11

Lord Carver, presently in the Iorich Wing awaiting execution, has refused to speak to the committee. We can, however, reasonably conclude that his primary motive was financial. It is clear both from the buildup of military force beginning in Zerika 239 and what may be called propaganda efforts beginning in Zerika 249 that the attempt to break away had been planned for some years. What is less certain is that he expected support from Countess Sicera and Barons Highhold and Delora. Whether he did expect such support, what reasons he may have had for such expectations, and why this support was not forthcoming is beyond the scope of this investigation, save to note that, had he in fact had such support the possibility of success of his rebellion would have been considerably strengthened.

 

I had the coach drop me off a few hundred feet away, so Loiosh, Rocza, and I could take a last look around. It seemed clear, so I approached the cottage. Vlad Norathar was out front, using the niball racquet to keep a ball in the air. He was concentrating very hard, but eventually noticed me, stopped, and gave a hesitant bow.

“Well met, sir,” I told him, giving him my best sweeping bow. He grinned, making his whole face light up. The door opened and Cawti came out. “And well met to you as well, madam.”

“I didn’t expect to see you back so soon,” she said, looking at me as if uncertain whether to be pleased or worried.

“Some things have come up. Questions. Do you have time to talk?”

It was the middle of the day; a little ways down the street a Teckla watered a garden, probably for the craftsman who owned the house. A couple of children walked toward us, escorted by a bored-looking nurse.

“Come in, then,” she said. “Come inside, Vlad.” This last was to the boy, though it jarred me a bit when she said it. She held the door open for him, and I brought up the rear, Loiosh and Rocza landing on my shoulder, at the same moment, as we stepped through the doorway. Vlad Norathar turned when he heard the wings flapping, and his eyes got big.

“Bloody damned show-offs.”

Something like a chuckle came into my head.

Cawti asked if I wanted some brandy, and I did. She poured it, neat, unchilled, and got something for herself. She gave Vlad Norathar what looked to be a glass of wine mixed with water. He sat in a full-sized chair and waited, ready to be part of the conversation. I’d heard the expression “I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry,” but I hadn’t given it much credit until that moment.

Yeah, okay, whatever.

“It’s good to see you,” she said.

“What happened to your face?” said Vlad Norathar.

“I was beaten up.”

“By who?”

“Whom,” said Cawti.

“I’m not exactly certain,” I said.

“Are you going to find out, and then beat them up?”

I hesitated. When in doubt you can always fall back on honesty. “If I have the chance to hurt them, I will.”

He nodded, and seemed about to ask more, but I guess Cawti didn’t like where the conversation was going. “So,” she said. “What is it?”

I tried to figure out how to express it. “Why am I always in a position where I need to know what’s going on, and no one will tell me anything?”

“You aren’t actually expecting me to answer that.” She phrased it as a statement.

“No, I’m not.”

“What is it, then?”

She was wearing an olive-green dress, with a white half-bodice, half-vest that laced up in front; there were a few ruffles from her white shirt showing at the collar, and the sleeves were big and puffy. It was the kind of thing that made you ache to unlace it. Her hair was looking especially black against it. Damn her, anyway. “Can you tell me anything at all about what, uh, what your people, your group, are doing about this massacre?”

Her brows came together and she looked genuinely puzzled. “Vlad, there isn’t any secret about that. We’ve been agitating about it since it happened, and—”

“Publicly?”

“Of course.”

“What about privately?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” She said it as if she really wasn’t. I hesitated, and she said, “Maybe you could give me an idea of why you need to know.”

“Um,” I said. “Some of this I can’t tell you.”

Her eyes sparkled for a moment, just like they used to. “Explain to me again what you were saying about needing to know things and no one being willing to tell you anything.”

I felt myself smiling. “Yeah.”

Vlad Norathar remained in his chair, his eyes moving from one of us to the other as we spoke. He had some of his wine, holding the mug in both hands, his eyes watching me over the rim. I’ve been stared at by a lot scarier guys who made me a lot less nervous. I cleared my throat.

“Everything ties into everything else,” I said.

She nodded. “Yes, we’ll start with the big generalizations. Okay, go on.”

I suppressed a growl. “The Jhereg is up to something big and nasty,” I said. “They’re working with the Orca. I don’t know how unrest among Teckla and Easterners will play into it. It might work against what they’re doing, in which case your group will be a target. Or it might work for it, in which case you’ll be helping them.”

“Vlad, I don’t know where you get the idea that we can control popular unrest. We can’t. On the day we can, we’ll be living in a different world.”

“Um. All right, suppose I accept that. I don’t think the Jhereg will.”

She nodded. “I appreciate the warning; I’ll pass it on.”

“Good,” I said. “But that wasn’t actually what I was after.”

“All right. What are you after?”

“Trying to figure out what will happen, how the Jhereg will respond, how the Empire will respond to that, and how I have to respond to the Empire.”

She nodded. “Good luck with that.”

“I drown in the depths of your sympathy.”

“Vlad—”

I sighed. “Okay.”

“I just don’t know what I can tell you that would do you any good.”

“Do you expect riots?”

“I wish I knew. People are angry enough. We’re doing all we can to stop them, but—”

“Stop them?”

She blinked. “Of course, Vlad. A riot isn’t going to do anything except get some heads broken.”

“Um. Okay, looks like I need to re-evaluate.”

“Does this throw off your plan?”

“No, not that bad. I hadn’t gotten as far as having a plan.”

She nodded; she knew my way of working as well as anyone. Better than anyone. “We’re not the only group working in South Adrilankha and among the Teckla, you know.”

“Um. Actually, I didn’t know that.”

“There are at least six independent organizations.”

“Really. Well. What would happen if you all got together?”

“To do what?”

“Eh, I don’t know.”

“If we all got together, neither would we. Since we have opposite ideas on what to do, ‘getting together’ doesn’t seem like it would accomplish a great deal, does it?”

“Okay, okay. I hadn’t meant to start something. What are these other groups up to?”

She rolled her eyes. “Various things. Some of them are getting up petitions to the Empire. Some are organizing food and money to be sent to the survivors in Tirma. Some are organizing marches demanding the Empire investigate. Some are encouraging people to individual acts of violence against Imperial representatives. Some—”

“Wait a minute. Acts of violence?”

Her lips pressed together and she nodded. “Politically naive is the kindest thing you can say about it; suicidal is more accurate.”

“Can you tell me what they’re planning?”

She gave me a hard look. “From what I know of them, they aren’t planning anything, they’re just encouraging people to attack Imperial Representatives. And if they were planning something, I wouldn’t be in a position to know what it is. And if I were in such a position, I certainly wouldn’t tell you about it.”

She’s very good with hard looks. I hadn’t noticed Vlad Norathar reacting to her voice, but he must have, because Cawti reached out and stroked his head.

“Understood,” I said. “I won’t press you on that.”

“And if you’re going to find them, you’ll do it without my—”

“I don’t plan to do that,” I said.

“All right.”

I didn’t, either. Whatever their chances were of killing someone, their chances of actually affecting things were nil. But something or someone else might. Maybe. I needed to think.

“You look like you need to think,” she said.

I nodded.

She was quiet. So was the boy, except that his eyes were very loud. I stood up and paced; he watched me. After a little bit, I said, “It isn’t the group that wants to kill Imperial Representatives that bothers me. It’s the group pressing for an investigation.”

“Actually,” said Cawti, “that’s something we’re pressing for, too. But we want an investigation by us, by the people; they want the Empire to investigate itself.”

I digested that. “Do you think you’ll get anywhere with your, ah, independent investigation?”

“I don’t think asking the Empire to investigate itself is going to get anything. Do you?”

“That,” I said, “is just what I’m trying to figure out.”

She snorted. “Even if they could convince—”

“They don’t have to. It’s already happening.”

She stopped. “Is it indeed?”

“So I’m told.”

“I hadn’t heard about it.”

“It’s pretty new. Also, probably, pretty secret.”

“A secret investigation,” she said. “Well, I think we can all have a lot of confidence in that.”

“I think the Empress wants to know what happened, and why.”

“I’d like to know myself,” said Cawti.

“But there are others who don’t.”

She arched an eyebrow.

“The Jhereg,” I said.

“The Jhereg? Why would they care?”

“It might interfere with the schemes they’re trying to hatch.”

“What exactly are these famous schemes?”

“That,” I said, “is exactly what I can’t talk about.”

She nodded.

“It’s better to talk about what’s bothering you,” said Vlad Norathar.

My first inclination was to argue with him, which is funny when you think about it. But I had the feeling Cawti wouldn’t have appreciated that, so I just said, “You’re right, but sometimes you have to not talk about things because you don’t want to get someone else in trouble.”

That seemed to make sense to him. He nodded.

“You have friends, you know,” said Cawti.

I nodded. “Hard to forget; it’s the only reason I’m still around to irritate the Jhereg. Have you heard anything from the Left Hand?”

She shook her head. “They’re keeping the agree—why?” she asked, suddenly looking alert.

“This might involve them, too.”

She sighed. “You certainly do make a lot of enemies for a lovable guy.”

“It’s my burden.”

A smile came and went on her angular face, framed in straight black hair, her eyes dark and deep. It was hard to believe one face could convey such a range of—

“Boss, if you can’t focus on the problem, I’m going to invoke my executive authority to get us out of this town.”

“When did you get executive authority?”

“You should give me executive authority.”

I studied the ceiling over Cawti’s head. “How would I find these people?”

“They meet at the home of the leader, a printer by trade. Her name is Brinea. She lives on Enoch Way, near Woodcutter’s Market. A little cottage painted an ugly green, with a pair of evergreens in front.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you actually need to see them?”

“I’m not sure. There’s too much I’m not sure of right now.”

She nodded. “This is liable to get bloody, Vlad.”

“Yeah, I had that same thought.”

“As long as you know.”

I shrugged. “I’ve done bloody before.”

“How recently?”

“I’ve been trying to use my head more and my knives less.”

“That’s what worries me.”

“What, trying to shake my confidence?”

She shook her head. “Trying to reassure myself that you aren’t getting into something you can’t handle.”

“I’m glad you care.”

“You know I care.”

“Yeah. I just like being reminded from time to time.”

She looked at Vlad Norathar. I followed her gaze; he was looking at me curiously.

“Okay,” I said. “I see your point.” I got up and opened the door. Loiosh and Rocza flew out. A couple of minutes later, Loiosh let me know the area was safe.

“I’ll see you soon,” I said. “Vlad Norathar, it is always a pleasure, sir.” I bowed.

He stood, carefully set his wine cup down, and did a credible imitation of my bow, his leg back and his hand sweeping the floor. Then he straightened up and grinned.

Cawti smiled proudly at him, then walked me to the door.

“Until next time, Vlad,” she said, and the door closed softly behind me.

I had nowhere in particular to be, and reason to believe I didn’t have a tail, and I felt like walking; so I made my way to Woodcutter’s Market in South Adrilankha. Enoch Way wasn’t marked, but one of those Eastern women who looks like everyone’s grandmother grunted and pointed, then looked at me as if wondering why I didn’t know something so obvious. I offered her a coin, which she refused with a snort.

Loiosh and Rocza flew above me, in circles, watching as I strolled down the street like any good citizen; except of course that not many Easterners openly wore steel at their sides, and the cut of my clothes was better than most.

It was easy to find the cottage; it was just as Cawti had described it. I stood across the street, leaning against a dead tree in the front of a row of cheap housing, and studied the ugly green. I probably should have been able to deduce things about the person who lived there just by looking at it, but I couldn’t. I mean, yeah, the yard was neat; so what? Did she keep it that way, or did a husband, or had they hired someone to do it? The paint was pretty new, but, same thing.

I watched the place a little longer, but no one came in or out. I thought about breaking in. Maybe. Couldn’t think what I’d be liable to learn, and to have someone find me would be embarrassing. But if there was something to find—

“Boss, hide.”

I ducked behind the oak tree. “What?”

“You’ve been found. Dragaeran, Jhereg colors, big but moves well. He’s got those eyes.”

I knew what he meant by that; there’s something around the eyes of someone who’s done “work.” I guess maybe I have that look, too. Or did. I don’t know.

“Find me a clean way out?”

“Looking.”

I remained still and waited, my fingers tapping on Lady Teldra’s hilt. I’d been in much scarier situations than just one lone Jhereg. If this was more complicated than that, well, I’d have to trust Loiosh to let me know in time; meanwhile I was ready, but not nervous.

“Boss, uh, something odd.”

“That isn’t useful.”

“He’s about twenty feet away from you, stopped, leaning against that empty storefront, pretty well concealed from the street. He knows his stuff.”

“All right. And?”

“And when he got there, someone else left the same spot.”

“We walked right by someone?”

“Seems like. But that isn’t the thing. He’s watching the house.”

“Oh.”

“You think he isn’t here for you?”

“Let’s stay here for a bit and watch the watcher. What’s the other guy doing?”

“Leaving, trying to look inconspicuous. Doing all right at it.”

“What are the chances they recognized me?”

“How should I know, Boss? I mean, probably not; you’re just another Easterner here. But—”

“Right. We can’t know. Okay, let’s hang out and see what happens.”

On reflection, it seemed that breaking into the house would have been a bad idea after all.

“Is there a way I can get into a position to watch him?”

“I’ll check.” And, “All right. This way.” He landed on my shoulder, and guided me behind the row of housing, through some yards with bits of discarded furniture and broken pottery, and then around. I hugged a house, settled in, and waited, watching.

Well now. Here was an interesting situation.

The solution, of course, presented itself at once, seeing as I wasn’t in a hurry. If for whatever reason you are unable to speak with someone psychically, there is a vital tool that you must never be without: a scrap of paper and a wax pencil.

“I’m running an errand?”

“Yes, indeed. Unless Rocza can do it.”

“Better be me. Are we in a hurry?”

“Only because I’m going to be really bored until you get back.”

I scratched out a note and handed it to him. He took it in a claw and flew off. I squatted down and settled in to wait. I didn’t move; the guy I was watching didn’t move. I occupied my time with trying to decide whether I knew the guy, and, if so, from where. He looked vaguely familiar; I might have hired him for something once. Or I might have just seen him at—

“Hello, Vlad. You wished something?”

I heard the voice at the same time I felt the pop of displaced air; I didn’t quite jump and scream. I’d have glared at him, but it was my own fault for not telling Loiosh to warn me, so instead I just glared.

“Hello, Daymar. Long time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind. Yes, I’d like a favor of you, if you aren’t busy.” He was floating, cross-legged, about three feet off the ground. It’s an easy trick, and I cannot for the life of me imagine why he thinks it might be impressive. Maybe he just thinks it’s comfortable, but it doesn’t look comfortable.

I’d known him for, well, for years. Tall, dark, and a Hawklord, with all that implies. If it doesn’t imply anything for you, I’ll spell it out: He’s vague, irritating, very good at what he does, and completely oblivious of anything that might be going on around him unless it excites his particular interest. It’s good to know people like Daymar, even if it means putting up with people like Daymar. But when it comes to messing around with the inside of someone’s head, there’s no one better. I’ve used his skills in the past, and I’ll use them again if I don’t eviscerate him instead.

I said, “See that fellow over there?”

He looked. “No,” he said.

“Look again. There. No, where I’m pointing. Just barely around the corner from the door.”

“Oh. Yes. What’s he doing?”

“Same thing I am. The question is, who is he doing it for?”

“Should I ask him?”

I took a breath, let it out again. “That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“Oh. You mean, something more invasive?”

“Yes.”

He paused. “He’s wearing protection.”

“Oh. Does that mean you can’t find out?”

He looked at me, as if trying to see if I was joking. Then he said, “No.”

“Okay, but I don’t want him knowing what happened.”

That earned me another look; which was fine, that’s why I’d said it.

I know, I know; it isn’t nice to irritate someone who is doing you a favor. It probably isn’t smart, either. But if you’d ever met Daymar, you’d understand. Besides, this gave him an excuse to show off, which was what he lived for.

No, that isn’t fair. It wasn’t about showing off for him, it was his fascination with the thing he was doing—it was a chance to use his skill, to do what felt right for him to do. I could understand that; I used to feel the same way when setting up to put a shine on someone. Not the killing, the setting up: that feeling of everything functioning the way it’s supposed to, of your mind going above itself, of—

“Got it,” he said.

I nodded. “What did you learn?”

“That he’s bored, that this is stupid, that nothing has been happening, and that he’s glad he doesn’t have to make the report.”

“Um. Let’s start with the last. He doesn’t have to make the report?”

“No, he’s just helping out some guy named Widner.”

“And he doesn’t know who Widner reports to?”

“Nope.”

I suggested that my patron goddess should take sensual pleasure, though I didn’t put it quite in those terms. “Why doesn’t he want to make the report?”

“I can’t say exactly; I just got the impression that whoever the report is being given to, he wouldn’t like her.”

“Her.”

He nodded.

“Oh.”

I withdrew my suggestions about the Demon Goddess.

Well now, that was all sorts of interesting. “Thank you, Daymar. You’ve been most helpful.”

“Always a pleasure, Vlad.”

There was a “whoosh” of air and he was gone, all abrupt and stuff, leaving me with my thoughts, such as they were.

Her.

If it was a “her” that Widner was reporting to, it was the Left Hand of the Jhereg.

Why was the Left Hand keeping a watch on what happened in that little cottage?

Because the Left Hand was involved in whatever the Jhereg—the Right Hand, I mean—and the Orca were doing. And because having Brinea and her people pushing for the Empire to investigate the massacre in Tirma might mess up the plans.

Okay, fine. Why?

Because the Empire, just on the off chance that they were honest (whatever Cawti might say about that possibility), would, by investigating, undercut the pressure the Jhereg and the Orca were putting on them, and their scheme would fall through.

So, what would they do? They’d stop the investigation, if they could.

How? How do you go about stopping an Imperial investigation? And what did it have to do with some weird group of Easterners gathered in a little cottage in South Adrilankha?

Loiosh returned from his errand and landed on my shoulder.

“Is he gone already, Boss?”

“Yeah, and so are we. I have stuff to do.”