15

BORAAN: Gracious! Could there be two different plots at work here?

LEFITT: Impossible.

BORAAN: You're certain?

LEFITT: Quite certain. I can see four at the least.

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

He won, I lost.

Supper was the same lamb stew as before, but it included everything this time, and I was allowed an entire glass of wine. I enjoyed it very much.

"Boss, how did you know Orbahn was going to a Coven? And that there was a Coven? And—"

"Not now, Loiosh."

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Parts of it, yes. Other parts, not so much."

"I didn't mean that, I meant showing off how clever you are."

"If I were clever, Loiosh, I wouldn't be in this position."

"You couldn't have known—"

"Of course I could. I'm an idiot not to have seen it."

"How, Boss?"

"Just exactly what was a tag doing on the street at that time of day, when all the workmen were at the mill? She was there to see me, to find me, which means someone had set her on me. I should have figured it out and followed her and been ready when they made the move on me. But then, at that point, I had no idea what any of it meant. There's just one question left about her. Hmmm."

"What's that, Boss?"

I didn't respond; I was thinking about Tereza, trying to figure exactly how she fit into this.

"Another thing, Boss. If you didn't know then, when did you figure it out?"

"The questions they asked me," I said. "Now let me concentrate on this."

This whole thing should be a lesson to me, and it would have been if I'd known what the lesson was. Come to think of it, I still don't know.

"I don't see what you're hesitating about, Boss. You know you want me to find her and see where she goes and who she talks to."

"Uh, yeah."

"See you soon," he said, and flew out the window, startling poor Meehayi, who happened to be there seeing to it I didn't stab myself in the mouth with my fork.

Meehayi said, "Where is he going?"

"I'm tired of lamb. He's going to bring me back a cow."

He shook his head. "No one raises cattle nearby. He'd have to go—"

"I was kidding, Meehayi."

"I know," he said.

I sighed. If I kept underestimating people, I'd never make it out of this bed. "Meehayi, do you know a family called Saabo?"

"Huh? Sure. A town this size, you know everyone."

"Tell me about them."

"What do you want to know?"

"For starters, how big is it?"

"Four. Er, six, I mean. Three boys, one girl. The oldest is Yanosh. He's a year younger than me."

"Does he farm?"

"Oh, no, no. They work in the mill. All of them."

"All of them?"

"Except the baby, Chilla. She's only four."

"How old is the youngest who works in the mill?"

"That would be Foolop. He's nine."

"Nine."

He nodded.

"And the father?"

He frowned. "I don't know. Forty? Forty-five?"

"No, I mean, what is his name?"

"Oh. Venchel. I don't know his wife's name, everyone calls her Sis. Vlad?"

"Hmmm?"

"You aren't going to get them, get them, involved in this, are you?"

I studied him. "Just what do you know about what 'this' is?"

The blood rushed to his face and his mouth opened and closed. If he was planning to conceal something, he could give it up right away. I've known Dzurlords who could dissemble better than this guy.

I waited him out. He finally said, "I guess I know what everybody knows. I hear what they say."

"Uh huh," I said. "Let's hear it."

"Well, you wanted to see your—to see the Mersses, and they're dead. And you talked to Zollie, and he's dead."

"And why did I come to town, Meehayi? What are 'they' saying about that?"

"No one seems to know."

"But there are theories. There are always theories."

"That you came to kill His Lordship. That's one."

"Heh. If I had, he'd be dead. What else?"

"That you are a spirit of the Evil Baron, returned for revenge."

"Oh, I like that. Whose opinion is that?"

He looked uncomfortable. "It was Inchay who said it."

"The host at the Pointy Hat?"

"The what?"

"The inn."

"Oh, why do you call it the Pointy Hat?"

"I don't know. What do you call it?"

"Inchay's."

"I see."

"Anyway, yeah, him."

"He thinks I'm going to kill Count Saekeresh. Well. Yeah, that answers a lot of nagging questions. And asks a few more. And what's your opinion?"

"I don't know. But—" He shrugged. "His Lordship likes you, and wants to protect you. So I guess maybe you're working with him against the Guild?"

"Yeah, he loves me," I said. "He'll do anything for me."

He frowned at that.

I said, trying to sound casual, "I understand about the Guild and Sae—and His Lordship. But how does the Coven fit into it?"

"I don't know," he said. "I've never even been certain that, you know, there was a Coven."

I nodded.

"Is there?" he said.

"I think so," I told him.

"How do you know?"

"I'll tell you what, Meehayi. I like you. On the off chance that we're both alive when this is all over, I'll explain it all to you."

"Both alive?"

"Yeah, well, not to scare you, but right now I don't like either of our chances much."

"Don't worry," he said. "His Lordship is protecting you. And he's let people know that—"

"Yeah, yeah. He's put the word out not to kill me. I'm now under the same protection Zollie was."

He looked down. I guess I'd hurt his feelings again. It's a damned good thing Cawti and I never had kids; I'm just no good with them.

After a few minutes, he said, "Do you want me to ask Mr. Saabo to come see you?"

"Yes, please," I said.

"I don't know if he will."

"If he won't, he won't. I wonder which rumors about me he believes."

Meehayi shrugged.

Loiosh returned several hours later, not having found Tereza. Each day that passed made me a little stronger. It also brought the next assassin that much closer. It occurred to me that I should be grateful the Dagger of the Jhereg was no longer in business, she'd have been perfect for this job. If you see the irony in that thought you can enjoy it with me. If not, sorry; I don't feel like explaining.

The next morning, Loiosh resumed his search of the city, while I waited to hear if I'd have company. The physicker and the witch returned shortly after the noon hour, and once more I was poked, prodded, and muttered over as they changed my dressings and inspected the damage. "There shouldn't be much scarring," he said at one point.

I informed him, through clenched teeth, just how little I cared one way or the other about scars. He appeared not to care about whether I cared about scars; I guess it was a question of professional pride with him. I cared just about as much about his professional pride as my own "patients" cared about mine.

When the examination was finally over he and the witch fussed over me a little longer, and had a few more murmured conversations, then went off to speak to Meehayi about the care and feeding of maltreated itinerant assassins.

"I think you're out of danger," said Aybrahmis, which almost made me burst out into laughter.

Then it hit me, and I said, "Wait, you thought I might have been about to die?"

"Your body has been through a lot."

"I don't die that easy," I said.

He grunted, as if to say bravado is cheap. Yeah, I guess it is; that was a stupid thing to say. But then, he's a physicker; he's probably heard a lot of stupid things said. That's one advantage of my profession, or my ex-profession I should say: If you do it right, the "patient" doesn't have a chance to say anything stupid.

Loiosh didn't find Tereza, and talked me out of sending Rocza to help him. She stayed with me, curled up by my ear. The entire day passed that way—little happened that I care to talk about, or to think about, come to that—until the evening, when I was hearing the faint echoes of laughter and conversation from the inn below, and there came a hesitant tap at the door.

Rocza was instantly alert, like a koovash scenting a wolf. Anyone coming to kill me wouldn't have tapped at the door, and it wouldn't matter if I said to go away, so I called out for the person to enter freely.

He was a small man, dressed in some sort of brown tunic and loose pantaloons that I think had been black once. He had a sharply angled jaw, and a beard that he obviously took great pride in: It was a little chin growth that continued the jaw angle to a sharp point about an inch and a half below his chin. He half looked at me, and half looked down, and in his hand was a faded blue cap.

"Come in," I said again, and he did. Deferentially. He didn't look like a peasant—a peasant would never shape his beard—but he acted like one.

"Greetings, my lord," he said. He oozed deference. It was revolting.

"Find a place to sit," I told him. "I'd stand and bow, only I'm not quite able to manage."

He didn't know quite what to say to that, so he sat down and stared at his cap.

"I am Merss Vladimir," I told him.

"Yes, my lord."

"I understand that we're related."

He nodded, suddenly looking a little afraid. Of me? Or what being related to me might mean? Probably not the latter; apparently not many people believed that my name was really Merss. Which it wasn't, so I guess they were right.

"You know, of course, about what happened? To the family?"

He nodded tersely, still looking at his cap. If I hadn't been unable to move, I'd have slapped him.

"That was your family once, you know. You are related to them."

He nodded, and it was obvious he didn't like where this was going.

I said, "It doesn't bother you, what happened to them?"

He looked up at me for the first time, and I caught a flash of something in his eyes, very quickly, that I hadn't suspected would be there. Then he looked down at his cap again and said, "It does, my lord."

"Well, it's my intention to do something about it."

"My lord?" He looked like I had just announced plans to grow another head.

"It is not my intention to permit someone to feel my family may be slaughtered with impunity. Do you think this should be permitted?"

His mouth opened and closed a few times, then he said, "No, my lord, but—"

"But what?"

"What can I—?"

"If you're willing, you can help me."

He very badly wanted to ask, "What if I say no?" but he didn't dare. I don't mind cowardice. I can respect cowardice. I practice it whenever possible. But craven I have no use for. No, I mean, I don't like it; quite often I find I have use for it.

"What can I do?" he finally asked; asking it with the tone of, "What use could I possibly be?" rather than, "I am offering to help."

I said, "Well, I'm not going to ask you to kill anyone."

Once again, he lifted his head briefly, and I saw that look; but it didn't last.

"What do you want of me?"

"I've told you what I'm doing. Are you willing to help me, or not?"

He clamped his jaws shut. Finally, still staring at his cap, he said, "Not without knowing what you want me to do."

Well! Good on him. I was impressed in spite of myself. "Fair enough," I told him. "I want answers to some questions."

He nodded. "That I will do."

"We'll see," I told him. "How much of your family history do you know?"

"My lord? I already said we were related to—"

"Yes. But why was your name changed?"

"M'lord? It wasn't."

"Eh?"

"No, sir. Old Matyawsh changed the name. My greatgrandfather, Matyawsh's brother, kept the name he was born with."

"All right," I said. That much, at least, agreed with what I'd been told by Father Noij. I like having things confirmed. It gives me such a warm, comfortable feeling.

"And do you believe what was said about them?"

"Meaning what?"

"About being evil, about summoning demons."

"Oh, that. I'm no peasant, Lord Merss. I was educated. At the school. I can read, and write, and do sums, and think. No, I don't believe that."

"What school?"

"There's been a school in Burz for years and years, to teach symbols and sums and citizenship."

"Citizenship?"

"Doing your duty to your country and county."

"Um. And what is your duty to your country and county?"

He made a face, and for the first time smiled a little. "That part didn't take so well. If they want me to fight their wars, they'll have to drag me there."

"I see. So the peasants here can read?"

"Peasants? No. It's not open to the peasants. Just children of mill workers."

"Mmm. What about children of merchants?"

He sniffed. "Father Noij teaches them."

"All right, then. So you don't believe in summoning demons, or groups of evil witches. Then why did most of the Merss family leave?"

"Because the peasants believed in those things."

"You don't think much of peasants, do you?"

"They're ignorant. It isn't their fault," he added magnanimously.

Most people seem to take pleasure in feeling superior to someone. I'm not like that, which pleases me because it makes me feel superior.

"Why?" I said.

"Hmm?"

"Count Saekeresh. Why did he start a school?"

"It wasn't him, it was his grandfather. Because you have to be able to read to work in the mill, you see. It isn't just brawn, you need to use your head to make paper. At least, to make it right. The process—"

"All right," I said. "I get it." He sounded proud. He wasn't a peasant. He was superior.

That, too, was a piece of the puzzle.

Don't be distracted by shadows, Vladimir. Concentrate on the target.

There were shadows everywhere.

There were shadows covering the actions of people who didn't want what they did to be known; and there were shadows covering the minds of people who didn't want to see, and even shadows covering the minds of those whose lives became easier if they believed themselves to be powerless. Shadows, shadows everywhere. Don't let them distract you, Vlad.

In a town this size, you'd think that nothing could be concealed; that everyone would know everyone else's business. I'd mentioned that once to my grandfather, when he'd suggested Cawti and I leave Adrilankha and find a small town somewhere. He'd said it wasn't as true as people thought—that small towns were full of secrets. If he was right, it was just possible that—

"My lord?"

Saabo was looking me.

"Sorry, I was thinking. I was remembering things my grandfather told me about the East."

"The East?"

"This country. Fenario."

"What did he tell you, my lord?"

I shook my head on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. I was getting tired of that ceiling. "Is there a house here?"

"My lord?"

"A house of, ah, I'm not sure what term you'd use. Boys and girls who, no, I guess it would be only girls here. Girls who, for money—"

"Oh!" First he blushed, then he gave me a puzzled look as if wondering how, in my condition, I could possibly make use of a place like that. Then he said, "No, my lord. But there are girls who work out of the Mouse."

"I see. And have you made use of their services?"

He didn't blush this time, he just shook his head. "I never wished to, my lord. In my youth I, ah, I never needed to."

I decided he wasn't lying, which was unfortunate, because it meant he couldn't tell me one of the things I needed to know. "Does the Guild run these services?"

"Oh, certainly, my lord."

"And it's legal?"

"My lord? Of course. Why—"

"My grandfather told me it was often forbidden by law, but ignored by custom."

"Ah. I see. No, there are no such laws here."

And at exactly that moment, with one of the best incidents of accidental good timing of my career, there was the light tapping at the door that I'd come to recognize.

"That would be my physicker," I said. "Thank you for taking the time to visit a sick kinsman."

He managed a slight smile to go with his bow, and, hat in hand, walking backward, he left as Aybrahmis and the witch came in. I noticed that Aybrahmis nodded to Saabo, who gave him a smile of recognition as well as the polite bow he also gave the witch.

He wasn't all bad, was Saabo. But he was still a deferential little wretch I'd like to kick.

Some time later, Aybrahmis remarked that I was making good progress, and complimented me on being in generally good shape. For someone who couldn't even stand up to—couldn't even stand up, I didn't take it too seriously. The witch muttered and murmured and changed my dressings, and when they were about to leave I said, "A moment, please."

Aybrahmis got that look physickers get when they're prepared to reply politely to an enormity about your condition, or to an impossible-to-answer question about when you'll be able to do something or other. I said, "What do you know of the Art?"

"Me?"

"Yes."

"I know how to apply the dressings and poultices made by those who study it; I don't need more than that." He seemed slightly offended.

"Your pardon," I said. I used my friendly and sincere voice. "I've never entirely understood the relationship between the healing Arts and the Art of the witch, and it has become important that I do. In the Empire it is different. There are certain sorcerers who specialize in ailments of the body, and they are the ones we call physickers. Here, I don't know."

I looked back and forth between Aybrahmis and the witch. They both stood over my bed, both with hands clasped in front of them. Aybrahmis looked like he wanted to ask why it was important, but instead he said, "We cooperate a great deal. If I deem a patient requires some medication, a witch will create it. Also, certain urgent problems are best tended by a witch."

"So then, other than the most urgent things—such as, for example, me—you might enlist the aid of a witch to concoct poultices, medications—"

He nodded.

I kept looking at him. He flushed just the least bit, but didn't say anything. My nod I kept entirely to myself.

I said, "Are you familiar with something called nemaybetesheg?" You'll have to excuse me, but there's no word in the Northwestern tongue for it. My grandfather, however, made certain I knew the Fenarian word for it when he was drilling me for my first visit back here. "Hard for a physicker to cure, but easy for a witch to prevent, Vladimir," he'd said. Sometimes I wonder what he thinks of me.

The physicker's eyes widened. "I, of course I know it. I never thought to . . . what makes you think—?"

"I don't," I said. "I don't have it. I just wanted to know if you're familiar with it."

"Well, there are many of them, not just the Sheep Disease as most people think. And, certainly, I know something about it, but why—"

"Does it come up often in your work?"

He frowned. "I don't believe that is an appropriate question."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. "You look at me like this, and you don't realize that people did this to me? And that they might be willing to again? When I ask a question of you, it is because it relates to my condition, one way or another."

"How could it—?"

"No. I'm not about to tell you, physicker. And you wouldn't want to know anyway."

He thought that over, then nodded and addressed the witch. "I will join you shortly," he said.

"No," I said. "I need to ask him about this, too."

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Very well," he said.

I mostly closed my eyes—the old trick of watching someone from under your lashes. You can't see all that well, and it isn't all that convincing a deception. But once in a while it can lull someone into thinking you aren't paying attention. I doubted I would fool Aybrahmis.

"Does it come up often in your work?" I repeated.

"No," he said. "Hardly ever. Once in a while, when a young man goes to the City, or a visitor . . ." He trailed off. I chuckled. His nostrils flared and he said, "I am not about to give you the names of anyone I have treated."

"I don't need to know," I said. "What I need to know is why."

"Eh?"

"I've been to the Mouse. I've seen the number of girls who hang out there, and I know what they are. How is it you aren't busy day and night with such treatments? Is there another physicker who handles it?"

"There are two others in town who are called on by some to—"

"Does one of them treat this disease among the, ah, the Velvet Ladies, as they're called where I come from by people I don't talk to?"

"Not that I am aware of." He enunciated each word carefully, the way you do when you feel it is beneath your dignity to be answering such questions at all. In Fenarian, the effect is much more pronounced than in Northwestern, because it takes all the flowing musicality out of the language. It was all I could do not to laugh.

"Do you do, ah, something to prevent such diseases? Or check for them?"

"No."

"Does one of your colleagues?"

"Not to my knowledge."

I said, "Then explain to me why such diseases are not a constant problem for you?"

"I don't know," he said. "It has simply never been a problem."

"And you never thought about it?"

"I'm sorry, Lord Merss, but I really think—"

"All right. Thank you. I found what I wanted to."

"Good day, then," he said. "I will see you tomorrow."

And I really had found out what I'd wanted to; I'd been watching the witch the entire time.

After they left, I realized how exhausted I was; but I didn't sleep. I sat there and tried to tie the last loose ends together in my head. I'm not all that good at that sort of thing. I mean, ideas come to me when I'm talking, or hearing things, or seeing things; and when I'm talking to Loiosh sometimes I can figure them out while I'm explaining things to him; but just sitting there trying to calculate how everything connects doesn't come naturally to me.

Still, I made a bit of progress muttering to myself, half out loud. "Well then, if they did that, he must have been doing that which is why I thought that . . ." And so on. A lot of it came together that way, and the pieces that didn't, even if I didn't know how they fit, I could tell they belonged on the same table.

I was still putting things together when I was interrupted by Loiosh saying into my mind, "No luck so far, Boss. How long do you want me to stay with it?"

"Oh, sorry, chum. Might as well come back now. Should be almost time for food."

"Back to it tonight, or is there something new?"

"I don't know about something new, but no, you won't need to keep looking for Tereza."

"You found her?"

"No. And you won't either. Sorry, I should have told you when I figured it out. She's dead."