. It was after His Lordship gave me the assignment to follow you. Perhaps a servant?"

"Probably. Finding the local lord and pumping one of his servants for information would have been a natural first step."

The Count said, "I will discover who it was."

"If you wish," I said. "I don't think it matters much. If you paid your servants enough so they weren't susceptible to bribes, they'd no longer be servants." I turned back to Dahni. "When does he expect to hear from you again?"

"Today, an hour before dusk."

"And?"

He winced.

"Relax," I said. "You've been given your life, and it's much too late for any of us to start liking you. Now let's hear it."

He nodded. "I'm to deliver a layout of the manor, precisely where you are within it, the position of the guards, and how closely you are guarded."

"And then?"

"When he returns, I am to be paid. If he really plans to pay me, of course, and not to either just leave, or kill me."

"Don't worry," I said. "He'll carry out his bargain. Or, well, he would."

"You know him?"

"I know his kind. I presume you were paid something up front?"

He nodded.

"Then not only do you get to live, but, ah, one moment."

"Loiosh, how much gold am I carrying with me?"

"I don't know, Boss. A lot. Five pounds or so?"

I said, "You can also pick up ten gold coins of the Empire. Pure gold. Interested?"

"Ten coins," he said. "Each coin is, ah, what?"

"An ounce," I said. "A seventeenth of an Imperial pound."

"That's what you call an ounce?"

"Yes."

"That's strange."

"It's an Imperial measure. What do you call an ounce?"

"A sixteenth of a standard pound."

"And that isn't strange?"

"Good point."

"Well?"

"What do I have to do?"

"Dissemble."

"I think I see where this is going."

"I suspect you do. Well?"

He thought it over, but I knew which way it would go—I could see the greed dancing in his eyes. I knew that look well; I'd made my living on it, directly or indirectly, for many years.

"All right," he said.

"Good. Give him the information, just as agreed. Only leave out this conversation, and anything else that might give him the idea he's expected. As far as he's concerned, everything's fine. Understand?"

He nodded.

"Tell him things get quiet here about four hours after sunset."

He nodded again.

"Do you think you can pull it off?"

"Dissembling? What do you think?"

"Good point. Look at me, Dahni."

"I am looking at you."

"No, look at what's been done to me." My voice sounded hoarse to my ears.

He swallowed and nodded.

"Keep it in mind, Dahni. Because I don't trust you. And if you turn on me, I'm going to have you delivered to me, and this is what I'm going to do to you."

I looked at His Lordship, who looked back at me, hesitated, then nodded once.

"I understand," said Dahni.

"Good. Go keep your appointment. You'll be paid when— when matters have been attended to."

"Aren't you going to ask how much I was to be paid for delivering you?"

"I never indulge in morbid curiosity," I lied.

After he'd gone, and before I could make the suggestion, His Lordship turned to one of the guards and said, "Do we have anyone who can follow him without making it obvious?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Then do so."

He dismissed the other guard as well, and we were alone.

"Well?" he said. "Now what?"

Now I wanted to sleep.

"Send a troop. Good men, who can move in close before doing anything. Don't give him time to get a spell off, assuming he can—"

"Just kill him? With no warning, no capture, no trial, on your say-so alone?"

"Yes," I said, and waited.

I figured I didn't need to draw it out for him, and I didn't; he finally nodded. "All right."

"Find a witch and tell him you need Nesiffa powder. A lot of it. A sackful."

"What is it?"

"It's the base of an infusion for curing migraines, but that isn't what you want it for. It's a powder, but each grain will stick to skin or cloth. You have everyone in the attack group carry some in his left hand, and throw it at the guy first thing."

"Because?"

"He won't teleport; that takes too long; When he realizes he's being attacked—which ought to be no more than a second before the attack starts or we're out of luck—the first thing he's likely to try is to disappear, if he can. And he probably can; it's a simple enough spell. Covered with that stuff, your men can still see him. It's an old trick, but a good one."

"All right. What was it called?"

"Nesiffa powder. Find good people, who can stay quiet. I mean, dead quiet. Hide outside of the cabin and wait for him to come out, and then just take him. No warning or you'll lose him."

He nodded. He didn't like it. Me, the only part I didn't like was the chance for a screw-up.

"You'll find a money belt in the box they brought in with me. Take—"

"No," he said. "I'll see that he's paid."

"All right," I said.

Once His Lordship was clear on everything, he wished me well and let himself out. The witches came in right away and changed my poultices and made me drink more disgusting messes; then the physicker's assistant, whom I hadn't seen before, came in and muttered various well-meant meaningless sounds and changed my dressings, after which I was finally left alone.

I was exhausted.

"If this works, we'll be—"

"In the same situation we're in now, Boss. The Jhereg knows where you are."

"We'll have bought some time."

"A day? Two days? A week?"

"They'll still have the same problem, Loiosh. I'll have to be moved back into town is all" I tried not to think of another ride in the back of a wagon. "One thing at a time, right, chum?"

"Right, Boss," He didn't seem happy.

As far as I could tell, Rocza was fine. I asked Loiosh and he agreed. "I think she was just trying to get my sympathy, Boss"

Sometimes, it's best for Loiosh that Rocza can't hear what he's telling me.

The next thing I did was sleep.

I think I slept three or four hours, which was the longest uninterrupted sleep I could remember in a long time. The witches had returned, and they consulted each other in low voices while mixing things at the opposite end of the room so I couldn't see. I guess they didn't value my opinions. They came back and made me drink things, and put wet things on me. I had to admit, the wet things felt pretty good. Then I guess I slept some more.

I awoke to Loiosh's voice in my head, saying, "Boss, they're back."

"Who? What?"

I opened my eyes as His Lordship came into the room, flanked by a pair of guards, one looking bright and shiny, the other dusty and dirty and, yes indeed, bloodstained.

I looked my question at the Count.

"They did it," he said. "He's dead."

I felt a tension drain out of me, and I nodded.

He gestured to the bloodstained guard. "Show him."

The guard came forward and for a second I thought he was going to show me the guy's head, but the bundle in his hand was too small and the wrong shape. He unwrapped it and showed it to me. A dagger, about nine inches of blade, almost all point. Just the sort of thing I'd have picked. The metal was grayish black and didn't reflect the light. I couldn't feel it, but I shuddered anyway.

"What is it?" asked the old man, harshly.

"A special sort of weapon. It is—" I broke off. I didn't want to say "evil" because it sounded silly. But no other word quite described that thing. "It is something you should keep. Set it aside, put it in your vault, make—"

"I don't have a vault," he said too quickly.

"—it an heirloom. Never use it. You probably don't even want to touch it."

The guard looked even more nervous than he had before. Saekeresh nodded to him and said, "Set it over there, I'll see to it later." Then he turned back to me. "So, is it over, then?"

"Over?" I said. "Not even close. But if you get me out of your house, and into town, it should be over for you. In any case, we can hope we have some time."

"There won't be more of these, whatever they are, after you?"

"There will, but they won't have come together. At least, most likely. They generally work alone."

"But, these others, they'll know where you are?"

"I imagine whoever sent Mahket will know."

"So, then, when he doesn't report back—"

"Yes."

He rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth again. "You'll be safe in the inn?"

"I'll be safer somewhere that isn't here. And, yes, if he has to come into town to get me, he'll be more likely to be noticed. In particular, because he'll have one of those with him." I gestured toward the counter. "There are enough witches in town that it'll be noticed. And why is that, anyway? The place is lousy with witches. Can't cross the street without tripping over one. Is this whole country like that?"

His mouth worked. "Actually, we have fewer here than in many places."

Which reminded me that the number had been reduced by an entire family not long ago. Whatever shape I was in, I was better off than they were. Or Mahket, for that

matter.

I said, "Well, can you get word to them?" "Some of them. A fair number."

"Good. Let them stay alert for an ugly sort of foulness they haven't encountered before. If they relax and let themselves, they can feel it a long way away. It will be a weapon of the same sort that you took from Mahket. When they feel it, another elf is here to kill me."

"What did you do to them?"

"Eh, I made enemies."

He let it go.

Aybrahmis came in with two guards and a servant, and they lifted me up and turned me over and changed the bedding. He asked if I needed to use the chamber pot, and I did, and the less said about that experience the better. The guards politely looked away. When I was back on the bed I was shaking. Then I was fed again, and after that I slept some more. I had dreams and woke up several times. During one of those half-awake, half-asleep times, I noticed Rocza suddenly being very affectionate—rubbing her head against my face, and licking the corner of my mouth—which was a new development. I asked Loiosh about it and he said, "She likes you, Boss," which was oddly warming in my present state. Things between Rocza and me were always odd. I had acquired her; I guess you could say, by magic that shouldn't have worked. I had summoned her the way you summon a familiar, but as an adult. She had taken up with Loiosh, and so stayed with me, but communication between us was vague at best and generally filtered through Loiosh. To discover that she had some affection for me was agreeably disappointing.

The night passed, somehow. I didn't feel noticeably better the next morning, but I suppose Aybrahmis must have thought I was because he let me eat some dry bread in addition to the soup. He looked at what the witches had done for the burns and nodded his approval; then he looked at my hand again while I studied the painting some more. Wherever I end up living, if I ever end up living somewhere (or, in fact, if I end up living), I don't think I will ever have a painting of a waterfall there. And forget that art critic idea, too.

I was left alone at last.

"We need to plan our next move, Boss."

"It's planned. We're going back to the inn. The Mouse."

"After that?"

"I don't know. I need to recover, I guess."

"Boss, you have two choices. One is to take months to recover"— he didn't add "if you ever do"—"and the other is to take that amulet off, which is liable to get you killed fast."

"Maybe there's another choice."

"What?"

"I don't know.”

"We need to figure out the safest way for us to be gone from here before—"

"No. I have things left to do in this place."

"Boss, tell me you're just teasing your old buddy."

"No."

I shocked him into a silence that lasted the two or three minutes until they came to move me to the inn. They picked me up, mattress and all, and carried me down the stairs and out to the wagon. My box came with me.

This trip, also at night, wasn't as bad as the other had been; I didn't have to concentrate all of my energy on not screaming. I could look at the stars, and wonder and speculate and pick out imaginary patterns as does anyone else who has seen them.

We stopped just outside of town. I called over one of the guards and asked why. He shrugged and said, "Orders."

I was about to tell Loiosh to find out what was up, but he flew off before I could formulate it; Rocza stood over me, wings spread, chest out, neck arched, opening and closing her mouth the way jhereg do when they want you to remember that they have really sharp fangs. The guards who had remained behind kept giving her nervous glances.

"It's all right, Boss.”

"What? What's going on?"

"We should have thought of it ourselves. They're arranging for you to be brought in a back way."

"Oh. Yeah, we should have thought of it ourselves."

We started up again, and they finally had to take me off the mattress to make it up the back stairway of the Mouse, which had been built narrow for no possibly good reason, and if I ever meet whoever designed it I'll break both his legs. It took years to get up those stairs, with one guy holding my legs and another, my arms.

When I was finally deposited in a bed—different room, but the bed felt the same—I could only lie there and contemplate the sweet sounds of my moaning. I'll let you in on a secret: I don't sound all that good.

My entourage—the physicker and the witches—arrived within the hour and Aybrahmis made a clicking sound with his tongue as he looked me over. "With these people coming in to see me every day, Loiosh, it isn't going to be much of a secret where I am.”

"Being secret wasn't part of the plan, was it?"

"No, but it would have been nice."

"It would have been nice if..."

He didn't say it.

"I think," said Aybrahmis, "that you will, for the most part, recover full use of your hand."

"For the most part?"

"There should be no loss of strength or flexibility, I believe."

"All right."

"Are you cold?"

"Yes."

He went out and came back about ten minutes later with another blanket. "I have arranged for meals to be brought up to you. I will need to have someone come in and help you with, ah, other things. The Count will pay for it."

"Good of him," I said dryly.

About half an hour after he and the witch had left (just one this time—the fat one with the long sideburns), someone struck the door. Loiosh, Rocza, and I all jumped, then remembered. "Come in," I said.

The door opened and a light-haired, beardless face appeared, followed by a pair of shoulders that looked like they wouldn't fit through the door. He was big. He wasn't exceptionally tall, just very, very big. It looked like he could have crushed my head in one of his hands. Maybe he could have. He smiled—he was missing a few teeth and the others didn't look so good—and said, "You are Lord Merss? I am Meehayi. His Lordship"—he made a quick gesture here that I didn't catch— "sent me to assist you."

I still had to concentrate on speaking so he could hear me. "I am Merss Vladimir," I told him.

He looked me over and shook his head. "What happened?"

"I fell down the stairs," I said.

He nodded, as if he'd seen the same result from a stair fall many times.

He seemed to be harmless and stupid. If he wasn't here to kill me (there's always that possibility, after all) then chances were I'd get him killed in less than a week. But he'd be useful to have around until then.

Am I getting cynical?

Heh. That fruit's already picked.

"So, you tell me what you need done," he said, "and old Meehayi will do it."

"Old Meehayi" was maybe sixteen. I moaned to myself.

But he was careful when he picked me up. I guess he could be; he could have lifted three of me. I told him what I needed, and he did it without comment or, as far as I could tell, any reaction at all. A bit like the butler, I suppose, only from a different source and in a different way.

When he was done, he ran a thin rope out of my window and, as he explained, into his room next door, where it was attached to a bell. "Just ring if you need anything," he said, grinning his ugly grin. I nodded and shut my eyes.

When he had gone I cried for a long time without making a sound. Loiosh and Rocza remained perfectly still.

I slept for a little, and Meehayi brought soup and bread from downstairs. This was better soup, oily and peppery with some substance, not to mention meat. Aybrahmis probably wouldn't have approved, but it made me feel as if it just might be worth staying alive. I mean, after doing what I meant to do; before I dealt with that, nothing was going to take me down.

You hear about guys messing themselves up because they wanted revenge and didn't care about anything else. Then you hear about guys who will tell you that revenge is "wrong," whatever that means. Well, they can all go "plunk" at the bottom of Deathgate for all of me. I had come into town to learn what I could about my mother's family, and now they were dead, and if I didn't do anything about it then the bastards who did it would just go on doing things that way because it worked so well. And as for getting messed up: well, you do things and there are consequences; I ought to know. I can live with consequences. Besides, how much more messed up could I get?

But that's all justification, and I knew it even as I lay there, more dead than alive, and told it to myself. The real issue was just that the idea of letting them get away with it was unthinkable. I didn't have any more justification than that, and I didn't need any.

I put my mind to planning how I was going to pull it off. If I couldn't do anything else, at least I could lie there and think. You don't come up with a plan by thinking, "What's the best way to do this?" You start with what you know, assembling it in your head (I prefer to talk it over with Loiosh, actually, because I formulate my thoughts better when I say them), and make special note of oddities—things that stick out as not fitting in some way. You get as clear a picture of the situation as you can, and then— usually—openings start presenting themselves. At least, that was how I approached it when I made my living by making others stop living, and I couldn't see a good reason to change it.

Once, many years ago, I had talked about this with a colleague. It was the only time I had ever discussed the methods of assassination with anyone, including Cawti, because, well, there are things you just don't talk about. But this guy and I were both drunk that night, and talked about how we approached it, and it turned out he did things the same way I did. He called it "the process of elimination." I wish I could claim credit for that line. I thought it was funny.

He eventually got to thinking he was too tough to have to pay off his gambling debts and he got shined. I can't remember his name.

On this occasion, I didn't want to go through it with Loiosh yet, so I just ran things over in my head, organizing what I knew and noting things I still needed to learn. The more I thought about it, the more I realized my picture wasn't complete. To be sure, I had the broad outlines; I now knew who was behind the thing, and who had done what and why. But the holes in the picture could be troublesome when I got around to doing something about it.

"Boss, is this when you finally get around to telling me what's been going on?"

"It's all been a big misunderstanding"

"Why do I get the feeling you aren't kidding about that?"

"I'm not.”

"Uh, okay, Boss. You talk, I'll listen.”

I shook my head and stared at the ceiling, feeling suddenly empty, empty of ambition, empty of anger, empty of energy. Does this always happen when you're seriously hurt, you feel full of desire to make plans one minute, the next minute you just want to soak in self-pity, and the minute after that you don't feel anything? If this pattern was going to continue, it would get very old. I didn't have time for it. I needed to do things. But not right now. I slept some, I think. Later, Meehayi came in and fed me soup. "What is this?" I asked.

"Soup," he said.

"Hardly. There's nothing in it."

"The physicker had them make this specially for you."

I'd have knocked the bowl into his face if I could have moved.

"Eat it, Boss. Please."

I ate it; every tasteless, disagreeable spoonful of it. Then I shook some more, though I can't say why; I wasn't cold. I slept some, and the next time Meehayi brought soup I was able to feed myself. If I told you how much of a sense of triumph that brought me you'd think I was an idiot, or else just pitiful.

As I was recovering from the exertion, Loiosh said, "How much of this was the assassin, Boss?"

"What do you mean?"

"How much of, of what happened to you was his doing?"

"Oh. You think the invisible hand of the assassin was behind it? No chance. For one thing, it started before he got here. For another, the last thing he wanted was for me to be taken. It put me out of his reach. In fact, it..."

I let that thought trail off, and Loiosh didn't pick it up. Yeah, it might have saved my life. Eventually I'd decide if it was a good trade-off. Meanwhile, he was one problem solved, one complication gone. Not that I was in danger of running out of those anytime soon.

"There are things I need to know, Loiosh, and I can't move, so you're going to have to find out for me."

"Sure, Boss. Just give me the list of questions and the people to ask.”

"Now isn't the time to be funny."

"Now isn't the time for me to be anywhere but here."

"There are things I need to know."

"How bad do you need to know them if you're dead?"

That conversation consumed a considerable amount of time, and became rather passionate. In the end, however, he agreed to do what I wanted, because the alternative would have been to say that Rocza was incompetent. Sometimes you have to fight dirty.

"Okay," he said grudgingly. "What do you need to know?"

"Do you think you could follow Orbahn without him seeing you?"

"Don't make me laugh. The question is, can I see Orbahn with' out finding out how far into him I can sink my fangs."

"Um. Well, can you?"

"Maybe. What do you need to know?"

"I need him followed."

"Any guess where I can find him?"

"Try the Hat.”

"Okay. Now? Or is there more?"

"There will be more eventually."

"Of that, Boss, I have no doubt at all."

"But this will do for now."

"Just one thing before I go flying off on this errand."

"What?"

"How do I get out of here?"

"Huh? Through the... oh" I scowled and rang the bell for Meehayi to open the window. It was about time for me to have more of the wonderful soup anyway.

14

Magistrate: This is what comes of everyone acting in his own self-interest. Boraan: In whose interest ought everyone to act, my lord? Magistrate: Why, mine, of course. Lefitt: Some people are so self-centered.

—Miersen, Six Parts Water Day Two, Act IV, Scene 5

Meehayi seemed unduly impressed that I was able to feed myself again, given that I'd already done so once. I should have felt insulted, but for whatever reason I wasn't. He did things for me and I hated feeling grateful to him and to the Count. In an effort to direct his and my attention away from what was going on (I swear to you, that's all I was doing) I said, "Are you from a large family?"

"Large enough," he said. "Three sisters, four brothers. Who lived, I mean," he added matter-of-factly.

"Farm?"

He nodded. "For the Count, now."

I almost let that go, but I was desperate to talk about something, anything. "Now?" I said.

"Well, all my life."

"Who was it before that?"

"The old Baron, of course." He dropped his voice. "He was an evil man. He used to bathe in the blood of young virgins." He nodded seriously.

"Yes, well," I said. "That certainly qualifies as evil, though I'm having some trouble imagining he'd have found it pleasant."

That seemed to puzzle him and he fell silent.

"What became of him?" I asked.

"There was a great battle between the Count and the Baron, and in the end the Count dragged him down to Hell."

"Where is Hell, exactly? I've often wondered."

He looked at me to see if I were mocking him, which I was, but I felt bad about it so I kept my face straight and looked sincere.

"Under the ground," he finally said.

"It must have been some battle."

He nodded eagerly, as if he'd been there. "The Baron summoned demons and devils, and all the witches of light gathered together to banish them."

I made a noncommittal sound, wondering if there were any shades of truth anywhere in it. "This must have been a long time ago."

"Oh, yes. It was in my great-great-grandfather's time."

Of course it was.

"I see. That must have been about the time the paper mill was opening."

He nodded. "I think so. It was the Count who opened the mill, you know. My brother and my uncle work there."

"The old Count. Back then. Not the same man."

"Oh, no! He'd be over a hundred years old."

I nodded. "His grandson, then?"

He frowned. "I think so." I guess he wasn't used to keeping track of progressions of his overlords.

"So then, there was a great battle of good magic and evil magic and the brave Count banished the foul Baron and took over his holdings and opened a paper mill and all was well."

"Um, I guess so."

By this time I was back on the bed, but my mind was working so hard I hardly noticed my body. "Who would know the details about this?"

"Details, Lord Merss?"

"Yes. Your story interests me. I'd like to learn more. The names of everyone involved on both sides, and how the battle was fought, all of it. Perhaps I'll write a history."

He looked awestruck. "A history? You'll really write a history?"

"I might. But to do that, I need to know someone who knows all about it. Who would that be?"

"Father Noij."

"Right. Of course. Father Noij. Would you be good enough to ask Father Noij to come and visit me when he gets the chance?"

"All right, I will!" he said. I think he was excited to be part of someone writing a history.

"Don't tell him what it's about. I'd rather introduce the subject myself."

He nodded enthusiastically and dashed off, leaving me to my contemplations. I didn't have time for a lot of them before he returned, somewhat breathless and beaming. "He said he'll stop by this evening."

"Good," I said, and realized that I was now, without effort, speaking in an almost normal tone of voice. I was getting better. Perhaps in a year or two I'd even be able to walk.

I'm going to stop mentioning being hit with waves of frustration, or misery, or anger. You can just figure that they happened, one after the other, quicker or longer, weaker or stronger, and plug them in where you want to. They don't matter. When you have to do something, it doesn't matter how you feel when doing it, it matters that you do it.

"So, Meehayi, how is it you were picked for this?"

"For what, Lord Merss?"

"For taking care of me. Why you?"

"Oh. I don't know. I'm strong, I guess that's why."

"You are that."

"And I think he wanted someone stupid, too."

"Stupid," I repeated stupidly.

"Well, I'm strong, so they think I must be stupid."

"Ah," I said. "I see. Yes."

He flashed me a grin. "Oh, I know. You think I'm stupid too. That's all right, I don't mind." He frowned suddenly. "Maybe not minding is why I was picked, come to think of it."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything. He gave me a little bow and said, "Ring the bell if you need anything, Lord Merss."

"Call me Vlad," I said. When he was gone, I watched the ceiling for a while to see if it would do anything interesting. It didn't.

Loiosh reported in that he had nothing to report, and then I slept some, and then ate some more bread and broth; this time I was given more brandy with it, for which I was disgustingly grateful. There came a sort of tap at the door, and evidently I said "Come in" loud enough, because the door opened and there was Father Noij. He came in, and lost his smile when he saw me.

"Oh," he said. "I didn't know." For no reason I can place, he suddenly reminded me of Noish-pa. I told myself sternly not to rely on that feeling.

"Sit down," I told him. He did, looking at me. I couldn't identify all the emotions that passed over his face, but he was, at least, upset. That could mean anything.

He sat down and folded his hands in his lap. "What is it you wish of me, Lord Merss?"

"You talk, I listen."

"Talk about..."

"History, Father. Not so ancient history."

"History of—?"

"When a Count and a Baron went to war over whether peasants would be working land, or working in a paper mill."

His eyebrows went up. "You would seem to know a great deal about it already."

"You mean, more than those who believe stories of demons being summoned, and the ultimate war of good and evil, and barons who bathe in the blood of virgins?"

"Well, yes." He smiled a little. "Didn't quite buy that, eh?"

"I don't believe in virgins."

"Yes, I guess that is a bit hard to take, isn't it?"

"So, what really happened?"

"You have most of it."

"What's the rest, Father Noij?"

"Well, no demons were summoned."

"Yes, I'd suspected that."

"It's pretty simple. Old Saekeresh—the grandfather of the current Count Saekeresh— found a process for making paper and wanted to open a mill."

"Go on."

"In order to work, it needed to be run on a large scale. That meant he had to find workers for it, not to mention loggers. Lots and lots of loggers. We call them favagoti."

"All right."

"So he moved to this area, because—"

"Wait. Moved here? From where?"

"I'm not sure exactly. Back East somewhere."

"All right."

"He moved because there was the river right here, and the forest."

"Yes. Though I'm surprised the forest is still left."

"Old Saekeresh was something of a witch, and, as I understand it, very concerned about preserving nature. He made sure new trees were planted as he cut the old ones down."

"I see. How noble of him."

He shrugged. "So he came here, and, well, made his preparations, then in the course of a week he had slaughtered Baron Neeyali and all of his people."

"All of them?"

"Nearly."

I said, "A few witches who were loyal to the old Baron escaped."

He nodded.

"Most of the survivors left," I said. "Why not the others?"

"Your family."

"Yes."

"I don't know exactly. I know old Saabo was—"

"Saabo?"

"That was what the family was called, then. I know he had a small piece of land that he wanted to keep. I think he looked at it as one, ah, one . . ."

"Bastard?"

Nodded. "...had replaced another, and so three of his sons went to work in the mill. The oldest agreed with him enough to change his name. I guess he was thinking to leave the past behind."

"So, the old Baron, as you call him, was no one especially deserving of loyalty?"

He spread his hands. "I've heard nothing about him to say he was better or worse than any others of his kind."

I nodded. "What of the other sons? Are there more Saabos in the area?"

"There is one family, yes."

"And I imagine they'd just as soon I stayed far away from them."

He looked down. "I don't think they are aware of you, Lord Merss. It has been several generations. They know they are related in some way to the family who was, that is, to those who were, ah—"

"Slaughtered," I said.

"Yes. Miki mentioned it to me. He said, 'Father, did you know we were related to the Merss family? A terrible thing, that was.'" He spread his hands. It seemed to be a favorite gesture. "They do not understand."

"And you didn't enlighten them, of course."

"No. They are simple people."

"Yes. Like Meehayi."

He nodded. I guess he wasn't good with irony.

"So then," I said, "it was less a war than, what was the word you used? A slaughter."

He cleared his throat. "You must understand, I have the journals of my predecessor, and his, and his, as my successor will have mine. I read them because I wished to understand how this town—"

"Speaking of, when was the name of the town changed? It has to have been after the mill opened."

"Yes. The son of old Saekeresh changed the name when he inherited the property. He inherited it, changed the name, and moved back East. That was a hard time for people here. There was no law, there was no—"

"The Guild," I said. "That's when the Guild began to run things, isn't it?"

He nodded. "Someone had to."

"Speaking of running things, what of the King?"

"Excuse me?"

"Back in the day of the great slaughter. The King did nothing?"

"No. I don't know why. I've heard it said that the King was weak then, and old, and concerned with his own troubles."

I nodded. There have been Emperors like that too, I've been told.

"And all of this talk about witches of the dark and the light, that's just—what?"

"Nonsense, really."

"Yeah, I knew that much. But where did it come from?"

"I'm not sure. There were some witches who were killed by old Saekeresh. I guess, in part, there had to be a story about it, and in part it just grew on its own."

I shook my head. "There's more to it than that," I said.

"You mean the Guild?"

"Yes."

"I don't think they invented it; I doubt they even deliberately encourage it."

"But?"

"It suits their purposes to have the foolish and ignorant believe such things."

His talk about the foolish and ignorant was beginning to annoy me. He was sounding like me, and only Loiosh gets to sound like me. No, it wasn't that—there was an air about him as if he and I were in some sort of elite club that was above the commoner. And he wasn't elite enough to be in my club.

"What purpose is that?"

"The Guild—the leaders of the Guild, I mean, Chayoor and his lieutenants—they like to keep things, I don't know, peaceful. They don't like to see conflict."

"What conflict in particular are they trying to avoid?"

"Well, with Count Saekeresh, of course."

"I'm missing something here," I said. "Why would there be conflict with Saekeresh?" He seemed a little uncomfortable with my referring to the Count without honorific. That pleased me and I resolved to do it more.

"The interests of the Guild and those of His Lordship don't always line up, you know. The Guild likes prices high, the Count likes them low. The Guild wants easy trade with the rest of the country; the Count wants things kept locally. It is in everyone's interest for the conflict to be contained. You see—" He paused a moment, looking for the right words, I guess. "We have a kind of balance here. There is the Guild and His Lordship, of course. And the mill workers and favagoti, and the peasants who work the land."

"Feeding the others."

"Exactly. And the others provide the peasants with a sort of income. But if one faction becomes restless, or discontent, it throws everything off, do you see?"

"Yes, I see. So, that's why the story?"

"What story?"

"The stuff about virgins and demons and—"

"That does happen, you know. There is evil—pure evil—in the world. And sick people, who may act evil."

"All right. But you didn't answer my question."

"I'm not—"

"Why make up all that nonsense?"

"It wasn't made up, exactly. And, to be sure, I didn't have any hand in it. I am a priest of Verra, not a storyteller. It's just that some parts of what happened have been emphasized over the years, deemphasizing others. The peasants themselves make up or add to the stories."

"And you do nothing to discourage them, or to set them straight."

He shrugged. "I suppose that's true."

"Why don't you?"

"You know peasants."

I remembered a Teckla I'd recently met and said, "Not as much as I'd thought. What about them?"

"You just don't want them knowing, understanding how things work. It doesn't make them any happier, you know."

"Um. Okay. Does that work? Making up wild yarns just to keep them confused?"

"For a while."

"And after that?"

"With any luck, it'll be after I'm gone."

"Um. So, why?"

"Mmm?"

"What do you get out of it?"

"It permits me to take care of my people, to see to their needs."

"Lying to them?"

"Sometimes, yes. If I didn't, I'd be gone, and there would be someone here who wouldn't care about them."

"All right."

"Do not presume to judge me, Merss Vladimir."

I let that go. It was pointless. Talking to him any more was pointless, for that matter; I had things to do that were more important, like eating watery broth. Although, as he was leaving, I couldn't resist asking if he had ever actually had contact with the Demon Goddess.

He hesitated, frowned, and said, "Not that I've ever been certain of."

"She's a bitch," I told him.

He hurried away and I thought over what I'd learned. Not about him—that wasn't worth considering. But about the background to this place, and how it fit into the things I knew and the things I still didn't. I realized that it had gotten late and told Loiosh he may as well give it up for the night. When he got back, I filled him in on my conversation with Father Noij. He had a few choice comments about the character of those who chose to serve my Demon Goddess. I could have pointed out that I was in no position to talk, but I agreed with him so I didn't.

"Does it give us anything, Boss?"

"Not instantly. Maybe after I've got the rest of the picture."

The next time Meehayi came in he was wearing a big smile and had a steaming bowl of something that wasn't broth. In fact, it was the Mouse's version of lamb stew, only for me they prepared it without meat, potatoes, or much of anything else, but it was stew rather than broth and it came with bread and a small glass of wine and it was one of the best meals I've ever had.

While I ate, he asked about my conversation with Father Noij. I tried to answer in grunts, but he wasn't having any. He was so excited about the whole thing it was as painful as—no it wasn't, but it was painful. I finally said, "Look, a lot of what you've thought was wrong, all right? It wasn't an evil Baron and a noble Count; there was no bathing in the blood of virgins or demon summoning or heroic battles. It was two bastards who wanted the same thing and went for each other's throats. Everything after that was made up to justify how it came out. Ask Father Noij. And tell me what he says, because I'm curious about whether he'll give you the same answers he gave me."

That last was unkind and Meehayi looked unhappy so I asked him if there were any girls he had his eye on and yeah there was and when he got over blushing that took over the conversation and he left feeling better.

See, I'm not such a bad guy. Really.

That night, I slept better than I had since I'd gotten out, only waking up three or four times and then falling asleep again right away; and the worst dream was the old one of being pursued by something I couldn't define. Big improvement. I was ready to take on the world, as long as the world was a bit of lamb stew.

Aybrahmis was back with one witch—the youngest of the lot—in the morning, and we went through what was becoming a ritual. He tsked and shook his head and looked generally worried and unhappy and told me I was doing fine. The witch removed my dressings and had a whispered conversation with the physicker; nice to see they were working together. Then he replaced my dressings and announced that the burns seemed to be "responding to treatment," which made it sound like they were getting better, only if they were why didn't he say so? The physicker was pleased that I'd been able to feed myself, though he cautioned me against over-exertion, which for some reason I found funny.

I asked if I could try walking soon and he looked at me like I had brain fever. I didn't think that was funny.

When they'd gone, Loiosh continued the cheerful conversation. "By now, the Jhereg has to know Mahket is dead, and someone else has to be on the way. If they use one of those professional teleport places, that knows everywhere, he could be here in a day or two."

"Yeah, okay. Does this information come with a suggestion?"

"The Count would probably arrange for you to be moved some' where safe."

"Does it come with another suggestion?"

"Boss, I wanted to get out of here before. I was right wasn't I?"

"Yes."

"Well, I want to get out of here again."

"Good thing you've used up your yearly allotment of being right."

"Boss—"

"Otherwise, I might be a bit concerned."

"Boss—"

"Leave it be."

"All right, then." He said it the way I'd say, "I'll take the brown ones, then," if they were out of the black ones. And I'd really had my heart set on the black ones.

I sighed. It wasn't as if I could blame him.

"This has been tough for us both, Loiosh. And we have a long way to go. Accept that I'm in this, and you're in it with me, and let's do the best we can from there."

There was a bit of a pause, and then he said, "All right, Boss. One way or another, we see it through"

"Thanks.”

"Back to trying to pick up Orbahn?"

"Yes. This time with Rocza so you can watch his house at the same time."

"Boss—okay"

Meehayi came and went, taking care of things, none of which are worth talking about. I ate a little more, and maybe wasn't quite as tired afterward; or maybe I just didn't want to be and convinced myself I wasn't. It's hard to judge these things.

I was just finishing lunch when Loiosh said, "Found him, Boss! Leaving the Guild hall."

"Good. Now, let's see what happens."

"Can I send Rocza back to you?"

"All right.”

A few minutes later she came back through the window and landed on the bed. She twisted her neck around as if to look into my eyes, then, very gently, bit the bridge of my nose. Then she curled up by my ear. When Loiosh wasn't busy, I'd have to ask him what that meant.

"He's heading out of town to the east, Boss. Strolling, really. It's odd. Like he's taking a walk to enjoy the day. I suppose he might be.”

I glanced out the window to see what sort of day it was. Seemed bright, and the breeze through my window wasn't excessively hot or cold.

"Any chance he's spotted you?"

"No."

"Anyone around?"

"Not so far. He's near where you and Dahni had that talk.”

"Doesn't the wood come bumping up against the road right about there?"

"Just ahead.”

"Two dead Teckla against one sincere compliment he turns off into the woods.”

"No bet. I couldn't afford to lose. And . . . yes, there he goes, off the left. It's harder to stay with him here, but less chance he'll see me.”

"Okay. I just need to know.”

"To know? Boss, is he going to meet an assassin?"

"Eh? I hope not! For one thing, I don't want there to be an assassin this close yet.

More important, it would mean everything I've figured is wrong. There's no way he

ought to be able to get in touch with the Jhereg.”

"Then, Boss, what is he going to do?"

"Wait and see."

"Is this any way to treat your familiar and best friend?"

"Evidently.”

He used a few adjectives he's known for a long time and some nouns I hadn't realized he'd picked up. I found that I was smiling for the first time in longer than I could remember.

"Okay now he's looking around and I'm being all secretive and stuff so he won't see me so I can carry out your orders which is more than you deserve."

"But you're so good at it."

"You're going to find out how good I can be at—hey! He's gone!"

"Look carefully. There should be a cave, or a, I don't know, a concealed something."

"I don't know, Boss. He's just gone."

"Keep looking."

Then, "Found it. It's a cave, lots of shrubs around it. I can't fly in, but I can slither."

"I didn't know you slithered."

"I save it for special occasions."

"Be careful.”

A little later he said, "This would be a bad place for someone with poor night vision."

"Can you see anything?"

"A little bit leaks in from the outside. After that I'm not sure."

"Can you smell anything?"

"Dammit, Boss, I'm a jhereg, not a bloodhound."

"Sorry.”

"I can see a box of torches, but, you know, there's the whole opposable thumb problem. Not to mention lighting them. I—wait. Something just . . . okay, there's a doorway at the far end. Just a curtain over it. People moving.”

"Careful, careful.”

"No worries, Boss. There's a place right above it where I can perch and listen, if there's anything to listen to."

A little later I said, "Anything going on, Loiosh?"

"Voices, Boss. Can't make out what they're saying."

"Anything from the tones?"

"It sounds just like conversation, Boss. At least six or seven voices and they're, well, gabbing.”

"They won't be for much longer. Stay with it."

"Boss, what—"

"Just wait. I need to be sure.”

"All right, I’ll . . . they're quiet now."

"Yeah.”

"Okay, now I'm hearing... Boss! It's a Coven!"

"Had to be."

"And Orbahn—"

"Yeah. And Orbahn."

"How did you know?"

"I didn't."

"Does that mean he—"

"No, he isn't behind all of this. No one is behind all of this. There are too many different interests working for any one person to be behind all of this. I know most of them, and so do you. The only question is how they fit together. We just got a piece of that."

"Okay, Boss. Whatever you say. What do I do now?"

"It's almost suppertime. Come on back and share it with me."

"What if they've started letting you eat good food?"

"Then you won't get quite so much.”

15

Boraan: Gracious! Could there be two different plots at work here? Lefitt: Impossible. Boraan: You're certain? Lefitt: Quite certain. I can see four at the least.

—Miersen, Six Parts Water Day Two, Act III, Scene 2

He won, I lost.

Supper was the same lamb stew as before, but it included everything this time, and I was allowed an entire glass of wine. I enjoyed it very much.

"Boss, how did you know Orbahn was going to a Coven? And that there was a Coven? And—"

"Not now, Loiosh."

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Parts of it, yes. Other parts, not so much."

"I didn't mean that, I meant showing off how clever you are."

"If I were clever, Loiosh, I wouldn't be in this position."

"You couldn't have known—"

"Of course I could. I'm an idiot not to have seen it."

"How, Boss?"

"Just exactly what was a tag doing on the street at that time of day, when all the workmen were at the mill? She was there to see me, to find me, which means someone had set her on me. I should have figured it out and followed her and been ready when they made the move on me. But then, at that point, I had no idea what any of it meant. There's just one question left about her. Hmmm."

"What's that, Boss?"

I didn't respond; I was thinking about Tereza, trying to figure exactly how she fit into this.

"Another thing, Boss. If you didn't know then, when did you figure it out?"

"The questions they asked me," I said. "Now let me concentrate on this."

This whole thing should be a lesson to me, and it would have been if I'd known what the lesson was. Come to think of it, I still don't know.

"I don't see what you're hesitating about, Boss. You know you want me to find her and see where she goes and who she talks to."

"Uh, yeah.”

"See you soon," he said, and flew out the window, startling poor Meehayi, who happened to be there seeing to it I didn't stab myself in the mouth with my fork.

Meehayi said, "Where is he going?"

"I'm tired of lamb. He's going to bring me back a cow."

He shook his head. "No one raises cattle nearby. He'd have to go-"

"I was kidding, Meehayi."

"I know," he said.

I sighed. If I kept underestimating people, I'd never make it out of this bed. "Meehayi, do you know a family called Saabo?"

"Huh? Sure. A town this size, you know everyone."

"Tell me about them."

"What do you want to know?"

"For starters, how big is it?"

"Four. Er, six, I mean. Three boys, one girl. The oldest is Yanosh. He's a year younger than me."

"Does he farm?"

"Oh, no, no. They work in the mill. All of them."

"All of them?"

"Except the baby, Chilla. She's only four."

"How old is the youngest who works in the mill?"

"That would be Foolop. He's nine."

"Nine."

He nodded.

"And the father?"

He frowned. "I don't know. Forty? Forty-five?"

"No, I mean, what is his name?"

"Oh. Venchel. I don't know his wife's name, everyone calls her Sis. Vlad?"

"Hmmm?"

"You aren't going to get them, get them, involved in this, are you?"

I studied him. "Just what do you know about what 'this' is?"

The blood rushed to his face and his mouth opened and closed. If he was planning to conceal something, he could give it up right away. I've known Dzurlords who could dissemble better than this guy.

I waited him out. He finally said, "I guess I know what everybody knows. I hear what they say."

"Uh huh," I said. "Let's hear it."

"Well, you wanted to see your—to see the Mersses, and they're dead. And you talked to Zollie, and he's dead."

"And why did I come to town, Meehayi? What are 'they' saying about that?"

"No one seems to know."

"But there are theories. There are always theories."

"That you came to kill His Lordship. That's one."

"Heh. If I had, he'd be dead. What else?"

"That you are a spirit of the Evil Baron, returned for revenge."

"Oh, I like that. Whose opinion is that?"

He looked uncomfortable. "It was Inchay who said it," "The host at the Pointy Hat?"

"The what?" :

"The inn."

"Oh, why do you call it the Pointy Hat?"

"I don't know. What do you call it?"

"Inchay's."

"I see."

"Anyway, yeah, him."

"He thinks I'm going to kill Count Saekeresh. Well. Yeah, that answers a lot of nagging questions. And asks a few more. And what's your opinion?"

"I don't know. But—" He shrugged. "His Lordship likes you, and wants to protect you. So I guess maybe you're working with him against the Guild?"

"Yeah, he loves me," I said. "He'll do anything for me."

He frowned at that.

I said, trying to sound casual, "I understand about the Guild and Sae—and His Lordship. But how does the Coven fit into?"

"I don't know," he said. "I've never even been certain that, you know, there was a Coven."

I nodded.

"Is there?" he said.

"I think so," I told him.

"How do you know?"

"I'll tell you what, Meehayi. I like you. On the off chance that we're both alive when this is all over, I'll explain it all to you."

"Both alive?"

"Yeah, well, not to scare you, but right now I don't like either of our chances much."

"Don't worry," he said. "His Lordship is protecting you. And he's let people know that—"

"Yeah, yeah. He's put the word out not to kill me. I'm now under the same protection Zollie was."

He looked down. I guess I'd hurt his feelings again. It's a damned good thing Cawti and I never had kids; I'm just no good with them.

After a few minutes, he said, "Do you want me to ask Mr. Saabo to come see you?"

"Yes, please," I said. '

"I don't know if he will."

"If he won't, he won't. I wonder which rumors about me he believes."

Meehayi shrugged.

Loiosh returned several hours later, not having found Tereza. Each day that passed made me a little stronger. It also brought the next assassin that much closer. It occurred to me that I should be grateful the Dagger of the Jhereg was no longer in business; she'd have been perfect for this job. If you see the irony in that thought you can enjoy it with me. If not, sorry; I don't feel like explaining.

The next morning, Loiosh resumed his search of the city, while I waited to hear if I'd have company. The physicker and the witch returned shortly after the noon hour, and once more I was poked, prodded, and muttered over as they changed my dressings and inspected the damage. "There shouldn't be much scarring," he said at one point.

I informed him, through clenched teeth, just how little I cared one way or the other about scars. He appeared not to care about whether I cared about scars; I guess it was a question of professional pride with him. I cared just about as much about his professional pride as my own "patients" cared about mine.

When the examination was finally over he and the witch fussed over me a little longer, and had a few more murmured conversations, then went off to speak to Meehayi about the care and feeding of maltreated itinerant assassins.

"I think you're out of danger," said Aybrahmis, which almost made me burst out into laughter.

Then it hit me, and I said, "Wait, you thought I might have been about to die?"

"Your body has been through a lot."

"I don't die that easy," I said.

He grunted, as if to say bravado is cheap. Yeah, I guess it is; that was a stupid thing to say. But then, he's a physicker; he's probably heard a lot of stupid things said. That's one advantage of my profession, or my ex-profession I should say: If you do it right, the "patient" doesn't have a chance to say anything stupid.

Loiosh didn't find Tereza, and talked me out of sending Rocza to help him. She stayed with me, curled up by my ear. The entire day passed that way—little happened that I care to talk about, or to think about, come to that—until the evening, when I was hearing the faint echoes of laughter and conversation from the inn below, and there came a hesitant tap at the door.

Rocza was instantly alert, like a koovash scenting a wolf. Anyone coming to kill me wouldn't have tapped at the door, and it wouldn't matter if I said to go away, so I called out for the person to enter freely.

He was a small man, dressed in some sort of brown tunic and loose pantaloons that I think had been black once. He had a sharply angled jaw, and a beard that he obviously took great pride in. It was a little chin growth that continued the jaw angle to a sharp point about an inch and a half below his chin. He half looked at me, and half looked down, and in his hand was a faded blue cap.

"Come in," I said again, and he did. Deferentially. He didn't look like a peasant—a peasant would never shape his beard— but he acted like one.

"Greetings, my lord," he said. He oozed deference. It was revolting.

"Find a place to sit," I told him. "I'd stand and bow; only I'm not quite able to manage."

He didn't know quite what to say to that, so he sat down and stared at his cap.

"I am Merss Vladimir," I told him.

"Yes, my lord."

"I understand that we're related."

He nodded, suddenly looking a little afraid. Of me? Or what being related to me might mean? Probably not the latter; apparently not many people believed that my name was really Merss. Which it wasn't, so I guess they were right.

"You know, of course, about what happened? To the family?"

He nodded tersely, still looking at his cap. If I hadn't been unable to move, I'd have slapped him.

"That was your family once, you know. You are related to them."

He nodded, and it was obvious he didn't like where this was going.

I said, "It doesn't bother you, what happened to them?"

He looked up at me for the first time, and I caught a flash of something in his eyes, very quickly, that I hadn't suspected would be there. Then he looked down at his cap again and said, "It does, my lord."

"Well, it's my intention to do something about it."

"My lord?" He looked like I had just announced plans to grow another head.

"It is not my intention to permit someone to feel my family may be slaughtered with impunity. Do you think this should be permitted?"

His mouth opened and closed a few times, then he said, No, my lord, but—"

"But what?"

"What can I—?"

"If you're willing, you can help me."

He very badly wanted to ask, "What if I say no?" but he didn't dare. I don't mind cowardice. I can respect cowardice. I practice it whenever possible. But craven I have no use for. No, I mean, I don't like it; quite often I find I have use for it.

"What can I do?" he finally asked; asking it with the tone, of, "What use could I possibly be?" rather than, "I am offering to help."

I said, "Well, I'm not going to ask you to kill anyone."

Once again, he lifted his head briefly, and I saw that look; but it didn't last.

"What do you want of me?"

"I've told you what I'm doing. Are you willing to help me, or not?"

He clamped his jaws shut. Finally, still staring at his cap, he said, "Not without knowing what you want me to do."

Well! Good on him. I was impressed in spite of myself. "Fair enough," I told him. "I want answers to some questions."

He nodded. "That I will do."

"We'll see," I told him. "How much of your family history do you know?"

"My lord? I already said we were related to—"

"Yes. But why was your name changed?"

"M'lord? It wasn't."

"Eh?"

"No, sir. Old Matyawsh changed the name. My great grandfather, Matyawsh's brother, kept the name he was born with."

"All right," I said. That much, at least, agreed with what I'd been told by Father Noij. I like having things confirmed. It gives me such a warm, comfortable feeling.

"And do you believe what was said about them?"

"Meaning what?"

"About being evil, about summoning demons."

"Oh, that. I'm no peasant, Lord Merss. I was educated. At the school. I can read, and write, and do sums, and think. No, I don't believe that."

"What school?"

"There's been a school in Burz for years and years, to teach symbols and sums and citizenship."

"Citizenship?"

"Doing your duty to your country and county."

"Um. And what is your duty to your country and county?"

He made a face, and for the first time smiled a little. "That part didn't take so well. If they want me to fight their war they'll have to drag me there."

"I see. So the peasants here can read?"

"Peasants? No. It's not open to the peasants. Just children of mill workers."

"Mmm. What about children of merchants?"

He sniffed. "Father Noij teaches them."

"All right, then. So you don't believe in summoning demons, or groups of evil witches. Then why did most of the Merss family leave?"

"Because the peasants believed in those things."

"You don't think much of peasants, do you?"

"They're ignorant. It isn't their fault," he added magnanimously.

Most people seem to take pleasure in feeling superior to someone. I'm not like that, which pleases me because it makes me feel superior.

"Why?" I said.

"Hmm?"

"Count Saekeresh. Why did he start a school?"

"It wasn't him, it was his grandfather. Because you have to be able to read to work in the mill, you see. It isn't just brawn; you need to use your head to make paper. At least, to make it right. The process—"

"All right," I said. "I get it." He sounded proud. He wasn't a peasant. He was superior.

That, too, was a piece of the puzzle.

Don't be distracted by shadows, Vladimir. Concentrate on the target.

There were shadows everywhere.

There were shadows covering the actions of people who didn't want what they did to be known; and there were shadows covering the minds of people who didn't want to see, and even shadows covering the minds of those whose lives became easier if they believed themselves to be powerless. Shadows, shadows everywhere. Don't let them distract you, Vlad.

In a town this size, you'd think that nothing could be concealed; that everyone would know everyone else's business. I'd mentioned that once to my grandfather, when he'd suggested Cawti and I leave Adrilankha and find a small town somewhere. He'd said it wasn't as true as people thought—that small towns were full of secrets. If he was right, it was just possible that—

"My lord?"

Saabo was looking at me.

"Sorry, I was thinking. I was remembering things my grandfather told me about the East."

"The East?"

"This country. Fenario."

"What did he tell you, my lord?"

I shook my head on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. I was getting tired of that ceiling. "Is there a house here?"

"My lord?"

"A house of, ah, I'm not sure what term you'd use. Boys and girls who, no, I guess it would be only girls here. Girls who, for money—"

"Oh!" First he blushed, then he gave me a puzzled look as if wondering how, in my condition, I could possibly make use of a place like that. Then he said, "No, my lord. But there are girls who work out of the Mouse."

"I see. And have you made use of their services?"

He didn't blush this time, he just shook his head. "I never wished to, my lord. In my youth I, ah, I never needed to."

I decided he wasn't lying, which was unfortunate, because it meant he couldn't tell me one of the things I needed to know. "Does the Guild run these services?"

"Oh, certainly, my lord."

"And it's legal?"

"My lord? Of course. Why—"

"My grandfather told me it was often forbidden by law, but ignored by custom."

"Ah. I see. No, there are no such laws here."

And at exactly that moment, with one of the best incidents of accidental good timing of my career, there was the light tapping at the door that I'd come to recognize.

"That would be my physicker," I said. "Thank you for taking the time to visit a sick kinsman."

He managed a slight smile to go with his bow, and, hat in hand, walking backward, he left as Aybrahmis and the witch came in. I noticed that Aybrahmis nodded to Saabo, who gave him a smile of recognition as well as the polite bow he also gave the witch.

He wasn't all bad, was Saabo. But he was still a deferential little wretch I'd like to kick.

Some time later, Aybrahmis remarked that I was making good progress, and complimented me on being in generally good shape. For someone who couldn't even stand up to—couldn't even stand up, I didn't take it too seriously. The witch muttered and murmured and changed my dressings, and when they were about to leave I said, "A moment, please."

Aybrahmis got that look physickers get when they're prepared to reply politely to an enormity about your condition, or to an impossible-to-answer question about when you'll be able to do something or other. I said, "What do you know of the Art?"

"Me?"

"Yes."

"I know how to apply the dressings and poultices made by those who study it; I don't need more than that." He seemed slightly offended.

"Your pardon," I said. I used my friendly and sincere voice. "I've never entirely understood the relationship between the healing Arts and the Art of the witch, and it has become important that I do. In the Empire it is different. There are certain sorcerers who specialize in ailments of the body, and they are the ones we call physickers. Here, I don't know."

I looked back and forth between Aybrahmis and the witch. They both stood over my bed, both with hands clasped in front of them. Aybrahmis looked like he wanted to ask why it was important, but instead he said, "We cooperate a great deal. If I deem a patient requires some medication, a witch will create it. Also, certain urgent problems are best tended by a witch."

"So then, other than the most urgent things—such as, for example, me—you might enlist the aid of a witch to concoct poultices, medications—"

He nodded.

I kept looking at him. He flushed just the least bit, but didn't say anything. My nod I kept entirely to myself.

I said, "Are you familiar with something called nemaybetesheg?" You'll have to excuse me, but there's no word in the Northwestern tongue for it. My grandfather, however, made certain I knew the Fenarian word for it when he was drilling me for my first visit back here. "Hard for a physicker to cure, but easy for a witch to prevent, Vladimir," he'd said. Sometimes I wonder what he thinks of me.

The physicker's eyes widened. "I, of course I know it. I never thought to ... what makes you think—?"

"I don't," I said. "I don't have it. I just wanted to know if you're familiar with it."

"Well, there are many of them, not just the Sheep Disease as most people think. And, certainly, I know something about it, but why—"

"Does it come up often in your work?"

He frowned. "I don't believe that is an appropriate question."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. "You look at me like this, and you don't realize that people did this to me? And that they might be willing to again? When I ask a question of you, it is because it relates to my condition, one way or another."

"How could it—?"

"No. I'm not about to tell you, physicker. And you wouldn't want to know anyway."

He thought that over, then nodded and addressed the witch. "I will join you shortly," he said.

"No," I said. "I need to ask him about this, too."

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Very well," he said.

I mostly closed my eyes—the old trick of watching someone from under your lashes. You can't see all that well, and it isn't all that convincing a deception. But once in a while it can lull someone into thinking you aren't paying attention. I doubted I would fool Aybrahmis.

"Does it come up often in your work?" I repeated.

"No," he said. "Hardly ever. Once in a while, when a young man goes to the City, or a visitor..." He trailed off. I chuckled. His nostrils flared and he said, "I am not about to give you the names of anyone I have treated."

"I don't need to know," I said. "What I need to know is why."

"Eh?"

"I've been to the Mouse. I've seen the number of girls who hang out there, and I know what they are. How is it you aren't busy day and night with such treatments? Is there another physicker who handles it?"

"There are two others in town who are called on by some to—"

"Does one of them treat this disease among the, ah, the Velvet Ladies, as they're called where I come from by people I don't talk to?"

"Not that I am aware of." He enunciated each word carefully, the way you do when you feel it is beneath your dignity to be answering such questions at all. In Fenarian, the effect is much more pronounced than in Northwestern, because it takes all the flowing musicality out of the language. It was all I could do not to laugh.

"Do you do, ah, something to prevent such diseases? Or check for them?"

"No."

"Does one of your colleagues?"

"Not to my knowledge."

I said, "Then explain to me why such diseases are not a constant problem for you?"

"I don't know," he said. "It has simply never been a problem."

"And you never thought about it?"

"I'm sorry, Lord Merss, but I really think—"

"All right. Thank you. I found what I wanted to."

"Good day, then," he said. "I will see you tomorrow."

And I really had found out what I'd wanted to; I'd been watching the witch the entire time.

After they left, I realized how exhausted I was; but I didn't sleep. I sat there and tried to tie the last loose ends together in my head. I'm not all that good at that sort of thing. I mean, ideas come to me when I'm talking, or hearing things, or seeing things; and when I'm talking to Loiosh sometimes I can figure them out while I'm explaining things to him; but just sitting there trying to calculate how everything connects doesn't come naturally to me.

Still, I made a bit of progress muttering to myself, half out loud. "Well then, if they did that, he must have been doing that, which is why I thought that . . ." And so on. A lot of it came together that way, and the pieces that didn't, even if I didn't know how they fit, I could tell they belonged on the same table.

I was still putting things together when I was interrupted by Loiosh saying into my mind, "No luck so far, Boss. How long do you want me to stay with it?"

"Oh, sorry, chum. Might as well come back now. Should be almost time for food."

"Back to it tonight, or is there something new?"

"I don't know about something new, but no, you won't need to keep looking for Tereza."

"You found her?"

"No. And you won't either. Sorry, I should of told you when I figured it out. She's dead."

16

Boraan: My dear, if I have, yet again, accidentally said the one thing that gives you the entire solution, I'll... I'll... Lefitt: Have a drink? Boraan: Of course.

[Lefitt crosses to liquor cabinet]

—Miersen, Six Parts Water Day Two, Act III, Scene 4

Outside, it was mid-day, and they were hard at work in the mills, and the peasants were doing whatever it is peasants do at this time of year. Digging something, I suppose. The window was open to let the stench in. No, I still wasn't used to it. Well, I don't know, maybe I was; it was bothering me less than it had before. But I didn't have so many, other miseries before. Not complaining, just stating a fact.

I had most of it. That is, I now knew who had been trying to do what, and why they'd done it, and who had been stupid (that was me, in case you're wondering). More, I knew what I could do about it. In general. But you can't implement a plan "in general." And, when you can't move from your sickbed, your options with regards to violence are, let's say, limited.

It was irritating. It seemed like I was so close to being able to deal with it, like I had everything I needed if I could just figure out how to get it started. I needed to kick the thing around with someone, to just have someone to bounce ideas off until the answer settled in. I needed—

Loiosh flew in the window, and before he'd even settled he said, "All right, what happened?"

"Asked some questions, got some answers, made some deductions."

"Deductions? You're making deductions? I leave you alone for four hours and you start making deductions?"

"I'm trying to find words to describe how funny that is."