Dzur (21 page)

"Okay, Boss. Can you explain something to me?"

"Probably not, but I'll try."

Àre you deliberately giving that Easterner time to do what you told him not to?"

"You mean, time to alert Vaasci? Yes."

"You didn't explain that part of the plan to me."

"It was a spur-of-the-moment thing."

"Mind telling me why?"

"I don't think I can explain."

"Oh."

"I'll try, though. First, I want to know if he will. I mean, if Josef actually gets the message to Vaasci, that will tell me whether there's a loyalty, or maybe just that Josef is more afraid of Vaasci than he is of me. I need to know that."

Àt the mere cost of walking into a trap?"

"Heh. Like we've never done that before?"

"Not on purpose. Well, not often on purpose."

"Second . . . it's harder to say?'

"You're hoping for the chance to kill someone?"

"Not exactly."

"You're hoping someone will try to kill you?"

"That's closer."

"Boss-"

"Kicking that bastard in the face gave me a taste, Loiosh. I need more than a taste."

"Boss, I don't understand."

"I know."

"But I don't like i."'

"I know."

"It's not like you to make decisions based on-"

"I know. Have you ever been half asleep, where you aren't sure if you're dreaming or not?"

"I don't dream, Boss."

"Yeah, well, I said it was hard to explain?'

"Boss-"

"The thing is, if you're in a situation where you don't know if you're dreaming, you try to wake yourself up to see:'

"I'll take your word for that."

'And if that doesn't work, you play it as if it's really happening, because what other choice do you have?"

"Half asleep is no time to make decisions."

"I never said it was."

"That's reassuring."

"Besides, there's still useful information to be gathered. So there's a practical side of this."

"Right. Useful information. Okay, Boss?'

"Then again, I could get to the Demon Goddess, wave Lady Teldra in her face, and say, `You caused this problem, now fix it.' I have to admit, I like the idea of the Demon Goddess appearing in the middle of a Council meeting and setting the Jhereg straight?"

"I like it too, Boss. But I doubt it's practical."

"Yeah. I don't know how to get to her Halls, for one thing."

"That's a relief?'

"Uh . . . come to think of it, maybe I do."

"Boss-"

"Never mind, Loiosh."

I finished my klava and handed the cheap glass to an old beggar, along with a couple of copper pieces. You see a fair number of beggars in South Adrilankha; I've never seen one in the City. Maybe Dragaerans kill their beggars. I wouldn't put it past them.

I walked the streets aimlessly for a while. At the time, I was just thinking about giving Vaasci time to show up. On reflection, maybe I was tempting fate and the Jhereg. But no one took a run at me.

"I'm trying to decide if it's time to cross over to the City and have that talk:'

"Boss, what's the point in pulling a weapon before you have a target?"

"I have a target, Loiosh:"

"Oh. I hadn't thought of that:'

"The thing is, that's going to really set things popping?'

"Yes, it will?'

"The timing is going to be tricky?'

"Yes, it will?'

"Especially because I don't know how long the, uh, weapon is going to take. I mean, I have no idea. A day? A year? Something in between?"

"Well, you could always tell him to make it fast?'

"You're funny?'

"You make a good example, Boss?'

"And then, really, when you're calculating how someone will react to something, you never know. I mean, I think I know what he'll do, but what if I'm wrong?"

"Yeah. What if."

"So I'm trying to figure out-"

"You're scared, right, Boss?"

"Not scared exactly. Call it nervous."

"Uh huh."

I juggled this and that in my head. It was a couple of hours after noon. I said, "All right, Loiosh. Let's head over there."

"To the City?"

"No. We'll hold off on that part:'

"Oh, the fun part:'

"Uh huh."

He and Rocza launched themselves into the air, and we set off. Falworth Hill overlooks the Stone Bridge, which, someone once told me, is the bridge the Empress would take if she ever crossed the river. It is the place where the elite among Easterners live next to, or, at least, not too far from, Dragaerans in that odd in-between station in life where they are willing to rub shoulders with us. I've met a few of them; they are mostly Chreotha and Tsalmoth, with a few odd Iorich here and there. They're strange. To Easterners who live on Falworth Hill, they are either genuinely friendly or they fake it enthusiastically. To other Easterners, they are even worse than your typical Dragonlord, if you can imagine it.

"What's the play, Boss?"

"They have a glass window:'

"Okay, so they're rich."

"Yeah. You and Rocza ready to break a window?"

"Can do."

"You sure? Remember-"

"I can do it, Boss."

"Okay. I'll let you know where I am. The better the timing, the more boring this is going to be."

"I'm in favor of boring:'

"That's two of us:'

Between Pear Orchard and Driftwood Streets in the Falworth Market is a great, square, red stone building that rents out space to several businesses. The front, where it faces the market, is a public house with a piece of wood painted on the sign. I think it was supposed to be The Driftwood Inn, but everyone calls it The Twig. It was a nice place; padded benches and chairs around dark hardwood tables, etchings on all the lanterns, and like that.

I got some stares as I walked in. The host frowned at me and might have said something about Easterners not being permitted, but I gave him a look before he could say anything, and I guess he thought better of it. Besides, I didn't sit down; I walked straight through to the back of the room and pushed aside a curtain.

"Straight to the back, and through a-"

"I saw, Boss."

Two Dragaerans sat at a table, looking at a ledger of some kind. Both wore the black and gray of House Jhereg.

One of them looked up at me. "Who are you supposed to be?"-which would have been an interesting question if I were still being Sandor.

"You must be Vaasci."

"That wasn't the question."

"I'm a messenger."

"From?"

"Your friend Josef."

"Who ?"

I suddenly got worried; he looked sincere. "Josef," I said. "Easterner?

Ristall Market?"

"Oh, that. Well, what does he want?"

"He said that the operation is over and he's leaving town." Vaasci frowned. "Why?"

"Because if he didn't, he was going to be harmed."

"Harmed?"

"Yeah."

"Now, Loiosh."

"We're on the way."

"By who?"

"Me."

I smiled.

His eyes narrowed, and I had the sudden feeling he might have recognized me. Then the curtains moved and Loiosh and Rocza came flying in. Or, actually, Rocza came flying in. I was going to ask Loiosh where he was, but then things happened quickly.

They both stood up, and Rocza flew into the face of Vaasci's friend, who lost his balance and landed in his chair again. I rammed a shoulder into Vaasci, drew a dagger, and shoved it into the one who was sitting. I caught him below the heart, left the knife there, and turned to faced Vaasci. It was like a dance. Pretty slick.

I drew Lady Teldra, and drawing her, felt a sudden rush of invincibility. I'd have to make sure not to believe that rush; it could get me into trouble. But this time, at least, it seemed justified: Vaasci made a little squeaking sound, very un-Jhereg-like, and flinched. I heard myself say, "Drop it," which was when I realized he was holding a dagger.

He didn't hesitate; he just dropped it.

Lady Teldra, sweet and firm in my hand, had gotten a little shorter and a lot wider-a throat-cutting weapon. Perfect for the occasion. What a coincidence.

I said, "If I get so much as a hint that either one of you are attempting psychic contact, I will have your souls." I had to admire Vaasci; there wasn't even a flicker. His friend moaned, but that was because of the steel sticking out of him. I spared him a glance and said, "You'll live."

He started to say something, but coughed, and there was a trickle of reddish foam around his lips. I might have been wrong. "Loiosh-"

"Be right there, Boss. You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Okay," I told Vaasci. "Now, we need to talk. I'm-"

"I know who you are."

"Good. That saves time."

Loiosh flew into the room and landed on my right shoulder. Rocza took up a position on my left.

"What happened?"

"Nothing:'

"I felt something. I couldn't pay attention, but you were-"

"Don't worry about it, Boss"

I studied Vaasci in silence while I thought things over. "Got caught in the curtain, didn't you?"

"Shut up, Boss."

"Watch them close, Loiosh. I need to know if either one attempts psychic contact?'

"I'm on it:'

"There aren't any curtains in the way."

"Shut up, Boss."

"Okay, m'lord Vaasci. We have a problem, you and I." He glowered. Or maybe glared. I've never been too sure of the difference.

"I admire your cleverness," I said. "It was a nice move. But I can't let it happen. Personal reasons."

"You are so dead, Taltos, that it's hardly worth talking to you."

"Yeah, you're probably right. But there are things I can do before I lie down. And you probably don't want me doing them on you."

"Okay. Keep talking."

"That was my plan."

I cleared my throat.

"Like I said, the operation is over. You are out of South Adrilankha as of now. I know who you're working for, by the way, and he doesn't scare me. Not much scares me at this point, since, as you said, I'm pretty much dead already."

"What aren't you telling me, and get on with it."

"You've got nerve, Lord Vaasci, I'll give you that."

"Spare me the compliments, dead man."

For just a second, I wanted to shove the blade home. But I didn't do it, and he knew I wouldn't do it, so-"You tell your boss that . . . no. Tell your boss to tell his boss that South Adrilankha is off limits. For you, and for the Left Hand. All Jhereg operations here are off. Whatever the Easterners want to do here, they do."

"Right, Taltos. And he'll listen because you said so."

"No, he'll listen because I'm very persuasive, and because it'll be much cheaper to leave it alone."

"And you're going to convince him of that."

"Yes."

"Okay, I'll pass the word on."

"Meantime, you get out of here. If I see you on this side of the river again, I don't have to explain what will happen, do I?" His eyes never left mine. "No, I think I'm clear enough on that."

"Okay. Take care of your associate. He looks uncomfortable." I turned my back on him and walked out. Smooth.

"Loiosh?"

"They aren't moving."

"Okay, I'm clear. Come on out. Careful of the curtain." I walked through the room. The host glanced at me then quickly looked away. Two or three patrons were carefully not looking in my direction either. It was just like after an assassination, except that it had taken longer, and no one had died. Well, unless Vaasci's friend succumbed to the dagger I'd left in him.

I was shaking just a little when I got onto the street. Loiosh and Rocza flew through the broken window and joined me. I felt bad about the window.

We moved quickly back east. Loiosh said, "We survived."

"Yes. Were you worried?"

"Me? Of course not, Boss."

"I was. That was a risky move."

"Well, I admit if there had happened to be a couple more there, it could have gotten interesting."

I made it back to Six Corners, and found the pieces of Sandor right where I'd left them. Loiosh assured me that no one was around, so I put them on once more, not without a certain regret mixed with the sense of relief. Okay, I had certainly opened the dam; now I got to see whose fields got flooded.

13

DESCANI WINE (CONTINUED)

If you follow your waiter's recommendation, which I almost always do at Valabar's, the wine that goes with the salad is also the wine that accompanies the fowl. I don't actually know the reason for that, though I could speculate that it has to do with transitions.

Transitions are important in a good meal, whether the next flavor has only the most subtle differences from the previous, like between the fish and the goslingroot, where the butter and the lemon defined the flavor, or drastic differences, like between the salad and the chicken. In this case, it was the wine that provided continuity, and reminded my mouth that, however much things changed, and however one moment was completely unlike the one that preceded it, they were both still moments in an endless stream, the product of all that has gone before, and the producer of what will follow; the lingering chill of the wine, now partaking of the fullness of a red, now of the elegance of a white, making us step back a bit from the irresistible now of the chicken, and declaring an eternal context of life, or meal.

Yeah, if you haven't figured it out yet, food makes me philosophical. Poetic, too. Deal with it.

But there's a point I want to make: The wine that you drink with the salad is different from the wine that you drink with the fowl. They are the same, but what is happening in your palate is so different that the wine is different too. Like when you greet a particular gentleman with the same words and in the same tone the day before and the day after you've agreed to put a shine on him; the context changes the significance of the greeting.

The difference in the food made it different wine; it changed everything.

"This is some good stuff," said Telnan.

He's not as poetic as me.

The lack of a course is a course, just like the spaces between the notes are part of the music. Actually, I wouldn't know about that last part; it's something Aibynn told me. But I can testify that it's true of a good meal.