Dzur (10 page)

"It has a bed, Boss. That's something."

"And a washbasin. That implies there may be water somewhere. An actual door would have been nice, though."

Rocza shifted uncomfortably on my shoulder.

"Tell her to get used to it, Loiosh."

"I already did, Boss."

I looked out the window. The view was of the blank wall of the house next door, about three feet away. It had once been painted red. On the ground below were various bits of wood that seemed to have once been a chair, the remains of an old mattress with signs of having been burned, and various other things I didn't care to investigate too closely. I'd have drawn the curtain if there had been one.

"I think next time I'll have to give Aibynn more specific instructions."

"Next time, Boss?"

"In the meantime, it'll do?'

"It will?"

"It will. We're going to be heading out now. You two need to still keep your distance from me while we're out."

"Admit it, you're just ashamed to be seen with us." I left the room without touching anything, and spent the day buying a few extra changes of clothing and hiring a couple of boys to give the room a good cleaning. I had a local witch drive out any small animal life that might have taken up residence in the bed. I bought a cheap chair, mostly to give Loiosh and Rocza a perch, and a little end table to set the washbasin on, and a whetstone and honing oil.

As much as anything else, I wanted to practice my new look and new personality. I worked on walking differently, holding my head differently, and above all, trying to look harmless, cheerful, and a bit timid. I had a few conversations with people in the neighborhood, and discovered because I heard myself saying it that I was a clerk for one of the slaughterhouses. I wasn't exactly sure what a clerk for a slaughterhouse did, but I knew there were such things, and I didn't expect it to be a profession that would generate a lot of questions. Staying? At the Hunting Horn for now, because there had been a fire in my old rooms. I'd either be moving back there soon, or find a new place. Do you know of any rooms for rent? I require it be clean, you know, and not too far from the slaughterhouse district, because it is amazing how it can eat into one's income to have to be conveyed to and from work every day, like I am now. Married? No, I have not yet met the right woman. Why, do you know someone? I've always felt a man ought to have a family, don't you think?

And so on. I smiled at everyone, and put on Sandor like a suit of clothes.

I picked up some bread and sausages and a jug of cheap red wine from a street vendor. Hauling the chair and other things through the jug-room didn't earn me so much as a raised eyebrow from the host (now vaguely awake) or the two Easterners he was speaking with. I put the chair near the doorway and the end table below the window.

I shared the bread and sausages with my familiars when they came in the window and settled on the chair.

"Not bad, Boss."

"Kind of pales next to mushroom-barley soup, though."

"You never gave me any of the soup."

"You wouldn't have appreciated it."

"No, I wouldn't have. Barley isn't food. Barley is what food eats."

"Uh huh."

"Rocza agrees with me."

"Well, that settles it, then."

"Good sausage, though. And I like the bread, too."

"Yes. Very good bread. I wonder if there's barley in it."

"You're just really funny, Boss."

"Part of my charm."

I took out the whetstone and oil and put an edge on all my knives, more to be doing something than because they needed it. "What's the plan for now, Boss?"

"I'd rather surprise you," I said.

"Uh, Boss? Are we really safe here?"

"I wish I knew. We're safer than if I weren't disguised, didn't have the Phoenix Stone, and were in the heart of Adrilankha. More important, though, we have a place to attack from?'

Loiosh flew over to the window, stuck his long, snake-like neck out, then turned around and gave a sort of hop back over to the chair, settling in next to Rocza. Their necks twisted and they looked at each other. I wondered what they were saying. Probably best I didn't know. I took a good couple of drinks of the wine. It was different enough from what Valabar's served that it seemed wrong to use the same term to describe them. But Sandor wouldn't have been able to tell the difference, so I pretended I couldn't, either.

I put on my ugly coat and hat and, as Loiosh and Rocza went through the window, I pushed the curtain aside and went out into the evening. About half a mile away was a red brick house on Stranger's Road. Sandor headed in that direction as if he had not a care in the world, and certainly no reason to anticipate danger.

5

To give credit where it is due, my father did know a great deal about wine; certainly more than I know. He once explained to me that anyone can find good wine-all you have to do is pay a lot of money. The reason for learning about wine is so you can find a wine you like without paying a lot of money. The curse of the small businessman, I guess: everything is expressed in terms of making or losing a few coppers.

But still, he's right.

Mihi knew my taste in wine probably better than I did. Properly (as he once explained) mushroom-barley soup was served with a white wine like a Doe Valley Bresca or a Pymin; the trouble with those is that I don't care for the hint of sweet apples that goes with a Bresca or of apricots that goes with a Pymin. When I'm eating, any trace of sweetness is too much, even when dominated by that pleasant acidity that the real wine experts love so much. So what he brought was a Lescor from Guinchen. To me, the traces of goslingroot and of green pepper, of all things, made it fit perfectly with the soup. That's me, though. Mihi knew, so he brought it. That's Mihi.

Telnan just drank it, and I believe never gave it a thought. Well, in fact, there's no reason he should have; it's supposed to make the experience more enjoyable, not provide a topic for hours of conversation.

Unless you don't have anything else to talk about, and Telnan appeared to have a never-ending supply of things to talk about. After discussing where I lived, he proceeded to give me more details than I wanted about living in Dzur Mountain, and what the food was like there (compared to Valabar's mushroom-barley soup) and the difficulties-primarily boredom-of Lavode training. The subject of food (ever on my mind) brought up the issue of who did the cooking there. I asked him, and he gave me a puzzled look and said it had never occurred to him to wonder.

"How many of you are there?" I asked him.

"Hmm? I don't understand."

"Are there other Lavode candidates, or trainees, secreted away in the bowels of Dzur Mountain?"

"Oh. No, just me." He drank some wine, frowned, and added, Às far as I know. She's only training me because of, well, my weapon. And I don't think there are that many around?'

"Your weapon. Yes?' I glanced at the hilt sticking above his shoulder, and wondered again how he managed to sit, with all appearance of comfort, with that massive thing strapped to his back.

"Maybe there's no sword at all, Boss. Just a hilt that he wears to look good."

"Uh huh. Think I should get one?"

"Oh, certainly."

"What is it about your weapon?"

His eyes widened a little, and he suddenly reminded me of Aibynn. "You don't know?"

Several remarks came and went, but, in the interest of a companionable meal, I said, "No, I don't."

"Oh. It's one of the Seventeen." He frowned. Àre you familiar with the Seventeen Gr-"

"Yes," I said. "I've heard of them." He nodded. "Like Iceflame:"

"Yes:'

"You know much about them?"

"I'm not sure what qualifies as `much; but I'm pretty sure the answer is no however you mean it?'

Àh. Too bad."

"Why? You thought maybe I could tell you things Sethra can't?" He grinned. "That Sethra won't. And I was hoping?'

"Oh. Well, I'm pretty sure you know more than I do." We eat some soup, drank some wine. A couple more people, Lyorn, drifted into Valabar's and took a table at the far end of the room.

"I don't know much," said Telnan, "except what everyone knows. I mean, that they have their own life, and you have to come to an agreement with them, and at some point there will be a test of wills, and that if you have one it is a bridge between you and the powers beyond the world."

"Uh. Yes. Certainly. Um, everyone knows that?" He nodded, looking very sincere.

"What does `powers beyond the world' mean?"

"Just what it says?'

"You asked for that, Boss."

"I suppose I did."

I tried again. "I'm not familiar with powers beyond the world, or even what world we're talking about being beyond, and what is beyond it."

"Uh, I didn't quite follow that."

"I don't blame you."

"Um."

"Your phrase about `powers beyond the world' leaves me confused, that's all. I'm not sure what that means."

"Yeah," he said. "Neither am I."

I wasn't certain what to say, so I drank more wine. It was good wine, providing a nice counterpoint to the conversation, as well as to the soup. No question, Mihi knows what I like.

The house on Stranger's Road hadn't changed. I studied it from a little farther away than I had last time, to see if they became aware of my presence from here. Loiosh and Rocza circled above it, then perched a short distance away.

Let's say some time passed here. Then some more time. And still more time.

"Boss?"

"Yeah, okay. I'm pretty well convinced they haven't detected me."

"Good. What now?"

"Now we get to wait some more."

"Oh. Do we know what we're waiting for this time?"

"Yes."

Whatever was going on in South Adrilankha, it either had its center there, in that house, or at least that was the nearest tendril. Since I'd first seen the place, I'd had the urge to draw Lady Teldra, walk in the door, and just start cutting. Loiosh had felt that urge in me, and was afraid I'd give in to it. But I didn't survive as hired muscle, a hired knife, and eventually a low-level boss by giving in to urges like that. Especially when I had no way of knowing if, in the unlikely event that I survived, it would get me any closer to solving the problem.

"So, uh, care to let the reptile in on the warm-blooded secret?"

"I'll tell you when it happens?'

"Oh, good."

It was about five minutes after that conversation that it happened: A pale little Easterner, about my age, came walking almost right past me, and up the stairs of the house. He was carrying a small satchel. He started to pound on the door with his fist, stopped, set the satchel down, and clapped his hands. The door opened, and he entered.

"So, was that what we were waiting for, Boss?"

"Yep, that was it."

"It was very exciting."

"I thought so."

"Well, good. Now what?"

"We wait some more."

"I was expecting that?'

The Easterner was still holding the satchel when he left, just a couple of minutes later. He walked past me again.

There is an art to following someone, and I'm afraid I've never mastered it. I've done it, and done all right, but I haven't gotten exceptionally good at it because I've never had to.

"Okay, Loiosh:"

"On it, Boss?'

"Can Rocza stay here, and keep watching the house?"

"Sure."

Loiosh followed the runner, and I followed Loiosh. We skirted Six Corners, taking Stranger's Road as it meandered northeast past shacks and cabins and small markets. Few people paid any attention to me. I got a hopeful look from a skinny, dark-haired beggar who was sitting on the ground next to a pastry shop holding a tin to collect coins in and a small frying pan whose purpose was known only to himself. A stooped old man whose head was wrapped in a scarf leaned on a walking stick and looked like he was going to speak to me, but he must have changed his mind because he turned away and yelled something unintelligible to a fat woman on the other side of the street. Without turning her head, she called him something that sounded like a "fits" and made various obscene suggestions to him. Their conversation continued as I followed Loiosh's directions and soon I couldn't hear them anymore. A small group of street dancers danced for tips; the musicians, with violins and pipes, played a fiery chardosh that brought me back to the East for a while. The girls were pretty. I didn't stop to tip them.

The runner eventually made his way into a hatter's shop. I didn't follow him in because I didn't want him to see me, and I already had a hat.

"Now we wait some more, right?"

"No, let's head back?'

"I don't know if I can take the excitement, Boss."

"Nothing going on there, right?"

"No one in or out, so far."

We returned to Stranger's Road, and waited some more, and eventually another runner entered the house with another satchel, then came out, and I followed him, and got another place.

By the end of the day, I had reacquainted myself with much of South Adrilankha: Potter's Gate, the Drumhead, Donner's Court, the Round. I had also identified six runners, and six locations they lived in, worked out of, or at least visited. I had no idea if this information would be useful, but it at least gave me some vague idea of the amount of money involved in the operation. That's one nice thing about the Jhereg: Almost all the time, you can measure the importance of any activity by its weight in gold and be pretty sure you're right.

How big was this operation?

I'd seen six runners, all carrying satchels that were moderately heavy, no doubt with silver. Six a day, five days a week . . . yes, that was a big enough operation to be worth a life here and there.

And, yes, the Left Hand was now very definitely involved in an operation that had, until now, been reserved for the male side of the Jhereg. I picked up different bread and different sausages from a different street vendor, returned to my room, and shared the meal with my familiars while I considered matters. The sausage was greasy, but I kind of like it that way.