4

Lady Otria e’Terics reported that, while no weapons were found on the scene, save those in use by the Imperial army and so marked, and three personal, unmarked weapons claimed by same, there were several implements in or near the cottage that could have been utilized as weapons. See list Appendix 12. Upon being asked if there was evidence that they had been so utilized, Lady Otria e’Terics declined to answer. See Deposition 9.

 

There’s an inn called Dancer’s Rest not far from the Iorich Wing. It’s one of those places where they figure if they fill the courtyard with marble statues and fountains and flowers that are blooming off-season, they can charge two orbs a night for a nine-copper room. It works, I guess. At least, I paid it. Some of the statues were pretty. And, you know, when you’ve been away from civilization for a while, you value a nine-copper room at any price.

It had the other advantage that, by Jhereg custom, anyone staying there was considered at home. In theory, I should be safe there. In practice, since one of the things the Jhereg wanted me for was breaking a rule like that, I probably shouldn’t bet my soul on it.

It cost another orb to have food sent up to my room, which had a window from which I could see the upper reaches of the Iorich and the Chreotha Wings, the first with its signature bell tower, the latter with its massive wall of bas-relief jungle plants. I could see them well, because the window was glass. That’s the sort of thing you get for two orbs a night.

The bed was considerably softer than the ground I’d gotten used to sleeping on, and there was even enough room to turn with my arms stretched out. That’s the thing about rooms near the Palace: They’re small; probably designed to make the Palace seem bigger, I don’t know.

“You ever planning to fall asleep, Boss?”

“The walls are too thick. It’s too quiet. I’m used to things chittering and rustling all night.”

He didn’t answer, and somewhere in there I fell asleep and had a confusing dream about thick walls that were in between me and something I wanted, I don’t remember what, and I kept trying to dig through them with the dull edge of a knife. Why the dull edge? How should I know; I was only a spectator.

I woke late the next morning, feeling pretty good. Loiosh and Rocza scouted the area, decided it was safe, and I went out looking for klava. Found some. Drank it. Was happy. I also picked up a warm sweet bun stuffed with kethna, and it was good too. Then, with Loiosh and Rocza taking precautions for me, I made my way back to the Iorich Wing.

The advocate’s door was closed and there was a note pinned to it with the initial V in tight, careful script. I took down the note and unfolded it to read, “Running an errand; wait in my office.”

I shrugged and reached for the door handle, and Loiosh said, “Boss!”

I froze. “What is it?”

“I don’t know.”

My hand brushed Lady Teldra’s hilt, but I didn’t draw. Pulling a Morganti weapon in the House of the Iorich is the sort of thing that gets you talked about, and I wasn’t going to do it if I didn’t have to.

“Something about that note bothers me.”

“If you tell me you’ve suddenly turned into a handwriting expert—”

He didn’t answer; I could feel him thinking, or at least doing something with his mind, probing or sensing in a way that I couldn’t feel. I waited. I hoped no one walked by, because I’d either kill him or feel like an idiot for standing outside of this door not moving. I studied the note again. Was it the same handwriting I’d seen from Perisil? Pretty close. I started to pull out the directions he’d written out for me to compare the writing, but Loiosh spoke before I could.

“There’s someone inside.”

“Okay.”

“It isn’t him.”

“Okay. Anyone else around?”

“A few of the other offices have people in them.”

“Send Rocza ahead.”

She left my shoulder almost before the words were out of my metaphorical mouth. I turned and walked back the way I’d come—not too fast, not too slow, trying to stay alert for any sound, any flicker of movement. It’s the sort of experience that wakes up every particle of your body. If it weren’t for the thrill of the thing, I’d just as soon skip it completely.

“She says it’s clear ahead, Boss.”

The hallway was much, much longer than it had been two minutes before when I was going the other way, and my footsteps were much louder. Two Justicers were walking slowly toward me, deep in conversation, and I gave them an extra look even though I could tell they weren’t Jhereg from the frankly curious glance they gave me. I could feel Loiosh watching them until they were well past.

I reached the stairway at the far end of the hallway with Rocza still scouting ahead. On the main floor I could relax a little; there were uniformed armsmen there, and a few more people as well as more open space; it was a bad place for an assassin to make a move.

The same elderly woman was in the same place near the door. Next to her was a Chreotha with a cart selling food of some sort. I bought a hot and flaky pastry filled with garlicky potato. I stood off to the side eating and thinking.

I fed the remainders to the jhereg; people around pretended not to notice. Lady Teldra would have been proud of them.

I brushed crumbs off my fingers.

“Okay, Boss. Now where?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“Yeah, like I said.”

“This is pretty safe, but I think after standing here six or seven hours I’ll start to feel silly.”

“When has that—”

“Of course, it might be fun to stand here until the assassin gives up and leaves, and then give him a big smile as he goes by.”

“Sure, Boss. Whatever floats your castle.”

“The other idea is not to do that.” I reviewed a list of more practical possibilities, then approached the woman behind the desk with a short bow. “Is there a common waiting area?”

She frowned. “If you wish to see an advocate, they each have offices.”

“Yes,” I said. “I’d rather wait elsewhere, if you don’t mind.”

She looked like she wanted to ask why, but only gestured to her right, saying, “Fourth door on the right. It should be open.”

“Can a note be delivered to Lord Perisil?”

She frowned again. “Would that be High Counsel Perisil?”

“Yes,” I said, while the ghost of Lady Teldra probably tsked at me for not knowing the proper title and at her for correcting me.

The clerk was kind enough to let me use a piece of coarse paper and a cheap pencil. I wrote a short note and handed it over, not even bothering to fold it. “I do not know the customs of your House,” I said. “I trust this will go to his hand, and nowhere else?”

“That is correct,” she said, a bit contemptuously. She probably hated her job, sitting there hour after hour sending people one way or another. I wondered how long she’d been doing it. Since the Interregnum ended, to look at her.

She took the note and put it casually on her desk under what looked like a piece of polished stone. I turned away from her slowly, scanning the room: A few people, mostly Iorich, were passing by on business of their own. The jhereg got some curious glances.

The place she’d directed me to was big and comfortable, mostly done in a pale blue that was probably calculated to make me feel something or other.

“You know, Boss, for someone who hates waiting—”

“Oh, shut up.”

Not that he wasn’t right. I found a chair against a wall because all of the chairs were against a wall. I stretched my legs out, closed my eyes, and tried to relax. Somewhere below me, there was a Jhereg expecting me to walk into Perisil’s office so I could be killed. Was Perisil in on it? Unlikely. The Jhereg don’t like to use advocates for illegal stuff; and besides, if he’d been in on it the note wouldn’t have looked funny.

Here’s the thing: Anyone can be shined. That’s just how it is. If you want someone bad enough, you can get him. But if he knows you’re after him, he can pretty much keep out of trouble as long as he stays alert. Which makes the question simple: How long can someone stay alert, always watching alleyways, aware of anyone who is carefully not looking at you, keeping an eye out for a good place to make a move. How long can you keep that up?

For most people, the answer is: hours, maybe a day or two.

But it turns out that you can do it a lot longer if you have a pair of jhereg taking shifts for you.

Did that mean I was safe? Not hardly. Sooner or later they were bound to get me. But thanks to Loiosh and Rocza, I had a pretty reasonable chance of making it later rather than sooner as long as I didn’t do too many stupid things.

I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong; I’ve gone for months without doing anything stupid. Did I just survive this time because the assassin got sloppy? Maybe. I’d like to think that if it were me I’d have been more careful with the note. Perhaps not, though. No one can do everything perfectly; mistakes happen. But we’re assassins: when we make mistakes, people live.

From time to time someone would come into the room, wait for a while, be met by someone, and leave. I guess I was there for a couple of hours before Perisil came in. He nodded to me, and said, “You could have waited in my office.”

I stood up, nodded, and followed him back down the stairs. We didn’t see anyone in the long hallway. He walked in, took a seat behind his desk, and gave me a questioning look. I decided it was a safe bet that if there’d been an assassin standing there holding a knife, he’d have reacted somehow, so I went in after him and took a seat.

“Want to explain?” he said.

“Explain what?”

“Never mind, then.”

“You saw Aliera?”

“Just got back. She’s very, ah, proud,” he said.

“If you aren’t stating the obvious, then I’m missing the point.”

“I’m stating the obvious.”

“All right.”

“Mostly.” He sat down behind the desk as if he’d just been through a battle. It was a very familiar motion, although when I sat down like that, the battle had usually been more physical.

“Want to tell me about it?” I said.

“I got her to agree to let me defend her.”

“Well done.”

“But she won’t cooperate in the endeavor.”

“That would be a problem.”

“Yes.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“Think about it.”

“I’ve tried that with Aliera.”

“Not much luck?”

“She isn’t subject to what passes for logical thought in most people.”

He nodded. “I’ll see what I can come up with. Have you learned anything?”

“The Empress was hit with some sort of disaster that reflects badly on her.”

“With whom?”

“Knowing the Empress, probably history. She’s never seemed to care much about public opinion.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“Not very. Not yet.”

“You think it might be Tirma?”

“Maybe. Hard to say, since this is the first I’ve ever heard of Tirma.”

“Oh. That’s right, you’ve been out of the city, haven’t you?”

“Yes. I only heard about Aliera’s arrest by a fluke.”

“Tirma is a village in the far northwest. There was some unrest there, and a request for Imperial troops. No one knows what happened, but some peasants were slaughtered.”

“Innocent ones?”

“Some say.”

“I’ll bet Kelly has a lot to say on the subject.”

“Who?”

“Never mind. How does arresting Aliera help? A distraction?”

“Maybe.”

He looked like he was thinking, so I let him alone. After a minute or two he said, “The bigger question is, how does Aliera think it helps?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Assuming all our speculations are right.”

“We have to find out for sure.”

“You’re telling me that’s my job.”

“I’m saying I expect your help.”

I grunted. “I guess that’s fair.”

He nodded.

I suppose I could have told him that the Jhereg already knew I was back in town, and it wouldn’t be safe for me to go sniffing around places. But then what? I mean, it had to be done.

“Sure, Boss. But do you have to be the one to do it?”

“Seems like.”

“Why?”

“No one else is.”

“Right, Boss. Why?”

“Oh.”

“. . .and until then, I’m not going to be able to—”

“Sorry, I was distracted. Start over?”

He gave me an odd look. “I was saying that I need something I can take to a Justicer.”

“What do you mean, take to a Justicer?”

“I mean sending a Petition of Release, or make a case for Dishonorable Prosecution.”

“Dishonorable Prosecution? They have that?”

“It’s in the books.”

“How many times has it been brought?”

“Successfully?”

“At all.”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Successfully?”

“Never.”

“You’d bring that against the Empress?”

“Against the Empire, but, in effect, yes.”

“Forget it. Aliera will never permit it.”

He nodded as if he’d come to the same conclusion. “Probably true, but I want to have it there anyway.”

“Whatever you think,” I said.

“What I think is that this is very odd.”

“Seems like it to me, too. The Empress prosecuting a friend isn’t—”

“No, that’s not what’s odd; Emperors do what they have to do, and being a friend to an Emperor sometimes means losing your head. It’s always been like that.”

“All right, then. What’s odd?”

“The law they’re prosecuting her with. It isn’t intended to be used against high nobles whose House is near the top of the Cycle.”

“Ah, you’ll have to explain that.”

“What’s to explain?”

“Some laws apply to high nobles, and some not?”

“How else?”

“Um. I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.”

“To prosecute a noble under the Code, you have to get a majority vote of the princes. The princes aren’t going to vote against a noble when the House is powerful without a more compelling case than this is.”

“So this is a waste of time?”

“No, no—you misunderstand. That’s under the Code. This is an Imperial Edict, which means the Empress and the High Justicer make the decision. That’s why they can get a conviction.”

“Well then, what’s—”

“But using the Edicts against a noble, at a time when you couldn’t get a conviction, is going to raise quite a stink among the princes. The High Justicer has to know that, and so does the Empress.”

“Would they let that interfere with justice?”

“Are you being funny?”

“Yes.”

“Eh. I guess it was a little funny at that. But, you know, there is making the law, and enforcing the law, and interpreting the law, and they all mix up together, and it’s people who do those things, and the people all mix up together. You can’t separate them.”

“It’d be interesting to try.”

He waved it aside. “The point is, this will create lots of bad feelings among those who matter. And bad feelings are bad statesmanship, and the Empress isn’t known for bad statesmanship.”

“Um. Okay, I think I get the idea. What’s your conclusion?”

“My conclusion is that I want to know what’s going on. I’ll look at it from my end, you look at it from yours.”

“All right.”

“Do you know how you’re going to start?”

“Of course not.”

He nodded like he’d have been surprised to get any other answer. “Are you open to suggestions?”

“Sure.”

“Stay away from the Empress.”

“That part is easy. I don’t have that much call to see her, you know. But that only tells me what not to do.”

“I’m sure we can find more things for you not to do if we put our minds to it.”

“See, Boss? He does have a sense of humor.”

“Such as it is.” Aloud, I said, “You need something that will provide a legal angle for Aliera.”

He nodded.

“Yeah, well, I know about as much about the law as you know about—that is, I don’t know much about the law.”

“You don’t need to. Find out why they’re prosecuting Aliera, and be able to prove it.”

“Prove it. What does that mean, exactly?”

“Find people who saw or heard things, and will swear to it beneath the Orb.”

“Oh, and where would I—oh.”

“Right. But stay away from the Empress.”

“Great. And what will you be doing?”

“Same as you, only to different people. And I’ll be reviewing the laws, and looking through decisions and case histories. You aren’t going to be too useful for that part.”

“I imagine not.” I stood and headed out.

Let me explain again something I’ve already mentioned: The way an assassin operates involves picking a time and a place, setting up whatever is necessary (which usually means making sure you have a good edge on your knife), and striking. If for some reason things go wrong—like, say, the guy gets suspicious about the handwriting of a note—then you go back and start over. All of which means that no one was going to be making a move on me for a day at least. Which means I should have been able to relax as I left the waiting room and headed toward the Palace.

Yeah, well, you try it sometime and see how relaxed you are.

Loiosh was pretty tense too, either because he sensed that I was, or because he knew what was going on. It’s pretty crazy, that feeling of walking through a big, wide corridor, your boots echoing, almost no one in sight, thinking you’re safe, but feeling anything but. I stopped just inside the door to cross the wide pavement to the Iorich Wing, and let Loiosh and Rocza explore carefully. The trees that dotted the pavement were too thin for anyone to hide behind, but I studied them anyway.

I kept an even walking pace across the long, long, long paved promenade between the House of the Iorich and the Palace.

“Boss, no one is going to make a move in the middle of the day, out in the open, in front of the Imperial Palace.”

“Who are you trying to convince?”

“Me, of course.”

“Just checking.”

“But you have to figure you’re being watched.”

“I know.”

I got inside, and started toward the Imperial Wing. I had the idea that it would be fun to count the number of disdainful looks I got on the way, but I forgot to actually do it. I’m still not sure how I got lost; I thought I had the route memorized. I wasn’t even aware of having gone wrong until I stepped into a large open area I hadn’t realized existed, and heard the drone of voices and saw strange and wondrous things: a shoemaker’s shop, a tailor’s, a wine seller’s, a sorcerer’s supply, a silversmith. The ceiling, if you can call it that, was high and domed, and somehow the dome’s silvery white color made it seem even higher.

“Boss, there’s a whole town here.”

“I think I should have gone up that flight of stairs I went down.”

“Or maybe down the one you went up?”

“This is a whole city.”

“There’s probably an inn with better food than that place yesterday.”

“I can always count on you to get right to the important stuff.”

“The important stuff is finding your way back to where you want to be.”

“The important stuff is not to get killed. This is a good place to shine someone up.”

“Oh,” he said. And, “It is, isn’t it?”

“It’s still too soon for them to have set anything up, but—”

“We’re watching, Boss.”

I tried to be inconspicuous—which I’m not bad at, by the way, even with a pair of jhereg on my shoulders—and looked for someone to ask directions of.

A girl who was too young to work for the Jhereg came along, carrying a box full of something that steamed. Probably someone’s lunch that I was going to make cold.

“I beg your pardon, lady,” I said. Teckla especially like being called “lady” when they’re too young to be. “Can you tell me how to get out of here?”

She stopped. “Out of where?”

“To the Palace.”

“You’re in the Palace, sir.” Her tone said she thought I was deranged or else stupid.

“The Imperial Wing.”

“Oh.” She gestured with her chin. “That way until you see the three pillars, then left to the wide stairway, and up. You’ll be right there.”

“You have my thanks.”

There were streets, buildings, pushcarts with food, and I think I even saw a beggar. What I didn’t see were three pillars, until I finally noticed what looked like an inn in miniature—chairs and tables set in a small courtyard near a long bar—that spread beneath a hanging sign showing three pillars. Yeah, all right.

After that it was easy enough to find the stairway (I climbed a lot of stairs, but not as many as it seemed I should have climbed to get above that domed ceiling; there’s some weird geometry with that place), and a bit later I found a page in Tiassa livery who was kind enough to point me in the right direction. Ten minutes or so later I was once more in an area that looked familiar—for the symbols of the Imperial Phoenix that marked every door, if for no other reason.

It was the middle of the day, and it was busy—Phoenix Guards looking impassive, advisers looking serious, adjutants looking important, courtiers looking courtly, and all of them moving past me like I was standing in the middle of a stream that flowed around me as if I were of no interest, and it might sweep me off if it felt inclined. I looked for someone who wasn’t in a hurry, because rushing down a hallway filled with teeming functionaries isn’t the best way to have a conversation.

After about fifteen minutes, I gave up and started drifting along in what I was pretty sure was the direction of the throne room.

“Not to make you nervous or anything, Boss, but someone who could nail you here, right in the Imperial Wing, would earn himself quite the reputation.”

“Yeah.”

The hallways of the Imperial Wing near the throne room are wide and tall and copper-colored, and you can’t imagine there being a time of day or night when they aren’t full of people scurrying about looking important. Here and there were wide archways or narrow doors, and from time to time someone will vanish into one or pop out and enter the flow. I didn’t go out of my way to call attention to myself, but I didn’t try to fit in, either, because that would have involved becoming part of the constant movement, and I wanted to take some time to just observe.

Eventually I found a place I recognized—I’d eaten there yesterday. I didn’t care to make that mistake again, but a number of others weren’t so particular: this time the place was doing a pretty good business. There was a low, steady hum of voices punctuated by metal trays and utensils.

I stood off the side for a while and just watched. On the other side, all alone at a table, there was a Dragaeran of middle years—say a thousand or so—who had the pale complexion and round face of the House of the Teckla. I studied him for a moment; he was drinking slowly, and seemed relaxed and maybe lost in thought. I approached and said, “Mind if I join you?”

He jumped a bit and started to rise, took in my mustache, the jhereg on my shoulders, and my sword. He hesitated and frowned; I gestured to him to remain sitting to make it easy for him. Teckla are never exactly sure whether they are above or below a nobleman who happens to be an Easterner—we throw off all of their calculations just by existing.

“By all means, my l . . . ah, sir.”

“Thanks,” I pulled up a chair. “I’ll buy you another of whatever you have there, if you don’t mind. What does the yellow armband signify?”

He had light brown hair peeking out from under a hat that was too tall and not wide enough to look anything but absurd. He glanced at the armband as if he didn’t realize it was there, then said, “Oh, I’m a message-runner.”

“For whom?”

“For hire, sir. Did you wish a message sent somewhere within the Palace? If it is outside the Palace itself, I have to charge more, because I pass it on to—”

“No, no. I was just curious about what it meant.”

He nodded, held up his mug, and gestured in the direction of a young Chreotha who seemed to be working for the older woman who was still there, only now much more awake.

“I’m Vlad,” I said. “Baronet of this, Imperial Count of that, but skip all that.” He wouldn’t, of course. He’d be incapable of skipping it.

“I’m Poncer,” he said.

“Well met.”

He gave Loiosh and Rocza a look, but then his drink arrived—it smelled like the sort of dark beer that makes me hate beer—and that distracted him.

“What can I do for you, sir?” he asked after a swallow.

“Tell me what you know.”

“Sir?”

I smiled. “Do you need to be anywhere for the next couple of hours?”

“Well, I should look for work—”

“How much do you earn?”

“Three pennies within the Imperial Wing. If I have to—”

I gave him an imperial.

He stared at it, then at me, then back to it, then he took it and put into a pouch at his side.

I now had his attention.