The Book of Athyra (43 page)

I said, “What is it?”

“Don’t you care for it?”

“Are you fishing for compliments?”

“No.”

I shrugged. “I like it quite a bit.”

“All right,” he said.

I don’t know anyone like Vlad: it’s like his mind never shuts off. Even Morrolan relaxes from time to time, but I’ve never seen Vlad when he wasn’t thinking. I very much wanted to know what he was thinking about just then, but there was no polite way to ask.

Vlad broke down before I did. He said, “Well, Mother?”

She said, “Yes?”

He cleared his throat. “How did—that is, is Savn all right?”

“You mean his injury?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, I healed it. It isn’t difficult if you know what you’re doing. I’m not really a physicker, but I am a sorceress”—she looked at me as she said it, as if expecting me to argue—“and this is the sort of problem I’m most familiar with.”

“So it went well?” asked Vlad. Vlad needing reassurance was something outside of my experience.

“Quite well.”

“Uh, good,” he said.

“What now?” I asked her.

“Now? Well, repairing the physical damage ought to help him, so now we see if there’s any change in his behavior—better or worse. If not, then I’ll go back to trying to understand the inside of his head well enough to risk a dreamwalk. If there is a change, well, then we’ll just have to see what the change is and do our best from there.”

“Oh,” said Vlad. He glanced at Savn, who was sleeping peacefully, and fell silent.

We finished eating, and Vlad and I cleaned up. I took my time, because I wasn’t in a hurry to go back to talking about how we were going to
approach the problem. Vlad also seemed to be moving a bit slowly, I suspect for the same reason. I drew the water, he set it to heating, then we took our time sorting things that went into the compost from things to be burned and things to feed to Buddy. When the water was hot, I started in on the dishes. Vlad cleaned the table and the stove.

As we were finishing up, I said, “How’s the arm?”

“Fine.”

“Let’s take a look at it.”

“When did you become a physicker?”

“One learns a bit of everything in my line of work—or in yours.”

“Yeah.”

He took his shirt off. His chest was still full of hairs; I tried not to react. I unwrapped the bandage. Some people look at their wounds, others look away. Vlad looked, but he seemed a bit queasy. The lower wrappings of the bandage were bloody, but not horribly so, and the wound itself showed no signs of infection.

I said, “If you want to take the Phoenix Stone off, I can have that healed up in—”

“No, thanks,” said Vlad.

“You’re probably right,” I said.

I washed it and rewrapped it. Hwdf’rjaanci watched but made no effort to help—maybe blood made her queasy; maybe she considered herself too much of a specialist to be bothered with simple wounds.

I said, “Okay, if you’ve changed your mind about ruling the world, and you don’t want to ask anyone for help, what’s our next step?”

“I went through the notes again last night, after you left,” said Vlad.

“And?”

“And nothing. If we had all the files as well as the Imperial record, and maybe some of the records of a few Jhereg, and we combined those with what we’ve got, and we had a hundred accountants working full-time, we could probably find the answer—and maybe even find it soon enough to do some good. But we don’t, so we’re going to have to start from the other end.”

“And the other end is?”

“The investigation. We have a piece of something—all I can think of to do is follow it and see where it leads.”

I nodded. “Yeah. I was afraid it was going to come to that.”

“Meanwhile,” he said, “I’m going to see just how much money it will take to buy the land.”

I nodded. “Yes. The amount should tell us if you’re right about there being something valuable about this piece of property. If it comes down to nothing more than finding a sum of money, there are ways to do that.”

I noticed Hwdf’rjaanci looking at us. Vlad said, “That, of course, is my end of things. What do you want to do?”

“I want to find out just who Loftis is working for, what his orders are, what he knows, what he guesses, and what he plans to do about it,” I said.

“Good thinking,” said Vlad. “How do you plan to go about it?”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe I’d ask him.”

“I can’t see why that wouldn’t work.”

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s do it,” said Vlad.

I finished bandaging him, and he put his shirt on, then his cloak, then his sword belt. He petted Buddy, recommended the cottage to him, collected Loiosh, and left with a sweeping bow.

“They’re disgusting,” said Hwdf’rjaanci.

“Who?”

“Easterners,” she said.

I said, “Ah. I’ll tell him you said so, Mother.”

“Oh don’t,” she said, looking suddenly distressed. “It would hurt his feelings.”

I collected my things and stepped out of the door. Unlike Vlad, I had no reason not to teleport, so I did, arriving at a place I knew where I could change my garb a little, which I did. I arrived outside of City Hall at just about the tenth hour, which was when things ought to begin moving there. I took a position across the street, became inconspicuous, and waited.

I’d been there for more than an hour when Vlad showed up and went in, and then nothing happened for quite some time, and I was beginning to think I’d missed Loftis—that he’d gotten in early—when I saw him on the other side of the street, just approaching; from Vlad’s description, it had to be Loftis. I crossed over and walked past him, and even that brief a glance was enough to confirm that Vlad was right—this wasn’t someone to mess around with casually. He was frowning as he walked, like he had something on his mind; it wasn’t hard to guess what it was.

I found an inn that let rooms by the hour and rented one—this is a good way to find a place where you won’t be disturbed and won’t be talked about, even if you don’t use the room for the reasons they expect you to. They had put in a real door, to ensure the guests had privacy, and
I liked that, too. Instead of a tag, it was Loftis’s papers and possessions that I spread out on the bed; then I commenced to study them. He had not, in fact, been polite enough to be carrying a note that spelled out what he’d been asked to do, the reasons behind it, and the name of his superior officer, but we make do with what we have, and the pouch of an Imperial investigator can hardly fail to be revealing.

His name was, indeed, Loftis, a Dragonlord of the e’Drien line, same as Morrolan; and he was the Viscount of Clovenrocks Wood, which was in a far northeastern province, if I could trust a memory that wasn’t my own. He had three Signets. I knew he’d have at least one, I was counting on it—but three indicated he was, indeed, high up in the counsels of the great and powerful who ran the Empire. And the oldest of the Signets—which included authorization to make arrests—was two hundred years old, which meant he’d have to have been in the Imperial Service at least two hundred and fifty years, which is a long time to only be a lieutenant—unless, of course, he was in one of those branches of the service where traditional ranks were meaningless, which would explain the irony Vlad had detected when he and Domm had called each other by their ranks.

I knew about four such services, all of them more or less independent. Well, there was a fifth, but that hadn’t existed in some years except for one person—and whoever Loftis was, he wasn’t Sethra Lavode. I considered the four services I knew about, and speculated uncomfortably about the possibility of there being one I hadn’t heard of.

One of them was the Imperial Surveillance Corps. They were responsible to the Prime Minister, when there was one, or to the Minister of the Houses when there wasn’t. The Minister of the Houses was presently an Issola named Indus, and I’d play cards with her only as long as she never got near the deck. She was tricky, but she was loyal—she’d do something like this if she was ordered to, and it might well fall within her province, but the order would have to come from Zerika. If anyone but the Empress tried to use Indus . . . well, anyone who knew enough about her to ask would know better than to try. So either it wasn’t Indus, or the order came from the Empress, and I was convinced the order hadn’t come from the Empress.

The same argument applied to “Third Floor Relic,” which was named for the room where they supposedly met with Her Majesty. There were only about twenty or thirty of them at any one time, and, while they were very good at what they did, it took the Empress’s orders to get them to do it. Also, it seemed unlikely that they’d be involved in something this widespread—narrow and specific objectives were more their style.

The other two units I knew about were both part of the military. One of them, the one that was publicly acknowledged to exist, was Division Six of the Imperial Army General Staff Consultants. They did most of their work on foreign soil, but could certainly be used in the Empire if the situation warranted. They were big, unwieldy, often confused, sometimes brilliant, and responsible to the Warlord. The Warlord wouldn’t allow them to be used this way if the Empress didn’t approve, but they were big enough that it just might be possible for someone in the hierarchy to have been corrupted. If it
was
Division Six, though, they’d be unlikely to be able to keep it secret very long—at least, not secret from those who knew where to look.

And then there was the Special Tasks Group, which was small, very well trained, easily capable of covering up mistakes by the other groups (and was often used for exactly that), and, in fact, perfect for jobs like this. But
they
reported to Lord Khaavren—he would never allow them to be used this way without orders from the Empress, and if the Empress did give such an order, he’d have another one of his temper tantrums and resign again.

I chewed it over as I put the contents of Loftis’s pouch back together. Then I sat on the bed (the only piece of furniture in the room) and continued thinking it over. There were good reasons why it couldn’t be any of those groups, but it seemed very unlikely that there was another team involved that I hadn’t heard of—I keep very well abreast of what’s happening around the Palace, on both sides of the walls, as they say.

I tried to remember everything Vlad had told me about his dealings with the group, including every nuance of expression he’d picked up. Of course, it isn’t easy when you’re twice removed from the conversation. And I didn’t have long to figure it out, either. I checked the time. No, I didn’t have long at all.

I went over all the information again and shook my head. If I had to guess, I’d say Surveillance, just because it involved the Empire and the House of the Orca and, above all, because under normal circumstances they’re the ones who would conduct such an investigation—being checked up on, no doubt, by the Third Floor group. But it still didn’t make sense. Could it be Division Six? While they were the most likely in that they’d think they could get away with it, they just didn’t have the reputation for switching so easily from pulling cover-up jobs to rough stuff—they were mostly a bunch of clerks with a big budget, some half-competent thieves, and a lot of people who knew how to spread money around. No, Surveillance
was more likely, only I had trouble squaring that with what I knew about Lady Indus—if a request like that fell into her lap, she’d—

Now, what did that remind me of?

Or we could just dump the whole thing on Papa-cat’s lap.

That had been a threat. A threat to tell the man in charge what they were doing—which meant, first, that, although they were acting under orders, they weren’t acting under orders of their own chief. And, second, that the man in charge was, in fact, a man, which neatly eliminated Indus.

Papa-cat.

Cat.

Tiassa.

Lord Khaavren.

As Vlad would say, “Ah ha.”

There was the sound of heavy boots outside the room, and the door went crashing down. I was looking at a man and a woman, both of whom had swords drawn and pointed at me. I tossed the purse to the man and said, “In the first place, Loftis, tell Timmer to go back to City Hall, it’s you I want to talk to. And in the second place, you’ll be paying for that door out of your own pocket; I don’t think Papa-cat will authorize it when he hears what it’s for—
if
he hears what it’s for.”

They stared at me.

I said, “Well? What are you waiting for? Lose your associate, come in here, and sit down. Oh, Ensign, on your way out, set up a sound field around this room—I assume you’re equipped for that, aren’t you? And take care of anyone who might be coming up to look into the noise of the door breaking. Tell the host it’s all right and your friend will pay for the damages. Which he will,” I added.

She looked at Loftis. He gave her a bit of a half-smile, as if to say, “Whatever this is, it’s bound to be good,” then nodded. She gave me one quick glance, and I could see her committing me to memory, then she was gone. Loftis came in and leaned against the far wall, still holding his sword.

I said, “Put that thing away.”

He said, “Sure. As soon as you explain why I shouldn’t arrest you.”

I rolled my eyes. “You think I’m a thief?”

He shook his head. “I
know
you’re a thief—and quite an accomplished one, since you got this off me just passing in the street. But I don’t know what
else
you are.”

I shrugged. “I’m a thief, Lieutenant. I’m a thief who happens to know
your name, your rank, your associate’s name and rank, and that you work for Lord Khaavren’s Special Tasks Group; and I’m so stupid that I took your purse but didn’t bother with a spell to prevent you from tracing the Signets, didn’t
ditch
the Signets, but instead just sat here waiting for you to arrive so I could hand the purse back to you. That’s right, Lieutenant, I’m a thief.”

He shrugged. “When someone starts reeling off what he knows like that, it always makes me wonder if I’m supposed to be so impressed that I’ll start reeling things off, too. What do you say?”

He wasn’t stupid. “That you’re not stupid. But you’re still pointing a sword at me, and I find that irritating.”