Iorich (5 page)

I went and showed the name and got directions to a subbasement of the House, and from there to a narrow side passage that looked like an afterthought to the construction; it was meaner and the ceiling was lower and the lighting not so good. Here, unlike in the rest of the House, there were names over the doors. I wondered if somehow having your name over the door meant you were less important. In any case, it helped me find the right one.

I clapped and waited. After a while, I clapped again. I still heard nothing, but the door opened a little and a pair of odd violet eyes were peering at me, then at Loiosh and Rocza, then at me.

“Yes?” he said, or rather squeaked. His voice was high-pitched and small; I couldn’t imagine him arguing before the Court. I mean, do you want the Justicer laughing at your advocate? Well, I don’t know, maybe that would help.

“May I come in?”

He opened the door a bit more. He was only a little taller than Aliera, who was only a little taller than me. His shoulders were broad, and for a Dragaeran he’d have been called stocky. His dress was casual, to the point where the laces on his doublet were only loosely tied and his gloves were unevenly hanging on his belt. For an Iorich, that’s casual, okay? He said, “An Easterner. If you’re here on your own behalf, or one of your countrymen, I’ve never done anything with the Separation Laws, though I’ve looked through them of course.”

The office behind him was tiny and square, mostly taken up by a wooden desk that looked old and well-used; it had grooves and scratches here and there, and it just barely left room for a couple of chairs that were ugly and metal. There were white spaces on the wall where some pictures or something had once hung, and there was some sort of framed official document hanging prominently above and behind his chair. I said, “You were recommended to me by Lady Ardwena. My name is Vladimir Taltos. I’m here on behalf of Aliera e’Kieron.”

“Oh. Come in, then.” He stepped out of my way. He looked at Loiosh and Rocza again. “Interesting pets you have.”

“Thank him for me, Boss. I always love hearing my pets complimented.”

I ignored Loiosh and stepped inside. “New office for you?” I said.

He nodded. “Just recently permitted into the House from an outside office.” Then he stopped halfway into his chair. “How did you know that?”

He sat behind the desk. I sat in one of the chairs. It was ugly, but at least it was uncomfortable. “Aliera,” I prompted.

“Lady Ardwena for Aliera e’Kieron,” he repeated. “That’s an interesting juxtaposition. But then, I think I’ve heard of you.”

I made a sort of noise that could mean anything and let him talk. All the advocates I’ve ever met are perfectly willing to talk from Homeday to Northport. The best of them are willing to listen, too.

He nodded as if to some inner voice. “You have paperwork?”

“None,” I said.

“Oh. Are you registered as a friend?”

“Yes, but not confirmed.”

“Hmmm,” he said. “She doesn’t want to see her friends, and doesn’t want an advocate.”

“Well, you know Dragonlords.”

“Not many, not well. I’ve never had one as a client.”

“Dragonlords think there are two ways to solve any problem, and the first is killing somebody.”

He nodded. “The second?”

“Most of them never need to come up with one.”

He folded his arms and sat back. “Tough situation,” he said. “Do you have money?”

“Yes.”

He named a figure that was a substantial percentage of what I used to charge to kill someone. I borrowed his pen and ink and blotter and I wrote out a draft on my bank and passed it over. He studied it carefully, blew on it, then set it aside and nodded.

“Where can you be reached?”

“Castle Black.”

“I know the place,” he said. He steepled his fingers and
stared at nothing for a bit. “Am I correct that you don’t know why she refuses an advocate or to see anyone?”

“I can speculate,” I said, “knowing Aliera.”

“She’s outraged, offended, and more full of pride than her father was before he destroyed the world?”

“Oh, you know her?”

“Heard of her, of course.”

“Dragons,” I said.

“Indeed.”

“Can you explain the laws that apply here?”

“There isn’t much to explain. Elder Sorcery is forbidden by Imperial Edict.”

“Yeah, what does that mean?”

“That it isn’t a Codified Tradition. Codified Traditions are more fun.”

“Fun?”

“For an advocate. With a traditional, we can always find interesting ways to reinterpret the tradition, or find an historical context for its creation that has changed, or question how it was codified. That sort of thing is always fun. Me, I work mostly with Edicts.”

“Oh. Why?”

“I don’t know. I fell into it, I suppose. It suits me, though. If I were a Dragon, I’d say it was because they’re more of a challenge. In fact, I suppose what I enjoy isn’t the interpretation of the law as much as establishing and arguing about the facts. Most of the law involves detail work and subtleties of interpretation. Edicts are yes or no, did or didn’t.”

In this case: did,
I thought. “That this was an Edict means what, exactly?”

“It means it was explicitly declared by an Emperor at some
point. Like a Statute, only with the force of the Empire behind it. That one in particular is about as old as the Empire.”

“What does it mean for us? In a practical sense.”

“It means there’s no way to attack the law itself; the only questions are: did she do it, and if so, how harsh should the sentence be.”

“Can’t get anywhere on the interpretation?”

“How can you when the Empress can just consult the Orb and ask?”

“Oh, right. Death is the maximum sentence?”

“Yes.”

“You have to admit, Boss; it would be funny if Aliera ended up on the Star before you did.”

“Yeah, I’ll just laugh myself sick over that one, Loiosh.”

“What is the minimum?”

“The minimum? I suppose the minimum would be the Empress saying, ‘Don’t do that anymore.’ ”

“I see. And what would you expect?”

“No way to tell. The Empress knows Aliera, doesn’t she?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “If they’re friends, it will be harder for the Empress to be lenient.”

I nodded. Politics.

He said, “It’s going to be difficult if I can’t get her cooperation, you know.”

“I know. I think I can get you her cooperation, if I can manage to get in to see her.”

He brushed his hair back. “I might be able to manage that.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’m not saying anything yet. Let me give it some thought.” I was good with that. He could do as much thinking as he
wanted. His voice didn’t seem as odd after you’d been listening to it for a while.

After a moment, he said, as if to himself, “Yes, that should work.”

“Hmmm?”

“One option is to petition, in your name, to have her declared incompetent to manage her affairs.”

I laughed. “Oh, she’ll love that!”

“No doubt.”

“I’ll testify, Boss. I’ve been saying for years—”

“Shut up.”

“Think they’ll go for it?”

He frowned. “Go for it?”

“I mean, will you be able to convince the Empire that she’s incompetent.”

“Oh, of course not. That isn’t the point. The point is to convince her to accept an advocate. If she won’t in the dispute with the Empire, she might to prove she isn’t mad. If not, it might convince her to be willing to see you, and give you a chance to talk her into accepting counsel.”

“Ah. Yes, that might work. Or it might just make her more stubborn. She’ll see through it, of course.” I considered. “It’s hard to know how she’ll jump.”

“Hmmm. There’s another thing I might try first. It would be quicker, at any rate.”

“If it’s also less likely to get me killed, that would be good, too. What is it?”

“Procedural complaint to the Empire. If we start out attacking, we can always back off; if we start on the defensive, it’s harder to change direction.” He drummed his fingers on the desktop. Then he nodded. “Yes, I’ll try that first. I should be able
to get the petition written up and submitted in an hour. We might get results by the end of the day.”

“They don’t waste time.”

“Not with this. For whatever reason, they’re in a hurry with this case.”

“Um, yeah,” I said. “So it seems. Why is that?”

“Good question. If you want to do something useful, find out.”

“What makes you think I’d be able to do that?”

“I recognized your name.”

“Oh. I’m famous.”

“If you wish.”

“Can you tell me where to start looking?”

“You could ask the Empress.”

“Okay.”

His eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. “I wasn’t serious.”

“Oh?”

“You know the Empress?”

“We’ve spoken.”

“Well, if you think you can get her tell you anything, I won’t stop you.”

“All right,” I said. “If that doesn’t work?”

“Lord Delwick, of my House, might be able to tell you some things, if he’s willing to talk to you. He’s our Imperial Representative.”

“Okay,” I said. “A word of advice: Don’t do anything to mess up his relationship with the Empire. The House hates that.”

“So I’ve heard,” he said.

“All right, I’ll get started, then.”

He opened up a desk drawer, dug around for a while, and
then handed me what looked like a copper coin with the Iorich insignia. “Show him this, and tell him I sent you.”

I accepted it, put it in my pouch, and said, “I’ll check back with you from time to time.”

“Of course.”

I stood and gave him a bow, which he acknowledged with gesture of his head, then I let myself out.

I made my way back to the entryway of the House without too much effort, assisted by Loiosh, who has a pretty good memory for twists and turns.

I sent him and Rocza out ahead of me to spot any assassins lurking in the area, was told there weren’t any, and made a brisk walk across the way to the entrance of the Palace. I went as straight through as the twists of the Wing would permit, and out into the Imperial Wing.

Wherever you are in the Imperial Wing (all right, wherever I’ve been) you’ll see pages and messengers scurrying around, all with the Phoenix badge, usually carrying a green folder, though sometimes it will be a gold one, and occasionally something other than a folder. I always resent them, because they give the impression they know their way around the place, which is obviously impossible. Doors, corridors, stairways are everywhere, and going off at absurd angles as if designed by a madman. You have no choice but to ask directions of someone, usually a guardsman, who will of course let you know exactly what they think of Easterners who can’t find their way around.

It’s annoying.

To the left, however, finding one of the rooms where the Empress is available to courtiers is one of the easier tasks, and after only a couple of minor humiliations I arrived outside that wide, open, chairless room called the Imperial Audience Chamber
or something like that, but informally known among the Jhereg as Asskiss Alley.

There were big double doors there, with a pair of guards outside of them, and a well-dressed man who could have been a relative of Lady Teldra—when she was alive—standing at his ease with a half smile on his face. I wanted to touch Lady Teldra’s hilt, but restrained myself. Instead, I placed myself before this worthy and bowed like I meant it.

“Vladimir Taltos, House Jhereg, and Count of Szurke, at your service.”

He returned my bow exactly. “Harnwood,” he said, “House of the Issola, at yours, my lord.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know the procedure”—he gave me an encouraging smile—“but I would have words with Her Majesty, who may wish to see me.”

If the request was surprising, he gave no indication. “Of course, my lord. If you will come with me into the waiting room, I will inquire.”

He led me to an empty room painted yellow, with half a dozen comfortable chairs, also yellow. They probably called it the “yellow room.” They’re creative that way. He gave me another smile, a bow, and closed the door behind him.

I sat and waited, thinking about how long it had been since I’d eaten.

I hate waiting.

I hate being hungry.

I shifted in the chair and chatted with Loiosh about our previous encounter with Her Majesty—she had granted me an Imperial title because of accidental services rendered. I suspect she knew they were accidental, but felt like rewarding me for her own reasons. I happened to know she had an Easterner as a
lover, maybe that had something to do with it. Loiosh made a few other suggestions for reasons, some of which were probably treasonous.