Iorich (24 page)

“Okay, okay. I hadn’t meant to start something. What are these other groups up to?”

She rolled her eyes. “Various things. Some of them are
getting up petitions to the Empire. Some are organizing food and money to be sent to the survivors in Tirma. Some are organizing marches demanding the Empire investigate. Some are encouraging people to individual acts of violence against Imperial representatives. Some—”

“Wait a minute. Acts of violence?”

Her lips pressed together and she nodded. “Politically naive is the kindest thing you can say about it; suicidal is more accurate.”

“Can you tell me what they’re planning?”

She gave me a hard look. “From what I know of them, they aren’t planning anything, they’re just encouraging people to attack Imperial Representatives. And if they were planning something, I wouldn’t be in a position to know what it is. And if I were in such a position, I certainly wouldn’t tell you about it.”

She’s very good with hard looks. I hadn’t noticed Vlad Norathar reacting to her voice, but he must have, because Cawti reached out and stroked his head.

“Understood,” I said. “I won’t press you on that.”

“And if you’re going to find them, you’ll do it without my—”

“I don’t plan to do that,” I said.

“All right.”

I didn’t, either. Whatever their chances were of killing someone, their chances of actually affecting things were nil. But something or someone else might. Maybe. I needed to think.

“You look like you need to think,” she said.

I nodded.

She was quiet. So was the boy, except that his eyes were very loud. I stood up and paced; he watched me. After a little
bit, I said, “It isn’t the group that wants to kill Imperial Representatives that bothers me. It’s the group pressing for an investigation.”

“Actually,” said Cawti, “that’s something we’re pressing for, too. But we want an investigation by us, by the people; they want the Empire to investigate itself.”

I digested that. “Do you think you’ll get anywhere with your, ah, independent investigation?”

“I don’t think asking the Empire to investigate itself is going to get anything. Do you?”

“That,” I said, “is just what I’m trying to figure out.”

She snorted. “Even if they could convince—”

“They don’t have to. It’s already happening.”

She stopped. “Is it indeed?”

“So I’m told.”

“I hadn’t heard about it.”

“It’s pretty new. Also, probably, pretty secret.”

“A secret investigation,” she said. “Well, I think we can all have a lot of confidence in that.”

“I think the Empress wants to know what happened, and why.”

“I’d like to know myself,” said Cawti.

“But there are others who don’t.”

She arched an eyebrow.

“The Jhereg,” I said.

“The Jhereg? Why would they care?”

“It might interfere with the schemes they’re trying to hatch.”

“What exactly are these famous schemes?”

“That,” I said, “is exactly what I can’t talk about.”

She nodded.

“It’s better to talk about what’s bothering you,” said Vlad Norathar.

My first inclination was to argue with him, which is funny when you think about it. But I had the feeling Cawti wouldn’t have appreciated that, so I just said, “You’re right, but sometimes you have to not talk about things because you don’t want to get someone else in trouble.”

That seemed to make sense to him. He nodded.

“You have friends, you know,” said Cawti.

I nodded. “Hard to forget; it’s the only reason I’m still around to irritate the Jhereg. Have you heard anything from the Left Hand?”

She shook her head. “They’re keeping the agree—why?” she asked, suddenly looking alert.

“This might involve them, too.”

She sighed. “You certainly do make a lot of enemies for a lovable guy.”

“It’s my burden.”

A smile came and went on her angular face, framed in straight black hair, her eyes dark and deep. It was hard to believe one face could convey such a range of—

“Boss, if you can’t focus on the problem, I’m going to invoke my executive authority to get us out of this town.”

“When did you get executive authority?”

“You should give me executive authority.”

I studied the ceiling over Cawti’s head. “How would I find these people?”

“They meet at the home of the leader, a printer by trade. Her name is Brinea. She lives on Enoch Way, near Woodcutter’s Market. A little cottage painted an ugly green, with a pair of evergreens in front.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you actually need to see them?”

“I’m not sure. There’s too much I’m not sure of right now.”

She nodded. “This is liable to get bloody, Vlad.”

“Yeah, I had that same thought.”

“As long as you know.”

I shrugged. “I’ve done bloody before.”

“How recently?”

“I’ve been trying to use my head more and my knives less.”

“That’s what worries me.”

“What, trying to shake my confidence?”

She shook her head. “Trying to reassure myself that you aren’t getting into something you can’t handle.”

“I’m glad you care.”

“You know I care.”

“Yeah. I just like being reminded from time to time.”

She looked at Vlad Norathar. I followed her gaze; he was looking at me curiously.

“Okay,” I said. “I see your point.” I got up and opened the door. Loiosh and Rocza flew out. A couple of minutes later, Loiosh let me know the area was safe.

“I’ll see you soon,” I said. “Vlad Norathar, it is always a pleasure, sir.” I bowed.

He stood, carefully set his wine cup down, and did a credible imitation of my bow, his leg back and his hand sweeping the floor. Then he straightened up and grinned.

Cawti smiled proudly at him, then walked me to the door.

“Until next time, Vlad,” she said, and the door closed softly behind me.

I had nowhere in particular to be, and reason to believe I didn’t have a tail, and I felt like walking; so I made my way to
Woodcutter’s Market in South Adrilankha. Enoch Way wasn’t marked, but one of those Eastern women who looks like everyone’s grandmother grunted and pointed, then looked at me as if wondering why I didn’t know something so obvious. I offered her a coin, which she refused with a snort.

Loiosh and Rocza flew above me, in circles, watching as I strolled down the street like any good citizen; except of course that not many Easterners openly wore steel at their sides, and the cut of my clothes was better than most.

It was easy to find the cottage; it was just as Cawti had described it. I stood across the street, leaning against a dead tree in the front of a row of cheap housing, and studied the ugly green. I probably should have been able to deduce things about the person who lived there just by looking at it, but I couldn’t. I mean, yeah, the yard was neat; so what? Did she keep it that way, or did a husband, or had they hired someone to do it? The paint was pretty new, but, same thing.

I watched the place a little longer, but no one came in or out. I thought about breaking in. Maybe. Couldn’t think what I’d be liable to learn, and to have someone find me would be embarrassing. But if there
was
something to find—

“Boss, hide.”

I ducked behind the oak tree.
“What?”

“You’ve been found. Dragaeran, Jhereg colors, big but moves well. He’s got those eyes.”

I knew what he meant by that; there’s something around the eyes of someone who’s done “work.” I guess maybe I have that look, too. Or did. I don’t know.

“Find me a clean way out?”

“Looking.”

I remained still and waited, my fingers tapping on Lady
Teldra’s hilt. I’d been in much scarier situations than just one lone Jhereg. If this was more complicated than that, well, I’d have to trust Loiosh to let me know in time; meanwhile I was ready, but not nervous.

“Boss, uh, something odd.”

“That isn’t useful.”

“He’s about twenty feet away from you, stopped, leaning against that empty storefront, pretty well concealed from the street. He knows his stuff.”

“All right. And?”

“And when he got there, someone else left the same spot.”

“We walked right by someone?”

“Seems like. But that isn’t the thing. He’s watching the house.”

“Oh.”

“You think he isn’t here for you?”

“Let’s stay here for a bit and watch the watcher. What’s the other guy doing?”

“Leaving, trying to look inconspicuous. Doing all right at it.”

“What are the chances they recognized me?”

“How should I know, Boss? I mean, probably not; you’re just another Easterner here. But—”

“Right. We can’t know. Okay, let’s hang out and see what happens.”

On reflection, it seemed that breaking into the house would have been a bad idea after all.

“Is there a way I can get into a position to watch him?”

“I’ll check.”
And,
“All right. This way.”
He landed on my shoulder, and guided me behind the row of housing, through some yards with bits of discarded furniture and broken pottery, and then around. I hugged a house, settled in, and waited, watching.

Well now. Here was an interesting situation.

The solution, of course, presented itself at once, seeing as I wasn’t in a hurry. If for whatever reason you are unable to speak with someone psychically, there is a vital tool that you must never be without: a scrap of paper and a wax pencil.

“I’m running an errand?”

“Yes, indeed. Unless Rocza can do it.”

“Better be me. Are we in a hurry?”

“Only because I’m going to be really bored until you get back.”

I scratched out a note and handed it to him. He took it in a claw and flew off. I squatted down and settled in to wait. I didn’t move; the guy I was watching didn’t move. I occupied my time with trying to decide whether I knew the guy, and, if so, from where. He looked vaguely familiar; I might have hired him for something once. Or I might have just seen him at—

“Hello, Vlad. You wished something?”

I heard the voice at the same time I felt the pop of displaced air; I didn’t quite jump and scream. I’d have glared at him, but it was my own fault for not telling Loiosh to warn me, so instead I just glared.

“Hello, Daymar. Long time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind. Yes, I’d like a favor of you, if you aren’t busy.” He was floating, cross-legged, about three feet off the ground. It’s an easy trick, and I cannot for the life of me imagine why he thinks it might be impressive. Maybe he just thinks it’s comfortable, but it doesn’t look comfortable.

I’d known him for, well, for years. Tall, dark, and a Hawklord, with all that implies. If it doesn’t imply anything for you, I’ll spell it out: He’s vague, irritating, very good at what he does, and completely oblivious of anything that might be going on
around him unless it excites his particular interest. It’s good to know people like Daymar, even if it means putting up with people like Daymar. But when it comes to messing around with the inside of someone’s head, there’s no one better. I’ve used his skills in the past, and I’ll use them again if I don’t eviscerate him instead.

I said, “See that fellow over there?”

He looked. “No,” he said.

“Look again. There. No, where I’m pointing. Just barely around the corner from the door.”

“Oh. Yes. What’s he doing?”

“Same thing I am. The question is, who is he doing it for?”

“Should I ask him?”

I took a breath, let it out again. “That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“Oh. You mean, something more invasive?”

“Yes.”

He paused. “He’s wearing protection.”

“Oh. Does that mean you can’t find out?”

He looked at me, as if trying to see if I was joking. Then he said, “No.”

“Okay, but I don’t want him knowing what happened.”

That earned me another look; which was fine, that’s why I’d said it.

I know, I know; it isn’t nice to irritate someone who is doing you a favor. It probably isn’t smart, either. But if you’d ever met Daymar, you’d understand. Besides, this gave him an excuse to show off, which was what he lived for.

No, that isn’t fair. It wasn’t about showing off for him, it was his fascination with the thing he was doing—it was a chance to use his skill, to do what felt right for him to do. I could understand
that; I used to feel the same way when setting up to put a shine on someone. Not the killing, the setting up: that feeling of everything functioning the way it’s supposed to, of your mind going above itself, of—