Jhegaala

"So, going to explain these deductions to me?"

"After that crack, I'm not sure. Besides, I haven't fit everything into place yet."

"But you're sure she's dead?"

"She has to be. They couldn't leave her alive with me able to talk, and right now they can't risk killing me."

"Who is'they,'Boss?"

"Yeah, that's the big question, isn't it?"

"Now you're sounding smug."

'Uh huh.”

"Smug and helpless isn't a good combination for you.”

"Is that a threat?"

"Damn right it is."

"Okay. Just checking."

Rocza lifted her head and hissed. Loiosh turned to her and his head bobbed up and down in one of the things jhereg do when they laugh.

"What was that about?"

"You don't need to know, Boss."

"You know, Loiosh, I think I could get used to having you fly around and find out things for me while I just sit and do the thinking."

"Heh. In a year you'd weigh three hundred pounds."

"So?"

"Hard to run from the Jhereg when you weigh three hundred pounds."

"Okay, good point."

"Boss, think this might be time to let me know what's going on?"

"I think it's time to figure out what to do about it."

"I could help more if I knew."

"Yeah, but I'm enjoying keeping you in suspense too much. I'm an invalid; you must permit me my little pleasures."

"Boss—"

"Okay."

I thought for about a minute. "We have a three-legged stool: the Count, the Guild, and the Coven. None of them trust each other, none of them like each other, non—"

"You're going to kick one of the legs in."

"Exactly."

"How?"

"Still working on that."

"How did you know, Boss? I mean, about the stool?"

"Well, there are bits I still need to confirm."

Meehayi came in with my meal. Loiosh remained quiet, as he knows how much I hate talking during meals.

Meehayi didn't. "I saw old Saabo was here," he said as I laboriously used a silver spoon to bring stew from a wooden bowl — first time I think I ever experienced that combination.

"Yes," I told him after I'd swallowed. "We had quite a nice talk."

"Good."

"You don't like him, do you?"

He jumped back as if I'd slapped Him. "What do you mean?"

I waited him out. "I, I mean, he's older than me, so he isn't a friend or anything." I kept waiting. "No," he finally said, setting his jaw as if daring me to object. "I don't."

I nodded. "I wouldn't either if I were you."

.He seemed startled. "Why? What did he say about me?"

"Nothing. Your name didn't come up."

"Then why—?"

"Because you're a peasant, and he doesn't think much of peasants."

"Well it happens that I don't think much of—" He cut himself off.

"Don't blame you," I said. "But then, I can't say too much about him myself; he's kindred, after all."

Meehayi looked at me carefully. "Is he? I mean, really?"

"He is," I said. "He really is. And if more people had believed that—ah, never mind. Sorry. Thinking out loud."

He cleared his throat. "Lord Merss—"

"Vlad."

"Vlad. I haven't said it, but I'm sorry for what happened to you."

"Thanks. So am I. But it'll be set right soon enough."

He cocked his head. "It will?"

I nodded and took a sip of wine, pleased that I was able to lift it without difficulty. It was wonderful. "As sure as my name is Merss Vladimir," I told him.

He seemed to accept that, if I'm any judge of grunts.

I said, "Is it always like that?"

"Like what?"

"With Saabo. The mill workers looking down on the peasants."

"Yeah, well, we don't have a lot to say them, either. They stink."

"I noticed that you frequent different establishments."

"What?"

"You drink in different places."

"Oh. Yeah, most of us. Except sometimes some guys will go into the wrong place to stir up a fight. It doesn't usually happen, though. The Guild jumps on it pretty quick."

I nodded. "Yes, I suppose it would be bad for business."

I smiled to myself. Nothing new there, but confirmation of what I'd suspected was always nice.

Meehayi finished helping me eat and left again, still looking slightly bewildered.

After he'd gone, Loiosh said, "All right, Boss. Care to explain?"

"I've got a sort of idea, but it won't work unless all three—Count, Guild, and Coven— are in each other's pockets, because otherwise I can't make it work. I'd suspected, but until today I wasn't sure."

"Okay, Boss. What did you find out?"

"The tags in this area don't have a problem with Sheep Disease."

"Which means?"

"Which means there is a business arrangement between the Guild and the Coven. Mutual benefit, mutual dependence."

"Oh. What is Sheep Disease?"

"You don't want to know. You're a jhereg; you're immune. Be happy."

"But—okay.”

I tried to sit up; failed. I still didn't know how to knock out that one leg of the stool. Loiosh was silent as I went over what I knew yet again, and got nowhere.

Who should I go after? Dahni? His role in this, it turns out, had been one of the easier ones to figure out. But no, he was done. I couldn't use him. Probably no one could use him. If he was lucky, he'd have made his way out of the country by now. Orbahn? No, he was too smart; he'd put it together.

I tried to sit up again, and failed again; sat back sweating and breathing heavily. I scowled.

"Take it easy, Boss. You'll give the physicker heart failure."

"Thanks, Loiosh."

"For what?"

I didn't answer for a while. I just sat there and smiled while my brain went click, click, click—just like it had before, just like in the old days. Yes. They may have broken my body, but my brain still worked. If you think that isn't important to someone in my condition, your brain doesn't work.

I nodded to myself. Loiosh said, "Does it have to be now?"

"What?"

"I understand you want to settle, things, Boss, but is there any reason you can't come back in a year and do it?"

"Funny you should say that. If you'd asked a few minutes ago, I'd have said forget it— just like I'm saying today—but a few minutes ago I wouldn't have been able to give you a good reason."

"Oh, I see. Okay, Boss. What's the great reason?"

“Now there's no need. I can settle things right now. Today."

"You can kick out the leg?"

"Yes.”

"And be sure the right one wins?"

"There is no right one, only a wrong one."

"Who's the wrong one?"

"The Coven."

"Ah right. But how are you going to set this off from flat on your back?"

"I'm not. Meehayi is."

"I can t wait to see how that works out."

"I can't wait to be done with this, and out of this town."

"That's the first thing you've said that I've agreed with in more than a week."

"Yeah. Which reminds me; I need to arrange a fast exit from this place once my business is finished."

"And that's the second. Any idea how to go about it?"

"I think I'd like to speak with Father Noij.”

"Huh?"

"He can do it, and he will."

"Uh, sure, Boss. I'll fly right out and get him."

I chuckled. "I don't think that will be necessary.”

"Boss, why won't you just tell me what happened?"

I didn't answer.

"You don't want to tell me, do you?"

I didn't answer.

He said, "They took you, didn't they?"

I stared up at the ceiling for a long time. Then I nodded. "I had thought someone was playing me," I said. "I didn't realize that they were all playing me."

"Oh. Working together?"

"No. That's the thing. On their own, independently. That's what threw me. But the effect was as if they were working together."

After that he let me alone for a while. He knew I'd have to tell him about it eventually, and he can be an understanding little bastard on occasion.

Everything I'd said was true, and I was confident of all my conclusions, and the plan that was formulating in my head seemed sound. But there was still that one factor that I couldn't control, couldn't see, couldn't anticipate, and certainly couldn't ignore: The Jhereg now knew where I was. Yes, I still felt a fair bit of confidence in all those things I'd said: A Dragaeran would stand out, and a Morganti weapon would most certainly stand out. But what I hadn't said was: Give them enough time, and they'll find a way around those problems. They're tenacious, they're brutal, and when they have to be, they're creative. I know, I was one.

Once a fellow I was after surrounded himself with such solid protection that bribing them all would have cost more than I was being paid for the job. So I hired an actor to play a legitimate Chreotha merchant, hired another to play a low-level boss from Candletown, a few others to play flunkies and lackeys, and spent eleven weeks constructing a phony business deal for the guy just to get him to a meeting—no bodyguards permitted, you understand the need for secrecy—at which I turned out to be the only one doing any business. The whole story—why he needed to go, how everything played out—is interesting, and I may tell it someday. It was elaborate, elegant, and, if I may say so (after some initial foul-ups and few scary moments here and there), perfect.

What it wasn't was unique.

My point is this: Give the Jhereg enough time, and they will find a way to nail you. Was I giving them too much time? I didn't think so.

I reviewed what I knew yet again, and finally said, "Okay, let's do this."

"Now?"

"Now. Think you could manage to open my pack and bring me something out of it? It should be in the box, or next to it."

"Maybe, Boss. I can try. As long as you promise not to make any opposable thumb comments if I fail."

"None for a week, Loiosh, either way."

"What do you want?"

"Do you know the little bottle that I keep tincture of lithandrial in?"

"Huh? Sure, Boss. Since I don't think you'll be satisfied giving anyone the nettles, I assume you have the backache. But shouldn't you ask the physicker—"

"Loiosh, at this point I wouldn't even notice the backache if I had it. Just get the thing, if you can."

He could, and presently I was holding it, and I learned that opening a tightly corked bottle is much more difficult than feeding yourself. I eventually got it open.

"Now I need a cloth of some kind."

He didn't ask questions, just dug in the box until he found an old pair of—until he found some cloth. I couldn't be picky at that point. I poured a little dab on the cloth and applied it as best I could, wiping the excess carefully from my mustache.

"Dammit, Loiosh. I wish I had a glass. How does it look?"

"Compared to what?"

"Never mind. It'll have to do. Get rid of this cloth. Put it back in the box and bury it."

"With pleasure."

"And never mind the wisecracks."

I lay back on the bed and spent some time recovering my breath and remembering not to lick my lips. "Can you put the bottle back in the box too?"

"Boss, have you gone nuts?"

"Do not mock the afflicted, Loiosh. Not only am I a wreck, but as you can see, I've just been attacked by a witch."

"You've—"

"See? Red lips? Witch's mark?"

"Uh, who are you trying to convince?"

"Sit back and wait. All will be made clear."

When Meehayi came in with my lunch, I was lying on the bed, either barely breathing, or not breathing at all. If you're curious, you breathe only through your nose, into your chest, quick short breaths; and you can do it forever, though it takes some practice to just breathe into your upper chest. Oh, and my lips, of course, had a pronounced reddish tinge.

Meehayi dropped the bowl of stew (which was, as far as Loiosh and Rocza were concerned, either an unexpected bonus, or the only value the plan had in the first place), gave a high-pitched sort of scream, and bolted out the door.

I relaxed and waited off-stage for the next act in which I would be needed, like the ubiquitous merchant in a mannerist murder comedy. What I liked about this was that, if it didn't work, there was no risk—what had I done? Why, I'd taken a backache remedy and then had a nap; everything else had just been an over-reaction by a superstitious peasant boy.

Unless, by some fluke, Orbahn happened to hear about it too soon, and figured out it was a fake; in that case I was dead meat. But you need to accept some risks. It was much more likely that he'd hear about it later, and either manage to put only part of it together, or else figure out the whole thing and not care. Either way, I was good.

The first to arrive was Aybrahmis, with a look of mixed anxiety and rage on his features. That was odd, I have to admit. I'd expected him to show up; he was, after all, a professional; I hadn't expected him to take it personally.

The first thing he did was hold a looking glass to my lips. Through lidded eyes, I decided I hadn't done a half-bad job. I said, "Physicker?" My voice was weak, pitiful, a man just barely on this side of the Great Night. Heh. I missed my calling. I wonder if Miersen would cast me as First Student.

"Lord Merss!" he said. "I thought you—are you all right?"

"What...happened?" I managed to whisper through my barely moving lips.

"What happened?" he directed back at me.

"I don't..."

"Lord Merss?"

I opened my eyes again. "I was lying here. Then I, I couldn't breathe. That's all I remember."

Fenarian, my grandfather told me, is a language rich in curses that don't translate well. Yes, indeed it is.

I managed, "What...?"

"Witchcraft," he said grimly. "Someone made an attempt on your life."

I shook my head. "Can't. Immune. Natural—"

"It's witchcraft," he said firmly.

If you want to convince someone of something that is related to his field, but still outside it, first, plant the suspicion in his mind, then deny it is a possibility for an unconvincing reason.

"Boss? You know this won't hold up to scrutiny by a witch.”

"I know. That's the beauty of it."

The witch he'd been working with (I never did catch his name) came in around then, and started to examine me, but Aybrahmis started in on him before he had the chance, glaring and hissing whispers as he took him by the arm and spoke to him in a corner. The witch kept shaking his head and making gestures of denial with his arms.

He attempted twice more to examine me, but Aybrahmis wasn't letting him near. Reasonable: It looked like the Coven had just tried to kill me. It appeared that the disagreement might get physical. My money was on the witch, but my concern was that they not fall on top of the sick guy.

I admit I felt a tiny bit sorry for the poor witch; he'd done his best to heal me, after all. But those infusions had tasted terrible, so I didn't feel all that bad.

Besides, I didn't have a lot of room in me for feeling anything at that point—that is anything except the need to get the job done and be away from there.

The witch left, saying loudly that he would speak with his superiors, and the physicker would hear from them. And there went the leg.

Aybrahmis came back, and listened to my chest with a device that fitted into his ears and made him look like an elephant. He said, "How are you feeling?"

"Better," I managed weakly. "Breathing...easier."

He nodded. "Your immunity is a resistance, not a full immunity, as such things usually are," he explained. I love it when they get pedantic about things they don't know. "And this time," he added, "it saved your life. They attempted to strangle you from a distance. I am going now to see to it that no such attempt is made again."

I moaned and tried a couple of times to speak, eventually succeeded. "In case you . . . fail."

"Hmm? Yes?"

"Wish to see ... Father Noij."

He gave me an understanding nod. "Of course," he said. "I'll have him sent for."

When he had left, Loiosh said, "Well, Boss, if that was an elaborate method to see the priest, it worked, but wouldn't it have been easier—"

"Wait and see," I told him.

"You think this will make the Count attack the Coven?"

"Not exactly. It's a bit more, ah, complex than that."

Aybrahmis was as good as his word: Father Noij appeared in less than half an hour. His expression was reserved and distant; he looked the way you'd look if you were to offer condolences to a dying or possibly dying man. He came up to the bed, and I don't know what he was about to say, because I cut it off with, "In the sacred name of Verra, the Demon Goddess who owns my soul according to the ancient pacts, I demand sanctuary."

When he could talk again, he said, "I thought—"

"Yeah. I'm not actually dying, as it were. Just a simple misunderstanding. Well?"

"Sanctuary?"

"That's right."

He looked uncomfortable. "My home is small, but—"

"But I wouldn't last sixty hours in it. And you'd probably go down with me, not that that takes up a big part in my calculations, to be honest."

"Then—"

"I need to get out of town, out of the county, to a safe place, and I need you to arrange it. In secrecy. Because, I swear to you in Verra's name, if word gets to the right ears that you even know where I am, they will kill you on the way to getting to me. And don't try to get it to them, because you don't have a clue who they are. And if you even think of crossing me, I will kill you, and do not for a minute imagine that I can't. If I am dead, my jhereg will eat your corpse. Are you clear on this?"

His lips worked, then he nodded. "Threats are not necessary, Lord Merss. You have invoked sanctuary in the name of the Goddess"—he made a sign here with his hand; maybe it's a priest thing— "and that is sufficient. Of course I will aid you with everything in my power. The first question is, where should you go?"

"Fenario."

"The city?"

"Hardest place, for them to find me, even if they track me down."

He nodded. "Very well. Now, for getting you there—"

"A boat?"

"Yes, exactly. I can arrange that. When—"

"Tonight."

"Yes!"

"Shut up"

"Then all that remains is deciding now to get you out of here."

"Meehayi will help. Ask him."

He nodded. "All right. When shall we say?"

"Two hours after sunset."

"Agreed. I will be here with Meehayi, and the boat will be ready."

"Look at me, Father Noij."

He did. "Yes?"

"Look me in the eyes, and swear by the Demon Goddess that you will not betray me."

He looked like he was trying to decide if he should get angry, but things were moving too fast for him. After a moment to salve his pride with a scowl (not bad, for an amateur), he said, "I swear by name of Verra, the Demon Goddess, that I will carry out our agreement, and I will not betray you, or may the Goddess take vengeance upon my immortal soul." Then he nodded to me. "I trust that will do?"

"Good enough," I said.

He sniffed and left; Meehayi came in before the door had time to close. "Lord Merss! Are you—?"

"Vlad," I told him. And, "I'm all right," I added, with only a hint of weakness in my voice so I wouldn't have to answer any embarrassing questions just then.

He fussed over me and puttered around the room looking for something to do, then remembered the stew, and asked if I could eat. I allowed as to how I could, so he got me food, and then busied himself cleaning up the mess on the floor. Loiosh and Rocza hadn't left much for him to do. I announced I needed to rest, and he didn't like the idea of leaving, but finally did.

When he had gone, Loiosh said, "It isn't that I'm not pleased, Boss, but do you trust him?"

"Meehayi?"

"The priest.”

"Oh. Yes, I trust him."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not giving him enough time to come up with a justification for betraying his oath.”

"You're sure that will work?"

"Yes."

"Are you lying?"

"I prefer to call it exaggerating."

"Well, if anything does go wrong, Rocza and I—"

"Won't be there.”

"Um, what?"

"I haven't explained your part in all of this"

"I can hardly wait."

"You're going to love it."

"Are you tying?"

"I prefer to call it irony."

"All right, let's have it."

"Second, you'll be following Orbahn after he bolts."

"Uh, what's first?"

"You're going to watch it happen, so I can enjoy it."

"Boss, is this going to work?"

"You'll know when I do."

"What if it doesn't?"

"Then I come back and try something else."

"Boss—"

"Let's not worry about the what-ifs right now, all right? It's time for Rocza to do her part so she can be back here while you're doing yours, or at least soon after. She'll be all right?"

He didn't answer me, but she stood and flew out the window like she knew what she was about. In three minutes, Loiosh told me Orbahn had been found, right in the Pointy Hat, or Inchay's if you prefer, right where I'd first met him. As long as no one noticed her little head peeking through a corner of the window, we wouldn't be losing him. And he didn't, at least as far as she could tell, seem to be upset, alarmed, or have any idea of what was about to happen.

Good.

"All right, Boss. When should I leave?"

"Now. Things should be starting any time. As soon as you pick up Orbahn, Rocza can come back here, as we agreed. And if everything works perfectly, you might even be back before they come to get me."

"When was the last time everything worked perfectly?"

"Go."

He went.

I went over things in my head, trying to see if I'd missed anything, if there were big holes in the plan, or little things that might improve the odds. I couldn't come up with anything, and there probably wouldn't have been anything I could do about it if I did.

For now, it was all working.

We would see. Very soon.

"Okay, Boss. I'm there."

"You know what to do."

"Yeah, Boss. Ready when you are."

"Go," I said.

I relaxed, closed my eyes, and opened my mind to him.

Presently, there came visions.

interlude

I let the breeze take me up over the top, and there is a perch— too narrow to let my feet flatten, but too wide for a comfortable grip. It hurts, but there I stay and watch and wait. Food on four legs walks by below me, as do people, young and old, and I wait—

This is where it will happen, if it happens. Here, right here. It will or it won't; I will it to will.

—it happens quickly; I leave my perch and make a slow circle, so he/I can see better. Fighting men—

Soldiers

—too many to count—

Thirty or thirty-five

—moving around all over—

Some covering the rear; the captain seems cold and efficient, knows his stuff

—door knocked in, things flying, wood chips everywhere, nice! A few people gather to watch—

Pouring in neatly and efficiently; not a lot of room for mistakes. Good.

—no door, may as well see if I can fly in and watch the fun—

"Careful!"

—hee, yeah, good times! No blood, though, just—

Yes, make them lie on the floor. I'd rather kill them all, but I'm just in that kind of mood.

—lots of shouting and yelling—

Threats of repercussions, but I wish them luck with that. Unless the witches take a hand, and they'll have their own problems soon.

—and there's the one, arms held behind him, ohhhh, fangs deep, deep in—

"No!"

—not protesting, wants to tear and bite and rage, know that feeling, me too—

Yeah, the bastard is glaring. Poor son-of-a-bitch. That's right, grit your teeth and demand to see the Count. See the Count? You want to see the Count? I am Vladimir, Count of Szurke by the grace of Her Imperial Majesty Zerika the Fourth; you can see me, you low-life son of a thrice-poxed street whore. We'll see how that works out for you.

—now, finally exchanging words with a man, harsh words, nearly spitting—

The captain is doing his job—well, okay, my job—he ignores the complaints and gives the order for Chayoor to be taken to the manor—

—He walks between two others—

Looking absurd as he tries to keep his dignity

—out the door—

To the manor, and onto the next act of our little play. If he even makes it that far.

—There's an open window, so out and around, stay close to the building, and far above eye level, because they hardly ever look up. There they are, walking toward a big clunky machine with four horses in front of it—

A coach with iron bars, yes of course. And the driver is in the uniform of a man-atarms, no coachman for the criminal.

—And they are leading him in, and he suddenly twitches as if I'd poisoned him, but I didn't go near him! Honest!—

They didn't wait. Good. Die slow, you butchering, murdering, heartless, child-killing bastard. Die slow and in agony. Feel your heart stop, know what is happening and that you can't prevent it. See your life ooze away, and think about the crimes you've committed to bring this about, and may you rot forever in Verra's prismatic hells.

—men all confused, staring at the one who claws at his chest and turns red, he is breathing smoke, I can see it and smell it, a harsh acidic-smelling smoke—

They picked the same way Zollie was made to look, and that I faked. Lack of creativity, or just a sense of irony? I don't much care. Yes, Loiosh, stay with him, I want to see every second of his death agony.

—eyes popping, face a terrible twisted thing, head shaking back and forth—

Yes, you miserable son-o-a-bitch, yes. Feel every second.

—and finally, at last, he is still, eyes open and staring at the sky—

I take a moment to relish, to enjoy. It heals my soul. It is nearly as good as I imagined it would be, though I'd have liked it to have lasted longer. If there is price for revenge, I'll pay it, and pay it again. Whatever horrid destructive thing this is supposed to do to my soul must have been done long ago, or else if it just now happened I didn't notice.

—they stand around the body, looking all about them for what isn't there—

They look helpless. But they know what happened. Time to move on, Loiosh, it's all over here.

—and up and over the town, people and food and places getting small, smaller, tiny—

"Boss?"

"You knew that would happen?"

"Not that quickly. I wasn't sure I'd have the pleasure of watching."

Now — "The Coven. They're trying to cut their losses. They're trying to figure out if they can blame this on someone else, or maybe just get out of town."

"Will it work?"

"It might have, if I had let it"

— her form flying up, couldn't help but loop once, chase each other, only quickly, then she was gone, and claws grip hard into wood —

Yeah, there's the smug bastard, standing now, talking, gesticulating, and glancing at the door. He's heard something of what's happened, but still doesn't know.

— and he goes outside; so do I, up, seeing him again, circling once, just a harmless jhereg high in the sky, nothing here to see, then back —

He's standing outside the Guild hall, staring at Chayoor's body. Will he panic, or think it through? Doesn't matter either way.

— standing, staring at the body, circle now, high up, no need to take chances —

Looks like he's thinking it through. Fine. Think all you want, bastard. I remember when you first walked up to me and introduced yourself. I knew then something was wrong with you. But you shouldn't go trampling over people's lives like that; sometimes they take offense, and sometimes they can do something about it. And now you're putting it all together, making sense of it, realizing what must have happened. Are you realizing, too, that it's too late to do anything about it? How are you feeling about now?

—And he turns and walks eastward, fast, almost running, pace increasing, now he is running, only I fly much faster—

Yes, toward the woods. Probably the same place he was before. No other choice, either; whether he panicked, or reasoned it out, he has to run to his Coven. And it seems he did both. He figured out what was going on, and his reaction was right; in the same way a man is right to scream when his leg is being twisted to the breaking point. Or so they tell me.

—under the eaves of the woods, trees appearing as white streams of air that flow about them showing the path—

Oh, a different place, then. They have more than one, or different entrances?

—and bushes move, and a hole, air flowing hot from it, but there is room to—

"No! That's enough! Wait there"

"Okay, Boss. Whatever you say"

But I knew how he felt; I wanted to get my fangs into him, too.

17

Boraan: Now, now, my dear. Don't take on so. You know there will always be another body.

[Curtain] —Miersen, Six Parts Water Day Two, Act IV, Scene 6

I realized that Meehayi was there, and had been talking for some time.

"I'm sorry," I told him. "I was distracted."

"I was telling you what happened."

"The Count has broken the Guild and arrested its leaders. Chayoor is dead, apparently killed by witchcraft. Are we ready to go yet?"

He stared at me.

I love doing that to people. It's a weakness.

"How did you—?"

"Are we ready to leave?"

"Almost," he said. "I'm just waiting for Father Noij to let me know the boat is ready. How did you know what had happened?"

"I have sources," I said. "I suspect people are also out looking for the Coven."

He nodded his eyes still wide.

"Would someone in the mob out there like to know where the Coven leaders are right now?"

His eyes widened some more and he nodded. "East of town about three-quarters of a mile, where the road suddenly makes a sharp right, if you continue straight, there is a path that leads down a hill to a brook."

"Ostafa Creek," he said.

"Cross the creek and bear left for about three hundred yards. When the creek turns left, look to your right for a clump of bushes. Move them aside and there is a hole in the ground with a ladder."

He gave me a look I couldn't read, and went out.

I could now hear commotion in the street outside of my window; I imagine there was a panicked meeting of all the shopkeepers, wondering what they were going to do now, and mothers gossiping about what had happened, which was already starting the transformation from news to history to myth. Five hundred years from now, there will have been a great battle between the witches and the Evil Guild, in which they slaughtered one another, and would have laid waste to the region if the Young Count, riding at the head of his army, had not arrived in the nick of time.

My name would never appear, which was as it should be. We assassins are not big on appearing in news accounts or history books.

The street became quiet.

Meehayi came back in a few minutes later. "They've gone off," he said. "To—"

"Are we ready to leave?"

"There was a little delay."

"What sort of delay?"

"Father Noij was trying to talk them out of going to see the Coven."

"Ah," I said. "Did he have any luck?"

"They ignored him. He should be here soon."

I nodded and tried to wait patiently. It was more difficult than it ought to have been; but this was the time when, if something were going to go wrong, it would. And being helpless has never been high on my list of favorite things.

I listened to my breathing and waited, not thinking very much about anything. My legs itched under the splints.

"Boss, a mob has just arrived. About thirty of them."

"Good. Come back."

"You don't want to watch?"

"I've seen enough."

"On my way, then."

Rocza, I noticed then, was already back; she had returned while I was watching through Loiosh's eyes.

It's a useful thing to be able to do—actually see through the eyes of your familiar— and something very few witches have ever mastered; but it can be dangerous as well, because you have no idea what's going on around you.

It was about a quarter of an hour before he got back, during which time Meehayi expressed concern about Father Noij and what was happening. I suggested he go find

him and he went off to do so. While he was gone, Loiosh returned.

"We're waiting for Father Noij," I told Loiosh.

"I saw him with the mob, Boss. I think he's trying to stop them."

"Hmm. Determined son-of-a-bitch. Never figured such a low-life bastard to care about anything enough."

"Is this bad?"

"Probably not. Just delays us a bit. I hope."

No, I couldn't really see any danger. But I had had things timed nicely, and this introduced places where something might go wrong: I didn't want the Count, for instance, insisting on seeing me and asking embarrassing questions. Or the physicker, for that matter. It could lead to complications.

It was, in the end, a couple of hours before Father Noij came in, looking unhappy.

"They've hanged six witches," he said. "Leaders of the Coven."

My eyebrows climbed. "Indeed?"

He nodded.

Meehayi was right behind him. "You didn't know?" he asked me.

"How could I?"

That earned me another Look.

"Who was 'they'?" I asked Father Noij.

"Members of the Merchants' Guild, mostly."

I nodded. "Do you know a fellow named Orbahn?"

He nodded. "He was one."

I half regretted not having Loiosh stay around to watch that, but, as I'd told him, I'd seen enough.

At that point, someone I didn't know came into the room. I tensed, until Meehayi introduced him as his big brother. He was actually a little smaller than Meehayi, but that still left a lot of room for big.

Father Noij himself picked up the box full of my things that had been taken when— that had been taken for me. I held the amulet in one hand, Spellbreaker in the other; if anything happened to the box, I'd get by all right.

I winced as they set in to pick me up, Meehayi sliding his arms under mine, his brother taking my legs; but it didn't hurt. I must be recovering quickly. The virtues of clean living.

Speaking of clean living, damn but those two were strong! They got me down the back stairs only troubled by the narrowness of the stairway and my size; my weight, as far as I could tell, they didn't even notice.

More important, as far as Loiosh, Rocza, or I could tell, no one saw us.

Once more out into the stench, and I was lying down in the back of a wagon. Meehayi climbed up and took the reins; Father Noij got up next to him, and the brother jumped in next to me. Meehayi gave a cluck, and the horse set off. Loiosh and Rocza flew overhead, watching.

The ride was all right; I bounced a lot but it wasn't too painful.

They unloaded me like cargo and put me on a small boat of some kind; I didn't get a look at it. I was placed in a hammock that was a lot more comfortable than I'd have thought. Father Noij left without a word, or even looking at me. There were sounds of footsteps around me and over my head.

Loiosh and Rocza were jumpy and nervous, but I wasn't, because if something had gone wrong there wasn't anything to be done about it at this point. A certain amount of fatalism is necessary in this business or you'll drive yourself nuts worrying about things you can't help.

I felt the boat push away, and the current take us, and I relaxed, thinking I was safe.

Well I was, for the most part.

I had done a bit of ocean sailing before, and I didn't especially like it; but this was an entirely different sort of experience. If I had my way, I think I'd live on a boat on the river, just to be able to sleep there. I wasn't able to watch us leave Burz behind, but I could imagine it, and I did. My dreams were good that night.

The boat trip lasted three days, during which time I never saw a crewman, nor, indeed, anyone except Meehayi, who brought me my food and helped take care of me in other ways. He said little during that time, which was fine with me; I wasn't feeling especially talkative myself.

I asked him about our progress and he said we should be arriving tomorrow. I asked him if he'd ever been to Fenario before and he said no. I asked if he was excited about being there and he didn't answer. I had the feeling something was bothering him, but I didn't think I was in a position to ask him what it was if he didn't feel like saying.

That evening he came in with a tray with brown bread and a bowl of the fiery pork stew that they'd been serving every evening. As he approached with the food, Loiosh flew over and landed on the side of the bed, interposing himself between me and Meehayi, and hissed.

Meehayi stopped, looked at him, looked at me, and said, "How does he know?"

I don't know if my mouth dropped open, but it felt like it should have. "You were going to try to kill me?"

"I don't know," he said, looking me dead in the eyes without, as far as I could tell, any expression at all. "I was thinking about it." He half turned and lifted his shirt, and I could see the hilt of a very long, very big knife in a sheath around the back of his pants.

I stared at him. "Why?"

"Look at what you've done," he said. "You are an evil man."

"Okay, what have I done?"

"You had Master Chayoor killed, you had people in the Guild arrested, you, you must be behind what happened to the witches too. I don't know." He kept looking at me. "How many people did you have killed?"

It was strange. His voice was so calm. I swear, give me half a year with this kid and I'll make him an assassin. "I haven't laid a finger on anyone," I said.

"How many?"

"In Burz? Seven."

"You killed seven people. Just like that."

"You probably shouldn't kill me," I told him. "It'll make you as bad as me. Not that I think I'm that bad, really. And besides ..." I nodded at Loiosh and Rocza. "I've got defenders."

"I don't know if I would have done it," he said.

"How did you know?"

"How did you know?"

"Oh," I said. "Yeah, I always figured showing away like that would get me in trouble. Well, do you have any idea why I did it?"

He shook his head.

"Would you like me to tell you?"

He hesitated, then nodded.

"Then back away a few feet so Loiosh can relax a little."

He did, and sat down.

"I left home," I said, "for reasons that don't concern you. My home is in the West, in the Empire. But my family is from Fenario. My fath—"

"But you're human."

"Yes, but I'm more Dragaeran than human now. Never mind. My father died when I was young, my mother when I was younger. I never knew her. I wanted to know who she was. Can you understand that?"

He nodded, just barely. He wasn't giving anything,

"I learned that her name was Merss."

"You learned?"

"That's not my name. Though it could be." I shrugged. "In any case, I wanted to find her family—my family. I learned of this town, with its paper mill, and that seemed the place to start looking, as long as I was leaving home anyway. So I came here, with nothing more in mind than seeing my family and introducing myself, to them, maybe getting to know them a little."

I gave a short laugh. "Yeah, that was the plan. So I asked around, and none of the merchants would tell me anything about them; the name seemed to upset them. I met Orbahn, and he— well, it doesn't matter. I was suspicious of him. But he warned me about the Guild, and denied knowing where the Merss family was. Possible, but in a town this size I didn't believe it. A family well known enough that the merchants took the name as a threat, yet he didn't know them? No."

He nodded, still listening.

"Eventually, I found Zollie, who was willing to tell me about the Merss family. I went out to see them the next day, and they'd been killed. And I learned that the person who'd given me the information was also dead. Most interesting, someone had poisoned him, and tried to blame it on the Coven."

"You knew about the Coven?"

"I guessed, I didn't know. There's usually a Coven in a town like this, so my grandfather told me. They act just like a craft Guild, for witches."

"What is a craft Guild?"

"Like the Merchants' Guild, but without the disease."

"Disease?"

"The Guild in this town is sick, twisted; depraved, power-mad, and greedy."

"You say that like it's a bad thing, Boss."

"It is when they get in my way, Loiosh."

I continued, "A craft Guild is, well, it's an organization of people in a single craft. All the tinsmiths, say. Or all the masons. Or the glazers."

"What's a glazer?"

"Never mind. It was possible there was no Coven, since there were none of the other Guilds. But there are always witches, and they sort of need to band together sometimes, so it's hard for there not to be one."

"There isn't one now," he said accusingly.

"There will be again. Give it a season. You see, in a town like this—" I bit my tongue so as not to make any remarks about superstitious peasants. "In a town like this, if anything goes wrong, it's very easy to blame the witches for it, so those who practice the Art need to have some means of banding together to defend themselves, and so no one can play witches off against each other. So, I assumed there was a Coven, and someone

wanted it blamed for Zollie's death."

"How did you know they hadn't killed him?"

"Red lips? A 'witch's mark'? There are a thousand ways to kill someone using the Art. Why pick one that would point right at them?"

He nodded and I went on. "Who wanted Zollie dead? And who wanted the Coven blamed for it? Whoever fit that was almost certainly who killed my family."

He looked down.

"Except that I was wrong."

"You were:

"Yeah. I'll try to explain my thinking. My first idea was the Guild, just because they'd been ordering me—through Orbahn— to stay away."

"He told you he was with the Guild?"

"No, he tried to say he wasn't. I didn't believe him."

"Oh."

"I kept coming back to why. The Merss family lived here all their lives, for generations, and then I show up, and they're killed. What did I do? What did I say? Who did they think I was?"

I sighed.

"I saw the Count and got nothing but an invitation to visit the mill. I tested him with a story of coming from the Empire to see if he was the greedy sort, and he was. The invitation scared me; I didn't accept it. I was right to be scared, but it didn't help."

I was quiet for a while; I hadn't realized talking about it would hit me like that. He waited, not looking at me. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I had a whole plan for pulling the information I wanted out of the people who had it. It got as far as my first contact with the Guild. You see, they knew my name."

He looked up. "Your real name?"

"Yes."

"How could they know it?"

"My name flashed through my head during the spell, so if someone was watching me, well, it could be done."

"What spell?"

"It doesn't matter. A minor Working." It was embarrassing, that part.

"Okay."

"So, the next question was, why was the Guild watching me so closely? By then, I was pretty much convinced they were the ones who had killed my family, and Zollie, but there were things about it that didn't make sense. To get my name, they had to employ a witch. Just what was the relationship between the Guild and the Coven? They ought to be enemies, because the Coven was the one craft Guild they hadn't absorbed. But if they were working with the Coven, why try to blame them for Zollie's death? And what about Count Saekeresh? Zollie thought being under his protection made him safe. Why was he wrong? So, I wasn't sure enough to act."

I shook my head. "It was quite the muddle."

He nodded.

"I'd learned some of the history, by then. You should too, sometime. Find Father Noij and shake him until he tells you the real history. It's something you should know."

He frowned, started to say something, but didn't.

I said, "I learned, at any rate, that the Merss family had been part of a group of witches with either a different Coven than the one that had survived, or no Coven at all. Covens like that frown on independent witches, and so they either die, leave, or give up practicing the Art, except perhaps in secret. The Merss family had, in parts, done all of those, including changing their name to Merss.

"And there was more, going back to when some poor bastard found an old, old manuscript, or engraving, or, well, something, that told how to make high-quality paper cheaply, in quantity. Up till then, there were different Guilds, like there are most places. But with the paper mill, most of those in the Guilds started working for the Count for cash. And what was left combined into one Merchants' Guild, both to make it easier for the Count to bargain with, and to have more leverage bargaining with him. It ended up functioning as the town government as well. The Guild has been fighting with the different Counts Saekeresh for generations—over laws that help trade versus laws that help industry, and over who has jurisdiction over what. The merchants are all Guild, which is what gives them any sort of power at all. The mill workers have His Lordship as their protector and enemy at the same time; an odd situation to be sure, but the cheaper he can convince the merchants to set the prices, the less he has to pay the workers. He has to protect them because he needs them. And, in all this, there are the peasants, who are caught in the middle because Count Saekeresh doesn't really need them anymore. He gets more money from the mill than he ever did from ground rent. To him, they're just a convenient way to feed his workers. And the Guild doesn't care about them at all; when I went into a shop and was taken for a peasant, I was treated as if I were a thief."

I shook my head. "What a mess. In the end, the only ones the peasants had to turn to were Father Noij, and the Coven." I shrugged. "It's led to all sorts of conflicts between those working at the mill and those who still farmed—"

"That's why you asked me about that? To find out—"

"Yes."

He looked unhappy. I shrugged. "In the past—back when this started, it led to conflicts among the witches, the breaking up of the old Coven and the formulating of a new one. And it ended with a three-way balance of power. Three groups that didn't trust each other, that schemed against each other, tried to get the advantage over each other, and needed each other."

"Needed each other?"

"Each needed another to keep the third in check."

I gave him a moment for that. I could see him going over things he knew, looking at them from that viewpoint. Finally, he gave a hesitant nod.

"And that is the situation I, the most suspicious-looking fellow this town has seen in a hundred years, walked into, all innocence. Meehayi, do you know what 'paranoid' means?"

He shook his head.

"It's a mind-sickness. It's when you think that everything going on is a conspiracy against you."

He thought that over and nodded. "And that's what you believed?"

"Not enough. No, that's what everyone believed about me."

He shook his head. "I don't understand."

"The Count believed I had come to town to steal the secret of paper-making. The Guild, seeing my familiars, assumed I was with the Coven. And the Coven, when they realized that witchcraft wouldn't work on me, jumped to the conclusion that I was working for the Count."

"Oh. How did you figure out all of, well, that?"

"From the questions they asked me. The Count had me first, and his questioner drugged me and asked me things that indicated he thought I was there to steal his secret." I snorted.

"Oh. But you couldn't tell them anything."

"No, and the questioner finally believed that, at which point he turned me over to the Guild. He'd worked with them to get me in the first place."

"How do you know that?"

"Orbahn was part of the set-up. And so was Tereza. They both work for the Guild."

"But you said Orbahn worked for the Coven, too."

"Yes, he reported to them, but he wasn't in on their councils, just a paid spy in the Guild. But that's how he learned that my jhereg would have to be distracted, and about making sure the amulet I wear had to stay on me."

"So, His Lordship was working with the Guild?"

"That far, yes. A deal. Probably something like, 'You help me take him, and I'll question him and tell you what I learn.' 'What if you don't learn anything?' 'Then you can have him, I don't care.' Probably a lot like that. And he carried out his bargain. The Guild's questioner had me when Saekeresh's was done."

He looked away. Then he said, "What did the Guild think?"

"At first they were afraid I was from the King; that the kingdom finally started caring about what happened out here in the West. Then they didn't know, and set about trying to find out. Of course, they didn't believe that I'd just come to visit my family. A flimsy story like that, who'd believe it? And the more I stuck to it, the more frightened they got."

He nodded.

"The other thing that helped me put it together was just the way they got me. It involved all of them: Saekeresh to lure me there, the Guild to play out a little comedy to distract Loiosh and Rocza, and the Coven, though all unknowing, to give Aybrahmis the knockout drops to slip into my glass on behalf of His Lordship."

He stared at me. "The physicker?"

I nodded. "I surprised a flush out of him when he wasn't expecting it. And I knew the Coven wasn't involved directly, because they wouldn't have made the mistake of telling me my familiar was dead without confirming it. But a witch was certainly involved on some level, because they recognized at least some of what my amulet did and made sure I couldn't remove it. Anyway, after that, it was just a matter of confirming it, and fixing it."

"Fixing it," he repeated.

"Yes. After I was taken out, we were playing a little comedy. His Lordship isn't a bad fellow, really, and when he saw what had been done to me, which he'd never planned on, he actually wanted to help me recover. The Guild didn't dare do anything, because Saekeresh was watching them, all ready to send his troops in. The Coven couldn't do anything, because everyone was suspicious of them for Zollie's death, and if I died too things could get ugly for them. They sent their youngest witches to help Aybrahmis; witches who wouldn't know enough to ask about why the Art wouldn't work on me, but—"

"Why won't it?"

I shook my head. "Long story. Never mind. But the witches did their best to cure me, and the Guild stayed out of the way, and all of them hoped this would just blow over and things could go back to normal. It didn't. Like I told—I mean, it was like a stool with three legs, you know? Kick one in, it all goes down."

He thought that over. He finally said, "Why didn't Count Saekeresh destroy the Guild before?"

"They were protected by the witches."

"I thought the Guild didn't like the Coven?"

"They don't, but they needed each other to fend off Count Saekeresh. Saekeresh could take the Guild, but he knows his family history. His grandfather had a lot of trouble with witches, and he didn't want the same sort of trouble."

"Well, but why did the Coven need the Guild?"

I smiled. "They didn't exactly need them. The Guild knows that—excuse me for this—that peasants, even when they may practice witchcraft, don't trust Covens. They, you, tend to blame them for things. According to my grandfather, that's why the leaders of most Covens stay secret, because sooner or later there will be a bad year for crops and it'll be taken out on the Coven. So the Guild had managed to discover at least some of the leaders of the Coven, and so they had that to hold over their heads. Whenever they needed to keep the Coven in line, someone would die with a 'witch's mark' on him."

He thought that over, and finally said, "Oh." Then he frowned. "But you—"

"Yes. I gave myself the witch's mark, just as the Guild gave it to Zollie. Probably almost the same way, too, if I had to guess."

"So you used me to—"

"Yes."

He looked at me with an expression I couldn't read. Then he shook his head. "How do you know all this?"

"I confirmed it in different ways, talking to different people. I wasn't sure about the connection between the Guild and the Coven until I learned there are certain diseases common to prostitutes that aren't a problem here. To prevent it takes a witch. There you have the foundation of a business arrangement."

After a while he said, "But who, who was it who actually, that is, who—?"

"Who killed my family? Who lit the fire? That was witchcraft; natural fires don't burn that way. I couldn't say who did the Working. Maybe Orbahn. It was the Coven, though."

"But I don't understand why."

"None of them trusted each other. They were always watching each other, finding each other's spies, pushing for advantages, careful none of the others got advantages. So I came in with an obvious lie about looking for my family, they all 'knew' I was up to no good. And that was fine; they just watched me, none of them daring to touch me until they knew whose side I was on. I might, after all, be from the King, and getting the King mad at them wouldn't be in anyone's interest."

He was watching me, his eyes fixed to my face, listening in silence.

I said, "When I started asking questions about the Merss family, they thought it was just to look good, and they kept watching me to see what I'd do. But then—okay, here I'm speculating, but it makes sense. The Guild pointed me at Zollie. It was a test, I think— they wanted to know how far I'd push my cover story, or else they wanted to see what I'd do when I'd used that up by finding them. So they arranged for me to see Zollie, who they knew would direct me to the Merss family and answer my questions.

"The Coven heard about this, through their spy, Orbahn, and became scared. The Merss family, after all, had been, years and years ago, their enemies, and now a man they couldn't touch or investigate with witchcraft was about to make contact with them. They didn't know what I had in mind, but it couldn't be good, and so they acted."

He nodded. "And Zollie?"

"The Guild."

"Why?"

"For the same reason they killed Tereza later. Once the Merss family was killed, they panicked. They were still afraid to touch me and they knew I was going to come back to Zollie and ask more questions. They were pretty well convinced now that I was working for the King, and that I had wanted to see the Merss family to learn the history of the area

— and they didn't want me to know it. Bastards always hate people knowing history. It scares them. So they had Zollie killed, and tried to make it look like the Coven had done it. Not to fool Count Saekeresh, but to fool, well, you."

"Me?"

"People. Peasants. The mill workers."

"What could we do to them?"

"You could make things uncomfortable for the merchants, for one thing. For another, you're always a threat against the Coven, a good chance to keep them in line."

He chewed on his lower lip, then nodded. "How did you figure all of this out?"

"What you should be asking is, why didn't I figure it out sooner? I don't know. I guess because I've spent so much time around Dragaerans, that — "

"Who?"

"Elfs."

"Oh."

"I didn't think my people — humans — would be a serious threat. There is an entire family dead because I didn't start asking the right questions soon enough. I have to live with that. You think I'm bad because I killed those responsible. I think I'm bad because I didn't kill them earlier."

He looked down. "What are you going to do now?"

"Well, if you don't kill me, I'm going to hide until I can move again."

"Hide? From who?"

"The people who've been chasing me all along."

"Who are they?"

"I made an enemy of a large criminal organization among the elfs. They want my head."

"Oh."

"So I'll hide for a while, and when I can move again, I'll leave here and go back where I belong, back where I know the rules, and the only people I get killed are the ones who deserve it. I'll be a bad man among other bad men."

"I'm not going to kill you," he said.

"That's good to hear. Because it might be that you could right now, and there aren't many I've said that to."

"But what you did is still wrong."

"Is it? Why? Who says someone should be permitted to hurt me with impunity?"

"It's bad to carry hate around with you."

"I'm not carrying it around. I got rid of it. I put it to good use."

"All those people you killed."

"What about them?"

"They had family. Mothers. Brothers. Lovers. People who cared about them, and who

didn't do anything to you, and who you've hurt." "Let them come for me, if they care to try. In a year or so, anyway." "That isn't the point."

"I know."

I dropped it there, because I didn't have a good answer. I still don't. I won't play the hypocrite and make some crap-filled remarks about how sometimes people get hurt and it's just a necessary part of the cost. I don't know, and I don't care. I know those bastards couldn't get away with what they did, and they didn't, and I'm happy about it. Whatever that makes me is what it makes me. You decide; I'm done thinking about it.

"Do you want some more food?"

"In a while. Right now, I just want to close my eyes."

I did so, and presently I heard his footsteps, then the door closing.

"Was that true, Boss?"

"Eh? Most of it.”

"No, about hiding for a year, then going back."

"Oh. Almost.”

"Almost?"

"I'm not quite done with the town of Burz. There's still Sackeresh."

"Boss—"

"Relax. It'll be half a year at least, probably more before I'm in shape. And I know the town now. No one will even see me."

"Okay, Boss. If you have to kill him, okay. But—"

"I'm not going to kill him, Loiosh. That would be much too kind."

I think I fell asleep somewhere in there; when I woke up again, we had arrived in the City.

epilogue

Tadmar: Noble Boraan and good Lefitt have Once again this eve Shown that murder cannot prevail— If that's what you believe. Our criminal led off in chains The stern Magistrate to face; While here the jars of gratitude Are in their accustomed place. For when all the lines have been spake Though to distant towns we've ranged We return you now to a theater plain Amused, we hope, and changed. We introduce the placers now Who have delivered each their lines So we may at last get off our feet And you off your—chairs.

—Miersen, Six Parts Water Curtain Call

I like to think the Jhereg assassin—whoever he was—had something all set up, and if I’d remained in town an hour longer he’d have had me. I like to think that. It appeals to my sense of the dramatic. In fact, I have no idea; all I know is that I got out of town still breathing.

That was three years ago, and they haven’t gotten me yet.

Meehayi helped me find a hiding place—not that hard in a big city—and stayed with me until I could walk well enough to find one he didn’t know about; then I gave him some gold and sent him traveling. I suggested he wait at least a couple of years before returning to Burz.

Apparently one of the things the witches had been giving me was for pain, and when they stopped giving it to me things got unpleasant. There are a few months in there that don’t bear thinking about or talking about, but I got past it.

It was, in the end, just about a year that I was in hiding in Fenario, before I felt like myself again. Then I returned to Count Saekeresh’s manor , and snuck in one night, found the vault in the basement, opened it, took what I wanted, and left. I honestly have no idea if Her Imperial Majesty Zerika the Fourth has the least interest in a process for mass-producing high-quality paper, but it is now in her hands, courtesy of the Imperial Post, and the idea tickles me. I think even Meehayi would approve; not that I care.

In all, it was a year and a couple of weeks from when I had stood on Mount Saestara and failed to see the future that I stood there again, and, I imagine, did no better. But I was well and whole; well, almost whole. For as stupid as I was, I guess I got off lucky.

“Loiosh, do you remember that peasant who helped us bury the Merss Family?”

“Sure, Boss.”

“He started to say something about them. About how one winter they did something or other.”

"I remember."

The wind was very cold.

"I wish I'd let him finish the story," I said.

I stood on the mountain and didn't look back. Looking ahead, I couldn't see my future at all, which I figured was probably just as well.