Teckla

This is the city: Adrilankha, Whitecrest.

The capital and largest city of the Dragaeran Empire contains all that makes up the domain, but in greater concentration. All of the petty squabbles within the seventeen Great Houses, and sometimes among them, become both more petty and more vicious here. Dragonlords fight for honor, the Iorich nobles fight for justice, Jhereg nobles fight for money, and Dzurlords fight for fun.

If, in the course of this squabbling, a law is broken, the injured party may appeal to the Empire, which oversees the interplay of Houses with an impartiality that does credit to a Lyorn judging a duel. But the organization that exists at the core of House Jhereg operates illegally. The Empire is both unwilling and unable to enforce the laws and customs governing this inner society. Yet, sometimes, these unwritten laws are broken.

That's when I go to work. I'm an assassin.

I found an oracle about three blocks down on Undauntra, a little out of my area. He wore the blue and white of the House of the Tiassa, and worked out of a hole-in-the-wall above a bakery, reached by climbing a long, knotted wooden stairway between crumbling walls to a rotting door. The inside of the place was about right. Leave it at that.

He wasn't busy, so I threw a couple of gold Imperials onto the table in front of him and sat opposite him on a shoddy octagonal stool that matched his. He looked to be a bit old, probably pushing fifteen hundred.

He glanced at the pair of jhereg riding my shoulders, but chose to pretend to be unexcited. "An Easterner," he said. Brilliant. "And a Jhereg." The man was a genius. "How may I serve you?"

"I have," I told him, "suddenly acquired more cash than I've ever dreamed of having. My wife wants me to build a castle. I could buy a higher title in the Jhereg—I'm now a baronet. Or I could use the money to expand my business. If I choose the latter, I risk, in turn, competition problems. How serious will these be? That's my question."

He put his right arm on the table and rested his chin on it, drumming the tabletop with the fingers of his left hand while staring up at me. He must have recognized me; how many Easterners are there who are high up in the organization and wander around with jhereg on their shoulders?

When he'd looked at me long enough to be impressive, he said, "If you try to expand your business, a mighty organization will fall."

Well, la-dee-da. I leaned over the table and slapped him.

"Rocza wants to eat him, boss. Can she?"

"Maybe later, Loiosh. Don't bother me."

To the Tiassa, I said, "I have a vision of you with two broken legs. I wonder if it's a true one?"

He mumbled something about sense of humor, and closed his eyes. After thirty seconds or so, I saw sweat on his forehead. Then he shook his head and brought out a deck of cards wrapped in blue velvet with his House insignia on them. I groaned. I hate Card readers.

"Maybe he wants to play shereba," said Loiosh. I caught the faint psionic echo of Rocza laughing.

The oracle looked apologetic. "I wasn't getting anything," he explained.

"All right, all right," I said. "Let's get on with it."

After we went through the ritual, he tried to explain all the oracular meanings the Cards revealed to him. When I said, "Just the answers please," he looked hurt.

He studied the Mountain of Changes for a while, then said, "As far as I can see, m'lord, it doesn't matter. What's going to happen doesn't depend on any action you're going to take."

He gave me the apologetic look again. He must have practiced it. "That's the best I can do."

Splendid. "All right," I said. "Keep the change." That was supposed to be a joke, but I don't think he got it, so he probably still thinks I have no sense of humor.

I went back down the stairs and out onto Undauntra, a wide street packed full of craft shops on the east side and sparsely settled with small homes on the west, making it look oddly lopsided. About halfway back to my office, Loiosh said, "Someone's coming, boss. Looks like muscle."

I brushed my hair back from my eyes with one hand and adjusted my cloak with the other, allowing me to check a few concealed goodies. I felt tension in Rocza's grip on my shoulder, but left it to Loiosh to calm her down. She was still new at this work.

"Only one, Loiosh?"

"Certain, boss."

"Okay."

About then, a medium-tall Dragaeran in the colors of House Jhereg (gray and black, if you're taking notes) fell into stride next to me. Medium-tall in a Dragaeran, you understand, made him a head and a half taller than I.

"Good afternoon, Lord Taltos," he said, pronouncing my name right.

I grunted back at him. His sword was light, worn at the hip, and clanked along between us. His cloak was full enough to conceal dozens of the same kind of things my cloak concealed sixty- three of.

He said, "A friend of mine would like to congratulate you on your recent successes."

"Thank him for me."

"He lives in a real nice neighborhood."

"I'm happy for him."

"Maybe you'd like to visit him sometime."

I said, "Maybe."

"Would you like to make plans for it?"

"Now?"

"Or later. Whatever's convenient for you."

"Where should we talk?"

"You name it."

I grunted again. In case that went too fast for you, this fellow had just informed me that he was working for an individual who was very high up in the Organization, and that said individual might want my services for something. In theory, it could be for any of a number of things, but there's only one thing that I'm known to do freelance.

I took us a little further, until we were safely in my territory. Then I said, "All right," and steered us into an inn that jutted out a few feet onto Undauntra, and was one of the reasons merchants with hand-carts hated this part of the street.

We found an unoccupied end of a long table, and I sat down across from him without getting any splinters. Loiosh looked the place over for me and didn't say anything.

"I'm Bajinok," said my companion as the host brought us a bottle of fairly good wine and a couple of glasses.

"Okay."

"My friend wants some 'work' done around his house."

I nodded. Work, said that way, means wanting someone killed. "I know people," I said. "But they're all pretty busy right now." My last "work" had only been a few weeks before, and was, let's say, highly visible. I didn't feel like doing any more just then.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "This is just your style."

"I'm sure," I said. "But thank your friend for thinking of me. Another time, all right?"

"Okay," he said. "Another time."

He nodded to me, stood up, and left. And that should have been the end of it.

Verra, Demon-Goddess of my ancestors, may the water on thy tongue turn to ash. That should have been the end of it.

Farmday

Leffero, Nephews and Niece, Launderers and Tailors Malak Circle fr: V. Taltos

Number 17, Garshos St.

Please do the following: gray knit cotton shirt: remove wine stain from rt sleeve, black tallow from lft and repair cut in rt cuff.

1 pr gray trousers: remove blood stain from upper rt leg, klava stain from upper lft, and dirt from knees.

1 pr black riding boots: remove reddish stain on toe of rt boot, and remove dust and soot from both and polish.

1 gray silk cravat: repair cut, and remove sweat stains.

1 plain gray cloak: clean and press, remove cat hairs, brush to remove white particles, remove honing-oil stains, and repair cut in lft side.

1 Pocket Handkerchief: clean and press

Expect delivery by Homeday next.

Yrs cordially,

V. Taltos, Brnt, Jhrg (His seal)

gray knit cotton shirt:

remove wine stain from rt sleeve.

I stared out of the window onto streets I couldn't see and thought about castles. It was night and I was home, and while I didn't mind sitting in a flat looking at a street I couldn't see, I thought I might rather sit in a castle and look at a courtyard I couldn't see.

My wife, Cawti, sat next to me, her eyes closed, thinking about something or other. I sipped from a glass of a red wine that was too sweet. On top of a tall buffet was perched Loiosh, my jhereg familiar. Next to him was Rocza, his mate. Your basic conjugal scene.

I cleared my throat and said, "I visited an oracle last week."

She turned and stared at me. "You? Visiting an oracle? What's the world coming to? About what?"

I answered her last question. "About what would happen if I took all that money and plowed it into the business."

"Ah! That again. I suppose he told you something vague and mystical, like you'll be dead in a week if you try."

"Not exactly." I told her about the visit. Her face lost its bantering look. I like her bantering look. But then, I like most of her looks.

"What do you make of it?" she said when I was finished.

"I don't know. You take that stuff more seriously than I do; what do you make of it?"

She chewed her lower lip for a while. Around then Loiosh and Rocza left the buffet and flew off down the hall, into a small alcove that was reserved for their privacy. It gave me ideas which I suppressed, because I dislike having my actions suggested to me by a flying reptile.

Finally, Cawti said, "I don't know, Vladimir. We'll have to wait and see, I guess."

"Yeah. Just something more to worry about. It's not as if we don't have enough—"

There was a thumping sound, as if someone were hitting the door with a blunt object. Cawti and I were up at almost the same instant, myself with a dagger, she with a pair of them. The wine glass I'd been holding dropped to the floor and I shook droplets off my hand. We looked at each other and waited. The thumping sound was repeated. Loiosh came tearing out of the alcove and came to rest on my shoulder, Rocza behind him, complaining loudly. I started to tell him to shut her up, but Loiosh must have because she became quiet. I knew this couldn't be a Jhereg attack, because the Organization doesn't bother you at home, but I had made more than one enemy outside of the Jhereg.

We moved toward the door. I stood on the side that would open, Cawti stood directly in front of it. I took a deep breath, let it out, and put my hand on the handle. Loiosh tensed. Cawti nodded. A voice from the other side said, "Hello? Is anyone there?"

I stopped.

Cawti's brows came together. She called out tentatively, "Gregory?"

The voice came back. "Yeah. Is that you, Cawti?"

She said, "Yes."

I said, "What the—?"

"It's all right," she said, but her voice lacked certainty and she didn't sheath her daggers.

I blinked a couple of times. Then it occurred to me that Gregory was an Eastern name. It was the Eastern custom to strike someone's door with your fist if you wanted to announce yourself. "Oh," I said. I relaxed a bit. I called out, "Come in."

A man, as human as I, started to enter, saw us, and stopped. He was small, middle-aged, about half bald, and startled. I suppose walking through a doorway to find three weapons pointing at you would be enough to startle anyone who wasn't used to it.

I smiled. "Come on in, Gregory," I said, still holding my dagger at his chest. "Drink?"

"Vladimir," said Cawti, I suppose hearing the edge in my voice. Gregory didn't move and didn't say anything.

"It's all right, Vladimir." Cawti told me directly.

"With whom?" I asked her, but I made my blade vanish and stood aside. Gregory stepped past me a bit gingerly, but not handling himself too badly, all things considered.

"I don't like him, boss," said Loiosh.

"Why not?"

"He's an Easterner; he ought to have a beard."

I didn't answer because I sort of agreed; facial hair is one of the things that sets us apart from Dragaerans, which was why I grew a mustache. I tried to grow a beard once, but Cawti threatened to shave it off with a rusty dagger after her second set of whisker burns.

Gregory was shown to a cushion, sitting down in a way that made me realize that he was prematurely balding rather than middle-aged. Cawti, weapons also gone, sat on the couch. I brought out some wine, did a little cooling spell, and poured us each a glass. Gregory nodded his thanks and sipped. I sat down next to Cawti.

"All right," I said. "Who are you?"

Cawti said, "Vlad…" Then she sighed. "Vladimir, this is Gregory. Gregory: my husband, the Baronet of Taltos."

I saw perhaps the faintest of curl to his lip when she recited my title, and took an even stronger dislike to him. I can sneer at Jhereg titles; that doesn't mean anyone else can sneer at mine.

I said, "Okay. We all know each other. Now, who are you, and what are you doing trying to knock down my door?"

His eyes flicked from Loiosh, perched on my right shoulder, to my face, to the cut of my clothes. I felt like I was being examined. This did nothing to improve my temper. I glanced over at Cawti. She bit her lip. She could tell I was becoming unhappy.

"Vladimir," she said.

"Hmmm?"

"Gregory is a friend of mine. I met him while visiting your grandfather a few weeks ago."

"Go on."

She shifted uncomfortably. "There's a lot more to tell. I'd like to find out what he wants first, if I may."

There was just the least bit of an edge to her voice, so I backed off.

"Should I take a walk?"

"Dunno. But thanks for asking. Kiss."

I looked at him and waited. He said, "Which question do you want me to answer first?"

"Why don't you have a beard?"

"What?"

Loiosh hissed a laugh. "Never mind," I said. "What do you want here?"

He looked back and forth between Cawti and me, then fixed his glance on her and said, "Franz was killed yesterday evening."

I glanced at my wife to see what effect this was having on her. Her eyes had widened slightly. I held my tongue.

After a pair of breaths, Cawti said, "Tell me about it."

Gregory had the nerve to glance significantly in my direction. It almost got him hurt. He must have decided that I was all right, though, because he said, "He was standing at the door of the hall we'd rented, checking people, when someone just walked up to him and cut his throat. I heard the commotion and ran down, but whoever it was had vanished by the time I got there."

"Did anyone see him?"

"Not well. It was a Dragaeran though. They all-you-never mind. He was wearing black and gray."

"Sounds professional," I remarked, and Gregory looked at me in a way that you ought never to look at someone unless you are holding a blade at his throat. It was becoming difficult to let these things pass.

Cawti glanced at me quickly, then stood up. "All right, Gregory," she said. "I'll speak to you later."

He looked startled, and opened his mouth to say something, but Cawti gave him one of those looks she gives me when I carry a joke too far. She saw him to the door. I didn't stand up.

"All right," I said when she came back. "Tell me about it."

She studied me for a moment, as if looking at me for the first time. I knew enough not to say anything. Presently she said, "Let's take a walk."

There was no time in my life up to that point when I was as filled with so many strong, conflicting emotions as when we returned from that walk. No one, including Loiosh, had spoken during the last ten minutes, when I had run out of sarcastic questions and removed Cawti's need for terse, biting answers. Loiosh rhythmically squeezed alternate talons on my right shoulder, and I was subliminally aware of this and comforted by it. Rocza, who sometimes flies over our heads, sometimes rests on my other shoulder, and sometimes rests on Cawti's, was doing the last. The Adrilankhan air was cutting, and the endless lights of the city cast battling shadows before our feet as I found and opened the door to the flat.

We undressed and went to bed speaking only as necessary and answering in monosyllables. I lay awake for a long time, moving as little as possible so Cawti wouldn't think I was lying awake. I don't know about her, but she didn't move much.

She arose before me the next morning and roasted, ground, and brewed the klava. I helped myself to a cup, drank it, and walked over to the office. Loiosh was with me; Rocza stayed behind. There was a cold, heavy fog in from the sea and almost no breeze—giving what is called "assassin's weather," which is nonsense. I said hello to Kragar and Melestav and sat down to brood and be miserable.

"Snap out of it, boss."

"Why?"

"Because you've got things to do."

"Like what?"

"Like finding out who shined the Easterner."

I thought that over for a moment. If you are going to have a familiar, it doesn't do to ignore him. "All right, why?"

He didn't say anything, but presently memories began to present themselves for my consideration. Cawti, as I'd seen her at Dzur Mountain after she had killed me (there's a story there, but never mind); Cawti holding me after someone else tried to kill me; Cawti holding a knife at Morrolan's throat and explaining how it was going to be, while I sat paralyzed and helpless; Cawti's face the first time I had made love with her. Strange memories, too—my emotions at the time, filtered through a reptilian mind that was linked to my own.

"Stop it, Loiosh!"

"You asked."

I sighed. "I suppose I did. But why did she have to get involved in something like that? Why—?"

"Why don't you ask her?"

"I did. She didn't answer."

"She would have if you hadn't been so—"

"I don't need advice on my marriage from a Verra-be-damned… no, I suppose I do, don't I? All right. What would you do?"

"Ummm… I'd tell her that if I had two dead Teckla I'd give her one."

"You're a lot of help."

"Melestav!" I yelled. "Send Kragar in here."

"Right away, boss."

Kragar is one of those people who are just naturally unnoticeable. You could be sitting in a chair looking for him and not realize that you were sitting in his lap. So I concentrated hard on the door, and managed to see him come in.

"What is it, Vlad?"

"Open your mind, my man. I have a face to give to you."

"Okay."

He did, and I concentrated on Bajinok—the fellow I'd spoken with a few days before, who had offered me "work" that would be "just my style." Could he have meant an Easterner? Yeah, maybe. He had no way of knowing that to finalize an Easterner would defeat the whole purpose of my having become an assassin in the first place.

Or would it? Something nasty in my mind made me remember a certain conversation I'd recently had with Aliera, but I chose not to think about it.

"Do you know him?" I asked Kragar. "Who does he work for?"

"Yeah. He works for Herth."

"Ah ha."

"Ah ha?"

"Herth," I said, "runs the whole South Side."

"Where the Easterners live."

"Right. An Easterner was just killed. By one of us."

"Us?"said Loiosh. "Who is us?"

"A point. I'll think about it."

"What does that have to do with us?" asked Kragar, introducing another meaning of us, just to confuse us. Excuse me.

I said, "I don't know yet, but—Deathgate, I do know. I'm not ready to talk about it yet. Could you set me up a meeting with Herth?"

He tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair and looked at me quizzically. It wasn't usual for me to leave him in the dark about things like that, but he finally said, "Okay," and left.

I took out a dagger and started flipping it. After a moment I said to Loiosh, "She still could have told me about it."

"She tried. You weren't interested in discussing it."

"She could have tried harder."

"It wouldn't have come up if this hadn't happened. And it is her own life. If she wants to spend half of it in the Easterners' ghetto, rabble-rousing, that's her—"

"It hardly sounds like rabble-rousing to me."

"Ah," said Loiosh.

Which shows how much good it is to try to get the better of your familiar.

I'd rather skip over the next couple of days, but as I had to live them, you can at least put up with a sketch. For two solid days Cawti and I hardly exchanged a word. I was mad that she hadn't told me about this group of Easterners, and she was mad because I was mad. Once or twice I'd say something like, "If you'd—", then bite it back. I'd notice that she was looking at me hopefully, but I'd only notice too late, and then I'd stalk out of the room. Once or twice she'd say something like, "Don't you even care—", and then stop. Loiosh, bless his heart, didn't say anything. There are some things that even a familiar can't help you work out.

But it's a hell of a thing to go through days like that. It leaves scars.

Herth agreed to meet me at a place I own called The Terrace. He was a quiet little Dragaeran, only half a head taller than I, with an almost bashful way of dropping his eyes. He came in with two enforcers. I also had two, a fellow who was called Sticks because he liked to beat people with them, and one named Glowbug, whose eyes would light up at the oddest times. The enforcers found good positions for doing what they were paid for.

Herth took my suggestion and ordered the pepper-sausage, which is better tasted than described.

As we were finishing up our Eastern-style desert pancakes (which, really, no one should make except Valabar's, but these were all right), Herth said, "So what can I do for you?"

I said, "I have a problem."

He nodded, dropping his eyes again as if to say, "Oh, how could little me help someone like you?"

I went on, "There was an Easterner finalized a few days ago, by a professional. It happened in your area, so I was wondering if, maybe, you could tell me a bit about what happened, and why."

Now, there were several possible answers he could have given me. He could have explained as much as he knew about it, he could have smiled and claimed ignorance, he could have asked me what my interest was. Instead, he looked at me, stood up, and said, "Thanks for the dinner; I'll see you again, maybe." Then he left.

I sat there for a while, finishing my klava. "What do you make of that, Loiosh?"

"I don't know, boss. It's funny that he didn't ask why you wanted to find out. And if he knows, why did he agree to the meeting in the first place?"

"Right," I said.

I signed the bill and left, Sticks and Glowbug preceding me out of the place. When we reached the office I told them to take off. It was evening, and I was usually done by that time, but I didn't feel like going back home just then. I changed weapons, just to kill time. Changing weapons is something I do every two or three days so that no weapon is around my person enough to pick up my aura. Dragaeran sorcery can't identify auras, but Eastern witchcraft can, and should the Empire ever decide to employ a witch—

"I'm an idiot, Loiosh."

"Yeah, boss. Me, too."

I finished changing weapons and made it home quickly.

"Cawti!" I yelled.

She was in the dining room, scratching Rocza's chin. Rocza leapt up and began flying around the room with Loiosh, probably telling him about her day. Cawti stood up, looking at me quizzically. She was wearing trousers of Jhereg gray that fit low on her hips, and a gray jerkin with black embroidery. She glanced at me with an expression of remote inquiry, her head tilted to the side, her brows raised in that perfect face, surrounded by sorcery-black hair. I felt my pulse quicken in a way that I had been afraid it wouldn't any more.

"Yes?" she said.

"I love you."

She closed her eyes then opened them again, not saying anything. I said, "Do you have the weapon?"

"Weapon?"

"The Easterner who was killed. Was the weapon left there?"

"Why, yes, I suppose someone has it."

"Get it."

"Why?"

"I doubt whoever it was knows about witchcraft. I'll bet I can pick up an aura."

Her eyes grew wide, then she nodded. "I'll get it," she said, and reached for her cloak.

"Shall I go with you?"

"No, I don't…" Then, "Sure, why not?"

Loiosh landed on my shoulder and Rocza landed on Cawti's and we went down the stairs into the Adrilankha night. In some ways things were better, but she didn't take my arm.

Is this starting to depress you? Heh. Good. It depressed me. It's much easier to deal with someone you only have to kill. As we left my area and began to cross over into some of the rougher neighborhoods, I hoped someone would jump me so I could work out some of what I was feeling.

Our feet went clack clack to slightly differing rhythms, occasionally synchronizing, then falling apart. Sometimes I'd try to change my step to keep them together, but it didn't do much. Our paces were our usual compromise, worked out long ago, between the shorter steps she was most comfortable with and my longer ones. We didn't speak.

You identify the Eastern section first by its smell. During the day the whole neighborhood is lousy with open-air cafes, and the cooking smells are different from anything the Dragaerans have. In the very early morning the bakeries begin to work; the aroma of fresh Eastern bread reaches out like tendrils to gradually take over the night smells. But the night smells, when the cafes are closed and the bakeries haven't started, are the smells of rotting food and human and animal waste. At night the wind blows across the area, toward the sea, and the prevailing winds are from the slaughterhouses northwest of town. It's as if only at night can the area's true colors, to mix a metaphor, come to the surface.

The buildings are almost invisible at night. Lamps or candles glowing in a few windows provide the only light, so the nature of the structures around you is hidden, yet the streets are so narrow that sometimes there is hardly room to walk between the buildings. There are places where doors in buildings opposite each other cannot be opened at the same time. At times you feel as if you were walking through a cave or in a jungle, and your boots tramp through garbage more often than on the hard-packed rutted dirt of the street.

It's funny to go back there. On the one hand, I hate it. It is everything that I've worked to get away from. But on the other, surrounded by Easterners, I feel a tension drain out of me that I don't notice except when it is gone; and it hits me again that, to a Dragaeran, I am an other.

We reached the Eastern section of town past midnight. The only people awake at that hour were derelicts and those who preyed on derelicts. Both groups avoided us, according us the respect given to anyone who walks as if he was above any dangers in a dangerous area. I would be lying if I said that I wasn't pleased to notice this.

We reached a place where Cawti knew to enter. The "door" was a doorway covered by a curtain. I couldn't see a thing inside, but I had the feeling I was in a narrow hallway. The place stank. Cawti called out, "Hello."

There were faint rustling sounds, then, "Is someone there?"

"It's Cawti."

Heavy breathing, rustling, a few other voices mumbling, then flint was struck, there was a flash of light, and a candle was lit. It hurt my eyes for a moment. We were standing in front of a doorway without even a curtain. The inside of the room held a few bodies that were stirring. To my surprise, the room was, as far as I could tell in the light of single candle, clean and uncluttered except for the blanketed forms. There was a table and a few chairs. A pair of beady eyes was staring at us from a round face behind the candle. The face belonged to a short, very fat male Easterner in a pale dressing gown. The eyes rested on me, flicked to Loiosh, Cawti, Rocza, and came back to me.

"Come in," he said. "Sit down." We did, as he went around the room to light a few more candies. As I sat in a soft, cushioned chair, I counted a total of four persons on the floor. As they sat up, I saw that one was a slightly plump woman with graying hair, another was a younger woman, the third was my old friend Gregory, and the fourth was a male Dragaeran, which startled me. I studied his features until I could place his House, and when I identified him as a Teckla I didn't know whether to be less surprised or more.

Cawti seated herself next to me. She nodded to all present and said, "This is my husband, Vladimir." Then she indicated the fat man who had been up first and said, "This is Kelly." We exchanged nods. The older woman was called Natalia, the younger one was Sheryl, and the Teckla was Paresh. She didn't supply patronymics for the humans and I didn't push it. We all mumbled hellos.

Cawti said, "Kelly, do you have the knife that was found by Franz?"

Kelly nodded. Gregory said, "Wait a minute. I never mentioned a knife being left by his body."

I said, "You didn't have to. You said it was a Jhereg who did it."

He grimaced at me, screwing his face up.

"Can leaf him, boss?"

"Shut up, Loiosh, Maybe later."

Kelly looked at me, which means he fixed me with his squinty eyes and tried to see through me. That's what it felt like, anyway. He turned to Cawti and said, "Why do you want it?"

"Vladimir thinks we might be able to find the assassin from the blade."

"And then?" said Kelly, turning to me.

I shrugged. "Then we find out who he worked for."

Natalia, from the other side of the room, said, "Does it matter for whom he worked?"

I just shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me. I thought it might to you."

Kelly went back to staring at me through his little pig eyes; I was amazed to discover that he was actually making me uncomfortable. He nodded a little, as if to himself, then left the room for a moment, returning with a knife wrapped in a piece of cloth that had probably once been part of a sheet. He handed cloth and weapon to Cawti. I nodded and said, "We'll be in touch."

We walked out the door. The Teckla, Paresh, had been standing in front of it. He moved aside as we headed toward the door, but not as quickly as I would have expected. Somehow that struck me as significant.

It was still several hours until sunrise as we made our way back toward our part of town. I said, "So, these are the people who are going to take over the Empire, huh?"

Cawti gestured with the bundle she held in her left hand. "Someone thinks so," she said.

I blinked. "Yeah. I guess someone does."

The stench of the Eastern area seemed to linger much further on the way back to our flat.

…black tallow from left…

Down in the basement under my office is a little room that I call "the lab," an Eastern term that I picked up from my grandfather. The floor is hard-packed dirt, the walls are bare, mortared rock. There is a small table in the center and a chest in the corner. The table holds a brazier and a couple of candles. The chest holds all sorts of things.

Early in the afternoon of the day after we procured the knife, the four of us—Cawti, Loiosh, Rocza and me—trooped down to this room. I unlocked it and led the way in. The air was stale and smelled faintly of some of the things in the chest.

Loiosh sat on my left shoulder. He said, "Are you sure you want to do this, boss?"

I said, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Are you sure you're in the right frame of mind to cast spells?"

I thought about that. A caution from one's familiar is something that no witch in his right mind dismisses without consideration. I glanced at Cawti, who was waiting patiently, and maybe guessing some of what I was thinking about. There was a lot of emotional mayhem hammering around my insides. This can be good, as long as it can be put into the spell. But I was also in something of a funk, and when I get that way I mostly feel like sleeping. If I didn't have energy to direct the spell, it could get out of control.

"It'll be all right," I told him.

"Okay, boss."

I dumped the old ashes out of the brazier into a corner of the room and made a mental note to myself to clean that corner one of these days. I opened the chest and Cawti helped me put new coals into the brazier. I tossed away the old black candles and replaced them. Cawti positioned herself to my left, holding the knife. I called upon my link to the Orb and caused the wick of one of the candles to become hot enough to ignite. I used it to light the other candle, and, with some work, the coals in the brazier. I put this and that into the fire and set the dagger in question before it.

It's all symbolic, you know.

I mean, I sometimes wonder if it would work with water that I only thought had been purified (whatever "purified" means). And what if I used incense that smelled right, but was just ordinary incense? What if I used thyme that someone just picked up at the market on the corner, and told me was off a ship from the East? I don't know, and I don't think I'll ever find out, but I suspect it wouldn't matter. Every once in a while, you find something that really is all in the mind.

But these thoughts form the before and after of the spell. The during is all sensation. Rhythms pulse through you in time to the flickering of candles. You take yourself and plunge or are plunged into the heart of the flames until you are elsewhere, and you blend with the coals and Cawti is there beside you and inside you weaving in and out of the bonds of shadow you build that ensnare you like a small insect in a blue earth derivative and you find you have touched the knife and now you know it for a murder weapon, and you begin to feel the person who held it, and your hand goes through the delicate slicing motion he used and you drop it, as he did, his work done, as is yours.

I pushed it a little, trying to glean all I could from the moment of the casting. His name occurred to me, as something I'd known all along which chose to creep into my consciousness just at this moment, and about then that part of me that was really Loiosh became aware that we were on the down side of the enchantment and began to relax the threads that guarded the part of Loiosh that was me.

It was about there that I realized something was wrong. There is a thing that happens when witches work together. You don't know the other witch's thought; it is more that you are thinking his thoughts for him. And so, for a moment, I was thinking about me, and I became aware that there was a core of bitterness in me, directed at me, and it shook me.

There was never the danger Loiosh had feared, largely because he was there. The spell was drifting apart by then anyway, and we were all carefully letting go and drifting with it, but a big lump formed itself in my throat, and I twitched, knocking over a candle. Cawti reached forward to steady me and we locked eyes for a moment as the last of the spell flickered and collapsed and our minds became our own again.

She dropped her eyes, knowing that we had felt what we had felt.

I opened the door to let the smoke out into the rest of the building. I was a bit tired, but it hadn't been all that difficult a spell. Cawti and I went back up the stairway next to each other but not touching. We were going to have to talk, but I didn't know what to say. No, that wasn't it; I just couldn't make myself.

We went into my office and I yelled for Kragar. Cawti sat in his chair. Then she yelped and stood up upon discovering that he was in it. I smiled a bit at Kragar's innocent look. It was probably funnier than that, but we were feeling the tension.

I said, "His name is Yerekim. I've never heard of him. Have you?"

Kragar nodded. "He's an enforcer for Herth."

"Exclusively?"

"I think so. I'm pretty certain. Should I check?"

"Yes."

He simply nodded, rather than making a comment about being overworked. I think Kragar picks up on more than he admits. After he had slithered out of the room, Cawti and I sat in silence for a moment. Then she said, "I love you, too."

Cawti went home, and I spent part of the day getting in the way of people who worked for me and trying to act as if I ran my business. The third time Melestav, my secretary, mentioned what a nice day it was I took the hint as well as the rest of the day off.

I wandered through the streets, feeling powerful, as a force behind so much of what happened in the area, and insignificant, because it mattered so little. But I did get my thoughts in order, and made some decisions about what I would do. Loiosh asked me if I knew why I was doing it and I admitted that I didn't.

The breeze came from the north for a change, instead of in from the sea. Sometimes the north wind can be brisk and refreshing. I don't know, maybe it was my state of mind, but then it just felt chilly.

It was a lousy day. I resolved not to listen to Melestav's opinion on the weather anymore.

By the next morning Kragar had confirmed that, yes, Yerekim worked only for Herth. Okay. So Herth wanted this Easterner dead. That meant that it was either something personal about this Easterner—and I couldn't conceive of a Jhereg having a personal grudge against an Easterner—or this group was, in some way, a threat or an annoyance.

That was most likely, and certainly a puzzle.

"Ideas, Loiosh?"

"Just questions, boss. Like, who would you say is leader of that group?"

"Kelly. Why?"

"The Easterner they shined—Franz—why him instead of Kelly?"

In the next room, Meiestav was riffling through a stack of papers. Above me, someone was tapping his foot. Sounds of a muted conversation came through the fireplace from somewhere unknown. The building was still, yet seemed to breathe.

"Right," I said.

It was around the middle of the afternoon when Loiosh and I found ourselves back in the Easterners' quarter. I couldn't have found the place no matter how hard I looked, but Loiosh was able to pick it out at once. In the daylight, it was another low, squat, brown building, with a pair of tiny windows flanking the door. Both windows were covered by boards, which went a long way toward explaining how stuffy it had been.

I stood outside the curtained doorway, started to clap, stopped, and banged on the wall. After a moment the Teckla, Paresh, appeared. He positioned himself in the middle of the doorway, as if to block it, and said, "Yes?"

"I'd like to see Kelly."

"He is not here." His voice was low, and he spoke slowly, pausing before each sentence as if he were organizing it in his head before committing it to the air. He had the rustic accent of the duchies to the immediate north of Adrilankha, but his phrasings were more those of a Chreotha or Vallista craftsman, or perhaps a Jhegaala merchant. Odd.

"Do you believe him, Loiosh?"

"I'm not sure."

So I said, "Are you quite certain?"

Something flickered then—a twitching at the corners of his eyes—but he only said, "Yes."

"There's something weird about this guy, boss."

"I noticed."

"There's something weird about you," I told him.

"Why? Because I'm not trembling in fear at the mere sight of your colors?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you."

"Oh, I'm not disappointed," I said. "Intrigued, maybe."

He studied me for a moment, then stepped back from the doorway. "Come in, if you want," he said.

I didn't have anything better to do just then, so I followed him in. The room didn't smell much better during the day, with its windows boarded shut. It was lit by two small oil lamps. He indicated a cushion on the floor. I sat down. He brought in an Eastern wine that was mostly water and slopped some into chipped porcelain cups, then sat facing me. He said, "I intrigue you, you say. Because I don't seem to fear you."

"You have an unusual disposition."

"For a Teckla."

I nodded.

We sipped our wine for a while, the Teckla looking off into space while I studied him. Then he started talking. I listened to what he said, becoming more and more intrigued as he spoke. I don't know that I understand all of it, but I'll give it to you as I remember it and you can decide for yourself.

You're titled, aren't you? Baron, isn't it? Baronet, then. All right. It doesn't really matter to you, I know. We both know what Jhereg titles are worth; I daresay you know to the nearest copper penny. The Orca do care; they make certain that orders of nobility are given or withdrawn whenever it's proper, so the quartermaster is of a higher rank than the bosun, yet lower than the mate. You didn't know that, did you? But I've heard of a case where an Orca was stripped of her county, granted a barony, stripped of that, given a duchy, then another county, then stripped of both and given her original county back, all within the same forenoon. A bookkeeping error, I was told.

But, do you know, none of those counties or duchies really existed. There are other Houses like that, too.

In the House of the Chreotha, titles are strictly hereditary, and lifelong unless something unusual happens, but there, too, they are not associated with any land.

But you have a baronetcy, and it is real. Have you ever been there? I can see by the look on your face that it never occurred to you to visit it. How many families live in your dominion, Baronet Taltos? That's all? Four? Yet it has never occurred to you to visit them.

I'm not surprised. Jhereg think that way. Your domain is within some nameless barony, possibly empty, and that within a county, maybe also empty, and that within a duchy. Of what House is your Duke, Baronet? Is he a Jhereg, also? You don't know? That doesn't surprise me, either.

What am I getting at? Just this: Of all the "Noble Houses"—which means every House except my own—there are only a few which contain any of the aristocracy, and then only a few of that House. Most of those in the House of the Lyorn are Knights, because only the Lyorns continue to treat titles as they were when first created, and Knight is a title that has no land associated with it. Have you thought of that, most noble Jhereg? These titles were associated with holdings. Military holdings, at first, which is why most of the domains around here are those of Dragonlords; this was once the Eastern edge of the Empire, and Dragons have always been the best military leaders.

My master was a Dzurlord. Her great-grandfather had earned the title of Baron during the Elde Island wars. My master had distinguished herself before the Interregnum during some war with the East. She was old, but still healthy enough to go charging off to do one thing or another. She was rarely at home, yet she was not unkind. She did not forbid her Teckla to read, as many do, and I was fortunate enough to be taught at an early age, though there was little enough reading matter to be found.

I had an older sister and two younger brothers. Our fee, for our thirty acres, was one hundred bushels of wheat or sixty bushels of corn, our choice. It was steep, but rarely above our means, and our master was understanding during lean years. Our closest neighbor to the west paid one hundred and fifty bushels of wheat for twenty-eight acres, so we counted ourselves lucky and helped him when he needed it. Our neighbor to the north had thirty-five acres, and he owed two gold Imperials, but we saw little of him so I don't know how hard or easy his lot was.

When I reached my sixtieth year I was granted twenty acres a few miles south of where my family lived. All of the neighbors came and helped me clear the land and put up my home, which I made large enough for the family I hoped to have someday. In exchange, I had to send to my master four young kethna every year, so by necessity I raised corn to feed them.

After twenty years I had paid back, in kind, the loans of kethna and seedlings that had gotten me started, and I thought myself well off—especially as I'd gotten used to the stench of a kethna farm. More, there was a woman I'd met in Blackwater who still lived at home, and there was, I think, something between us.

It was on an evening late in the spring of my twenty-first year on my own that I heard sounds far to the south. Cracking sounds, as a tree will make when it begins to topple, but far, far louder. That night, I saw red flames to the south. I stood outside of my house to watch, and I wondered.

After an hour, the flames filled the sky, and the sounds were louder. Then came the greatest yet. I was, for a moment, blinded by a sudden glare. When the spots cleared from my eyes I saw what seemed to be a sheet of red and yellow fire hanging over my head, as if it were about to descend on me. I think I screamed in terror and ran for my house. By the time I was inside the sheet had descended, and all of my lands were burning, and my house as well, and that was when I looked fully upon death. It seemed to me then, Lord Taltos, that I had not had enough of a life for it to end that way. I called upon Barlan, he of the Green Scales, but he had, I guess, other calls to make. I called upon Trout, but he brought me no water to dampen the flames. I even asked Kelchor, Goddess of the cat-centaurs, to carry me from that place, and my answer was smoke that choked me and sparks that singed my hair and eyebrows and a creaking, splintering groan as part of the house fell in.

Then I thought of my springhouse. I made it out the door and somehow lived through the flames that, my memory tells me, reached taller than I, and made it there. It was built of stone, of course, for the dampness would have rotted timber, so it still stood. I was badly burned, but I made it into the stream.

I lay there trembling for what must have been the whole night and into the day. The water was warm, even hot, but still cooler than the air around it. I fell asleep in that stream, and when I awoke—well, I will not try to describe the desolation around me. It was only then, I am ashamed to say, that I thought of my livestock, who had died during the night as I nearly had. But there was nothing to be done for them now.

And what did I do then, Baronet? Laugh if you will, but my first thought was that I could not pay my master for the year, and must go throw myself on her mercy. Surely, I thought, she would understand. So I began to walk toward her keep—southward.

Ah! I see that you have thought it out. So did I, as I began to take my first steps. Southward was where her castle stood, and southward was the origin of the flames. I stopped and considered for some time, but eventually I continued, for I had nowhere else to go.

It was many miles, and all I saw around me as I walked were burnt-out homes and charred ground, and blackened woods that had never been cleared, until now. Not another soul did I see during the entire journey. I came to the place where I had been born and had lived most of my life, and I saw what was left.

I performed the rites as best I could for them, and I think I was too numb to realize what it meant. When I had finished I continued my journey, sleeping in an empty field, warmed by the ground itself, which still felt the heat from the scorching it had endured.

I came to the keep and, to my surprise, it seemed unharmed. Yet the gate was closed, and no one answered my calls. I waited outside for minutes, hours, finally the whole day and that night. I was ravenously hungry and called out from time to time, but no one answered.

At last it was, I think, hunger more than anything else that led me to climb over the walls. It wasn't difficult, since none opposed me. I found a burnt log that was long enough, dragged it to the wall, and used it as a ladder.

There was no living being in the courtyard. I saw half a dozen bodies dressed in Dzur livery. I stood there and trembled, cursing my stupidity for not having brought food from the springhouse.

I think I stood there for an hour before I dared to enter, but eventually I did. I found the larder and ate. Slowly, over the course of weeks, I gathered the courage to search the keep. During this time I slept in the stables, not daring to make use of even the servant's quarters. I found a few more bodies in my search, and burned them as best I could, though, as I said, I knew few of the rites. Most of them were Teckla—some I recognized, a few I had once called friends—gone to serve the master, and now gone forever. What became of my master I never found out, for I think none of the bodies was hers.

I ruled that castle then, Baronet. I fed the livestock with the grain that had been hoarded there, and butchered them as I needed. I slept in the lord's bedchamber, ate her food, and, most of all, I read her books. She had tomes on sorcery, Baronet. A library full of them. And history, and geography, and stories. I learned much. I practiced sorcery, which opened before me a whole world, and the spells I'd known before seemed only games.

Most of a year passed in this way. It was late in the winter when I heard the sounds of someone pulling on the bell rope. The old fear that is my heritage as a Teckla, and at which you, my Lord Jhereg, must take such delight in sneering, came back then. I trembled and looked for a place to hide.

But then something came over me. Perhaps it was the magic I had learned; perhaps it was that all I had read had made me feel insignificant, and fear therefore seemed foolish; perhaps it was simply that, having survived the fire, I had learned the full measure of terror. But I didn't hide. Instead I went down the great winding stairway of what I now thought of as my home and threw open the doors.

Before me stood a noble of the House of the Lyorn. He was very tall and about my age, and wore a golden-brown, ankle-length skirt, a bright red shirt and a short fur cape. He wore a sword at his belt and a pair of vambraces. He didn't wait for me to speak, simply saying, "Inform your master that the Duke of Arylle will see him."

What I felt then is, I suppose, something you have felt often, but I never had before. That amazing, delicious rush of anger that a boar must feel when it charges the hunter, not really aware that it is overmatched in every way except ferocity, and is why the boar sometimes wins, and the hunter is always afraid. But there he stood, in my castle, and asked to see my master.

I stepped back a pace, drew myself up, and said, "I am master here."

He barely glanced at me. "Don't be absurd," he said. "Fetch your master at once or I'll have you beaten."

I had read quite a bit by then, and what I had read put the words into mouth that my heart wanted to speak. "My Lord," I said, "I have told you that I am master here. You are in my home, and you are lacking in courtesy. I must ask you to leave."

Then he did look at me, with such contempt that, had I been in any other frame of mind, it alone would have crushed me. He reached for his sword, I think now only to beat me with the flat, but he never drew it. I called upon my new skills and threw a blast at him that, I thought, would have burnt him down on the spot.

He gestured with his hands, and looked startled, but he seemed to take me seriously for the first time. That, my good Baronet, was a victory that I shall always treasure. The look of respect that came over him was as delicious to me as a cool drink to a man dying of thirst.

He hurled a spell at me. I knew I could not stop it, but I ducked out of the way. It exploded against the far wall behind me in a mass of flame and smoke. I threw something at him, then ran back up the stairs.

For the next hour I led him on a merry chase throughout the keep, stinging him with my spells and hiding before he could destroy me with his. I think that I laughed and mocked him, too, although I cannot say for certain.

At length, though, as I stopped to rest, I realized that he would surely kill me eventually. I managed to teleport myself back to the springhouse I knew so well.

I never saw him again. Perhaps he had come to ask about tribute he was due, I don't know. But I was changed. I made my way to Adrilankha using my new sorcerous skills for money among the Teckla households I passed. A skilled sorcerer willing to work for the pittance a Teckla can pay is rare, so, with time, I accumulated a goodly sum. When I came to the city, I found a poor, drunken Issola who was willing to teach Court manners and speech for what I could afford to pay. No doubt he taught me poorly by Court standards, yet I learned enough so that I could work with my equals in the city and compete fairly, I thought, as a sorcerer.

I was wrong, of course. I was still a Teckla. A Teckla who fancied himself a sorcerer was, perhaps, amusing, but those who need spells to prevent burglary, or to cure addictions, or secure the foundations of buildings, will not take a Teckla seriously.

I was destitute when I found my way to the Easterners' quarter. I will not pretend that life has been easy here, for Easterners have no more love for humans than most humans do for Easterners, yet my skills were, at least sometimes, useful.

As for the rest, Lord Taltos, suffice it to say that I chanced to meet Jranz, and I spoke of life as a Teckla, and he spoke of the common thread that connects the Teckla and the Easterner, and of bare survival for our peoples, and of hope that it needn't always be this way.

He introduced me to Kelly, who taught me to see the world around me as something I could change—something I had to change.

Then I began to work with Franz. Together we found more Teckla, both here and those who slaved under masters far more vicious than my own. And when I would speak of the terror of the Empire under which we all suffered, Franz would speak of hope that, together, we could make a world free from terror, Hope was always half of his message, Baronet Taltos. And action was the other half-building hope through our own actions. And if, from time to time, we didn't know how, Kelly would lead us to discover it ourselves.

They were a team, my good Jhereg. Kelly and Franz. When someone fails at a task, Kelly can verbally tear him to pieces; but Franz was always there to help him try again, in the streets. Nothing frightened him. Threats pleased him, because they showed he was scaring someone, and proved we were on a good path. That was Franz, Lord Taltos. That was why they killed him.

I hadn't asked why they had killed him.

But all right. I chewed over his story for a few minutes. "Paresh," I said, "what was that about threats?"

He stared at me for a moment, as if I'd just seen a mountain collapse and asked of what kind of stone it was made. Then he turned his face away. I sighed. "All right," I said. "When will Kelly be back?"

He faced me again, and his expression was like a closed door. "Why do you want to know?"

Loiosh squeezed my shoulder with his talons. "Take it easy," I told him. To Paresh I said, "I want to speak with him."

"Try tomorrow."

I thought about trying to explain myself to him so he would, perhaps, answer me. But he was a Teckla. Whatever else he was, he was still a Teckla.

I stood up and let myself out and walked back to my side of town.

and repair cut in rt cuff

When I arrived on familiar ground again it was early evening. I saw no reason to return to the office so I made my way toward home.

One was lounging against a wall on Garshos, near Copper Lane. Loiosh started to warn me just about the time I noticed the guy, which was just as he noticed me. Then Loiosh said, " There's another one behind you."

I said, "Okay." I wasn't too worried, because if they'd wanted to kill me I would never have seen them. When I reached the one in front of me he was blocking my path, and I recognized him as Bajinok, which meant Herth—the guy who ran South Adrilankha. My shoulders went limp and my hands twitched. I stopped a few paces away from him. Loiosh watched the one behind me. Bajinok looked down at me and said, "I've got a message."

I nodded, guessing at what it was.

He continued, "Stay away. Keep out of it."

I nodded again.

He said, "Do you agree?"

I said, "Can't do it, I'm afraid."

His hand went to his sword hilt, just as an idle, threatening gesture. He said, "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"I could make the message more explicit," he said.

Since I didn't feel like having my leg broken just then I threw a knife at him, underhanded. This was something I'd spent a lot of time practicing, because it is so fast. I don't know of anyone who has ever been seriously injured by a knife thrown that way except by me, and even with me it takes a lot of luck. On the other hand, anyone will flinch.

While he was busy flinching, and the knife was hitting him hilt first in the stomach, Loiosh was flying into the face of the other one. I had my rapier out before Bajinok had recovered, and I used the time to step out into the street to make sure neither of them could get behind me.

Bajinok's sword was in his hand by then and he had a dagger in the other. He was just coming into a guard position when my point took him in the right leg, above the knee. He cursed and stepped back. I followed and put a cut across the left side of his face, and, with the same motion, a good, deep one on his right wrist. He took another step back and I skewered him in the left shoulder. He went over backward.

I looked at the other one, who was big and strong-looking. He showed signs of having been bit in the face by Loiosh. He was swinging his sword wildly over his head while my familiar stayed out of his reach and laughed at him. I spared a quick glance for Bajinok, then, with my left hand, found a knife, aimed, and carefully threw it into the middle of the other guy's stomach. He grunted and cried out and swung in my direction, coming close enough to my wrist to take some hair off my arm. But that was all he had in him. He dropped his sword and knelt on the street, bent over, holding his stomach.

I said, "Okay, get going." I did my best to sound as if I weren't breathing hard.

They looked at each other, then the one with my knife in his stomach teleported out. When he was completely gone, Bajinok stood up and began limping away, holding his injured shoulder. I changed my mind about going straight home. Loiosh continued watching Bajinok as I turned up the street.

"I'd just take it as a warning," said Kragar.

"I don't need you for the obvious stuff."

"I could argue that," he said. "But never mind. The Question is, how hard is he going to push it?"

"That," I said, "is the kind of stuff I need you for."

"I don't know," he said, "but I assume we're going to get ready for the worst."

I nodded.

"Hey, boss."

"Yeah?"

"Are you going to tell Cawti about this?"

"Huh? Of course I'm going to… oh. I see what you mean. When things start to get complicated, they don't go halfway, do they?"

Kragar seemed to have left the room by then, so I took out a dagger and threw it as hard as I could into the wall—the one without a target on it. The gash it left there wasn't the first, but it may have been the deepest.

When I went home a few hours later I still hadn't decided, but Cawti wasn't there. I sat down to wait for her. I was careful not to drink too much. I relaxed in my favorite chair, a big, overstuffed gray thing with a prickly surface that makes me avoid it when I'm unclothed. I spent quite a while relaxing before I began to wonder where Cawti was.

I closed my eyes and concentrated for a moment.

"Yes?"

"Hi. Where are you?"

She paused, and I was suddenly alert. "Why?" she said finally.

"Why? Because I want to know. What do you mean, why?"

"I'm in South Adrilankha."

"Are you in any danger?"

"No more than an Easterner is always in danger living in this society."

I bit back a response of spare me and said, "All right. When will you be home?"

"Why?" she asked and all sorts of prickly things started buzzing around inside of me. I almost said, "I was almost killed today," but it would have been neither true nor fair. So I said "Never mind" and severed the link.

I stood up and went into the kitchen, I drew a pot of water and set it on the stove, threw a couple of logs into the stove itself. I stacked up the dishes, which Loiosh and Rocza had already licked clean, and wiped off the table, throwing the crumbs into the stove. I got the broom out and swept the kitchen, threw the refuse from the floor after the crumbs from the table. Then I took the water off the stove and washed the dishes. I used sorcery to dry them because I've always hated drying. When I opened the cupboard to put them away I noticed that it was getting a bit dusty so I took everything out and went over all the shelves with a cloth. I felt the faint stirrings of psionic contact then, but it wasn't Cawti so I ignored it and presently it went away.

I cleaned up the floor below the sink, then mopped the whole floor. I went into the living room, decided I didn't feel like dusting and sat down on the couch. After a couple of minutes I got up, found the brush, and dusted off the shelves next to the door, under the polished wooden dog and the stand with the miniature portrait of Cawti on it, and the carved lyorn that looked like jade but wasn't, and the slightly larger stand with the portrait of my grandfather. I didn't stop and talk to Cawti's portrait.

Then I got a rag from the kitchen and wiped down the tea table that she'd given me last year. I sat down on the couch again.

I noticed that the lyorn's horn was pointing toward Cawti. When she's upset, she can pick the strangest things to think are deliberate, so I got up and turned it, then sat down again. Then I got up and dusted off the lant I'd given her last year that she hadn't even tuned in twelve weeks. I walked over to the bookshelf and picked out a book of poems by Wint. I looked at it for a while, then put it back because I didn't feel like fighting with obscurity. I picked up one of Bingia, then decided that she was too depressing. I didn't bother with Torturi or Lartol. I can be shallow and clever on my own; I don't need them for it. I consulted the Orb, then my internal clock, and both told me that I wouldn't be able to sleep yet.

"Hey, Loiosh."

"Yeah, boss?"

"Want to see a show?"

"What kind?"

"I don't care."

"Sure."

I walked over to Kieron Circle instead of teleporting because I didn't care to arrive with my stomach upset. It was a bit of a hike, but walking felt good. I picked a theater without looking at the title, as soon as I found a show that was starting right away. I think it was an historical, taking place during the reign of a decadent Phoenix so they could use all the costumes they had lying around from the last fifty years of productions. After about fifteen minutes I started hoping someone would try to cut my purse. I took a quick glance behind me, and saw an elderly Teckla couple, probably blowing a year's savings. I gave up on that idea.

I left at the end of the first act. Loiosh didn't mind. He didn't think the actor playing the Warlord should have been allowed out of North Hill. He's a real snob when it comes to theater. He said, "The Warlord is supposed to be a Dragon, boss. Dragons stomp, they don't skulk. And he almost tripped over his sword three times. And when he was supposed to be demanding that more troops be conscripted, it sounded as if he was asking for—"

"Which one was the Warlord?"

He said, "Oh. Never mind."

I walked home slowly, hoping someone would do something to me so I could do something back, but all was quiet in Adrilankha. At one point someone approached me as if he were going to pull on my cloak and I started to get ready for action, but he turned out to be an old, old man, probably an Orca, who was under the influence of something. Before he could open his mouth I asked him if he had any spare copper. He looked confused so I patted his shoulder and walked on.

When we got back, I hung up my cloak, took off my boots and checked the bedroom. Cawti was home and asleep. Rocza was resting in her alcove.

I stood over Cawti, hoping she'd wake up and see me looking at her and ask what was wrong so I could storm at her and she'd apologize and everything would be fine. I stood there for what must have been ten minutes. I might still be standing there, but Loiosh was around. He wasn't saying anything, but he makes me self-conscious about wallowing in self-pity for more than ten minutes at a time, so I undressed and crawled into bed next to Cawti. She didn't wake up. A long, long time later I fell asleep.

I wake up slowly.

Oh, not always. I remember a couple of times when I've woken to Loiosh screaming in my mind and found myself in the middle of a fight. Once or twice I was woken up badly and unfortunate things almost happened, but those are rare. Usually there is a time between awake and asleep that, in retrospect, feels like it lasts for hours. That's when I clutch at my pillow and wonder if I really feel like getting up. Then I roll over, look at the ceiling and the thoughts of what I'm going to do that day trickle into my head. That's what really wakes me up. I've tried to organize my life so that there is something to get up for on any given day. Today we're going to the Eastern section for the spice markets. Today I'm going to close that deal on a new brothel. Today I'm going to visit Castle Black and check on Morrolan's security setup and chat with Aliera. Today I'm going to follow this guy and confirm that he does visit his mistress every other day. That kind of thing.

When I woke up the next morning, I learned that I was made of better stuff than I had thought, because I got out of bed without having a single reason to. Not one damned reason. Cawti was up, but I didn't know if she was home or not; neither thought gave me any impulse to see the world outside of my room. My business was running itself; I had no obligations to fulfill. The only thing interesting in my life was finding out the story behind who had killed the Easterner, and that was for Cawti, who seemed not to care.

But I made it into the kitchen to start heating water. Cawti was in the living room reading a tabloid. I felt a tightening in my throat. I started the water, then went into the bathroom. I used the chamber pot and cleaned it with sorcery. Neat. Efficient. Just like a Dragaeran. I shaved in cold water. My grandfather shaved in cold water (before he grew his beard) because he says it makes you better able to stand the winters. That sounds like nonsense to me, but I do it out of respect for him. I chewed on a tooth stick, rubbed down my gums, and rinsed my mouth out. By then the water was hot enough for my bath. I took it, dried myself, cleaned up the bathroom, dressed, and dumped the water out the back. Splash, i stood and watched the puddles and rivers it made running down the alley. I've often wondered why no one claims to read the future in dumped bath water. I looked to the left and saw the ground was dry beneath my neighbor's back porch. Ha! I was up earlier than she again. So there, world.

One small victory

I walked into the living room and sat down in my chair, facing the couch. I caught a glimpse of a headline on Cawti's tabloid that read, "Call for the investigation—" on about four lines of big black print, and that wasn't the whole thing. She put the thing down and looked at me.

I said, "I'm mad at you."

She said, "I know. Should we go out and eat?"

I nodded. For some reason, we can't seem to discuss things at home. We went to our favorite klava hole with Loiosh and Rocza on my shoulders and I ignored the tension and twisting in my stomach long enough to order a few eggs and drink some klava with very little honey. Cawti ordered tea.

She said, "Okay. Why are you mad?" which is like getting in the first cut to put the other guy on the defensive.

So I said, "Why didn't you tell me where you were?"

She said, "Why did you want to know?" with a bit of a smile as we realized what we were doing.

I said, "Why shouldn't I?" and we both grinned, and I felt just a little better for just a little while.

Then she shook her head and said, "When you asked where I was and when I'd be back, it sounded as if you wanted to approve or disapprove of it."

I felt my head snap back. "That's absurd," I said. "I just wanted to know where you were."

She glared at me. "All right, so I'm absurd. That still doesn't give you the right—"

"Dammit, I didn't say you were absurd and you know it. You're accusing me—"

"I didn't accuse you of anything. I said how I felt."

"Well, by saying that you felt that way, you were implying that—"

"This is ridiculous."

Which was the perfect chance to say, "All right, so I'm ridiculous," but I know better. Instead, I said, "Look, I was not then trying, nor have I ever tried, to dictate your actions. I came home, you weren't there—"

"Oh, and this is the first time that's happened?"

"Yes," I said, which we both knew wasn't true, but the word came out before I could stop it. The corner of her mouth twitched up and the eyebrow lowered, which is one of my favorite things that she does. "All right," I said. "But I was worried about you."

"About me?" she said. "Or afraid that I was involved in something you don't approve of?"

"I already know you're involved in something I don't approve of."

"Why don't you approve of it?"

I said, "Because it's stupid, first of all. How are five Easterners and a Teckla going to 'destroy the despotism' of an Empire? And—"

"There are more. That's only the tip of the iceberg."

I stopped. "What's an iceberg?"

"Ummm… I don't know. You know what I mean."

"Yeah. The thing is, it's not even nearing a Teckla reign. I could see something like this if the Teckla were near the top of the Cycle, but they're not. It's the Phoenix, and then the Dragons if we're still alive when the Cycle changes; the Teckla aren't even in the running."

"And in the second place, what's wrong with what we have now? Of course it isn't perfect, but we live well enough and we got it on our own. You're talking about giving up our careers, our lifestyle, and everything else. And for what? So a bunch of nobodies can pretend they're important—"

"Careful," she said.

I stopped in mid-diatribe. "All right," I said. "Sorry. But have I answered your question?"

She was quiet for a long time, then. Our food showed up and we ate it without saying anything at all. When we'd turned the scraps over to Loiosh and Rocza, Cawti said, "Vladimir, we've always agreed never to hit each other's weak spots, right?"

I felt a sinking sensation when she said that, but I nodded.

She continued, "All right, this is going to sound like that's what I'm doing, but I don't mean it that way, okay?"

"Go on," I said.

She shook her head. "Is it okay? I want to say it, because I think it's important, but I don't want you to just shut me out, the way you do whenever I try to get you to look at yourself. So will you listen?"

I drained my klava, signaled the waiter for more and doctored it appropriately when it came. "All right," I said.

"Until just recently," she began, "you thought that you had found your line of work because you hated Dragaerans. Killing them was your way of getting back at them for what they'd put you through while you were growing up. Right?"

I nodded.

"Okay," she continued. "A few weeks ago, you had a talk with Aliera."

I winced. "Yeah," I said.

"She told you about a previous life in which—"

"Yeah, I know. I was a Dragaeran."

"And you said you felt as if your whole life had been a lie."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Hm?"

"Why did it shake you so much?"

"I don't—"

"Could it be because you've felt all along as if you had to justify yourself? Could it be that somewhere, deep down, you think it is evil to kill people for money?"

"Not people," I said by reflex. "Dragaerans."

"People," she said. "And I think you've just proved my point. You were forced into this line of work, just the way I was. You had to justify it to yourself. You've justified it so thoroughly that you kept on doing 'work' even after you no longer had to, when you were making enough money from running your area that the 'work' was pointless. And then your justification fell apart. So now you don't know where you stand, and you have to wonder whether you are, really, deep down, a bad person."

"I don't—"

"Let me finish. What I'm getting at is this: No, you aren't a bad person. You have done what you had to do to live and to help provide us both with a home and a comfortable life. But tell me this, now that you can't hide behind hating Dragaerans any more: What kind of Empire do we have that forces someone like you to do what you do, just to live, and to be able to walk down the streets without flinching? What kind of Empire not only produces the Jhereg, but allows it to thrive? Can you justify that!"

I let her comments percolate through me for a while. I got more klava. Then I said, "That's the way things are. Even if these people you're running around with aren't just nut cases, nothing they do is going to change that. Put in a different Emperor and things will just go back to being the way they are in a few years. Sooner than that, if it's an Easterner."

"That," she said, "is a whole 'nother subject. The point I'm making is that you're going to have to come to terms with what you do, at whose expense you live, and why. I'll help as much as I can, but it is your own life you have to deal with."

I stared into my klava cup. Nothing in it made anything any clearer.

After another cup or two I said, "All right, but you still haven't told me where you were."

She said, "I was conducting a class."

"A class? On what?"

"Reading. For a group of Easterners and Teckla."

I stared at her. "My wife, the teacher."

"Don't."

"Sorry."

Then I said, "How long have you been doing this?"

"I just started."

"Oh. Well." I cleared my throat. "How did it go?"

"Fine."

"Oh." Then another, nastier thought occurred to me. "Why is it only now that you've started doing this?"

"Someone had to take over for Franz," she said, confirming exactly what I was afraid of.

"I see. Has it occurred to you that this may be what he'd been doing that someone didn't like? That this was why he was killed?"

She looked straight at me. "Yes."

A chill spread along my backbone. "So you're asking—"

"I'm not Franz."

"Anyone can be killed, Cawti. As long as someone is willing to pay a professional—and it's clear that someone is—anyone can be killed. You know that."

"Yes," she said.

"No," I said.

"No what?"

"Don't. Don't make me choose—"

"I am choosing."

"I can't let you walk into a situation where you're a helpless target."

"You can't stop me."

"I can. I don't know how yet, but I can."

"If you do, I'll leave you."

"You won't have that choice if you're dead."

She paused to wipe up the klava that had spilled from my cup. "We are not helpless, you know. We have support."

"Of Easterners. Of Teckla."

"It is the Teckla who feed everyone else."

"I know. And I know what happens to them when they try to do anything about it. There have been revolts, you know. There has never been a successful one except during the reign of the Orca, right before the Teckla. As I said, we aren't there now."

"We're not discussing a Teckla revolt. We're not talking about a Teckla reign; we're talking about breaking the Cycle itself."

"Adron tried that once; remember? He destroyed a city and caused an interregnum that lasted more than two hundred years, and it still didn't work."

"We aren't doing it with pre-Empire sorcery, or magic of any kind. We're doing it with the strength of the masses—the ones who have the real power."

I withheld my opinion of what real power is and who has it. I said, "I can't allow you to be killed, Cawti. I just can't."

"The best way to protect me would be to join us. We could use—"

"Words," I said. "Nothing but words."

"Yes," said Cawti. "Words from the minds and hearts of thinking human beings. There is no more powerful force in the world, nor a better weapon, once they are applied."

"Pretty," I said. "But I can't accept it."

"You'll have to. Or, at least, you'll have to confront it."

I didn't answer. I was thinking. We didn't say any more, but before we left the klava hole I knew what I was going to have to do. Cawti wasn't going to like it.

But then, neither was I.

pr gray trousers:

remove bloodstain from upper right leg.

Just in case I haven't made it clear yet, the walk over to the Easterners' section takes a good two hours. I was getting sick of it. Or maybe not. Now that I think back on it, I could have teleported in three seconds, then spent fifteen or twenty minutes throwing up or wishing I could. So I guess maybe I wanted the time to walk and think. But I remember thinking that I was spending altogether too much time just walking back and forth between the Malak Circle district and South Adrilankha.

But I made it there. I entered the building and stood outside the doorway, which now had a curtain. I remembered not to clap, and I didn't feel like pounding on the wall, so I called out, "Is anyone in there?"

There was a sound of footsteps, the curtain moved and I was looking at my friend Gregory. Sheryl was behind him, watching me. I couldn't tell if anyone else was in the room. Since it was Gregory who was standing there, I brushed past him and said, "Is Kelly around?"

"Come right in," said Sheryl. I felt a little embarrassed. No one else was in the room. In one corner was a tall stack of tabloids, the same one Cawti had been reading.

Gregory said, "Why do you want to see him?"

"I plan to leave all my worldly wealth to the biggest idiot I can find and I wanted to interview him to see if he qualified. But now that I've met you, I can see there's no point in looking any further."

He glared at me. Sheryl laughed a little and Gregory flushed.

Kelly appeared through the curtain then. I looked at him more closely than I had before. He really was quite overweight, as well as short, but I somehow wanted to call him extremely chubby instead of fat. Cute, sort of. His forehead was flat, giving the impression that his head was large. His hair was cut very short, like half an inch, and he had no sideburns at all. His eyes had two positions, narrowed and squinting, and he had a very expressive mouth, probably because of the amount of fat surrounding it. He struck me as one of those people who can turn from cheerful to vicious in an instant; like Glowbug, say.

He said, "Right. Come on." Then he turned and walked toward the rear of the flat, leaving me to follow him. I wondered if that was a deliberate ploy.

The back room was narrow and stuffy and smelled of pipe smoke, although Kelly didn't have the teeth of a smoker. Come to think of it, he probably didn't have any vices at all. Except overeating, anyway. Shame he was an Easterner. Dragaerans can use sorcery to remove excess fat; Easterners tend to kill themselves trying. There were rows of leather-bound books all around the room, with black or sometimes brown bindings. I couldn't read any of the titles, but the author of one of them was Padraic Kelly.

He nodded me into a stiff wooden chair and sat in another one behind a rickety-looking desk. I pointed to the book and said, "You wrote that?"

He followed my pointing finger. "Yes."

"What is it?"

"It's a history of the uprising of two twenty-one."

"Where was that?"

He looked at me closely, as if to see if I were joking, then said, "Right here, in South Adrilankha."

I said, "Oh." I cleared my throat. "Do you read poetry as well?"

"Yes," he said.

I sighed to myself. I didn't really want to walk in and start haranguing him, but there didn't seem to be a whole lot else to talk about. What's the use? I said, "Cawti's been telling me something about what you do." He nodded, waiting, "I don't like it," I said, and his eyes narrowed. "I'm not happy that Cawti's involved." He kept staring at me, not saying anything.

I sat back in the chair, crossed my legs. "But all right. I don't run her life. If she wants to waste her time this way, there's nothing I can do about it." I paused, waiting for him to make some sort of interjection. When he didn't, I said, "What bothers me is this business of teaching reading classes—that's what Franz was doing, wasn't it?"

"That, and other things," he said, tight-lipped.

"Well then, I'm offering you a deal. I'll find out who killed Franz and why, if you drop these classes, or get someone else to teach them."

He never took his eyes off me. "And if not?"

I started to get irritated, probably because he was making me feel uncomfortable and I don't like that. I clenched my teeth together, stifling the urge to say what I thought of him. I finally said, "Don't make me threaten you. I dislike threatening people."

He leaned over the desk, and his eyes were narrowed more than usual, his lips were pressed tightly together. He said, "You come in here, on the heels of the death of a man who was martyred to—"

"Spare me."

"Quiet! I said martyred and I meant it. He was fighting for what he believed in, and he was killed for it."

He stared hard at me for a moment, then he continued in a tone of voice that was softer but cutting. "I know what you do for a living," he said. "You don't even realize the depths to which you've sunk."

I touched the hilt of a dagger but didn't draw it. "You're right," I said. "I don't realize the depths to which I've sunk. It would be really stupid of you to tell me about it."

"Don't tell me what is and is not stupid. You're incapable of judging that, or anything else that falls outside the experience of your tiny world. It doesn't even occur to you that there could be anything wrong with selling death as if it were any commodity on the market."

"No," I said. "It doesn't. And if you're quite finished—"

"But it isn't just you. Think of this, Lord Killer: How much of what anyone does is something he'd do willingly, if he didn't have to? You accept that without thinking about it or questioning it, don't you? While Easterners and Teckla are forced to sell half their children to feed the rest. You think it doesn't happen, or do you just refuse to look at it?"

He shook his head, and I could see his teeth were clenched in his jowls and his eyes were so narrow I'm surprised he could see out of them. "What you do—mankind doesn't get any lower. I don't know if you do it because you have no choice, or because you've been so twisted that you like it, but it doesn't matter. In this building you will find men and women who can be proud of what they do, because they know there will be a better future for it. And you, with your snide, cynical wit, not only refuse to look at it, but try to tell us how to go about it. We have no time for you or for your deals. And your threats don't impress us either."

He paused, maybe to see if I had anything to say. I didn't.

He said, "Get out of here."

I stood up and left.

"The difference between winning and losing is whether you feel like going home afterwards."

"Not bad, boss. So where are we going?"

"I don't know."

"We could go back to Herth's place, spit in his soup and see what he says about that."

I didn't think this was at all a good idea.

It was still afternoon, and the Easterners' section was in full swing. There were markets every few blocks, and each was different. This one was yellow, orange, red, and green with vegetables and smelled like fresh things and the sound was a low hum. That one was pale and pink and smelled of meat, most of it still good, and it was quieter, so you could even hear the wind rattling around inside your ear. The next one was mostly fabrics and the loudest, because no one bargains like a fabric merchant, with screams and yells and pleading. They don't ever seem to tire of it, either. I get tired of things. I get tired of lots of things. I get tired of walking around Morrolan's castle to check up on his guards, traps, and alarms. I get tired of talking to my associates in codes that even I don't understand half the time. I get tired of breaking out in a sweat every time I see the uniform of the Phoenix Guards. I get tired of being treated with contempt for being a Jhereg by other Houses, and for being an Eastern

"You have to find an answer, boss."

"I know. I just tried."

"So try something else."

"Yeah."

I found that I had wandered over to the area near where my grandfather lived, which couldn't have been an accident although it felt like one. I walked through his doorway and set the chimes ringing. They were cheerful. I actually started feeling better as I stepped over the threshold. Chimes. Now, there's a witch for you.

He was sitting at his table, writing or drawing with a quill pen on a big piece of parchment. He was old, but very healthy. A big man. If Kelly was chubby, my grandfather was portly. His head was almost completely bald, so it reflected the little lamps of the shop. He looked up when he heard the chimes and gave me a big grin with his remaining teeth.

"Vladimir!"

"Hello, Noish-pa."

We hugged and he kissed my cheek. Loiosh flew off my shoulder onto a shelf until we were done, then flew to Noish-pa's arm for some chin-scratching. His familiar, a large furry cat named Ambrus, jumped into my lap when I sat down and poked his nose at me. We got reacquainted. Noish-pa hooked a small card onto the string that held the chimes and motioned me into his back room. I smelled herb tea and started feeling even better.

He served us, tsking when I put honey in mine. I sipped it. Rose hip.

"So, how is my grandson?"

"So-so, I guess, Noish-pa."

"Only so-so?"

I nodded.

"You have a problem," he said.

"Yeah. It's complicated."

"Simple things are never problems, Vladimir. Some simple things are sad, but never problems."

"Yeah."

"So, how did this problem start?"

"How did it start? Someone named Franz was killed."

"Ah! Yes. A terrible thing."

I stared at him. "You know about it?"

"It is on everyone's tongue."

"It is?"

"Well, these people, his… what is the word? Elvtarsok?"

"Friends? Associates?"

"Well, these people are everywhere, and they talk about it."

"I see."

"But you, Vladimir. You are not one of these people, are you?"

I shook my head. "Cawti is."

He sighed. "Vlad, Vlad, Vlad. It is silliness. If a revolution comes along, of course you support it. But to go out of your way like this is to put your head on the block."

"When has revolution come along?"

"Eh? In two twenty-one."

"Oh. Yes. Of course."

"Yes. We fought then, because it was what we did, but some can't forget that and think we should be always fighting."

I said, "What do you know about these people?"

"Oh, I hear things. Their leader, this Kelly, he is a fighter they say."

"A fighter? A brawler?"

"No, no. I mean he never quits, that is what I hear. And they are getting bigger, you know. I remember I heard of them a few years ago when they had a parade of twenty people, and now they have thousands."

"Why do people go there?"

"Oh, there are always those who aren't happy. And there has been violence here; beatings and robbing of people, and they say the Phoenix Guards of the Empire don't stop it. And some landlords raise their rent because some of their houses burn down, and people are unhappy about that, too."

"But none of that has anything to do with Cawti. We don't even live around here."

He shook his head and tsked. "It is silliness," he repeated.

I said, "What can I do?"

He shrugged. "Your grandmother did things I didn't like, Vladimir. There is nothing to be done. Perhaps she will lose interest." He frowned. "No, that is unlikely. Cawti does not lose interest when she becomes interested. But there, it is her life, not yours."

"But Noish-pa, that's just it. It's her life. Someone killed this Franz, and now Cawti is doing just what he was doing. If she wants to run around with these people and stir up trouble, or whatever they're doing, that's fine, but if she were killed, I couldn't stand it. But I can't stop her, or she'll leave me."

He frowned again and nodded. "Have you tried things?"

"Yes. I tried talking to Kelly, but that didn't do anything."

"Do you know who it was who killed this Franz fellow?"

"Yeah, I know who."

"And why?"

I paused. "No, I don't really know that."

"Then you must find out. Perhaps you will find that there is nothing to worry about, after all. If there is, perhaps you will find a way to solve it without risk to your wife."

Your wife he said. Not Cawti this time, it was your wife. That was how he thought. Family. Everything was family, and we were all the family he had. It suddenly occurred to me that he was probably disappointed in me; I don't think he approved of assassins, but I was family so that was that.

"What do you think of my work, Noish-pa?"

He shook his head. "It is terrible, what you do. It is not good for a man to live by killing. It hurts you."

"Okay." I was sorry I had asked. I said, "Thank you, Noish-pa. I have to go now."

"It was good to see you again, Vladimir."

I hugged him, collected Loiosh, and walked out of his shop. The way back to my side of town was long, and I still didn't feel like teleporting.

When Cawti came home that evening, I was soaking my feet.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"My feet hurt."

She gave me a half-smile. "Somehow this doesn't surprise me. I mean, why do your feet hurt?"

"I've been walking a lot the last few days."

She sat down across from me and stretched out. She was wearing high-waisted gray slacks with a wide black belt, a gray jerkin and a black vest. She'd hung up her half-cloak. "Anywhere in particular?"

"The Easterners' section, mostly."

She turned her head to the side a bit, which was one of my favorite things to see her do. It made her eyes seem huge in that beautiful, thin face with her perfectly sculpted cheekbones. "Doing what?"

"I went in to see Kelly."

Her eyes widened. "Why?"

"I explained that he should make sure you weren't doing anything that might put you in danger. I implied that I'd kill him if he did."

The look of curiosity changed to disbelief, then anger. "Did you really," she said.

"Yeah."

"You don't seem nervous about telling me about it."

"Thank you."

"And what did Kelly say?"

"He said that, as a human being, I rated somewhere between worthless scum and wretched garbage."

She looked startled. Not upset, startled. "He said that?"

"Not in so many words. Quite."

"Hmmm," she said.

"I'm glad to see that this outrage against your husband fills you with such a righteous indignation."

"Hmmm, "she said.

"Trying to decide if he was right?"

"Oh, no," she said. "I know he's right. I was wondering how he could tell."

"Cawti—" I said, and stopped because my voice broke.

She came over, sat beside me, and put her hand on my leg. "I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean that and I shouldn't have joked about it. I know he's wrong. But you shouldn't have done what you did."

"I know," I said, almost whispering.

We were silent for a time. She said, "What are you going to do now?"

"I think," I said, "that I'm going to wait until my feet feel better. Then I'm going to go out and kill someone."

She stared at me. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. No. I'm not sure. Half, I guess."

"This is hard for you. I'm sorry."

I nodded.

She said, "It's going to get harder."

"Yeah."

"I wish I could help you."

"You have. You'd do more if you could."

She nodded. After that there wasn't any more to say, so she just sat next to me for a while. Presently, we went into the bedroom and slept.

I was in the office early the next morning, with Loiosh and Rocza, I let them out my window so Loiosh could continue showing Rocza around. He had gradually been teaching her the ins and outs of the city. He enjoyed it, too. I wondered what that would do to a marriage—one having to train the other. With those two it could become strained, too—Loiosh did the teaching, but the jhereg female is dominant.

"Hey, Loiosh—"

"None of your Verra-be-damned business, boss."

That was hardly fair; he'd been butting into my marriage. Besides, I had a right to know if I was going to be subjected to more cheap North Hill theater than what I was generating. But I didn't push it.

By the time they returned, a couple of hours later, I knew what I was going to do. I got an address from Kragar, along with a dirty look for not telling him why I wanted it. Loiosh and Rocza attached themselves to my shoulders and I went down the stairs and out of the office.

Lower Kieron Road, near Malak Circle, is the widest street in this part of town and is filled with inns set back from it and markets jutting out into it and hotels, some with small businesses inside of them. I owned all the small businesses. Lower Kieron took me south and west. It got gradually narrower, and more and more tenements appeared. Most of them had once been green but were now painted dirty, I abandoned Lower Kieron to follow a narrow little street called Ulor.

Ulor widened after a bit, and about there I turned onto Copper Street, which was different from the Copper Lane near my place, or the Copper Street to the east or the Copper Street even further east or the others that I don't remember. After a few paces, I turned left into a fairly nice looking inn with long tables of polished wood and long benches. I found the host and said, "Do you have a private room?"

He allowed as to how he did, although his look implied it wasn't normally polluted by the presence of Easterners. I said, "My name is Vlad. Tell Bajinok that I'm here."

He nodded and called for a serving man to carry the message. I spotted where the back room must be and entered it. It was empty. I was pleased that it had a real door. I closed it and sat, back to the door (Loiosh was watching), on one of the benches at a table that was a shorter version of the ones in the main room. I wondered how many people Bajinok would bring along. If it was more than one, this probably wouldn't work. But then, he might not bring anyone. I decided I had pretty good odds.

Presently, the door opened and Bajinok came in along with another Jhereg I hadn't seen before. I stood up before they could sit down.

"Good morning," I said. "I hope I didn't disturb you."

Bajinok scowled a little. "What?" he said.

"A man of few words," I told him. "I like that." Loiosh hissed, which he might have thought was agreement.

"What do you want?"

"I thought we might continue our discussion of the other day."

The Jhereg who was with Bajinok rolled his shoulders and scratched his stomach. Bajinok wiped his hands on his cloak. I checked the clasp of my cloak with one hand and brushed my hair back with the other. I didn't know about them, but all of my weapons were ready.

He said, "If you have something to say, say it."

"I want to know why Herth wanted that Easterner killed."

Bajinok said, "Drop dead, whiskers."

I gestured with my right hand as if I were about to say something important. I suppose in a way I was. The gesture produced a dagger that went straight up under the unknown's chin and into his head. He crumbled, fell against me and slid to the floor. By the time he hit, I had taken another dagger from my cloak and was holding the point of it directly in front of Bajinok's left eye.

I said, "The instant anyone appears in this room, or opens the door, or you even look like you're in psionic communication with someone, I'm going to kill you."

He said, "Okay."

"I thought you might want to tell me a few things about Herth and why he wanted that Easterner killed."

Without moving his head, he glanced down at the corpse. Then he looked back up the blade of the dagger. "You know," he said, "I just might at that."

"Good," I said cheerfully.

"Mind if I sit down?"

"No. Go ahead."

He did, and I moved behind him and held my blade against the back of his neck. He said, "This is going to get you killed, you know."

"We all have to die sometime. And we Easterners don't live that long anyway. Of course, that's a good reason not to rush things, I suppose. Which brings us back to Franz." I increased the pressure against the back of his neck. I felt him flinch. I stayed alert for any attempt to teleport out. I could kill him before he was gone if I was quick.

He said, "Yes. Franz. He was a member of some kind of group—"

"I know about it."

"Okay. Then there isn't much more I can tell you."

I pressed the knife against his neck again. "Try. Were you told to kill him in particular, or just some member of the group?"

"I was given his name."

"Have you been keeping tabs on what these people have been doing?"

"Herthhas."

"I know that, idiot. I mean, are you the one who's been watching them?"

"No."

"Who is?"

"A fellow named Nath."

"Where can I find him?"

"Are you going to kill me?"

"Not if you keep talking."

"He lives above a carpetmaker way to the west, just north of the Easterners' area. Number four Shade Tree Street."

I said, "Okay. Do you plan to tell Herth about this talk?"

"Yes."

"You'll have to tell him what you told me."

"He's very understanding that way."

"In that case, I need a good reason for leaving you alive."

"You said you would."

"Yes, that is a good reason. I need another one."

"You're a dead man, you know."

"I know."

"A dishonest dead man."

"I'm just in a bad mood. I'm usually a very honest dead man. Ask anyone."

"Okay. I'll keep my mouth shut for an hour."

"Would you keep your word to someone who lied to you?"

He considered that for a moment, then said, "Yes."

"Berth must be a very understanding fellow."

"Yes. Except when his people are killed. He doesn't understand that at all."

I said, "Okay. You can leave."

He stood up without another word and walked out. I replaced my dagger, left the one in the body and walked back out into the main room. The host didn't give me a second glance. I made it onto the street and headed back toward my office. I could feel Loiosh's tension as he strained to look into every corner of every alley we passed.

"You shouldn't have killed that guy, boss."

"If I hadn't, Bajinok wouldn't have taken me seriously. And I'm not certain I could have controlled two of them."

"Herth will be after your head now."

"Yes…"

"You can't help Cawti if you're dead."

"I know."

"Then why—"

"Shut up."

Even I didn't think that was much of an answer.

…klava stain from upper left…

I teleported to a place I knew in Nath's neighborhood, so I wouldn't have to waste any of Bajinok's hour. Then I wasted a good fifteen minutes white my stomach recovered from the teleport.

Shade Tree Street must have been an old name. There were a few stumps in the ground to the sides, and the hotels and houses were set back quite a ways from the crude stonework curbing on either edge of the street itself, which was as wide as Lower Kieron. The width indicated that the area had once had a lot of shops and markets, and that later it had been one of the better sections of town. That was probably before the Interregnum, however. Now it was a little on the low side.

Number four was right in the middle, between number fifteen and number six. It was of brown stonework, two stories tall, with two flats in it. The one on the bottom had a chreotha crudely drawn on the door. I went up the wooden steps and they didn't creak at all. I was impressed.

The door at the top had a stylized jhereg on it, etched on a metal plate above the symbol for Baron. "Was I quiet enough, Loiosh?"

"I think so, boss."

"Okay."

I checked the spells on the door, then checked them a second time. I'm a lot sloppier when I'm not actually about to kill someone, but there's no reason to be too sloppy. The door held no surprises. The wood itself was thin enough that I could handle it. I let Spellbreaker fall into my left hand, took a couple of careful breaths, then smacked the door with Spellbreaker and, at the same time, kicked with my right leg. The door flew open and I stepped into the room.

He was alone. That meant it was likely that Bajinok had actually kept his word. He was sitting on a low couch, reading the same tabloid that Cawti had been reading. I kicked the door shut behind me and crossed to him in three steps, drawing my rapier as I did so. He stood up and stared at me, wide-eyed. He made no effort to reach for a weapon. It was possible he wasn't a fighter, but it would be stupid to count on it. I held the point of my weapon up to his left eye and said, "Good afternoon. You must be Nath."

He stared at me, his eyes wide, holding his breath.

I said, "Well?"

He nodded.

I gave him the same speech I'd given Bajinok about not leaving or trying to reach help. He seemed to find it convincing. I said, "Let's sit down and chat."

He nodded again. He was either very frightened or a good actor. I said, "An Easterner named Franz was killed a few days ago."

He nodded.

I said, "Herth had it done."

He nodded again.

I said, "You pointed him out to Herth."

His eyes widened and he half-shook his head.

I said, "Yes. Why?"

"I didn't—"

"I don't care if you suggested the killing or not. I want to know what it was about Franz that you told Herth. Tell me quickly, without thinking about it. If I get the idea that you're lying, I'll kill you."

His mouth worked for a bit, and his voice, when he spoke, was a squeak. "I don't know. I just—" he stopped long enough to clear his throat. "I just told him about them. All of them. I said what they were doing."

"Herth wanted to know names?"

"Not at first. But a few weeks ago he told me to give him reports on all of the Easterners—their names, what they did, everything."

"You had all that?"

He nodded.

Tasked, "Why?"

"I've been here for most of the year. Herth heard rumors about this group and sent me to check on them. I've been keeping track."

"I see. And then he tells you to give him the names, and two weeks later Franz is killed."

He nodded.

I said, "Well, why did he want someone killed, and why Franz?"

He said, "I don't know."

"Guess."

"They were troublemakers. They interfered with business. They were always around, you know? And they were giving reading lessons. When Easterners—" He stopped, looking at me.

"Goon."

He swallowed. "When Easterners get too smart, well, I guess it doesn't help business any. But it might have been something that happened before I came. Herth is careful, you know? He wouldn't tell me more than he had to."

"And Franz?"

"He was just one of them."

"What about Kelly?"

"What about him? He never did much that I could see."

I refrained from commenting on his eyesight.

"Boss."

"Yeah, Loiosh?"

"Your hour is about gone."

"Thanks."

I said, "Okay. You get to live."

He seemed relieved. I turned, walked out the door and down to the street and made my way through some alleys as quickly as I could. There was no sign of pursuit.

"Well, what do you think, Loiosh?"

"He wanted to kill one of them, and Franz was as good a choice as any."

"Yeah. I think so, too. Why did he want to kill one of them?"

"I don't know."

"Well, what now?"

"Boss, do you have an idea how much trouble you've gotten yourself into?"

"Yeah."

"I was just wondering. I don't know what to do now, boss. We're close to the Easterners' area, if there's anything you want there."

I started heading that way as I thought about it. What was the next step? I had to find out if Herth was going to keep after them now, or if he had accomplished whatever it was he hoped to accomplish. If Herth wasn't going to do anything to these people, I could relax and only worry about how I was going to keep him from killing me.

The street I was on dead-ended unexpectedly, so I backtracked a ways until I found one I knew. Tall, windowless houses loomed over me like gloating green and yellow giants, with balconies sometimes almost meeting above me, cutting off my view of the orange-red sky.

Then, at a cross street named Twovine, the houses became older, paler, and smaller and the street widened and I was in the Easterners' section. It smelled like the countryside, with hay and cows and manure where they were selling cow's milk on the street. The breeze became sharper with the widening of the avenue, in swirls that kicked dust up in my eyes and stung my face.

The street curved and twisted and others joined it and left it, and then I saw Sheryl and Paresh standing on a street corner, holding that same damned tabloid and accosting passers-by. I walked up to them. Paresh nodded coolly and turned his back to me. Sheryl's smile was a little friendlier, but she also turned away when two young Easterners came by, holding hands. I heard her saying something about breaking the Imperium, but they just shook their heads and walked on.

I said, "Am I off limits?"

Sheryl shook her head. Paresh turned and said, "Not at all. Do you want to buy a copy?"

I said I didn't. He didn't seem surprised. He turned away again. I stood there for a few more seconds before realizing that I was making a fool of myself by standing, and I'd look stupid leaving. I addressed Sheryl. "Will you talk to me if I buy you a cup of klava?"

"I can't," she said. "Since Franz was murdered we don't work alone."

I bit my tongue when a few remarks about "working" came to mind, then got an idea.

"Well, Loiosh?"

"Oh, sure boss. Why not?"

I said to Sheryl, "Loiosh can stick around."

She looked startled and glanced at Paresh. Paresh looked at Loiosh for a moment, then said, "Why not?"

So Loiosh hung around and got his revolutionary indoctrination while I led Sheryl into an Easterner klava hole located right across the street. It was long, narrow, darker than I like except when I want to kill someone; everything was of wood in surprisingly good condition, considering. I led us all the way to the far end and put my back to the wall. That isn't really a useful way of protecting yourself, but on that occasion it made me feel better.

I had promised to buy her a cup of klava, but actually it came in a glass. I burned my hand on the side when I first picked it up, then, setting it down, slopped some onto the table and burned my leg. I put cream in to cool it down, which didn't help much because they warmed the cream. Tasted good though.

Sheryls eyes were wide and bright blue, with just a hint of freckles around them. I said, "You know what I'm doing?"

"Not exactly," she said. There was the hint of a smile about her lips. It suddenly occurred to me that she might think I was making a pass at her. Then it occurred to me that maybe I wanted to. She was certainly attractive, and had a bit of the innocent wanton about her that I found stimulating. But no, not now.

I said, "I'm trying to find out why Franz was killed, and then I'm going to do whatever I have to to make sure that Cawti isn't."

The almost-smile didn't waver, but she shook her head. "Franz was killed because they're scared of us."

There were a lot of snappy answers that I didn't make. Instead I said, "Who is scared?"

"The Imperium."

"He wasn't killed by the Imperium."

"Perhaps not directly, but—"

"He was killed by a Jhereg named Herth. Herth doesn't kill people for the Imperium. He's too busy trying to keep the Imperium from finding out that he kills people."

"It may look like that—"

"All right, all right. This isn't helping."

She shrugged, and by now the smile was gone. On the other hand, she wasn't looking angry, so it was worth continuing. I said, "What was he doing, in particular, that would threaten a Jhereg trying to make money, in particular?"

She was quiet for a while, and at last said, "I don't know. He sold papers, just as I was doing, and he spoke at meetings, just as I do, and he gave lessons on reading, and on revolution, just as I do—"

"Wait. You also give reading lessons?"

"We all do."

"I see. All right."

"I guess what it was is that he did more of everything. He was tireless, and enthusiastic, and everyone responded to that—both we, and people we'd run across. When we'd travel through the neighborhoods, he always remembered people better than the rest of us, and they always remembered him. When he spoke, he was better. When he gave reading lessons, it was Jike it was vital to him that everyone learned to read. Whenever some group that I was in was doing something, he was always there, and whenever some group that I wasn't in was doing something, he was always there, too. Do you see what I mean?"

I nodded and didn't say anything. The waiter came and poured more klava. I added cream and honey and used the napkin to hold the glass. Glass. Why not a cup? Stupid Easterners; can't do anything right.

I said, "Do you know any of the Jhereg who operate around here?"

She shook her head. "I know there are some, but I wouldn't recognize them. There are a good number of Dragaerans, and a lot of them are Jhereg, but I couldn't tell you that guy works for the organization,' or something."

"Do you know what kind of things they have going on?"

"No, not really."

"Are there places to gamble?"

"Huh? Oh, sure. But they're run by Easterners."

"No, they're not."

"How do you know?"

"I know Herth."

"Oh."

"Are there prostitutes?"

"Yes."

"Brothels?"

"Yes."

"Pimps?"

She suddenly looked, perhaps, the least bit smug. "Not any more," she said.

"Ah ha."

"What?"

"What happened to them?"

"We drove them off. They're the most vicious—"

"I know pimps. How did you drive them off?"

"Most of the pimps around here were really young kids."

"Yes. The older ones run brothels."

"They were part of the gangs."

"Gangs?"

"Yes. Around here there isn't much of anything for kids to do, so—"

"How old kids?"

"Oh, you know, eleven to sixteen."

"Okay."

"So they formed gangs, just to have something to do. And they'd wander around and make trouble, break up stores, that kind of thing. Your Phoenix Guards couldn't care less about what they do, as long as they stay in our area."

"They aren't my Phoenix Guards."

"Whatever. There have been gangs around here for longer than I've been alive. A lot of them get involved in pimping because it's about the only way to make money when you don't have any money to start with. They also terrorize a lot of the small shopkeepers into paying them, and steal a little, but there just isn't that much to steal and no one to sell it to."

I suddenly thought about Noish-pa, but no, they wouldn't mess around with a witch. I said, "Okay, so some of them got into pimping."

"Yes."

"How did you get rid of them?"

"Kelly says that most of the kids in the gangs are in because they don't have any hope of things being better for them. He says that their only real hope is revolution, so—"

"Fine," I said. "How did you get rid of them?"

"We broke up most of the gangs."

"How?"

"We taught them to read, for one thing. Once you can read it's harder to remain ignorant. And when they saw we were serious about destroying the despots, many of them joined us."

"Just like that?"

For the first time she glared at me. "It's taken us ten years of work to get this far, and we still have a long way to go. Ten years. It wasn't 'just like that.' And not all of them stayed in the movement, either. But, so far, most of the gangs are gone and haven't come back."

"And when the gangs broke up, the pimps left?"

"They needed the gangs to back them up."

"This all fits."

She asked, "Why?"

I said, "The pimps worked for Herth."

"How do you know that?"

"I know Herth."

"Oh."

"Have you been involved for ten years?"

She nodded.

"How did you—"

She shook her head. We sipped our klava for a while. Then she sighed and said, "I got involved when I was looking for something to do after my pimp was run out of the neighborhood."

I said, "Oh."

"Couldn't you tell I used to be a whore?" She was looking hard at me, and trying to make her voice sound tough and streetwise.

I shook my head and answered the thought behind the words. "It's different among Dragaerans. Prostitution isn't thought of as something to be ashamed of."

She stared at me, but I couldn't tell if she was showing disbelief or contempt. I realized that if I kept this up, I'd start to question the Dragaeran attitude too, and I didn't need any more things to question.

I cleared my throat. "When did the pimps leave?"

"We've been chasing them out gradually over the last few years. We haven't seen any around this neighborhood for months."

"Ah ha."

"You said that already."

"Things are starting to make sense."

"You think that was why Franz was murdered?"

"All the pimps gave some portion of their income to Herth. That's how these things work."

"I see."

"Was Franz involved in breaking up the gangs?"

"He was involved in everything."

"Was he especially involved in that?"

"He was involved in everything."

"I see."

I drank some more klava. Now I could hold the glass, but the klava was cold. Stupid Easterners. The waiter came over, replaced the glass, filled it.

I said, "Herth is going to try to put the pimps back in business."

"You think so?"

"Yes. He'll think that he's warned you now, so you should know better."

"We'll drive them out again. They are agents of repression."

"Agents of repression?"

"Yes."

"Okay. If you drive them out again, he'll get even nastier."

I saw something flicker behind her eyes, but her voice didn't change. "We'll fight him," she said. I guess she saw some look on my face at that, because she started looking angry again. "Do you think we don't know how to fight? What do you think was involved in breaking up the gangs in the first place? Polite conversation? Do you think they just let us? Those at the top had power and lived well. They didn't just take it, you know. We can fight. We win when we fight. As Kelly says, that's because all the real fighters are on our side."

That sounded like Kelly. I was quiet for a while, then, "I don't suppose you people would consider leaving the pimps alone."

"What do you think?"

"Yeah. What happened to the tags?"

"The what?"

"The girls who worked for the pimps."

"I don't know. I joined the movement, but that was a long time ago when things were just starting. I don't know about the rest of them."

"Don't they have a right to live, too?"

"We all have a right to live. We have a right to live without having to sell our bodies."

I looked at her. When I'd spoken to Paresh, I had somehow gotten past his rote answers to the person underneath. With Sheryl, I couldn't. It was frustrating.

I said, "Okay. I've found out what I wanted to, and you have some information to take back to Kelly."

She nodded. "Thanks for the klava," she said.

I paid for it and we walked back out to the corner. Paresh was there, arguing loudly with a short male Easterner about something incomprehensible. Loiosh flew back to my shoulder.

"Learn anything, boss?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Nothing I wanted to know."

Paresh nodded to me. I nodded back. Sheryl smiled at me then took up a stance on the corner. I could almost see her planting her feet.

Just to be flashy, I teleported back to my office. What's a little nausea compared to flash? Hen. Vlad the Sorcerer.

I wandered around outside of the office until my stomach settled down, then went in. As I went down the hall toward the stairs, I heard Sticks talking in one of the sitting rooms. I stuck my head in. He was seated on a couch next to Chimov, a rather young guy who I'd recruited during a Jhereg war some time before. Chimov was holding one of Sticks's clubs. It was about two feet long and had a uniform diameter of maybe an inch. Sticks was holding another one, saying, "These are hickory. Oak is fine, too. It's just what you're used to, really."

"Okay," said Chimov, "but I don't see how it's any different from a lepip."

"If you hold that way, it isn't. Look. See? Hold it here, about a third of the way from the back. It's different with different clubs, depending on length and weight, but you want to get the balance right. Here. Your thumb and forefinger act like a hinge, and if you catch the guy in the stomach, or somewhere soft, you use the heel of your hand to bounce it off. This way." He demonstrated, bouncing the club off thin air, as far as I could tell.

Chimov shook his head. "Bounce? Why are you bouncing it, anyway? Can't you get more power into it holding it all the way back?"

"Sure. And if I'm trying to break a guy's knees, or his head, that's what I do. But most of the time I'm just trying to get a message across. So I bounce this off his head ten or twelve times, then mess up his face a little and tap his ribs once or twice, and he understands things that, maybe, he didn't understand before. The idea isn't to prove how tough you are, the idea is to convince him that he wants to do what you're being paid to make him do."

Chimov tried a few swings.

"Not like that," said Sticks. "Use your fingers and your wrist. If you go flailing around like that you'll just wear yourself out. There's no future in it. Here, watch…"

I left them to their conversation. I knew that kind of conversation because I'd had plenty of them myself. Now it was starting to bother me.

Maybe what everyone had been saying to me was starting to affect my thinking. Worse, maybe they were right.

…and dirt from knees.

I nodded to Melestav as I walked past him, and plopped into my chair. Someday I'll have to describe how you go about plopping into a chair while wearing a rapier at your hip. It takes practice.

All right, Vlad. You've just made a hash of things, going in and killing that bastard, getting Herth on your tail when you didn't need to. That's done. Let's not make it worse. This is a problem just like any other problem. Find a bite-size piece of it and solve that, then go on to the next one.

I closed my eyes and took two deep breaths.

"Boss," said Melestav. "Your wife's here."

I opened my eyes. "Send her in." Cawti entered the room like an angry dzur, and looked at me as if I were the cause of her anger. Rocza was on her shoulder. Cawti shut the door behind her and sat down across from me; we looked at each other for a while. She said, "I spoke with Sheryi."

"Yeah."

"Well?"

"I'm glad to see you, too, Cawti, How's your day been?"

"Stop it, Vlad."

Loiosh shifted uncomfortably. I decided he didn't really have to hear this, so I got up, opened the window and let him and Rocza out. "In a while, chum."

"Yeah, boss." I left the window open and faced Cawti again.

"Well?" she said again.

I sat down and leaned back. "You're angry," I said.

"My, but you're perceptive."

"Don't get sarcastic with me, Cawti, I'm not in the mood for it."

"I don't really care what you're in the mood for. I want to know why you felt the need to interrogate Sheryl."

"I'm still trying to learn exactly what happened to Franz and why it happened. Talking to Sheryl was part of that."

"Why?"

"Why am I trying to find out about Franz?" I paused and considered telling her that I wanted to save her life, but decided that would be both unfair and ineffective. I said, "Partly because I said I would, I guess."

"According to her you spent the entire time mocking everything we believe in."

"According to her, perhaps I did."

"Why was it necessary?"

I shook my head.

"What," she said, biting out each word, "is that gesture supposed to mean?"

"It indicates the negative."

"I want to know what you're doing."

I stood up and took half a step toward her then sat down again. My hands opened and closed. "No," I said. "I won't tell you what I'm doing."

"You won't."

"That is correct. You saw no need to tell me when you got involved with these people, and you didn't see any need to tell me what you were doing yesterday; I see no need to give you an account of my actions."

"You seem to be doing everything you can to hurt our movement. If that isn't the case, you should—"

"No. Everything I could do to hurt your movement would be a lot simpler and be over much more quickly and leave no room for doubt. I am doing something else. You aren't with me on it because you've said you weren't. I've been trying to investigate Franz's killing on my own, and you've done everything to keep me out of it except put a knife in me, and maybe that's next. You have no right to do that and then try to interrogate me like the Imperial Prosecutor. I won't put up with it."

She glared. "That's quite a speech. It's quite a lot of crap."

"Cawti, I've made my position clear. I need not, and will not, put up with any more of this."

"If you're going to stick your nose into—"

"Gel out of my office."

Her eyes widened. Then narrowed. Her nostrils flared. She stood motionless for a moment, then turned and walked out of my office. She didn't slam the door.

I sat there, trembling, until Loiosh came back. Rocza wasn't with him. I decided Rocza must be with Cawti. I was glad because I knew Cawti would need someone.

After letting Loiosh in, I walked out of the office and let my feet carry me where they would, as long as it wasn't to the Easterners' section. I felt a ridiculous urge to find the oracle I'd spoken to a couple of weeks before and kill him; even now I can't think why I wanted to do that. I actually had to talk myself out of it.

I didn't notice where I was going. I paid no attention to direction, or people around me, or anything else. A couple of Jhereg toughs saw me, took two steps toward me, then went away again. It was only much later that I realized that they had been two enforcers for an old enemy, and probably felt they had something to settle with me. I guess they changed their minds. By then Spellbreaker was in my left hand and I was swinging it as I walked, sometimes smacking it at buildings and watching parts of the walls crumble away, or just flailing wildly, hoping someone would get close enough. I don't know how much time went by, and I've never asked Loiosh, but I think I walked for over an hour.

Think about that for a minute. You've just made an enemy who has the resources to keep a tail on you wherever you go, and you've made him mad enough to kill you. So what do you do? Walk around without any protection for an hour making as big a spectacle of yourself as you can.

This is not what I call intelligent.

One cry of, "Boss!" was all Loiosh had time for. As far as I was concerned, it was like waking up from sleep to find yourself surrounded by hostile faces. Several of them. I saw at least one wizard's staff. A voice came from somewhere inside of me. It sounded absurdly calm, and it said, "You're dead now, Vlad." I don't know what that triggered, but it enabled me to think clearly. It was as if I had only an instant to do something, but the instant stretched out forever. Options came and went. Spellbreaker could probably break the teleport block they must have put around me, but there was no way I could teleport out before they had me. I might be able to take a few of them with me, which is a good thing for a Dzur hero to do if he wants to be remembered, but it felt quite futile just then. On the other hand, you don't send a group of eight or nine if you want to kill someone; maybe they had something else in mind. No way to guess what, though. I put all of the force of command I could muster into a p

I felt him leave my shoulder and was ridiculously pleased. Something tingled in the back of my neck. I felt the ground against my cheek.

The first thing I heard, just before I opened my eyes, was, "You will note that you are still alive."

Then I did open them and found that I was looking at Bajinok. Before becoming aware of anything else, I remarked to myself what a perfect thing that had been for him to say. The timing, I guess, is what really got to me. I mean, just as I was becoming conscious, before I even noticed the chains holding me onto the hard iron chair or the feeling of being caught in a net of sorcery. Before, in fact, I noticed that I was naked. The chair was cold.

I looked back at him, feeling the need to say something, but not able to come up with anything. He waited, though. Just naturally polite, I guess. The room was well lighted and not too small—about twelve paces on the sides I could see (I didn't turn around). There were five enforcer types behind Bajinok, and from the way they stared at me, their hands on various pieces of hardware, they took me seriously. I felt flattered. In a corner of the room were my clothing and assorted junk. I said, "As long as you have all of my clothes in a pile, could you be a pal and have them cleaned? I'll repay you, of course."

He smiled and nodded. We were both going to be cool professionals about this. Oh, goody. I stared at him. I became aware that I wanted, almost desperately, to break the chains that were around my arms and legs and get up and kill him. Strangle him. Visions filled my brain of the enforcers battering me with their swords and spells which bounced off me or fell harmless as I squeezed the life out of him. I fought to keep this wish off my face and out of my actions. I wished Loiosh were there with me while I was glad he wasn't. I have strong opinions about ambivalence.

He pulled up a chair and sat facing me, crossed his legs, leaned back. He could have chosen to be in that position when I regained consciousness, but I guess he liked dramatic gestures as much as I do. "You are alive," he said, "because we need some answers from you."

"Ask away," I said. "I'm feeling awfully cooperative."

He nodded. "If I told you that we'll let you live if you give us the answers, you wouldn't believe me. Besides, I don't like to lie. So instead I will tell you, quite truthfully, that if you don't give us the answers, you will very badly want to die. Do you understand this?"

I nodded because my mouth was suddenly very dry. I felt queasy. I was aware of all sorts of spells in the room; probably spells that would prevent any sorcery I might try. I still had my link to the Orb, of course (which told me I'd only been unconscious for ten minutes or so), but I doubted I could do anything with it. Still…

He said, "What is your connection to this group of Easterners?"

I blinked. He didn't know? Maybe I could use that. Perhaps if I stalled, I could try witchcraft. I'd used it before in situations where I shouldn't have been able to. I said, "Well, they're Easterners, and I'm an Easterner, so we just sort of naturally—" Then I screamed. I can't, now, recall what hurt. I think everything. I have no memory of some particular part of me hurting, but I knew that he was right; this would do it. I wanted to die. It lasted for such a brief time that it was over before I screamed, but I knew I couldn't take more of it, whatever it was. I was drenched with sweat, and my head drooped and I heard myself making small whimpering sounds like a puppy.

No one said anything. After a long time I looked up. I felt like I had aged twenty years. Bajinok had no expression on his face. He said, "What is your connection to the group of Easterners?"

I said, "My wife is one of them."

He nodded. So. He had known. He was going to play that kind of game with me—asking some questions he knew the answers to and some that he didn't. Wonderful. But that was all right, because I knew I wasn't going to lie any more.

"Why is she with them?"

"I think she believes in what they're doing."

"What about you?"

I paused, my heart pounding with fear, but I had to ask. "I… don't understand your question."

"What are you doing with those Easterners?"

A sense of relief flooded me. Yes. I could answer that. "Cawti. I don't want her killed. Like Franz was killed."

"What makes you think she will be?"

"I'm not sure. I don't yet—that is, I don't know why Franz was killed."

"Do you have any theories?"

I paused again, trying to understand the question, and I guess I waited too long because they hit me with it. Longer this time. Eternity. Maybe two seconds. Dear Verra, please let me die.

When it stopped, I couldn't speak for a moment, but I knew I had to had to had to or they'd do it again again again, so, "I'm trying. I—" I had to swallow and was afraid to, but I did, and shuddered with relief when it didn't happen. I tried to speak again. "Water," I said. A glass was tipped into my mouth. I swallowed some and spilled more down my chest. Then I spoke quickly so they wouldn't think I was trying to stall. "They were cutting into your—Herth's—business. I'm guessing it was a warning."

"Do they think so?"

"I don't know. Kelly—their leader—is smart. Also I told one of them I thought so."

"If it is a warning, will they heed it?"

"I don't think so."

"How many of them are there?"

"I've only seen about half a dozen, but I've been told that—"

I was staring right at the door when it burst open and several shiny things came flying through it past Bajinok and past my head. Their were grunts from behind me. Someone had probed the room and found the position of everyone in it. Good work. Probably Kragar.

Bajinok was fast. He didn't waste any time with me, or with the intruders, he just stepped over to one of the sorcerers and they began a teleport. Sticks, who was standing in the doorway, didn't spare more than a glance at him, before moving into the room. Something else shiny flashed by me and I heard another grunt behind my right shoulder, then noticed that Kragar was also in the doorway, throwing knives. Loiosh flew into the room then, and Glowbug was right behind him.

Glowbug's eyes were shining like the lamps at the Dragon Gate of the Imperial Palace. The thought, "You're being rescued," flashed into my head, but I couldn't drum up more than a passing interest in whether the attempt would be successful.

Watching Sticks was interesting, though. He was dealing with four of them at once. He had a club in each hand and a look of concentration on his face. The clubs became a blur, but never invisible. He was very graceful. He would bounce a club off a head, then hit a side while the other club crossed over to the top of the first head, and like that. When they tried to hit him he would work the attack into his actions as if he'd planned it all along. He started moving faster, and soon their weapons flew from their hands and they started to stumble. Then Sticks, as if culminating a dance, finished them. One at a time, both clubs to the top of the head, not quite at the same time. Ker-thump. Ker-thump. Ker-thump. Ker-thump. The first hit the ground as he nailed the third. The second hit the ground as he got the fourth. As the third fell, Sticks stepped back and looked around, and as the last one fell he put his clubs away.

Glowbug's voice came from over my shoulder. "Got 'email, Kragar."

"Good." His voice came from right next to me, and I saw that he was working on the chains.

"You all right, boss?"

The chains fell off my arms, and I felt the ones around my legs being worked on. A lady in gray and black came into the room. Kragar said, "We'll be ready in a moment, milady." I thought, Left Hand. Sorceress. Hired to teleport us home.

"Boss?"

The chains were gone from my legs now, "Vlad?" said Kragar. "Can you stand up?"

It would be nice to collapse into bed, I decided. I noticed Glowbug collecting my clothing.

"Boss? Say something."

Sticks looked at me, then looked away. I think I saw him mouthing an obscenity.

"Damn it, boss! What's wrong?"

"All right," said Kragar. "Glowbug, help me get him standing. Gather round." I felt Loiosh clutching my shoulder. I was dragged to my feet. "Go," said Kragar.

"Boss? Can't you—"

A twist in my gut, a massive disorientation and head-spinning, and the world went around and around inside of my skull.

"—answer?"

I threw up on the ground outside of my home. They held me, and Sticks, now holding the bundle of my belongings, stood close by. "Get him inside," said Kragar. They tried to help me walk but I collapsed and almost fell.

"Boss?"

They tried again with no better results. Kragar said, "We'll never get him up the stairs this way."

"I'll dump these things inside the house, and—no, wait." Sticks vanished from sight for a moment and I heard him speaking to someone in low tones. I heard the words, "drunk" and "brothel," and what seemed to be a child's voice answering him. Then he came back without the bundle and took my legs and they carried me into the house.

Sticks dropped my legs at the top of the stairs and clapped. I heard a child say, "I'll leave these here." There was a rustling sound, and the child said, "No, that's all right," and there were soft footsteps descending. After waiting for someone to answer the clap, Sticks opened the door and I was dragged inside.

"Now what?" said Glowbug.

I could hear barely concealed distaste in Kragar's voice as he said, "We need to get him cleaned up, I think, and—Cawti!"

"Loiosh told me to come home right away. What—Vlad?"

"He needs to be cleaned up and put to bed, I think."

"Are you all right, Vlad?"

Loiosh flew off my shoulder. Probably to Cawti, but I was staring in the other direction just then so I couldn't tell. Cawti was silent for a moment, then she said, "Put him in the bath. Through here." It sounded as if she was having trouble keeping her voice steady.

After a while there was hot water on me, and Cawti's hands were gentle. I learned that I'd soiled myself somewhere in there, as well as throwing up all over my chest and stomach. Kragar came into the room and he and Cawti got me standing and dried me off, then got me into the bed and left me there. Loiosh, silent now, sat next to me, his head on my cheek. Rocza made scratching sounds on the bedpost to my left.

From the next room, I could hear Cawti saying, "Thank you, Kragar."

Kragar said, "Thank Loiosh." Then their voices dropped and I could only hear mutterings for a while.

Later, the door to the flat closed and I heard Cawti make her way into the bathroom, and the sound of the pump. After a while she came back into the bedroom and put a damp cloth over my forehead. She put Spellbreaker around my left wrist and covered me with blankets. I settled back into the bedding and waited to die.

It was funny. I'd always wondered what my last thoughts would be, if I had time to think them. It turned out that my last thoughts were of how I was thinking my last thoughts. That was funny. I chuckled somewhere, deep down inside of me where I can't be hurt. If Aliera was right about reincarnation, perhaps my next life would be better. No. I knew Aliera was right. My next life probably wouldn't be any better than this one. Well, I don't know. Maybe you learn something each life. What had I learned in this lifetime? That it's always the good guys against the bad guys, and you can never tell who the good guys are, so you settle for killing the bad guys. We're all bad guys. No. Loiosh isn't a bad guy. Cawti isn't—well—oh, what's the use? I should just—

-I realized with some surprise that I was still alive. It occurred to me then that I might not die. I felt my heart speed up. Was it possible? A certain sense of what I could only call reality began to seep in then, and I knew I was going to live. I still couldn't accept it emotionally—I didn't really believe it—but I somehow knew it. I reached for my right sleeve dagger but it was gone. Then I remembered that I was naked. I lifted my head and saw the bundle of my clothing and weapons, with the rapier jutting out, over in the corner, and I knew I couldn't reach it. I felt Spellbreaker around my left wrist. Would that do? How? I could hardly strangle myself. Maybe I could bash myself over the head.

I worked my left arm free and stared at the thin gold chain. When I first found it, Sethra Lavode had suggested I find a name for it. She was evasive when I asked why. Now I looked at it closely, wrapped tightly about my wrist, clinging, but never squeezing, I let my arm fall off the side of the bed and it uncoiled and fell into my hand. I lifted it, and it worked itself into a pose, hanging in midair like a coiled yendi. As I moved my hand, the rest of it didn't move, as if the other end was fixed in space, twelve inches above me.

What are you? I asked it. You have saved my life more than once, but I don't really know what you are. Are you a weapon? Can you kill me now?

It coiled and uncoiled then, as if it were considering the matter. I had never seen it do that before. The trick of hanging in midair it had been doing when I had first found it, but that had been under Dzur Mountain, where strange things are normal. Or was it in the Paths of the Dead? I couldn't remember any more. Did it mean to take me back there now? Easterners aren't allowed into the Paths of the Dead, but was I really an Easterner? What was an Easterner, really? Were they different from Dragaerans? Who cared? That was easy, Easterners cared and Dragaerans cared. Who didn't care? Kelly didn't care. Did the Lords of Judgment care?

Spellbreaker formed shapes in the air before me, twisting and coiling like a dancer. I barely noticed when Loiosh flew out of the room. It was still dancing for me a few minutes later when Cawti returned, holding a steaming cup of tea.

"Drink this, Vlad," she said, her voice trembling. Spellbreaker dipped low, then climbed high. I wondered what would happen if I let go of the end I was holding, but didn't want to take the chance that it would stop. I felt a cup pressed against my lip and hot tea dribbled into my mouth and onto my chest. I swallowed by reflex and noticed an odd taste. It occurred to me that perhaps Cawti was poisoning me. When the cup came again, I drank greedily, still watching Spellbreaker's dance.

When the cup was empty, I lay back, waiting for oblivion. There was some part of me that was mildly surprised when it came.

pr black riding boots:

remove reddish stain on toe of rt boot.

I don't remember actually waking up. I stared at the ceiling for a long time without focusing on it. Awareness of sensations increased slowly—the smooth linen of finely woven sheets, the scent of Cawti's hair next to my face, her warm, dry hand in mine. With my other hand I touched myself, face and body, and I blinked. Loiosh's tail was draped across my neck—feather-light and scaly.

"Boss?" Tentative.

"Yes, Loiosh. I'm here."

He rested his head against my cheek. I smelled Adrilankha's morning in the breeze through the window. I licked my lips, squeezed my eyes tightly shut, and opened them. Memory returned, piercing as a needle. I winced, then trembled. After a moment I turned toward Cawti. She was awake and looking at me. Her eyes were red. I said, "Some of us will do anything for sympathy." My voice cracked as I said it. She squeezed my hand.

After a moment, she chuckled softly. "I'm trying to find a way to say, 'Are you all right?' that doesn't sound like you ought to be put away somewhere." I squeezed her hand. Loiosh stirred and flapped around the room once. Rocza stirred from somewhere and hissed.

"If you mean am I about to kill myself, the answer is no." Then I said, "You didn't sleep, did you?" She made a gesture that I took as, "No, I didn't." I said, "Maybe you should." She looked at me with swimming red eyes. I said, "You know, this doesn't really solve anything."

"I know," she said, and this time it was her voice that broke. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"About—what happened yesterday? No. It's too close. What did you give me? It was a poison, wasn't it?"

"In the tea? Yes. Tsiolin, but just a mild dose so you'd sleep."

I nodded. She moved over next to me and I held her. I stared at the ceiling a while longer. It was made of beaded ceiling board, and Cawti had painted it a very pale green. "Green?" I had said at the time. "It represents growth and fertility," she had explained. "Ah ha," I had said and we went on to other things. Now it just looked green. But she was holding me. Make of this what you will.

I got up and took care of morning things. When I looked back in, Cawti was sleeping. I went out with Loiosh and sat in Kigg's for a while and drank klava. I was very careful to watch all around as I left home. I've never been attacked when I was ready for it; it's always come unexpectedly. That's odd only because of the amount of time I seem to spend expecting to be attacked. I wondered what it would be like not to have to worry about that. If these Easterners had their way, and their daydreams turned out real, that might happen. But it wouldn't matter to me, anyway. I couldn't remember a time when I wasn't careful to watch around me as much as possible. Even when I was young there were too many kids who didn't like Easterners. I was stuck as I was, whatever happened. But still—

"I think you have too much on your mind, boss."

I nodded. "Alright, chum. Tell me what to ignore."

"Heh."

"Right."

"About these Easterners—Kelly's group…"

"Yeah?"

"What if you didn't have to worry about Cawti's life, or about Herth, or any of it. How would you feel about them?"

"How can I know that?"

"How would you feel about Cawti being one of them?"

Now that was a good question. I chewed it over. "I guess I just don't think much of a group that's so wrapped up in its ideals that it doesn't care about people."

"But about Cawti—"

"Yeah. I don't know, Loiosh. There was never really the chance to find out what's involved. How much time will it take? Am I going to see her at all? Is she going to want to give them money? How much? There are too many things I don't know. She ought to have told me about it."

I drank some more klava and thought about things. I was very careful walking out of the place.

When I got into the office I didn't stop long enough to say hello to Kragar and Melestav; I went straight into the basement. Next to the lab is a large, empty room with many lanterns. I lit them. I drew my rapier, saluted my shadow, and attacked it.

Parry head. What had happened to me last night?

Step in, step out. It was worse than being told I was a reincarnated Dragaeran. Or different, at least.

Step in, cut flank, step out. Maybe I should just forget that I'd tried to kill myself. Except that I might try again, and maybe I'd succeed. But then, maybe it would have been best if I had.

Step in, cut cheek, cut neck, step out. That was nonsense. On the other hand, there was no denying that I had actually wanted to kill myself last night; had tried to do so. It was hard to believe.

Parry flank, parry head, step in, cut leg, thrust chest. The pain, though—that incredible pain. But it was over. I was going to have to get to Herth before he got to me, and it might not change how Cawti felt toward me anyway, and I wouldn't even get paid for it. But no matter; I would have to make sure he couldn't do that to me again. Ever.

Step back, parry a thrust, disengage, stop—cut, step in, cut neck. I'm not the suicidal type. There are many assassins who don't care if they live or die, but I've never been one. Or I never was one before. Forget it. I could spend the rest of my life trying to decide what it meant that I'd wanted to end it. There were things that I had to do and this was getting nowhere. I was going to have to kill Herth, and that was that.

Salute. I just wished I didn't have to.

I also wished I'd installed a bath down here.

"Kragar."

"Yeah?"

"I'm done mucking about."

"Good. It's about time."

"Shut up. I want full details on Herth. I mean, everything. I want to know his mistress's favorite color and how often she washes her hair. I want to how much pepper he puts in his soup. I want to know how often he takes a—"

"Right, boss. I'll get on it."

"Can you get him before anything happens to Cawti?"

"I don't know. I don't know for sure that anything will happen to Cawti. But we can't take chances. I'll have to—" I paused as a thought hit me. I threw it away and it came back. There was one thing I could do that might help.

"She isn't going to like it if she finds out, boss."

"By Verra's fingers, Loiosh! She hasn't liked anything I've done since this mess started. So what? Do you have any other ideas?"

"I guess not."

"Neither do I. I should have done this days ago. I haven't been thinking. Is Rocza with her now?"

He paused. "Yes."

"Then let's go."

"What about protection for you?"

I felt suddenly queasy as I remembered the day before. "I'm not going to be charging around like a blind man this time."

"Aren't you?"

That sounded rhetorical so I didn't answer.

I teleported directly from my office, just in case someone was waiting outside. The Easterners' section was starting to look more and more familiar as I spent more and more time there. I had mixed feelings about this.

I asked, "Is she moving?"

"She was, boss. She stopped a while ago."

"How far are we?"

"I could fly there in five minutes."

"Great. How far are we?"

"Half an hour."

Streets curved and twisted like Verra's sense of humor, and it was, in fact, a good half-hour before we found ourselves near a large park. A crowded park. There were thousands there, mostly human. I gawked. The last time I had seen that many people gathered in one place there was a battle being fought. I hadn't liked it.

I took a deep breath and began to make my way into and through the crowd, Loiosh steering. ("This way. Okay, now back to the right. Over there, somewhere. ") Loiosh was being careful not to let Rocza know he was in the area. He could have been unhappy about it, but I guess he chose to look at it as a game. I was being careful not to let Cawti know I was in the area, and there was nothing gamelike about it.

I spotted her, standing on a platform that seemed to be the center of the crowd's attention. She was scanning the crowd, although most people looking at her wouldn't have known it. At first I thought she was looking for me, but then I understood and chuckled. Kelly was standing at the front of the platform, declaiming in a thundering voice about "their" fear of "us," and Cawti was acting as his bodyguard. Great. I moved up toward the platform, shaking my head. I wanted to act as her bodyguard, without her seeing me. She was looking for someone trying to sneak up to the platform—in other words, she was looking for someone doing just what I was trying to do.

When I realized that, I stopped where I was—about forty feet away—and watched. I really can't tell you what the speech was about; I wasn't listening. He didn't turn the crowd into a raging mob, but they seemed interested, and there were occasional cheers. I felt lost. I'd never before been in a large group of people while trying to decide if one member of the group was going to kill another member. I assume there are ways of doing it, but I don't know them. I checked back on the platform from time to time, but nothing was happening. I occasionally caught phrases from Kelly's speech, things like, "historical necessity," and "we aren't going to them on our knees." In addition to Kelly, Gregory was up there, and Natalia, and several Easterners and a few Teckla I didn't recognize. They also seemed to be interested in whatever Kelly was talking about.

Eventually the gathering broke up with much cheering. I tried to stay as close behind Cawti as I could without being spotted. It wasn't very close. Groups formed, one around each of those who had been on the platform, except for Cawti. She was hanging around Kelly. As things thinned out I kept expecting to see someone else who, like me, was just sort of lagging behind, but I didn't.

After half an hour, Kelly, Gregory and Natalia left the area. Things were pretty quiet by then. I followed them. They returned to Kelly's house and disappeared inside. I waited. The weather was good, for which I was grateful; I hate standing around waiting in the cold and rain.

The trouble was, it left me with too much time to think, and I had too much to think about.

I had actually tried to kill myself. Why? That had been the first time I'd been tortured, certainly, but I'd had information beaten out of me before; was it really all that different? I thought of the pain and heard myself screaming and a shudder ran through my body.

Other times, when I'd been forced to give up information, I had been in control. I had been able to play with them—giving them this or that tidbit and holding back what I could. This time I had just spilled my guts. Okay, but that still didn't account for it. I'm just not the suicidal type. Am I? Verra, what's wrong with me?

After a while I said, "Loiosh, keep watching the house. I'm going to visit Noish-pa."

"No, boss. Not without me."

"What? Why not?"

"Herth is still looking for you."

"Oh. Yeah."

Cawti came out of the house after a few hours. It was getting on toward evening. She headed toward home. I followed. A few times Rocza, on her shoulder, began looking around nervously and Loiosh suggested we drop back for a while, so we did. That was pretty much the excitement. I wandered around for an hour or so then went home myself. Cawti and I didn't say a lot, but I caught her looking at me a few times with a worried expression on her face.

You can repeat a lot of that for the next day. She left the house and I followed her while she stood around selling tabloids (a new one, I saw; the banner said something about landlords) and talking to strangers. I watched the strangers closely, especially the occasional Dragaeran. I checked with Kragar to see how he was doing, and he said he was working on it. I left him alone after that. I had only bothered him at all because of a growing sense of frustration.

Frustration? Sure. I was following Cawti around desperately trying to keep her alive and knowing that it was pointless. I couldn't be sure they were about to kill one of the Easterners, and there was no reason to think it would be Cawti and, frankly, there wasn't much I could do anyway. Assassins work by surprise. But if the assassin can surprise the target, chances are he can also surprise one bodyguard who is twenty or thirty feet away. Trying to protect Cawti was almost an exercise in futility. But then, there wasn't anything else I could do except think, and I was tired of thinking.

"Boss."

I glanced in the direction that had Loiosh's attention. It was the corner of a large, brown building—the kind that has flats for several families. "What is it?"

"I saw someone there, tall enough to be a Dragaeran."

I watched for a while but there was no further movement. Cawti still stood next to a vegetable stall, along with Sheryl, exchanging comments with the vendor from time to time. For half an hour I alternated between watching Cawti and watching the corner, then I gave up and went back to watching my wife while Loiosh kept an eye on the spot where he'd seen someone. Eventually Cawti and Sheryl left and walked back to the building I thought of as their headquarters, though Cawti referred to it only as Kelly's place. I tried to see if they were being followed, but I couldn't be certain.

Cawti went inside and Sheryl kept going. I stationed myself out of sight down the street where I could watch the door. I was getting to know that door better than I'd ever wanted to know a door. I was glad, at least, that Cawti couldn't teleport.

It was getting on toward evening when a Dragaeran in Jhereg colors walked boldly up to the door and inside. I checked my weapons and started after him quickly, but he was out again before I was halfway across the street. I turned the other way and seemed uninterested and he didn't notice me. When I looked back he was walking hurriedly away. I thought about following him, but the most I could do was confirm that Herth had sent him. So what?

He was, I decided, probably a messenger. Or he could have been a sorcerer and he'd just killed everyone in the house. Or—at that moment Cawti, Paresh and Natalia left as if they were in a hurry. I followed. They headed northeast, which is toward the center of the city. (The Easterners' section is South Adrilankha, which is mostly west of central Adrilankha. Make sense of that if you care to.)

Before crossing the unmarked border into Dragaeran terrain (a street called Carpenter), they turned and followed a couple of side streets. Eventually they stopped and gathered around something on the ground. Cawti knelt down while the others stood over, Paresh began looking around. I walked toward them and he saw me. He straightened quickly and his hand went up as if he were about to do something sorcerous and Spellbreaker came into my hand. But he did nothing, and presently I was close enough to be recognized in the fading orange-red light, as well as to see that Cawti was kneeling next to a body. She looked up.

Paresh was tense, the muscles on his neck standing out. Natalia seemed only mildly interested and a bit fatalistic. Cawti stared at me hard.

Paresh said, "What have you to do with this?"

"Nothing," I said, figuring I'd allow him exactly one such question. He nodded rather than pushing it, which half disappointed me.

Cawti said, "What are you doing here, Vlad?"

Instead of answering, I approached the body. I looked, then looked away, then looked again, longer. It had once been Sheryl. She had been beaten to death. She was not revivifiable. Each leg was broken at the knee, above it, and below. Each arm was broken at the elbow. The bruises on each side of her face—what was left of it—matched. The top of her head had been staved in. And so on. It was my professional judgment that it had been done over the course of several hours. And if you can't make professional judgments, what's the point of being a professional? I looked away again.

"What are you doing here, Vlad?" asked Cawti.

"I was following you."

She looked at me, then nodded, as if to herself. "Did you see any thing?"

"Loiosh maybe caught a glimpse of someone watching while you were at the market, but then you went into Kelly's place and I just watched the door."

"You didn't see fit to tell anyone?"

I blinked. Tell someone? One of them? Well, I suppose that made sense. "It didn't occur to me."

She stared, then turned her back. Paresh was almost glaring at me. Natalia was looking away, but when I looked closer, I could see that she was almost trembling with anger. Cawti's hands were closed into fists, and she was tightening and loosening them rhythmically. I felt myself start to get angry, too. They didn't want me around at all; they certainly hadn't asked me to watch Sheryl. Now they were all at the boiling point because I hadn't. It was enough to—

"They aren't mad at you, boss."

"Eh?"

"They're mad at Herth for doing it, and maybe at themselves for having allowed him to."

"How could they have prevented it?"

"Don't ask me."

I turned to Paresh, who was closest. "How could you have prevented it?"

He just shook his head. Natalia answered, though, in a strained voice, as if she could barely speak. "We could have built the movement faster and stronger, so they wouldn't have dared to do this. They should be scared of us by now."

This wasn't the time to explain what I thought of that. Instead, I helped them carry Sheryl's body back to Kelly's place. We didn't get more than a few glances as we made our way through the darkening streets. I suppose that says something. The three of them acted as if I should feel honored that they were allowing me to help. I didn't comment on that, either. We left the body in the hallway while they went in and I left without saying anything.

On the way over to Noish-pa's I was taken with the irrational fear that I would find him murdered. I'll save you the suspense and tell you that he was fine, but it's interesting that I felt that way.

As I walked past the chimes he called out, "Who is there?"

"Vlad," I said.

We hugged and I sat down next to Ambrus. Noish-pa puttered around putting on tea and talking about the new spice dealer he'd found who still soaked absinthe in mint-water for a fortnight, the way it was supposed to be done. (A fortnight, if you're interested, is one day less than three weeks. If you think that's a peculiar period of time for which to have a special term, I can't blame you.)

When the tea was done and appreciated and I had made a respectful hello to Ambrus while Noish-pa did the same to Loiosh, he said, "What troubles you, Vladimir?"

"Everything, Noish-pa."

He looked at me closely. "You haven't been sleeping well."

"No."

"For our family, that is a bad sign."

"Yes."

"What has happened?"

"Do you remember that fellow, Franz, who was killed?"

He nodded.

"Well," I said, "there's another one. I was there when they found her body just now."

He shook his head. "And Cawti is still with these people?"

I nodded. "It's more than that, Noish-pa. They're like children who've found a Morganti dagger. They don't know what they're doing. They just keep going about their business as if they could stand up to the whole Jhereg, not to mention the Empire itself. That wouldn't bother me if Cawti weren't one of them, but I just can't protect her; not forever. I was standing outside their meeting place when the messenger showed up to tell them where to find the body—or so I assume. But he could just as easily have been a sorcerer and destroyed the entire house and everyone in it. I know the guy behind it—he'd do it. They don't seem to understand that and I can''t convince them."

After I'd run down, Noish-pa shifted in his chair, looking thoughtful. Then he said, "You say you know this man, who is doing these things?"

"No: well, but I know of him."

"If he can do this, why hasn't he?"

"It hasn't been worth his effort, yet. It costs money and he won't spend more than he has to."

He nodded. "I'm told they had a gathering yesterday."

"What? Oh, yeah. In a park near here."

"Yes. They had a parade, too. It went by. There were a lot of people."

"Yes." I thought back to the park. "A few thousand, anyway. But so what? What can they do?"

"Perhaps you should speak to this Kelly again, try to convince him."

I said, "Maybe."

After a while he said, "I have never seen you so unhappy, Vladimir."

I said, "It's my work, I suppose, one way or another. We play by rules, you know? If you leave us alone, we'll leave you alone. If somebody gets hurt who isn't part of the organization, it means he was sticking his nose where it didn't belong. That isn't our fault, that's just how it is. Kelly's people did that—they butted in where they shouldn't have. Only they didn't, really. They—I don't know. Damn them to Verra's dungeons, anyway. Sometimes I wish I could just complete Herth's job for him, and sometimes I'd like to—I don't know what. And you know, I can't even get a good enough feel for Herth to send him for a walk. I'm too tied up in this. I ought to hire someone to do it for me, but I just can't. Don't you see that? I have to—" I blinked. I'd been rambling. I'd lost Noish-pa some time before. I wondered what he thought of all that.

He looked at me with a somber expression on his face. Loiosh flew over onto my shoulder and squeezed. I drank some more tea. Noish-pa said, "And Cawti?"

"I don't know. Maybe she feels the same way, and that's why she found these people. She killed me, you know."

His eyes widened. I said, "That's how we met. She was hired to kill me and she did. I've never killed an East—a human. She has. And now she's acting as if—never mind."

He studied me, and I suppose he remembered our last conversation, because he asked, "How long have you been doing this, Vladimir? This killing of people."

He sounded genuinely interested in the answer, so I said, "Years."

He nodded. "It is perhaps time that you thought about it."

I said, "Suppose I'd joined the Phoenix Guard, if they'd have me. One way or another, that's killing people for money. Or enlisted in some Dragonlord's private army, for that matter. What's the difference?"

"Perhaps there is none. I have no answer for you, Vladimir. I only say that perhaps it is time you thought about it."

"Yeah," I said. "I'm thinking about it."

He poured more tea and I drank it and after a while I went home.

…and remove dust and soot from both.

I remember the Wall of Baritt's Tomb.

It wasn't really a tomb, you understand; there was no body inside. The Serioli go in for tombs. They build them either underground or in the middle of mountains, and they put dead people in them. It seems weird to me. The Dragaerans sometimes build monuments to dead big shots like Baritt, and when they build one they call it a tomb because it looks like what the Serioli use and because Dragaerans aren't too bright.

Baritt's Tomb was huge in every dimension, a gray slate monstrosity, with pictures and symbols carved into it. It was stuck way out in the east, high up in the Eastern Mountains near a place where Dragaerans trade with Easterners for eastern red pepper and other things. I got stuck in the middle of a battle there once. I've never forgotten how it felt. One army was made up of Easterners who died, the other was made up of Teckla who died. On the Dragaerans' side were a couple of Dragonlords who were never really in any danger. That's one memory that stays with me. No one was going to hurt Morrolan or Aliera, and they laid about themselves like pip-squeak deities. The other thing I remember was watching all of this happen and almost chewing my lip off from helplessness.

The venture wasn't useless, you understand. I mean, Morrolan got a good fight, Sethra the Younger got Kieron's greatsword while Aliera got one more her size, and I got to learn that you can never go home. But in the battle itself there was nothing I could do unless I wanted to be one of the Teckla or one of the Easterners who were falling like ash from Mount Zerika. I didn't, so I just watched.

That's what came back to me now. Every time I feel helpless, in fact, that memory returns to haunt me. Each scream from each wounded Easterner, or even Teckla, remains with me. I know that Dragons consider assassination to be less "honorable" than butchering Easterners, but I've never quite understood why. That battle showed me what futility was, though. So many deaths for such a small result.

Of course, I finally did… something—but that's another tale. What I remember is the helplessness.

Cawti wasn't speaking to me.

It wasn't that she refused to say anything, it was more that she didn't have anything to say. I walked around the house in bare feet all morning, swatting halfheartedly at jhereg who got in my way and staring out various windows hoping one of them would show something interesting. I threw a couple of knives at our hall target and missed. Eventually I collected Loiosh and walked over to my office, being very careful all the way.

Kragar was waiting for me. He looked unhappy. That was all right; why should he be any different?

"What is it?" I asked him.

"Herth."

"What about him?"

"He doesn't have a mistress, he doesn't eat soup, and he never takes a—"

"What do you mean? You can't find out anything about him?"

"No, I tracked him pretty well. The good news is that he isn't a sorcerer. But other than that, he's like you; he doesn't have any regular schedule. And he doesn't have an office; he works right out of his home. He never visits the same inn twice in a row, and I haven't found any pattern at all to his movements."

I sighed. "I half expected that. Well, keep on it. Eventually something will show up. No one lives a completely random life."

He nodded and walked out.

I put my feet up on the desk, then took them down again. I got up and paced. It hit me once more that Herth was planning to send me for a walk. There was probably someone out there, right now, trying to pin down my movements so he could get me. I looked out my office window but I didn't see anyone standing in the street opposite my door holding a dagger. I sat down again. Even if I managed to get Herth first, whoever it was had still taken the money, was still committed to getting me. I shivered.

There was one thing, at least: I could relax about Cawti for a while. Herth had given them another subtle warning. He wouldn't do anything else until he saw what effect that had. This meant that I could work on keeping myself alive. How? Well, I could gain some time by killing whoever was after me, which would force Herth to go to the bother of finding another assassin.

Good idea, Vlad. Now, how you gonna do it?

I thought of a way. Loiosh didn't like it. I asked him if he had any other suggestions and he didn't. I decided to do it at once, before I could consider how stupid it was. I got up and walked out of the office without speaking to anyone.

Loiosh tried to spot him as I wandered around the neighborhood, checking on my businesses, but didn't manage. Either I wasn't being followed, or the guy was skilled. I spent the late morning and early afternoon at this. My own effort wasn't so much directed at spotting my assassin as at looking as if I felt safe. Trying to appear calm under such circumstances is not easy.

Finally, as the afternoon wore on, I headed back for the Easterners' section. There, at the same time as I had on the previous two days, I stationed myself near Kelly's headquarters and I waited. I had no more than passing interest in who went in and out of there, but I noticed that it was quite active. Cawti showed up with my friend Gregory, each of them carrying large boxes. Easterners and Teckla I didn't recognize ran in and out of the place all day. As I said, though, I didn't watch too closely. I was waiting for the assassin to make his move.

This was not the perfect place to get me, you understand; I was mostly hidden by the corner of a building and could see nearly everywhere around me. Loiosh watched over my head. But it was the only place I'd been going to at a regular time over the past few days. If I could keep this up, he'd realize that it was his best shot at me. He'd take it, and maybe I could kill him, which would give me a rest while Herth found someone else.

The unfortunate part was that I had no idea when he'd move. Staying alert for an attack for several hours is not easy, especially when what you want is to go charging out and hurt someone just for the sake of doing so.

Easterners and Teckla continued to come and go from Kelly's place. As the afternoon wore on, they would leave carrying large stacks of paper. One of them, a Teckla I didn't recognize, had a pot and brushes as well as the sheets of paper, and he started gluing them up on the walls of buildings: Passers-by stopped to read them, then went on their way.

I spent several hours there and the presumed assassin never showed. That was all right; he probably wasn't in a hurry. It was also possible he had a better idea for where to shine me. I was especially careful as I began to walk home. I arrived without incident.

Cawti still wasn't home when I dropped off to sleep.

The next day I got up without waking her. I cleaned up the place a bit, made some klava, and sat around drinking it and shadow-fencing. Loiosh was involved in some sort of deep conversation with Rocza until Cawti got up a bit later and took her out. Cawti left without saying a word. I stayed around the house until late in the afternoon, when I went back to that same spot.

The previous day I'd noticed that Kelly's people had seemed busy. Today the place was empty. There was no activity of any kind. After a while, I carefully left my little niche and looked at one of the posters they'd been gluing up the day before. It announced a rally, to be held today, and said something about ending oppression and murder.

I thought about finding the rally—but decided I didn't want to deal with one of those again. I went back to my spot and waited. It was just about then that they began to show up. Kelly came back first, along with Paresh. Then several I didn't recognize, then Cawti, then more I didn't recognize. Most of them were Easterners, but there were a few Teckla.

They kept coming, too. There was a constant stream of traffic through that little place, and still more milling around outside. It made me so curious that a couple of times I caught myself paying more attention to them than to the probable assassin who was probably watching me. This would be—what?—the fourth day I'd stationed myself there. If the assassin were reckless, he'd have taken me on the third. If he were exceptionally careful, he'd wait another couple of days, or for a place more to his liking. What would I have done? Interesting question. I would either have waited for a better place, or made my move today. I almost smiled, thinking of it that way. Today is the day I would have killed myself if I'd been paid to.

I shook my head. My mind was wandering again. Loiosh took off from my shoulder, flew around a bit, then resumed his place.

"He's either not here or he's well hidden, boss."

"Yeah. What do you make of the goings-on across the street?"

"Don't know. They're stirred up like a bees' nest, though."

It didn't die down, either. As the afternoon wore on, more and more Easterners, and a few Teckla, would go into Kelly's flat for a while and come out, often carrying stacks of paper. I noticed one group of about six emerging with black headbands that they hadn't been wearing when they went in. A bit later another group went in, and they also wore the headbands when they came out. Cawti, as well as the others I knew, were popping in and out every hour or so. Once when she emerged she had on one of the headbands, too. I could only see it across her forehead because it matched her hair so well, but I thought it looked pretty good.

It was getting on toward evening when I noticed that one group loitering around the place had sticks. I looked closer and saw that one of them had a knife. I licked my lips, reminded myself to stay alert for my man, and kept watching.

I still didn't know what was going on, but I wasn't surprised, as another hour or so came and went, to see more and more groups of Easterners carrying sticks, knives, cleavers, and even an occasional sword or spear.

Something, it seemed, was Happening.

My feelings were mixed. In an odd way I was pleased. I had had no idea that these people could get together anything on the kind of scale—there were now maybe a hundred or so armed Easterners hanging around the street—that they were managing. I took a sort of vicarious pride in it. But I also knew that, if this continued, they would attract the kind of attention that could get them all hurt. My palms were sweaty, and it wasn't just from worrying about the assassin I assumed must be nearby.

In fact, I realized, I could almost relax about him. If he were the gutsy type, now would be a perfect time to get me. But if he'd been the gutsy type, he would have moved yesterday or the day before. I had the feeling he was more my kind. I wouldn't have gone near a situation like this. I like to stick to a plan, and a hundred armed, angry Easterners were unlikely to have been part of this guy's plan.

The street continued to fill up. In fact, it was becoming out and out crowded. Easterners with weapons were walking directly in front of me. It was all I could do to remain unnoticed; part of the street and not really there. I couldn't for the life of me figure out what they were doing other than milling around, but they all seemed to think it important. I considered leaving, since I was pretty certain that the presumed assassin would have left long ago.

About then the door to Kelly's place opened and Kelly came out flanked by Paresh and Cawti, with a couple of Easterners I didn't recognize in front of him. I don't know what that guy has, but I couldn't believe how quiet everything got. All of a sudden the entire street was silent. It was eerie. Everybody gathered around Kelly and waited, and they must have been practically holding their breaths to make so little noise.

He didn't get up on any kind of platform or anything, and he was pretty short, so he was completely hidden from me. I only gradually became aware that he was speaking, as if he'd started in a whisper and was talking louder and louder as he went. Since I couldn't hear him, I tried to judge the reaction he was getting. It was hard to tell, but it was quite certain that everyone was listening.

As his voice rose, I began to catch occasional phrases, then larger portions of his speech as he shouted it. "They are asking us," he declaimed, "to pay for their excesses, and we are saying we won't do it. They have forfeited any rights they may once have had to rule our destinies. We have now the right—and the obligation—to rule our own." Then his voice suddenly dropped again, but a little later it rose once more. "You, gathered here now, are only the vanguard, and this battle is only the first." And, still later, "We are not blind to their strengths, as they are blind to ours, but we're not blind to their weaknesses, either."

There was more like that, but I was too far away to get a good idea of what was going on. Still, they were waving weapons in the air, and I saw that the street was even more full than it had been when he'd started speaking. Those in back could no more hear than I could, but they pressed forward, eagerly. The atmosphere was almost carnival like, especially far back in the crowd. They would hold up their sticks or knives or kitchen cleavers and wave them about, yelling. They would clasp each other's shoulders, or hug each other, and I saw an Easterner nearly cut the throat of a Teckla he was trying to hug.

They had no understanding of or respect for their weapons. I decided I was scared and had better leave. I stepped out of my corner and headed home. I made it with no trouble.

When Cawti arrived, close to midnight, her eyes were glowing. More than her eyes, in fact. It was as if there were a light shining inside of her head, and some of the luminescence was corning out of the pores of her skin. She had a smile on her face, and her smallest movements, as she took off her cloak and got a wine glass from the buffet, had an enthusiasm and verve that couldn't be missed. She was still wearing the black headband.

She had looked at me that way, once upon a time.

She poured herself a glass of wine and came into the living room, sat down.

"What is it?" I asked her.

"We're finally doing something," she said. "We're moving. This is the most exciting thing I can remember."

I kept my reaction off my face as best I could. "And what is this thing?"

She smiled and the light from the candles made her eyes dance. "We're shutting it down."

"Shutting what down?"

"The entire Easterners' quarter—all of South Adrilankha."

I blinked. "What do you mean, shutting it down?"

"No traffic into or out of South Adrilankha. All the merchants and peasants who pass through from the west will have to go around. There are barricades being set up all along Carpenter and Twovine. They'll be manned in the morning."

I struggled with that for a moment. Finally, "What will that do?" won out over "How are you doing it?"

She said, "Do you mean short-term, or what are we trying to achieve?"

"Both," I said. I struggled with how to put the question, then came up with, "Aren't you trying to get the peasants on your side? It sound like this will just make them mad if they have to travel all the way around South Adrilankha."

"First of all, most of them won't want to go around, so they'll sell to Easterners or go back."

"And that will get them on your side?"

She said, "They were born on our side." I had some trouble with that, but I let her continue. "It isn't as if we're trying to recruit them, or convince them to join something, or show what great people we are. We're fighting a war."

"And you don't care about civilian casualties?"

"Oh, stop it. Of course we do."

"Then why are you taking food out of the mouths of these peasants who are just trying to—"

"You're twisting things. Look, Vlad, it's time we struck back. We have to. We can't let them think they can cut us down with impunity, and the only defense we have is to bring together the masses in their own defense. And yes, some will be hurt. But the big merchants—the Orcas and the Tsalmoth and the Jhegaala—will run out of meat for their slaughterhouses. They'll be hurt more. And the nobility, who are used to eating meat once or twice every, day, will be very unhappy about it after a while."

"If they're really hurt, they'll just ask the Empire to move in."

"Let them ask. And let the Empire try. We have the entire quarter, and that's only the beginning. There aren't enough Dragons in the Guard to reopen it."

"Why can't they just teleport past your barricades?"

"They can. Let them. Watch what happens when they try."

"What will happen? The Phoenix Guard are trained warriors, and one of them can—"

"Do nothing when he's outnumbered ten or twenty or thirty to one. We have all of South Adrilankha already, and that's only the beginning. We are finding support in the rest of the city and among the larger estates surrounding it. That, in fact, is what I'm going to be working on starting tomorrow. I'm going to visit some of those slaughterhouses and—"

"I see. All right, then: why?"

"Our demands to the Empress—"

"Demands? To the Empress? Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"Uh… all right. What are they?"

"We have asked for a full investigation into the murders of Sheryl and Franz."

I stared at her. I swallowed, then stared some more. Finally I said, "You can't mean it."

"Of course we mean it."

"You went to the Empire?"

"Yes."

"Do you mean to tell me that, not only have you gone to the Empire over a Jhereg killing, but you are now demanding that it be investigated?"

"That's right."

"That's crazy! Cawti, I can see Kelly or Gregory coming up with a notion like that, but you know how we operate."

"We?"

"Cut it out. You were in the organization for years. You know what happens when someone goes to the Empire. Herth will kill every one of you."

"Every one of us? Each of the thousands of Easterners—and Dragaerans—in South Adrilankha?"

I shook my head. She knew better. She had to know better. You never, never, never talk to the Empire. That is one of the few things that can make a Jhereg mad enough to hire someone to use a Morganti blade. Cawti knew that. And yet here she was, positively glowing about how they had just put all of their heads on the executioner's block.

"Cawti, don't you realize what you're doing?"

She looked at me hard. "Yes. I realize exactly what we're doing. I don't think you do. You seem to think Herth is some sort of god. He isn't. He certainly isn't strong enough to defeat an entire city."

"But—"

"And that isn't the point, anyway. We aren't counting on the Empire to give us justice. We know better, and so does everyone who lives in South Adrilankha. The thousands who are following us in this aren't doing it because they love us, but because of their need. There will be a revolution because they need it bad enough to die for it. They follow us because we know that, and because we don't lie to them. This is only the first battle, but it's starting, and we're winning. That's what's important—not Herth."

I stared at her. At last I said, "How long did it take you to memorize that?"

Fires burned behind her eyes and I was struck by a wave of anger and I badly wished I'd kept my mouth shut.

I said, "Cawti—"

She stood up, put on her cloak and walked out.

If Loiosh had said anything I'd probably have killed him.

…and polish.

I stayed up all night, walking around the neighborhood. I wasn't completely nuts, the way I'd been before, but I suppose I wasn't quite rational, either. I did try to be careful and I wasn't attacked. Morrolan reached me psionically at some point in there, but claimed it wasn't important when I asked why, so I didn't find out what he wanted. After a few hours I had calmed down a bit. I thought about going home, but realized that I didn't want to go home to an empty house. Then I realized that I didn't want to go home to find Cawti waiting up for me, either.

I sat down in an all—night klava hole and drank klava until my kidneys cried for mercy. When daylight began to filter down through the orange-red haze that Dragaerans think is a sky, I still wasn't feeling sleepy. I ate a couple of hen's eggs at a place I didn't know, then wandered over to the office. That earned me a raised eyebrow from Melestav.

I sniffed around the place and made sure that everything was running smoothly. It was. Once, some time ago, I'd left the office in Kragar's hands for a few days and he'd made an organizational disaster of the place, but he seemed to have learned since then. There were a couple of notes indicating people wanted to see me about business-type things, but they weren't urgent so I decided to let them sit. Then I reconsidered and gave them to Melestav with instructions to have Kragar check into them a little more. When someone wants to see you—and someone is after your head—it might be a set up. Just to satisfy your curiosity, they were both legitimate.

I would have dozed then but I was still too worked up. I went down to the lab and took off my cloak and my jerkin and cleaned up the place, which had needed it for some time. I threw all the old coals away, swept and even polished a bit. Then I coughed for a while from the dust in the air.

I went back upstairs, cleaned myself up and left the building. Loiosh preceded me, and we were very careful. I slowly walked over toward South Adrilankha, staying as alert as I could. It was just before noon.

I stopped and had a leisurely meal at a place that didn't like Easterners or didn't like Jhereg or both. They overcooked the kethna, didn't chill the wine, and the service was slow and just on the edge of rude. There wasn't a lot I could do about it since I was out of my area, but I did get even with them; I overtipped the waiter and overpaid for the meal. Let them wonder.

As I approached South Adrilankha on Wheelwright, I began to notice a certain amount of tension and excitement on the faces I passed. Yeah. Whatever these Easterners were doing, they were certainly doing it. I saw a pair of Phoenix Guards walking briskly the same way I was, and I became unobtrusive until they passed.

I stopped a couple of blocks from Carpenter to study things. The street here was quite wide, as this was a main road for goods from South Adrilankha. There were crowds of Dragaerans—Teckla and an occasional Orca or Jhegaala—milling around and either looking west or heading that way. I thought about sending Loiosh to take a look, but I didn't want to be separated from him for that long; there was still my presumed assassin to worry about. I moved west another block, but the street curved and I couldn't see Carpenter.

Have you ever seen a fight break out in an inn? Sometimes you know what's going on before you actually see the fight, because the guy next to you snaps his head around, half stands up, and stares, and then you see two or three people backing away from something that's hidden by someone else standing right in front of you. So you're suddenly all nerve endings, and you stand up and move back a bit, and that's when you see the brawlers.

Well, this was kind of like that. At the far end of the block, where it curved a little to the north, everyone was staring off toward Carpenter and having the kind of conversation where you keep looking at the object of interest instead of the person to whom you're talking. I noticed about five Dragaerans in Phoenix livery looking officious but not doing anything. I decided they were waiting for orders.

I walked that last block very slowly. I began to hear occasional shouts. When I got around the corner, all I could see was a wall of Dragaerans, lined up along Carpenter between the Grain Exchange and Molly's general store. There were a few more uniforms present. I did another check for possible assassins and began to move into the crowd.

"Boss?"

"Yeah?"

"What if he's in the crowd waiting for you?"

"You'll spot him before he gets to me."

"Oh. Well, that's allright then."

He had a point, but there was nothing I could do about it. Getting through a tightly packed group of people without being noticed is not one of the easiest things to do unless you happen to be Kragar. It took all of my concentration, which means I didn't have any to spare for someone trying to kill me. It's hard to describe how you go about it, yet it is something that can be learned. It involves a lot of little things, like keeping your attention focused in the same direction as everyone around you; it's amazing how much this helps. Sometimes you dig an elbow into someone's ribs because he'd notice you if you didn't. You have to catch the rhythm of the crowd and be part of it. I know that sounds funny, but it's the best I can do. Kiera the Thief taught me, and even she can't really explain it. But explanations don't matter. I got up to the front of the crowd without calling attention to myself; leave it at that. And once I was there I saw what the commotion was about.

I guess when I'd first heard Cawti speaking of putting up barricades, I'd sort of pictured it as finding a bunch of logs and laying them across the street high enough to keep people out. But it wasn't like that at all. The barricade seemed to have been built from anything someone didn't want. Oh, sure, there was a bit of lumber here and there, but that was only the start of it. There were several broken chairs, part of a large table, damaged garden tools, mattresses, the remains of a sofa, even a large porcelain washbasin with its drainpipe sticking up into the air.

It completely filled the intersection, and I saw a bit of smoke drifting up from behind it as if someone had a small fire going. There were maybe fifty on the other side watching the Dragaerans and listening to insults without responding. The Easterners and Teckla who manned the barricade had sticks, knifes and a few more swords than I'd seen the day before. Those on my side were unarmed. The Phoenix Guard—I saw about twenty-had their weapons sheathed. Once or twice a Dragaeran would look like he was about to climb the barricade and ten or fifteen Easterners would just go over there, opposite him, and stand close together, and he'd climb down again. When that happened, the uniforms would kind of watch closely, as if they were ready to move, but they'd relax again when the Dragaeran climbed down.

A cart, drawn by an ox, came down the street from the other side. It got about halfway down the block and three Easterners went over and talked to the driver, who was Dragaeran. They talked for a while, and I could hear that the driver was cursing, but eventually she turned around in the street and went back the way she came.

It was exactly as Cawti said: They weren't letting anyone either in or out of South Adrilankha. They had built a makeshift wall and, if that wasn't enough, the Easterners behind it were ready to deal with anyone who climbed over. No one was getting past them.

When I'd seen all I wanted to, I got past them and headed down the street toward Kelly's flat on the assumption that things must be popping there. I took my time though, and made a couple of detours to other streets that intersected Carpenter to see if things were the same. They were. Carpenter and Wheelwright had the biggest crowd, because that was the biggest and busiest intersection, but the others I checked were also locked up tight. I watched a few repetitions of scenes I'd already witnessed. This became boring so I left.

I made my twisting, winding way to my spot across from Kelly's flat, checked my weapons and began waiting. I'd been coming here every day for quite a while now, and following no other pattern. Unless I was completely wrong about Herth wanting to kill me (which I couldn't believe), the assassin would have to realize that this was his best shot. Unless he suspected a trap. Would I have suspected a trap? I didn't know.

There wasn't much activity at Kelly's. Paresh was standing outside, and so were a couple of Easterners I didn't recognize. People would enter and leave every so often, but there was no sign of the frenzied activities of the last few days. An hour and a little more slipped by this way, while I struggled to stay alert and ready. I was starting to fee! fatigued from lack of sleep, which worried me; fatigued is not the best way to feel when you are expecting an attempt on your life. I also felt grimy and generally unclean, but that didn't bother me as it fit my mood.

The first sign that something was going on occurred when Cawti and Gregory showed up, hurrying, and disappeared into the headquarters. A few minutes later Gregory went running out again. I checked my weapons because it felt like the thing to do. Ten minutes later a group of about forty, led by Gregory, showed up and began hanging around the place.

Within a minute after that, four Phoenix Guards arrived and stationed themselves directly in front of Kelly's door. My mouth was suddenly very dry. Four Phoenix Guards and forty Easterners and Teckla, yet I was scared for the Easterners and Teckla.

I wondered if their presence meant that the barricades were down, or whether they'd broken the barricades, but then I realized that there were bound to be a large number of Guards stationed in South Adrilankha all the time. I guessed we'd be seeing more soon. Then I noticed something: of the four Guards, three of them wore clothing that was green, brown and yellow, I looked closer. Yes, these four Phoenix Guards consisted of three Teckla and a Dragon. This meant that the Empress was worried enough about this situation to use conscripted Teckla. I licked my lips.