16

BORAAN: My dear, if I have, yet again, accidentally said the one thing that gives you the entire solution, I'll . . . I'll . . .

LEFITT: Have a drink?

BORAAN: Of course.

     [Lefitt crosses to liquor cabinet]

—Miersen, Six Parts Water
Day Two, Act III, Scene 4

Outside, it was mid-day, and they were hard at work in the mills, and the peasants were doing whatever it is peasants do at this time of year. Digging something, I suppose. The window was open to let the stench in. No, I still wasn't used to it. Well, I don't know, maybe I was; it was bothering me less than it had before. But I didn't have so many other miseries before. Not complaining, just stating a fact.

I had most of it. That is, I now knew who had been trying to do what, and why they'd done it, and who had been stupid (that was me, in case you're wondering). More, I knew what I could do about it. In general. But you can't implement a plan "in general." And, when you can't move from your sickbed, your options with regards to violence are, let's say, limited.

It was irritating. It seemed like I was so close to being able to deal with it, like I had everything I needed if I could just figure out how to get it started. I needed to kick the thing around with someone, to just have someone to bounce ideas off until the answer settled in. I needed—

Loiosh flew in the window, and before he'd even settled he said, "All right, what happened?"

"Asked some questions, got some answers, made some deductions."

"Deductions? You're making deductions? I leave you alone for four hours and you start making deductions?"

"I'm trying to find words to describe how funny that is."

"So, going to explain these deductions to me?"

"After that crack, I'm not sure. Besides, I haven't fit everything into place yet."

"But you're sure she's dead?"

"She has to be. They couldn't leave her alive with me able to talk, and right now they can't risk killing me."

"Who is 'they,' Boss?"

"Yeah, that's the big question, isn't it?"

"Now you're sounding smug."

"Uh huh."

"Smug and helpless isn't a good combination for you."

"Is that a threat?"

"Damn right it is."

"Okay. Just checking."

Rocza lifted her head and hissed. Loiosh turned to her and his head bobbed up and down in one of the things jhereg do when they laugh.

"What was that about?"

"You don't need to know, Boss."

"You know, Loiosh, I think I could get used to having you fly around and find out things for me while I just sit and do the thinking."

"Heh. In a year you'd weigh three hundred pounds."

"So?"

"Hard to run from the Jhereg when you weigh three hundred pounds."

"Okay, good point."

"Boss, think this might be time to let me know what's going on?"

"I think it's time to figure out what to do about it."

"I could help more if I knew."

"Yeah, but I'm enjoying keeping you in suspense too much. I'm an invalid, you must permit me my little pleasures."

"Boss—"

"Okay."

I thought for about a minute. "We have a three-legged stool: the Count, the Guild, and the Coven. None of them trust each other, none of them like each other, none—"

"You're going to kick one of the legs in."

"Exactly."

"How?"

"Still working on that."

"How did you know, Boss? I mean, about the stool?"

"Well, there are bits I still need to confirm."

Meehayi came in with my meal. Loiosh remained quiet, as he knows how much I hate talking during meals.

Meehayi didn't. "I saw old Saabo was here," he said as I laboriously used a silver spoon to bring stew from a wooden bowl—first time I think I ever experienced that combination.

"Yes," I told him after I'd swallowed. "We had quite a nice talk."

"Good."

"You don't like him, do you?"

He jumped back as if I'd slapped him. "What do you mean?" I waited him out. "I, I mean, he's older than me, so he isn't a friend or anything." I kept waiting. "No," he finally said, setting his jaw as if daring me to object. "I don't."

I nodded. "I wouldn't either if I were you."

He seemed startled. "Why? What did he say about me?"

"Nothing. Your name didn't come up."

"Then why—?"

"Because you're a peasant, and he doesn't think much of peasants."

"Well it happens that I don't think much of—" He cut himself off.

"Don't blame you," I said. "But then, I can't say too much about him myself; he's kindred, after all."

Meehayi looked at me carefully. "Is he? I mean, really?"

"He is," I said. "He really is. And if more people had believed that—ah, never mind. Sorry. Thinking out loud."

He cleared his throat. "Lord Merss—"

"Vlad."

"Vlad. I haven't said it, but I'm sorry for what happened to you."

"Thanks. So am I. But it'll be set right soon enough."

He cocked his head. "It will?"

I nodded and took a sip of wine, pleased that I was able to lift it without difficulty. It was wonderful. "As sure as my name is Merss Vladimir," I told him.

He seemed to accept that, if I'm any judge of grunts.

I said, "Is it always like that?"

"Like what?"

"With Saabo. The mill workers looking down on the peasants."

"Yeah, well, we don't have a lot to say them, either. They stink."

"I noticed that you frequent different establishments."

"What?"

"You drink in different places."

"Oh. Yeah, most of us. Except sometimes some guys will go into the wrong place to stir up a fight. It doesn't usually happen, though. The Guild jumps on it pretty quick."

I nodded. "Yes, I suppose it would be bad for business."

I smiled to myself. Nothing new there, but confirmation of what I'd suspected was always nice.

Meehayi finished helping me eat and left again, still looking slightly bewildered.

After he'd gone, Loiosh said, "All right, Boss. Care to explain?"

"I've got a sort of idea, but it won't work unless all three—Count, Guild, and Coven—are in each other's pockets, because otherwise I can't make it work. I'd suspected, but until today I wasn't sure."

"Okay, Boss. What did you find out?"

"The tags in this area don't have a problem with Sheep Disease."

"Which means?"

"Which means there is a business arrangement between the Guild and the Coven. Mutual benefit, mutual dependence."

"Oh. What is Sheep Disease?"

"You don't want to know. You're a jhereg; you're immune. Be happy."

"But—okay."

I tried to sit up; failed. I still didn't know how to knock out that one leg of the stool. Loiosh was silent as I went over what I knew yet again, and got nowhere.

Who should I go after? Dahni? His role in this, it turns out, had been one of the easier ones to figure out. But no, he was done. I couldn't use him. Probably no one could use him. If he was lucky, he'd have made his way out of the country by now. Orbahn? No, he was too smart; he'd put it together.

I tried to sit up again, and failed again; sat back sweating and breathing heavily. I scowled.

"Take it easy, Boss. You'll give the physicker heart failure."

"Thanks, Loiosh."

"For what?"

I didn't answer for a while. I just sat there and smiled while my brain went click, click, click—just like it had before, just like in the old days. Yes. They may have broken my body, but my brain still worked. If you think that isn't important to someone in my condition, your brain doesn't work.

I nodded to myself. Loiosh said, "Does it have to be now?"

"What?"

"I understand you want to settle things, Boss, but is there any reason you can't come back in a year and do it?"

"Funny you should say that. If you'd asked a few minutes ago, I'd have said forget it—just like I'm saying today—but a few minutes ago I wouldn't have been able to give you a good reason."

"Oh, I see. Okay, Boss. What's the great reason?"

"Now there's no need. I can settle things right now. Today."

"You can kick out the leg?"

"Yes."

"And be sure the right one wins?"

"There is no right one, only a wrong one."

"Who's the wrong one?"

"The Coven."

"All right. But how are you going to set this off from flat on your back?"

"I'm not. Meehayi is."

"I can't wait to see how that works out."

"I can't wait to be done with this, and out of this town."

"That's the first thing you've said that I've agreed with in more than a week."

"Yeah. Which reminds me; I need to arrange a fast exit from this place once my business is finished."

"And that's the second. Any idea how to go about it?"

"I think I'd like to speak with Father Noij."

"Huh?"

"He can do it, and he will."

"Uh, sure, Boss. I'll fly right out and get him."

I chuckled. "I don't think that will be necessary."

"Boss, why won't you just tell me what happened?"

I didn't answer.

"You don't want to tell me, do you?"

I didn't answer.

He said, "They took you, didn't they?"

I stared up at the ceiling for a long time. Then I nodded. "I had thought someone was playing me," I said. "I didn't realize that they were all playing me."

"Oh. Working together?"

"No. That's the thing. On their own, independently. That's what threw me. But the effect was as if they were working together."

After that he let me alone for a while. He knew I'd have to tell him about it eventually, and he can be an understanding little bastard on occasion.

Everything I'd said was true, and I was confident of all my conclusions, and the plan that was formulating in my head seemed sound. But there was still that one factor that I couldn't control, couldn't see, couldn't anticipate, and certainly couldn't ignore: The Jhereg now knew where I was. Yes, I still felt a fair bit of confidence in all those things I'd said: A Dragaeran would stand out, and a Morganti weapon would most certainly stand out. But what I hadn't said was: Give them enough time, and they'll find a way around those problems. They're tenacious, they're brutal, and when they have to be, they're creative. I know, I was one.

Once a fellow I was after surrounded himself with such solid protection that bribing them all would have cost more than I was being paid for the job. So I hired an actor to play a legitimate Chreotha merchant, hired another to play a low-level boss from Candletown, a few others to play flunkies and lackeys, and spent eleven weeks constructing a phony business deal for the guy just to get him to a meeting—no bodyguards permitted, you understand the need for secrecy—at which I turned out to be the only one doing any business. The whole story—why he needed to go, how everything played out—is interesting, and I may tell it someday. It was elaborate, elegant, and, if I may say so (after some initial foul-ups and few scary moments here and there), perfect.

What it wasn't was unique.

My point is this: Give the Jhereg enough time, and they will find a way to nail you. Was I giving them too much time? I didn't think so.

I reviewed what I knew yet again, and finally said, "Okay, let's do this."

"Now?"

"Now. Think you could manage to open my pack and bring me something out of it? It should be in the box, or next to it."

"Maybe, Boss. I can try. As long as you promise not to make any opposable thumb comments if I fail."

"None for a week, Loiosh, either way."

"What do you want?"

"Do you know the little bottle that I keep tincture of lithandrial in?"

"Huh? Sure, Boss. Since I don't think you'll be satisfied giving anyone the nettles, I assume you have the backache. But shouldn't you ask the physicker—"

"Loiosh, at this point I wouldn't even notice the backache if I had it. Just get the thing, if you can."

He could, and presently I was holding it, and I learned that opening a tightly corked bottle is much more difficult than feeding yourself. I eventually got it open.

"Now I need a cloth of some kind."

He didn't ask questions, just dug in the box until he found an old pair of—until he found some cloth. I couldn't be picky at that point. I poured a little dab on the cloth and applied it as best I could, wiping the excess carefully from my mustache.

"Dammit, Loiosh. I wish I had a glass. How does it look?"

"Compared to what?"

"Never mind. It'll have to do. Get rid of this cloth. Put it back in the box and bury it."

"With pleasure."

"And never mind the wisecracks."

I lay back on the bed and spent some time recovering my breath and remembering not to lick my lips. "Can you put the bottle back in the box too?"

"Boss, have you gone nuts?"

"Do not mock the afflicted, Loiosh. Not only am I a wreck, but as you can see, I've just been attacked by a witch."

"You've—"

"See? Red lips? Witch's mark?"

"Uh, who are you trying to convince?"

"Sit back and wait. All will be made clear."

When Meehayi came in with my lunch, I was lying on the bed, either barely breathing, or not breathing at all. If you're curious, you breathe only through your nose, into your chest, quick short breaths; and you can do it forever, though it takes some practice to just breathe into your upper chest. Oh, and my lips, of course, had a pronounced reddish tinge.

Meehayi dropped the bowl of stew (which was, as far as Loiosh and Rocza were concerned, either an unexpected bonus, or the only value the plan had in the first place), gave a high-pitched sort of scream, and bolted out the door.

I relaxed and waited off-stage for the next act in which I would be needed, like the ubiquitous merchant in a mannerist murder comedy. What I liked about this was that, if it didn't work, there was no risk—what had I done? Why, I'd taken a backache remedy and then had a nap; everything else had just been an over-reaction by a superstitious peasant boy.

Unless, by some fluke, Orbahn happened to hear about it too soon, and figured out it was a fake; in that case I was dead meat. But you need to accept some risks. It was much more likely that he'd hear about it later, and either manage to put only part of it together, or else figure out the whole thing and not care. Either way, I was good.

The first to arrive was Aybrahmis, with a look of mixed anxiety and rage on his features. That was odd, I have to admit. I'd expected him to show up; he was, after all, a professional; I hadn't expected him to take it personally.

The first thing he did was hold a looking glass to my lips. Through lidded eyes, I decided I hadn't done a half-bad job. I said, "Physicker?" My voice was weak, pitiful, a man just barely on this side of the Great Night. Heh. I missed my calling. I wonder if Miersen would cast me as First Student.

"Lord Merss!" he said. "I thought you—are you all right?"

"What . . . happened?" I managed to whisper through my barely moving lips.

"What happened?" he directed back at me.

"I don't . . ."

"Lord Merss?"

I opened my eyes again. "I was lying here. Then I, I couldn't breathe. That's all I remember."

Fenarian, my grandfather told me, is a language rich in curses that don't translate well. Yes, indeed it is.

I managed, "What . . .?"

"Witchcraft," he said grimly. "Someone made an attempt on your life."

I shook my head. "Can't. Immune. Natural—"

"It's witchcraft," he said firmly.

If you want to convince someone of something that is related to his field, but still outside it, first, plant the suspicion in his mind, then deny it is a possibility for an unconvincing reason.

"Boss? You know this won't hold up to scrutiny by a witch."

"I know. That's the beauty of it."

The witch he'd been working with (I never did catch his name) came in around then, and started to examine me, but Aybrahmis started in on him before he had the chance, glaring and hissing whispers as he took him by the arm and spoke to him in a corner. The witch kept shaking his head and making gestures of denial with his arms.

He attempted twice more to examine me, but Aybrahmis wasn't letting him near. Reasonable: It looked like the Coven had just tried to kill me. It appeared that the disagreement might get physical. My money was on the witch, but my concern was that they not fall on top of the sick guy.

I admit I felt a tiny bit sorry for the poor witch; he'd done his best to heal me, after all. But those infusions had tasted terrible, so I didn't feel all that bad.

Besides, I didn't have a lot of room in me for feeling anything at that point—that is, anything except the need to get the job done and be away from there.

The witch left, saying loudly that he would speak with his superiors, and the physicker would hear from them. And there went the leg.

Aybrahmis came back, and listened to my chest with a device that fitted into his ears and made him look like an elephant. He said, "How are you feeling?"

"Better," I managed weakly. "Breathing . . . easier."

He nodded. "Your immunity is a resistance, not a full immunity, as such things usually are," he explained. I love it when they get pedantic about things they don't know. "And this time," he added, "it saved your life. They attempted to strangle you from a distance. I am going now to see to it that no such attempt is made again."

I moaned and tried a couple of times to speak, eventually succeeded. "In case you . . . fail."

"Hmm? Yes?"

"Wish to see . . . Father Noij."

He gave me an understanding nod. "Of course," he said. "I'll have him sent for."

When he had left, Loiosh said, "Well, Boss, if that was an elaborate method to see the priest, it worked, but wouldn't it have been easier—"

"Wait and see," I told him.

"You think this will make the Count attack the Coven?"

"Not exactly. It's a bit more, ah, complex than that."

Aybrahmis was as good as his word: Father Noij appeared in less than half an hour. His expression was reserved and distant; he looked the way you'd look if you were to offer condolences to a dying or possibly dying man. He came up to the bed, and I don't know what he was about to say, because I cut it off with, "In the sacred name of Verra, the Demon Goddess who owns my soul according to the ancient pacts, I demand sanctuary."

When he could talk again, he said, "I thought—"

"Yeah. I'm not actually dying, as it were. Just a simple misunderstanding. Well?"

"Sanctuary?"

"That's right."

He looked uncomfortable. "My home is small, but—"

"But I wouldn't last sixty hours in it. And you'd probably go down with me, not that that takes up a big part in my calculations, to be honest."

"Then—"

"I need to get out of town, out of the county, to a safe place, and I need you to arrange it. In secrecy. Because, I swear to you in Verra's name, if word gets to the right ears that you even know where I am, they will kill you on the way to getting to me. And don't try to get it to them, because you don't have a clue who they are. And if you even think of crossing me, I will kill you, and do not for a minute imagine that I can't. If I am dead, my jhereg will eat your corpse. Are you clear on this?"

His lips worked, then he nodded. "Threats are not necessary, Lord Merss. You have invoked sanctuary in the name of the Goddess"—he made a sign here with his hand; maybe it's a priest thing— "and that is sufficient. Of course I will aid you with everything in my power. The first question is, where should you go?"

"Fenario."

"The city?"

"Hardest place for them to find me, even if they track me down."

He nodded. "Very well. Now, for getting you there—"

"A boat?"

"Yes, exactly. I can arrange that. When—"

"Tonight."

"Yes!"

"Shut up."

"Then all that remains is deciding how to get you out of here."

"Meehayi will help. Ask him."

He nodded. "All right. When shall we say?"

"Two hours after sunset."

"Agreed. I will be here with Meehayi, and the boat will be ready."

"Look at me, Father Noij."

He did. "Yes?"

"Look me in the eyes, and swear by the Demon Goddess that you will not betray me."

He looked like he was trying to decide if he should get angry, but things were moving too fast for him. After a moment to salve his pride with a scowl (not bad, for an amateur), he said, "I swear by name of Verra, the Demon Goddess, that I will carry out our agreement, and I will not betray you, or may the Goddess take vengeance upon my immortal soul." Then he nodded to me. "I trust that will do?"

"Good enough," I said.

He sniffed and left; Meehayi came in before the door had time to close. "Lord Merss! Are you—?"

"Vlad," I told him. And, "I'm all right," I added, with only a hint of weakness in my voice so I wouldn't have to answer any embarrassing questions just then.

He fussed over me and puttered around the room looking for something to do, then remembered the stew, and asked if I could eat. I allowed as to how I could, so he got me food, and then busied himself cleaning up the mess on the floor. Loiosh and Rocza hadn't left much for him to do. I announced I needed to rest, and he didn't like the idea of leaving, but finally did.

When he had gone, Loiosh said, "It isn't that I'm not pleased, Boss, but do you trust him?"

"Meehayi?"

"The priest."

"Oh. Yes, I trust him."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not giving him enough time to come up with a justification for betraying his oath."

"You're sure that will work?"

"Yes."

"Are you lying?"

"I prefer to call it exaggerating."

"Well, if anything does go wrong, Rocza and I—"

"Won't be there."

"Um, what?"

"I haven't explained your part in all of this."

"I can hardly wait."

"You're going to love it."

"Are you lying?"

"I prefer to call it irony."

"All right, let's have it."

"Second, you'll be following Orbahn after he bolts."

"Uh, what's first?"

"You're going to watch it happen, so I can enjoy it."

"Boss, is this going to work?"

"You'll know when I do."

"What if it doesn't?"

"Then I come back and try something else."

"Boss—"

"Let's not worry about the what-ifs right now, all right? It's time for Rocza to do her part so she can be back here while you're doing yours, or at least soon after. She'll be all right?"

He didn't answer me, but she stood and flew out the window like she knew what she was about. In three minutes, Loiosh told me Orbahn had been found, right in the Pointy Hat, or Inchay's if you prefer, right where I'd first met him. As long as no one noticed her little head peeking through a corner of the window, we wouldn't be losing him. And he didn't, at least as far as she could tell, seem to be upset, alarmed, or have any idea of what was about to happen.

Good.

"All right, Boss. When should I leave?"

"Now. Things should be starting any time. As soon as you pick up Orbahn, Rocza can come back here, as we agreed. And if everything works perfectly, you might even be back before they come to get me."

"When was the last time everything worked perfectly?"

"Go."

He went.

I went over things in my head, trying to see if I'd missed anything, if there were big holes in the plan, or little things that might improve the odds. I couldn't come up with anything, and there probably wouldn't have been anything I could do about it if I did.

For now, it was all working.

We would see. Very soon.

"Okay, Boss. I'm there."

"You know what to do."

"Yeah, Boss. Ready when you are."

"Go," I said.

I relaxed, closed my eyes, and opened my mind to him.

Presently, there came visions.