10

FIRST STUDENT (whispering): I believe our hosts are drunk.

SECOND STUDENT (whispering): What should we do?

NURSE: In the first place, stop whispering. It annoys them when they're passed out.

—Miersen, Six Parts Water
Day One, Act III, Scene 2

I have to give this one to Loiosh: Even if no one was going to hit me in the head if I'd stayed at the Hat, I must have been worried about it, because I relaxed that night and I slept hard and long and until nearly noon. The same drab little guy in almost the same clothing brought me hot water and coffee klava and made no comments about the hours I kept.

Having a kettle of coffee brought up to me was so pleasant it almost made up for it being coffee. I drank it all, staring out at the street watching a couple of dogs chase each other. Eventually I dressed, then went down, and the hostess was there, chatting with a couple of middle-aged gentlemen who had that indefinable something that told you they were from somewhere else. She gave me a gap-toothed smile and said, "Good morning, Lord Merss."

"Good morning," I said. I sniffed. Hickory. "Something smells good. Lunch?"

She nodded. "Pig eatin's. We make 'em like nowhere else."

"I'll be back to try them, then." I touched my forehead with the tips of four fingers and went out and into the day. First thing was to visit the Hat and see if any messages had come in. No, no messages, unless the speculative look from the host was a message about the propriety of spending the night away. If so, I chose to disregard it. The lamb stew smelled good, but my loyalty had shifted. I'm just fickle, I guess.

I went back to the Mouse and had lunch. It was good, though I wouldn't have used quite so much hickory, myself. But I took my time with it, letting what I'd learned the night before bounce around in my head, trying to decide how much of whom I should believe. I actually felt pretty good. The anger was still there, but I knew that sooner or later—probably sooner—I was going to track down whoever it was that had caused that anger. Things hadn't come together, but I had enough pieces that eventually I'd see how they fit.

I got another glass of wine—it was a particularly harsh and acidic red that tasted better than it should have—and nursed it while I considered things.

An hour or so of that got me nowhere, so I went back to the Hat, and as I walked through the door, the host looked at me, frowning.

"Message for you," he said. Obviously, to him there was something very suspicious about me having asked if there were any messages this morning, and then had one delivered in the afternoon. Obviously, I was up to something.

I returned to the Mouse, found an ugly brown chair, and sat. Then I broke the seal, unfolded the heavy pink parchment, and read. It was, unlike the last missive, very simple and straightforward, with no excess words. It suggested I visit His Lordship tomorrow early in the afternoon.

"Looks like we have a deal, Loiosh."

"Or a trap."

"Or a trap. Right now, I'll be happy with a trap. It'll give me something to break out of. There's nothing worse than wanting to push and not having anything to push against."

He started naming things that were worse until I told him to shut up. There's nothing worse than a smartass who pretends not to understand hyperbole.

The more important question was: Were there any ways to protect myself in case it was a trap? Were there any arrangements worth making?

"Go armed, Boss."

"Good thinking."

After a while, I noticed the place had pretty much emptied out. The hostess, whose name was Mahri, came over and poured me another glass of wine and asked if something was troubling me.

"No," I said. "Just making plans for an errand I need to run tomorrow."

"Plans?"

I nodded. "So far, I've picked the horse I'm going to ride."

"Well, may it prosper you," she said.

"Indeed." I passed a coin across the table. "Drink with me to that sentiment."

She smiled big and nodded, and went behind the bar and poured something golden into a small glass and lifted it to me, drank. I did too. She said, "Well, you think about your plans, then. I won't disturb you."

"I appreciate that," I said.

Usually when people say that, it's a prelude to an ongoing stream of disturbance, but she was as good as her word, and said nothing while I sat there beating into a headwind, as the Orca say. I wondered if she was the only one in town as good as her word. Which brought up the question of whether she was In On It Too. I didn't really think so (and, just for the record, no she wasn't), but it gives you an idea of how my mind was working.

Eventually I sighed and raised my glass for more wine. I couldn't think of any steps to make this safer; I was just going to have to do it. As she brought the wine, I said, "Do you know a light-haired, freckle-faced foreigner named Dahni?"

She nodded. "He's been in a few times."

"Do you trust him?"

She frowned. I had the feeling she was one of those people who trusted everyone, and didn't understand why one wouldn't. "I don't understand."

I smiled. "He's made a business proposition to me, and I'm wondering if he's the sort who can be depended on to be honest in his dealings."

The question seemed to make her unhappy, like she didn't want to consider that the answer might be no. "I'm afraid I don't know him that well," she said.

"What have you heard?"

"Heard?"

"Gossip? Rumors?"

She looked even more uncomfortable.

"I don't know as I should say anything."

"I'd take it as a kindness."

"It isn't a kindness to pass on ill-tongue."

"It would be this time."

She studied me, squinting through troubled dark brown eyes. "Well," she said at last, "some say he works for His Lordship, the Count."

I had the feeling that that, in itself, wasn't necessarily something she might be reluctant to say about someone, so I just nodded and waited.

"Well some say . . . you know the Count is an old man."

I nodded, having not only heard but seen it.

"Well, he . . ." She coughed, and I noticed she was turning red, and I was suddenly convinced that whatever I was about to hear would be of no interest to me at all. "Well, I'm not saying there's anything wrong, mind, but they say he has girls who, you know, who do things for him. And Dahni, they say he's the one who finds them for him."

She finished quickly, blushing furiously, and I was pleased to know my instincts were still intact. I put forth all of my effort, all of my power, all of my will that had been hardened in the fires of death and crime—and I didn't laugh.

"Thank you," I said. "That is of great importance to me, and you have done me great good. I assure you, no one will hear of this through me."

She nodded and returned to the bar. I said, "Pardon me, good hostess."

"My lord?" she said, looking worried.

I held up my glass.

"Oh," she said, blushing even more, if that were possible, and quickly filled it. "This is on me," she said, with a sheepish grin.

"Thank you," I said, passing over a coin. "Then call this a gratuity." She accepted it gratefully and found something to do in the back room while she recovered from her embarrassment.

"Damn good thing I'm so skilled at investigation, Loiosh. Someone else might never have uncovered that vital scrap of information."

"You're just saying that because if you don't you know I will, aren't you, Boss?"

"See there? You have the makings of a skilled investigator yourself."

If you can imagine the mental equivalent of the sound a horse makes when it exhales loudly through its nose, that's what I received then.

I drank my wine and thought many thoughts, none of them having anything to do with the Count's love life. Eventually I made my way back to the Hat, spoke with the stable-boy, and said I wanted to make sure Marsi would be available tomorrow. He agreed Marsi would be ready, and I almost thought I saw a flicker of something like amusement in his eyes. If I'd been sure, I'd have hit him. Not for mocking me, but for the implied insult to Marsi, that fine, fine beast.

"So, that's it, Boss? That's all we're going to do?"

"I'm open to suggestions."

He made muttering sounds.

I left the place and found another merchant, this one a bookseller, hoping to find something entertaining to kill the time until tomorrow afternoon. I'd left all my books with Cawti. I missed them. I missed sitting around with her, reading; listening to her giggle while indulging her weakness for light verse; reading favorite passages to each other.

They didn't have anything good in the place, so I left and walked around the town until I felt tired; then I went back to the Mouse and went to bed. I'd now been almost a week in the village of Burz, paper-making center of Fenario, if not the world. I'd come here looking for family, and I guess I'd found them, after a fashion.

My thoughts on waking were not excessively cheerful. But I still liked the part where hot water and coffee were brought to me at the pull of a bell; that was something I decided I could get used to. I wondered why Cawti and I had never hired a servant. We could have afforded one, and I'd obliquely brought up the subject now and then. I tried to remember her reaction on those occasions, and how the subject had been put aside, but I couldn't.

As I drank that harsh, bitter stuff, I removed the daggers and throwing knives I carried about my person, and took out my whetstone (practically new, I'd bought it on the way out of Adrilankha), and carefully sharpened and honed each one, then my rapier. It felt like it might turn into that sort of day. Dragons don't seem so concerned with getting a fine edge on a weapon; I guess because the way they fight they'll bludgeon you to death as much as cut you. My approach is more elegant and precise. And elegance and precision are important because, uh, because they're important.

Yeah.

Coffeed, cleaned, dressed, and armed, I went down the stairs, ready to face anything the world threw at me. That's more hyperbole, just in case you were wondering. Loiosh was on my left shoulder, Rocza on my right, and they both scanned the room, fully alert for assassins, hostile citizens, or pieces of sausage that had been left on the floor. It was a reasonably dramatic entrance; too bad the room was empty.

I went straight out onto the street, walking past a pair of dogs that looked like hornless lyorns, and turned left toward the Hat. There were lots of people around today, many of them looking like they worked at the mill, which was strange because it wasn't Endweek. Seems they had a different Endweek here. Well, why not? Everything else about the place was strange.

I stopped near the docks and looked across the river. Yeah, there was no smoke coming from the thing, and the boats were all pulled up on this side. All of the shops were busy, even the bookseller's. The Guild, whatever it was, was prospering today. It was odd how I seemed to fit right in among all the passersby; I wasn't used to that.

"About how long do I have until I should leave for the Count's?"

"Boss, you have better time sense than I do. How should I know if you don't?"

Noish-pa had told me he used to be able to look at the position of the Furnace and judge the time to within five minutes. I glanced up at it, and looked at the shadows. Yeah, it was definitely daytime.

I thought about asking someone, but I had the feeling I'd sound like an idiot, and feeling like an idiot is bad enough. Muttering to myself, I went back to the Mouse, and found the hostess at her station. She greeted me with a warm smile; she apparently held no ill-will over my coercing her into revealing deep, dark, and vital secrets about one of her patrons. I said, "Pardon me, good hostess, but do you happen to know what time it is?"

She glanced quickly out the window. "Almost half past the twelfth hour," she said.

I thanked her, got more coffee, and sat down to drink it.

"It never used to matter, they tell me."

I looked up. Her hands were out of sight below the bar; I guessed she was cleaning something.

"The time of day never used to be so important, they tell me."

"Oh?"

"I mean, before the mill."

I said, "I'm told that was a long, long time ago."

She nodded. "Yes, it was a whole different world then. But they say time only started mattering when the mill opened, and you had to be somewhere at a certain time, and coordinate with a lot of other people. There are peasants around here, and free farmers as well, who still don't much care what time it is. Some mill worker will agree to meet a peasant at a certain time, and the peasant will be an hour or two late, and the mill worker will take offense on account of being kept waiting, and the peasant won't understand. It causes fights. I've seen it."

I nodded, wondering if this was going somewhere, or if she just wanted to talk. She moved down the bar a little and continued whatever she'd been doing.

"They say it mucks up the river, too. Count Noijlahb, downriver, he complains all the time about his people's stock dying. There have been skirmishes over that, too. And it stinks. They named the town Burz, you know, after the mill was built."

"Sounds like a bad thing all around."

"Yes and no," she said. "People eat better now, and the free farmers and even the peasants get better prices. It's good and bad."

"But it's been there for hundreds of years."

"Oh, not hundreds," she said. "About eighty, I think. It was in my grandmother's day."

"Oh," I said. "I was misinformed. And is that when there got to be all that talk of strange forms of witchcraft, and one sort not liking the other?"

"I wouldn't know anything about that," she said.

"And the Guild?"

She sniffed. "Them."

"What about them?"

"Well, I'm a member, like everyone else. But I can't say as I care for them much."

"Why is that?"

"Oh, you know how they are."

"No, actually I don't. But I'm curious."

"Well, you have to do everything their way. And turn in accounts, and all that nonsense. And they'll tell you who you have to buy from, and who you can't sell to. It's all such silliness."

Actually, it was starting to sound familiar. I smiled and nodded. She asked if I'd care for any pig eatin's. I declined, but accepted some bread fresh from a Guild-approved baker down the street, who did good work. Too bad the stench of the town overwhelmed his shop, or I'd have found him myself. I had the bread with lots of butter and honey from bees that had been raised on something I'd never tasted before, but had a very faint nutty flavor that I liked. I had one more cup of coffee, then stopped because I didn't want to spend the entire ride out to the manor stopping to relieve myself.

People started drifting in, and she started paying attention to them, so I got up and walked down the street to the Hat.

It was pretty busy, but the host found time to accept payment for another week's lodging, and to ask, in a carefully studious tone, where I'd been. That stopped me a little. He was being surprisingly open about it. Had something changed? Was the blade finally coming free? Did my concealed enemy now suddenly not care about being concealed?

I said, "Why do you want to know?"

"Eh? No reason. Just making conversation."

"Just making conversation. I see."

He went down to the other end of the bar to open a bottle of wine for someone. I watched him. The list of people in this town I didn't trust was too long to have any actual use. A little while later he came back. I said, "Have you seen Orbahn lately?"

"You keep asking about him."

"And you keep not telling me where he is."

"Why do you want to know?"

"No reason, just making conversation."

He gave me a look. "Haven't seen him in days," he said. "Probably off making a delivery."

"Probably," I said.

"So," he said with a sniff. "How'd you like the undercooked pork at the Rodent?"

I looked at him carefully. "You've been paid. What's your problem?"

"No problem," he said, scowling only a little. "Just wondered."

"The pig eatin's were fine."

"And did the bedbugs give you good company?"

"Not as much as I'd hoped. Just when the party was starting to get good they had to go off and study for exams the next day."

He sniffed. "Why the hell you'd want to—"

"A stranger needs to spread his business around, don't you think? Especially if he plans to set up shop, as it were. Create good-will everywhere: that's my motto."

"Set up shop?"

"Yep."

"Here?"

"I'm thinking about it. Nice town. I like it."

"What sort of . . . excuse me." He returned a moment later. "What sort of shop? You thinking of opening another inn?"

"Now, do I look like an innkeeper to you?"

He shrugged. "How would I know?"

"No, no," I said. "I'm in another line of work entirely."

He frowned. "What would that be, exactly?"

I smiled. "I'd rather surprise you."

"Well, surprising me is all well and good. But we have a Guild here, and they're pretty particular about who they let in."

"Really? I hadn't thought they were."

It sailed right past him. "Oh, they are, all right. Trust me. Can I get you something?"

"Do you have any pig eatin's?"

He scowled and didn't answer, so I got another one of his summer ales to make him feel better, then returned to my table and drank it slowly.

In fact, you know, it wasn't bad, for beer.

When I decided enough time had passed, I made my way slowly toward the stables, still thinking about everything. Things were happening quickly now—too quickly for me to take the time I needed to think them through. If someone was orchestrating this, I could be in severe trouble. I'd been in trouble before. I didn't care for it.

The stable-boy nodded to me and brought out Marsi, saddled her. He worked quickly and efficiently, like he'd done this a thousand times. He probably had. What a life. Marsi was able to contain her enthusiasm on seeing me again. Or maybe not—she did lift her head for a moment, and for her that might have been enthusiasm. The stable-boy looked things over carefully, tightened this and that, then nodded and put the reins in my hand.

I led dear Marsi out of the stable, and, with the assistance of the stable-boy, got mounted. Once again, I was struck by the sense of height—looking at a horse, you don't think you should feel as high up as you do. I wondered if this explained the attitude of the Mounted Guard—always the most obnoxious of the Phoenix Guard to deal with.

For her part, Marsi seemed bored with the whole thing. I took the reins in both hands, touched her flanks with my heels, and sort of urged her forward with my hips. I couldn't see her face well enough to know if she rolled her eyes, but she started moving forward.

"Boss!"

"What is it, Loi—"

"Behind you!"

I turned in the saddle, which wasn't as easy as it should have been. Marsi stopped. I looked. There were a few people in the street, but none close to me.

"What? Where?"

"About forty yards down, north side of the street, under the awning, walking away from you. Blue vest."

And there he was, easily recognizable even from the back. Now was a fine time for him to show up. I started to turn Marsi around. I guess I did something wrong, because she seemed confused. But then I thought about it. What was I going to do? Could I stop now and have a long conversation with him, and just ignore the invitation that was supposed to actually tell me what was going on? Make an appointment to meet him later? What if he didn't want to talk to me?

Damn and blast.

"Loiosh, stay with him."

"I don't like leaving you right now, Boss."

"I'm not crazy about it either, but I need to see the Count, and I do not want to lose that slippery bastard again. Go."

There were mutterings into my mind, but he flew off. I got Marsi headed in the right direction and started out of town.

"Where is he going, Loiosh?"

"Looks like back to the Hat, Boss, just as carefree as you please."

"I don't suppose you can go in there. I want to see if he's meeting with someone. Dammit."

"If there's a window open I can stick my snakey little head through it."

"Yeah, I guess that's the best we can do."

I continued my leisurely pace out of town.

"Whoops, guess I was wrong, Boss. He's not going into the inn, he's going behind it."

"Oh, that's interesting."

"To the stables."

"Good place to find a horse."

"He's talking to the stable-boy."

"Can you get close enough to listen?"

"I'll try . . . yes. Boss, he's asking about you. Where you went and how long ago."

"Is he getting answers?"

"No. Wait. Money is changing hands. Yes, he's getting answers."

I thought hard about turning around right then, but it seemed that as long as I was getting information, this was working and I should stay with it. And the visit to the Count was too important to throw over.

"Okay, he's done talking to the stable-boy. He's heading away from the inn and . . . he seems to be going across town."

It was a pleasant day for a ride, I have to say. And Marsi was as delightful as ever. Rocza seemed to consider herself fully on duty; she kept looking around, and sometimes leaving my shoulder to fly in a wide circle overhead.

Then, "There's a warehouse near the docks with an overhanging doorway. He's in the doorway, looks like he's waiting for someone."

"All right."

More countryside went by. A few birds sang, and I passed a flock of sheep grazing on a low hill with no shepherd in sight. It was calm and peaceful and pastoral and I loosened my rapier in its sheath because I don't trust calm and peaceful and pastoral.

"Oh my, Boss! You'll never guess who just showed up to meet him."

"The Empress?"

"Funny."

"Tell."

"Remember that tag who told you about the coachman? Well, she hasn't left town."

Well. Well.

Now, just how was I going to fit that into my calculations?

"Well, Boss? Just how are you going to fit that into your calculations?"

"I'm just working on that, Loiosh. Can you get close enough to hear what they're saying?"

"No way, Boss. I'm right above them, and they're talking too low to hear."

"Damn. Okay, can you instruct Rocza to follow one of them, while you follow the other? I really want to know where they both go."

"And leave you unprotected?"

"I'm armed. Can she do it?"

He hesitated, and I got the feeling he didn't want to answer. But he finally said, "If the conversation continues long enough. It's going to take her half an hour at least to get back here."

"Let's try for it, Loiosh."

"Boss. . . . "

"Do it."

Rocza flew from my shoulder, heading back toward town.

I almost chewed my nails. I very much wanted Rocza to get there in time. I very much wanted to know what they were talking about. Marsi picked up my nervousness and got a bit skittish, so I patted her neck and tried to calm down.

"You sure there's no way you can hear what they're saying?"

"Sorry, Boss. There's just no place I can slide my snakey head without them seeing it."

I had a suggestion about where he could slide his snakey head, but I kept it to myself.

Just about the time I was arriving at the Count's estate, Loiosh said, "Rocza is here, Boss, and they're still talking about whatever they're talking about."

"Good," I said. "Stay with them."

"Will do, Boss. Be careful."

"I always am."

As I approached the entry area, the groom seemed to recognize me, or, at any rate, Marsi. He came forward with his hand out to assist me down. I gave him a cool nod. Once I was on the ground again, he took the reins and said, "You are expected, my lord."

I stood there, waiting until I felt like my legs would start working again, which took a couple of minutes. I spent it looking around the grounds as if I were just sort of vaguely curious.

When I could move without embarrassing myself, I climbed the low stairway up to the door. I pulled on the rope, the low gong sounded within, and presently the door swung open.

The same butler as before made the same bow as before. "Welcome, Lord Merss. His Lordship is expecting you."

We met in the same room, and I was offered the same chair. I took a different one, partly to be contrary, and partly because I was a little jumpy. The butler pretended not to noice. The Count gave me a sort of look, but let it pass.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me," he said.

"On the contrary," I told him. "Thank you."

He smiled. "Brandy? Ale? Wine?"

"Wine," I said.

He nodded at the butler, who went off to fetch the necessities.

"So then," said the Count, sitting back a little and folding his hands over his belly. "We have something in common."

"An enemy, it would seem."

He nodded, and the butler gave me my wine, and gave the Count a glass of the same amber liquid he'd had before. He lifted his, I did the same, we sipped. It was slightly sweeter than the last one had been, and agreeably spicy.

"Okay, Boss. They've split up. I'm staying with him."

"All right."

"What I propose," said the Count, "is simply this: that we share information. I suspect you know things that will help me track down who is behind the murders, and I am certain that I could give you information that would be of use to you."

I nodded. "That makes sense, and I'm inclined to agree."

"Inclined?"

"There some things I'd like to understand first, my lord, before I make any agreements."

"Such as?"

I had some more wine and tried to figure out how to approach it. This was the tricky part.

"Just what sort of information do you imagine I have, my lord?"

"Eh? Well, it's obvious you've been investigating on your own. Haven't you found out anything?"

"As to that," I said. "Maybe. But, you know, I have no special skills in that field; I've simply been asking questions as anyone might."

"Indeed?" he said. From the expression in his voice, I couldn't tell if he was just skeptical, or knew I was lying, and that is exactly what I needed to know.

"Yes," I said. "That's what puzzles me about this. To be blunt: What help could I possibly give you?"

"Well," he said, and had another sip. He licked his lips. "That is a difficult question to answer."

I nodded and gave him some time, sipping wine and putting on my innocent inquiring look.

"I guess," he said, "that will require some background explanation."

"All right," I said. "I'm listening."

"The mill was first founded by my grandfather, some eighty-three years ago." He went on from there, but I wasn't really paying attention.

"Boss?"

I wanted more wine because my mouth was dry, but the glass wasn't in my hand, which was odd.

"Boss?"

And I couldn't move my arm, either, and the Count's voice was a buzzing in my ears, and the floor was very hard against my cheek.