Iorich (18 page)

I called him something my grandfather wouldn’t have approved of. “Want to spend some more time showing how smart you are?”

“Sure.”

“What is it she wanted to tell me?”

He waved his hands over the desk, like a jongleur in the market about to make something vanish “with no trace of sorcery whatsoever!” He said, “Mmmm . . . the spirits are being obstinate. I must cajole them. Have you some token I may give to them so they—”

I made a few suggestions about what sort of token I had and what he and his spirits could do with it.

He said, “It’s no secret that you’re trying to help Aliera. Norathar has information that would be useful. She can’t give it to you. What’s the big mystery?”

“There are two: The first is, what does she know that she can’t tell me? The second is, how can I find it out? Got an answer for either of those, O Mystic One?”

“You could have Daymar do a mind-probe.” He smirked.

“The information wouldn’t do me much good if I were ground up into Vlad-meal after getting it.”

“Everything has to be perfect for you.”

“I’m just that kind of guy.”

“So, what’s the next step?”

“I wait and see what Kiera can tell me. After that, I’ll see. Kill someone, I suppose.”

“You’re so romantic. That’s why you get all the girls.”

“It’s such a trial figuring out where to put them.” I stood up and started pacing.

“It’s good to see you again,” said Kragar.

I stopped, looked at him, wondered if he was being sarcastic, if I really missed being where he was, and if he’d yet gotten a good enough offer to sell me out. “Thanks,” I said. “You too.”

“Your food’s getting cold.”

I got busy with the food again, feeding some to Loiosh and Rocza. When I get distracted from eating, it’s a pretty good sign that things have gotten difficult. When Loiosh and Rozca fail to remind me, it’s an even better sign.

I finished the pastry, drank some wine, and said, “I’ll tell you what I can’t figure out: It’s too small.”

“Small?”

“For the Empress. The way I’ve been reading it, the Empress got into a mess because some soldiers no one knows anything about killed a few Teckla no one cares anything about. So she arranged this prosecution of Aliera to distract attention, and Aliera is being a good soldier and letting herself be sacrificed.”

“Well, she
was
the Warlord when it happened, so maybe she feels she deserves it.”

“True, but beside the point. I’m saying Zerika wouldn’t do that just to save herself from some unpleasantness. Even from a lot of unpleasantness.”

“I don’t know her.”

“I do, sort of.”

“Okay, Vlad. Say you’re right. What does it mean?”

“It means there is more at stake than what happens to Zerika. For her to do something like that, she has to be preventing something much worse than anything that can happen to her personally.”

“Like what?”

I spread my hands.

“Okay,” he said. “Well, you now know what you don’t know. See how much progress you’ve made?”

“Could you do something for me?”

“If it involves a mind-probe of the Empress, no. Otherwise, probably.”

I reached over and found a blank piece of paper on his desk, right where I used to keep them. I wrote a name on it and passed it over to him. He looked at it and did a thing with his eyebrows. “Left Hand?”

“Yeah. I have an itch that tells me they’re in on this. I’d love to be wrong, but if I’m right, she’s probably in it. Find out what you can about her.”

“I already know more than I’d like to.”

“Start with that, then.”

“Madam Triesco is one of the high figures in the Left Hand. She’s probably richer than the Empress. She answers to Caola, and I don’t think Caola would dirty her hands with this directly. When someone sells a trinket to influence the roll of the stones, Triesco is getting some of it. If it doesn’t actually do anything, she’s getting more. Every malicious imitation spell in town, some of it goes to her. Whenever there’s an unauthorized clairvoyance spell cast, she’s getting a piece. When—”

“Hey. Are we safe?”

“Hmmm?”

“Could someone be watching or listening to us? How good are your protections?”

“They’re the same ones you had, Vlad. Three tied to two, double-filled and locked. Cast for twenty years, remember? Checked four times a year.”

“All right. Anyway, yeah, I know she’s big.”

“What else do you want to. . . oh.”

I shook my head. “Don’t jump to conclusions. I just need to know things. I’m not ready to start indiscriminately putting shines right and left.”

“All right. But you’ll let me know before you do, so I can be somewhere else?”

“I’ll send a special courier.”

“Thanks.”

“You’ll check on her for me?”

“Just like the old days.”

“Except now you have people to do the legwork for you.”

“Yeah, except for that, it’s just like the old days.”

“And you’re more sarcastic than you used to be.”

“Right.”

“Which I didn’t think was possible.”

“When you stop being surprised, you’ve stopped living.”

“All right, all right. Can I get an escort back to the Imperial Palace?”

He called for Yenth, and said a couple of names I didn’t recognize. I didn’t recognize their faces, either, when they showed up. Kragar gave them instructions that didn’t leave any room for doubt about the condition I was to arrive in, or what would happen to them if I so much as stubbed my toe; they appeared to notice.

“Thanks, Kragar. I’ll be in touch.”

He gave me a salute, and my escort escorted me back down the stairs, out the door, and onto the sweet-sour smell of the part of the City I knew best. I’d have liked to have relaxed more and enjoyed the walk, but I was too busy thinking.

I made it back to the Palace, the Iorich Wing, and the over-priced inn, giving my escorts a couple of orbs to drink my continued good health. The room was empty, the bed was soft, I was tired.

I woke up with that ugly feeling you always get when you sleep in your clothes—years on the run hadn’t inured me to it. I checked the Orb and found the time, tried to figure how long I’d been asleep, and realized I had no idea what time it had been when I’d lain down. Was it light out? I couldn’t remember. It was disorienting and annoying.

“You’ve been out about six hours, Boss.”

“Okay. Was everything solved while I slept?”

“Almost everything. Just a bit of cleanup left.”

“Good, then.”

I hauled myself out and took myself to the public baths nearest the Iorich Wing; over-priced like the rest of the area, full of marble and sorcerously created hot springs. I wrapped my things in my cloak, which I kept next to my hand, and had an attendant have everything else cleaned while I soaked for a long time. It helped.

I dried myself off, picked up my cloak, slipped a hand onto Lady Teldra’s hilt, and went over to the attendant to pick up my clothes. I over-tipped, because I’m just that kind of guy. There was enough privacy near the privies that I could replace the surprises about my person—the few I still carried: dagger for each sleeve, throwing knife in a boot, garrote in the collar of the cloak, a couple of darts inside it, and so on. Then I
strapped on my sword belt, with the rapier hanging from it in front of Lady Teldra, and the cloak covering the whole thing. There. Ready to face the world again. Assassins? Bring ’em on.

No, actually, don’t. Skip that. Just kidding.

“Breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Liar.”

“Okay, breakfast.”

I negotiated my way back to the Palace, figuring to grab something there and hoping to run into Poncer again. The dining area was much busier now, and those I’d noticed before were gone. I found a vendor selling fresh, hot potato bread with an orange-flavored mustard, about which you shouldn’t laugh until you’ve tried it. Loiosh and Rocza had theirs without mustard; I explained that the looks they kept getting were because of that, but I don’t think they bought it. There was no sign of Poncer.

I returned to the House of the Iorich and made my way to the advocate’s office. His door was open and there were no ambiguous notes on it, so I clapped and went in.

He glanced up from the tome he was reading, his finger guiding him, and said, “Lord Taltos.”

“High Counsel.”

He gestured to a chair. “What have you found out?”

“That was going to be my question,” I said.

He grunted and waited.

I sighed. “I’m not sure how much to tell you.”

He shrugged. “Don’t tell me anything you want kept secret. I’m not about to withhold information I’m compelled to disclose.”

“I was afraid you’d say something like that.”

“You can keep it hypothetical, if you want.”

“Hypothetically, what would happen if you were questioned about this conversation?”

“Hypothetically, I’d give evasive answers.”

“And then?”

“Hypothetically, either or both of us could find ourselves at the long end of a short slide.”

“Right. What if there were no hypothetical situations?”

“Eh?”

“Never mind. I don’t think telling you my current theory is a good idea.”

“I can’t argue, but it makes my work harder.”

“I know. What have you learned?”

“They’re skipping several steps.”

“Like what?”

“Seals on depositions, verification of psiprint maps, character vetting of witnesses—”

“So, that means they want to rush this through?”

“No, it isn’t that simple.” He frowned. “I’ve been reading some histories of prosecutions with political motives.”

“And?”

“They come in various forms, but they usually fall into two classes: the ones they try to rush through, so it’s over before there can be any outcry, and those that make certain all the formalities and niceties are observed, ah, scrupulously, so it can stand up to any examining among the nobles who may question it.”

“And the public?”

“Hmm? Oh, you were jesting.”

“So, this is the former?”

“Yes. And that’s what’s puzzling me.”

“Go on.”

“There’s no point in rushing through it when everything is already known, being talked about in every theater, written about in stock sheets.”

“I see your point. So, why are they doing it?”

“Just what I was wondering.”

“Any theories?”

He shook his head. “Could what you’re not telling me account for it?”

“I don’t see how. But I don’t know enough to have an intelligent opinion.”

“I do, but I don’t have the information you have.” He didn’t sound like he was making an accusation, just stating facts.

“I don’t have information,” I told him. “Just theories.”

He grunted. “Is there anything you
can
tell me?”

“I can ask you something. What’s up with the new Warlord?”

“Norathar? She’s also Dragon Heir. Unusual, though not unheard-of.”

“So I’m told. What does it mean?”

“You mean, aside from believing her the best choice?”

“Was she? Why? Her experience in the Jhereg?”

His eyebrows rose. “I heard something about that. Is it true?”

I shrugged. “What makes her the best choice?”

He spread his hands. “I know nothing about what makes a good Warlord. I was just assuming the choice was based on merit.”

“Is that how things work in the Iorich?”

“Yes. Well, no. Not entirely.” He frowned. “It’s complicated.”

“Involving patronage, family, wealth—”

“Let’s stay with the problem, shall we? If you’re right, and there is something odd about Norathar’s appointment as War-lord, then that’s something we should look into.”

“We?”

“You.”

“How would I go about doing that?”

“I’d start with speaking to Norathar.”

“I did. Didn’t get much.”

He grunted. “Do you have other sources?”

“I used to. I’ve been on the run for a while.”

“Can you—?”

“Maybe.” I’d already asked Kragar. I could also ask Morrolan, but I found the idea distasteful; there was still the matter of Lady Teldra between us. I realized Perisil wasn’t talking. I cleared my throat. “There are avenues I can pursue,” I said.

He nodded. “Pursue them.”

“I will. What will you be doing?”

“Studying legal history, and trying to pick up on gossip.”

“Gossip?”