Iorich (30 page)

I finished sharpening the knife, nodded to myself, and stood up. My rib hurt like—it hurt.

Kiera hesitated, then said, “Do you want me to back you up?”

“Not your skill,” I said. “And it won’t be necessary. This should be pretty easy.”

“As you say.” She didn’t sound convinced.

She followed me out of the room, and walked down the stairs with me. I went slowly. She said, “I’ll be waiting in the courtyard to hear how it went.”

I nodded but didn’t say anything; most of my concentration was involved in not moaning with each step. Rocza took
off from my shoulder and flew in slow circles overhead; Loiosh remained on my other shoulder and was looking around constantly.

In the wide boulevard in front of the Imperial Wing near the park, there is always a line of coaches; on one side those with markings on the door, on the other those that are for hire, all of which get special exemptions from the ordinance forbidding horses near the Palace. I think there are so many exemptions they might as well not bother with the ordinance, but maybe I’m wrong.

I spent some time studying the coaches for hire, trying to decide which looked like the most comfortable, then picked one and made my painful way to it. The coachman was a young woman, a Teckla of course, with the cheery smile and easy obsequiousness of the happy peasant in a musical satire on Fallow Street. I climbed in and gave her the address. She looked at Loiosh, then Rocza as she joined me in the coach, but merely bowed and climbed up to her station. Then she clucked and the horse started plodding along, a lot like I’d been walking.

“Boss, I don’t care what Kiera says, you’re in no shape—”

“I’m not going to be engaged in any acts of violence, Loiosh, so you can relax.”

“You’re not?”

“No, the plan changed.”

“When?”

“Yesterday, when I was talking to Morrolan.”

I settled back for the ride. It was a good coach—the jouncing didn’t make me scream.

I stepped out and paid the coachman, who bowed as if I were Dragaeran and a nobleman. She probably thought it would increase her tip, and I guess it did at that.

I was now in a part of the City called the Bridges, probably because the main roads from three of the bridges all led to this area and crossed each other at a place called Nine Markets, which was in fact only about a hundred yards from where I stood. Tymbrii’s shop was nestled in among the simple three-and four-room houses of tradesmen, with a few larger rooming houses and an open-air shrine to Kelchor.

“Okay, you two get back in my cloak.”

“Do we have to?”

“I don’t need to walk in there with two instant identifications on me.”

“You think they won’t know you just because we aren’t with you?”

“Something like that.”

“You’re dreaming.”

“In, both of you.”

I felt him start to argue, but he cut it off. The two of them ducked into my cloak as the coach pulled away.

The door itself held a sign that suggested I feel free to enter, so I did. It smelled a bit dusty, and there were oily smells mixed in. It was a single room, well lit, with bolts of cloth and those bunches of yarn that people who use yarn call skeins. There was an elderly gentleman sitting in a straight-backed chair, looking as if he had been doing absolutely nothing until the door opened. Once I entered, he rose, took me in, and did the facial dance I’d come to expect from merchants who don’t know quite how to place me, followed by the polite bow of those who decide coins bring more happiness than snubbing one’s inferiors. That’s the difference, you know, between a merchant and an aristocrat: The true aristocrat will always prefer to snub his inferior.

“May I help you, my lord?”

“I hope so. I’m looking to see the mistress of the house.”

He frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

Clink. Clink. Clink.

“I’ll see if she’s available.”

He vanished through a doorway in back, and I looked around at brightly colored cloth. Exotic. That’s what Cawti had called these colors: exotic. I guess they were at that. Bright blues and searing yellows and some as dark orange as the ocean-sea.

I waited.

He came out of the door again, bowed stiffly again, and said, “She will see you now. The doorway at the end of the hall.”

He stood aside, and I went past him through the open door. I felt uncomfortable as I did, like he was going to bash my head in when I went through. He didn’t, though.

There was a short hallway with a closed door to the side, and another door in front of me. This one was open, so I entered.

She was of middle years for a Dragaeran, say a thousand or so, and dressed in the gray and black of the Jhereg. She was sitting behind a desk looking business-like, and she rose as I entered. Nothing in her expression indicated she might know me, although that was hardly proof.

“May I be of service?” she said, with barely concealed distaste. Now,
she
was an aristocrat.

“I seek knowledge, O wise one.”

She frowned. “Are you mocking me?”

“Yes, but only in a friendly way.”

She sat down again, looking at me through narrowed eyes. “I’m not your friend. Do you have business for me, or don’t you?”

“I do. I’m after information, there may be some spells to prevent eavesdropping.”

She nodded. “Go on. What are the specifics?”

That set off all sorts of alarms in my head. Was she expecting me to ask her to commit a crime, just like that? I mean, maybe the Left Hand did that sort of thing, but, if so, how did they stay in business?

I looked her in the eye. “I beg your pardon?”

“Before I can accept, I have to know who you want to listen in on. I’ll need to get a dispensation from the Justicers.”

“Naturally, I wouldn’t want you to do anything illegal.”

“Naturally.”

“So of course, you have to go through the court proceedings.”

“Yes.”

“I assume there are special fees for the advocate?”

“That is correct.”

“How much.”

“One hundred.”

“That’s a lot,” I said.

“Yes.”

“All right,” I said. “I’ll give you a draft on Harbrough.”

She nodded. She’d certainly know Harbrough: he didn’t use names, which made him very popular among the Jhereg—both sides, presumably—and was the reason I still had money available.

She passed over pen and ink and blotter, and I wrote out a standard dispensation then passed it to her. She studied it carefully, I imagine sending the image to someone who’d make sure the funds were there to cover it.

“All right,” she said. She moved the draft to a place between
us and put the inkwell on it; there seemed to be something almost ritualistic about the act, although maybe my talk with Kiera had me imagining things. Then she bowed her head. “What’s the job?” All business; just like the Jhereg.

“What if I said Sethra Lavode?”

She snorted. “I’d give you your draft back and point you to the Nalarfi Home.”

“Just making sure
you
didn’t belong there.”

“Yes, there are things I won’t do. Quit wasting my time. What’s the job?”

“There is a house at number eleven Enoch Way in South Adrilankha—”

“Are you jesting?”

“Why would I be?”

“You think a house in South Adrilankha has protections against eavesdropping?”

“I don’t know that they do, but they might.”

“They have the resources for that?”

“If they’ve gotten support from tradesmen, functionaries, or any of the minor nobility.”

“And what makes you think they have?”

“It’s a possibility. I’ll pay to hear what’s going on in there. If there’s no protection from eavesdropping, then so much the easier for you.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “All right.”

“Uh, how does this work?”

“How does what work?”

“How will I know what’s said?”

She looked disgusted. “How would you like to know?”

“I’d like to be able to listen myself, but I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Why not?”

“Try casting a listening spell on me, and see what happens.” Her eyes narrowed, and her right hand twitched, and she said, “Phoenix Stone?”

“Yes.”

“Well, if you aren’t willing to remove it—”

“I’m not.”

“Then we can provide you a summary, or a transcript.”

“How long does that take?”

“You can have it within a day.”

“Boss—”

“Is there any way you can, uh, have my familiar listen instead of me?”

“I beg your pardon?”

I opened my cloak. Loiosh poked his head out, then climbed up to my left shoulder; followed by Rocza, who climbed up to my right. I smiled apologetically.

“See, Boss, you could have saved us all a lot of trouble if—”

“Shut up.”

“I’m not sure what you are asking me to do.” She looked like I had offered to share my meal of fresh worms with her.

“Loiosh is fully self-aware, and trained to, well, if you can manage to connect him to the spell, he can tell me what’s said.”

She didn’t much like the idea, but I pulled out my purse and set a nice stack of imperials in front of her. Money that clinks and glitters always has more of an effect than money that exists only in theory.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll need to, ah, to touch him.”

“Ewwww,”
said Loiosh.

“Yeah, well.”

Aloud I said, “How long will this last?”

“If he is aware enough to accept the spell, it will end when he wants it to, or it will fade on its own over the course of the next year or so.”

“All right.”

Loiosh flew down onto her desk in front of her; she almost managed not to flinch.

“Oh, one thing,” I said.

She had started to reach toward him; now she stopped. “Yes?”

“If anything you do causes him any harm, there is no power in the world that will keep your soul safe.”

“I dislike threats. If you don’t want—”

“I just had to make sure you were informed.”

She shrugged. I really don’t make threats very often, so I resent it when I do make one and it doesn’t impress the threat-enee. But to the left, that’s probably why I don’t make many.

Her hand was steady when she put three fingers on his back.

“I need a bath.”

“Feel anything?”

“Sorcery, pretty mild.”

“All right.”

“You should begin to get sound by morning.”

“All right. Be careful, the place is being watched.”

“By whom?”

“The Jhereg. That is, the Right Hand, if you will.”

She snorted. “That won’t be a problem.”

“All right,” I said. “Anything else?”

“Yes. One question: Who are you?”

“You think I’m going to tell you?”

“You think I can’t find out?”

“If it means that much to you, feel free,” I said. Then I turned on my heel and left.

The gentleman who sold cloth ignored me as I left, and I gave him the same courtesy, though it wasn’t a deliberate snub on my part—I was busy asking myself why I hadn’t thought to have the coach wait. Loiosh, as was his custom, wasted no time.
“So tell me, Boss, if the whole idea was for her to be able to identify you, why couldn’t we be there?”

“It would have made it too obvious that I wanted to be identified.”

“So, instead, it just matters that you walk into one of the businesses of people who are trying to kill you? Is this what you call high strategy?”

“That’s a Dragon term. I never use it.”

“Boss, won’t they figure out that you wanted them to identify you?”

“Maybe.”

“So, how is it that what you just did wasn’t stupid?”

“The business of convincing your enemies to do what you want them to is a tricky matter, Loiosh. I wouldn’t expect a jhereg to understand the subtleties.”

“I trust an education in the subtleties will begin shortly.”

“You’re starting to sound like Morrolan.”

I had to walk to the market to find a coach—a run-down thing that found every rut and hole in the road. Served me right for lack of forethought, though. Things like not thinking to have the coach waiting might seem small to you, but if I went ahead and executed plans without seeing to all the little details, I was going to make what was already a tricky operation downright impossible. I gave myself a stern talking-to about it; my cracked rib and various bruises emphasized the point.