Hawk (Vlad) (22 page)

He caught my eye and held it; I waited.

“Or,” I said after what seemed enough time. “We could talk a little first. After a bit more conversation, if you’d like, you can still do those awful things that you have contemplated, and that I can do nothing to prevent, helpless son-of-a-bitch that I am, oh, woe is me.”

He held my eye a little longer, then grunted and put the knife away. I pushed Lady Teldra back into her sheath.

“So,” he said. “It’s true. I’d heard that you had…” His voice trailed off as he gestured with his chin.

“Yeah,” I said. “Now. What is it that makes it so out of the question for you to leave Terion open?”

“Because,” he said, “I don’t like you.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot. What else?”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Then you haven’t checked up on me as well as I’ve checked up on Terion. Or you, for that matter.”

He stared at me as if his eyes were weapons, which they weren’t. I’ve been glared at by experts, and, whatever else he was good at, his glaring powers didn’t come up to scratch.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll give you one minute. What do you have?”

“What Terion has.”

He kept staring.

“You get his area, his connections, his—”

“What makes you think I couldn’t have all that if I wanted, just by taking him out myself?”

“Because then everyone would know you had. You’d be that guy who betrayed his boss to get his territory.”

“And this way I wouldn’t? How do you figure that?”

“You leave me an opening. I take it. I don’t take his area. You’re positioned to move in. And it doesn’t trace back to you.”

“How do I leave you an opening without it tracing back to me?”

“We need to work that part out,” I said.

He arched an eyebrow and gave me a look in which skepticism was about equally blended with disdain; and I didn’t care, because I knew I had him.

“What do you get out of this? You just don’t like him?”

“That’s part of it. He’s been a hole in my boot for a long time, and I’m tired of it. And he just tried to shine a friend of mine. But more important, I’m working on something, and he’s liable to get in the way.”

“What are you working on?”

“I’m trying to set up a store to sell baskets of none-of-your-fucking-business at wholesale prices.”

His lips twitched. “All right.”

“So, how does it happen?”

“Is it true what they say? That you have a pet jhereg?”

“I wouldn’t call him a pet, exactly. He works with me. What’s your point?”

“One of the regulars has a terror of the things; just have it show up, and he’ll collapse.”

“And the guy who works with him?”

“Can be gotten to.”

“Money?”

He shook his head. “I have something on him.”

“And making sure it doesn’t blow back on you?”

“I’m going to put it on the guy I have something on.”

I worked that out. “You were going to shine him anyway, weren’t you?”

“Sooner or later.”

“Personal?”

“Yeah.”

I nodded. “Then we’re in?”

“When do you need it.”

“In the next day.”

He stared at me. “Look—”

“Maybe two.”

He continued staring at me, then frowned and said, “Actually, that works out. Can you do it tonight?”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah. This evening.”

Served me right, I guess. If I was going to rush him, it was only fair. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes,” I said.

He nodded. “How do I reach you?”

“Deragar, the guy who set this meet up, will be around. Get him a message and it’ll get to me.”

“Where?”

“Do you know the Blue Flame?”

“The place where they make the pepper sausage?”

It was almost enough to make me like him. “Yeah,” I said. “He’ll be there.”

“All right. Anything else?”

“No. Want me to leave first?”

He nodded. I stood up and, my shoulder blades only twitching a little, I opened the door and walked out. I made myself walk slowly, both to reassure his people, and because, well, you know, you just don’t let on that your shoulder blades are twitching.

12

M
AKING
T
HREATS
OR
M
AKING
C
ONNECTIONS

Loiosh flew onto my shoulder, and Deragar, Nesci and the other guy, whose name I never learned, flanked me.

“Rocza says we’re clear, Boss.”

We stepped out the door, and turned back toward Kragar’s office. The return was scarier than getting there, I suppose because I had less to think about. We took the secret way in, in spite of my discomfort at letting others in on it; I just didn’t feel like walking back into the front of the office was a good career move at that moment.

As soon as we were back, I told Deragar he needed to head to the Blue Flame and wait until he got a message.

“It’s a good place,” he said.

I nodded. “Yeah, and order something good. On me.”

“I’ll be in touch,” he said.

“Don’t get killed,” I told him.

He nodded and left. Not even a smart remark; where was Kragar finding these people? Speaking of Kragar, once Deragar was gone I asked about him. I was told he was doing all right. I asked if he was out of danger, and was told, “probably.” I loved that.

“So, what do you think, Loiosh?”

“About?”

“Will he go through with it, or is he setting me up?”

“Fifty-fifty, Boss.”

“I think we’re a little ahead of that. Not much, maybe. But he wants the area, and this is his chance to get it.”

“If he can trust you enough.”

“Yeah.”

I retreated to my corner and sharpened my knives, just to be doing something. I suggested we eat something, and Loiosh, shockingly, agreed. That “shockingly” part was a joke. One of Kragar’s people went down the street and came back with goose soup. I mean, it was called soup, but there wasn’t much broth in it—mostly goose and vegetables and some really sharp spices and noodles that stayed crisp in spite of the liquid. Loiosh expressed strong approval, although he let me know that Rocza was a bit uncertain about the spicing. I said she was just weak, but I don’t think Loiosh passed that on.

I finished the soup and fought off the desire to take a nap. It became easier when Deragar came back.

“All right,” he said. “It’s set.”

I nodded. “What do I need to know?”

“Do you know the corner of Undauntra and Paved Road?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a place there, on Paved, second door in from Undauntra. It’s a brickstone building with a cherrywood facade. Two flats. In the lower one, on Farmdays, there’s a low-stakes Shereba game he likes.”

“I remember. Isn’t there a big range on when he shows up?”

“After the seventh hour, before the tenth.”

“That’s a pretty wide window.”

“I know.”

“And he doesn’t always go.”

“He’ll be there tonight.”

“All right. I know the area. It could be better, but I think it’ll do. It won’t be crowded, anyway.”

“I checked over the place. Alley next to it, alley across the street, the building to the north is tall and there’s a big cistern in front of it. Big enough to hide behind. The alley is eight paces from the door, the alley across the street is twenty, the cistern is twelve.”

“Your paces or mine?”

“Yours.”

I mentally increased the amount I was going to pay him.

“What color is the cistern?”

“Sort of a dull silver.”

“Good,” I said.

“Lord Taltos, do you want me to do this?”

I hesitated, considered. Then I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I’ve got it.”

I hoped I had it. I’d put a lot of shines on a lot of sons-of-bitches over the years, but this one was going to be different.

I stretched my legs out, tried to relax, and thought about it, considering this, that, and the other. In a few hours, I was going to—finally—get that asshole Terion out of my life, either by killing him, or by, well, no longer having a life. The good news was that, unless he was carrying a Morganti weapon, losing my life would also be cheating the Jhereg.

Although there had been an appalling number of Morganti weapons around of late. The Empire should really do something about that. I considered writing a letter to the Empress and filling it with threats and obscenity. Maybe next week I’d see how that worked out for me.

We went out the secret exit and took a slightly circuitous route, so it was around the fifth hour when Loiosh, Rocza, and I got there—I’d declined Deragar’s offer of company, because some things I just feel are personal. I looked around. Deragar’s description had been good, except that he hadn’t mentioned how exposed the closer alley was—it was more like a narrow street than an alley, and there was nothing in it. The building was made of that horrid stuff where they carve rocks to look like bricks, and someone had stuck some wood in front to make it look better. There was nothing there to hide behind, though. But the cistern was there—taller than me, wider than me, pump and spigot on the street side. I stood behind it and eyeballed the distance I’d have to cross. Loiosh and Rocza flew in gradually widening circles overhead.

There was some street traffic, but not a great deal, and I can blend in pretty well. The grayish color wasn’t necessary, but it didn’t make things harder.

Usually, I liked to have days or even weeks to put things together; to pick an exact time and place, decide on the weapon, and have the approach and escape down precisely. This time, it would need to be half improvised, and I didn’t care for it.

But I’ll tell you something. One reason you go to all the extra trouble, pay so much attention to detail, and plan everything so carefully is that, every once in a while, there’s a situation where you’ll have to just do the best you can, and all the extra work you did the other times makes it a little easier and more natural to make the right move. It’s like a catchback player who uses perfect form on the easy balls: He’s the one more likely to make those sensational unlikely catches that make bookies scream and tear their hair out.

The weapon up my left sleeve was about my favorite for this sort of work: a long, slim stiletto. Remember when I was talking about how hard it is to kill someone with a stab wound? Well, it’s another matter if you know how—if you can get to the guy’s heart in one shot like the guy who nailed Kragar did; or get to his brain in one shot, like I can.

I drew the knife and studied it, then swore under my breath because I hadn’t coated it with anything to reduce the glare. I resheathed it. Then I realized that getting him in one shot was unlikely. I just didn’t have the level of detail I usually need to be able to find an exact place, an exact angle of attack. Too much was unknown. I didn’t know if there would still be daylight when he showed, and, if not, what the lighting around here would be like. I knew almost nothing. The idea of taking him with one perfect shot went from seeming unworkable, to plain ridiculous. I was going to take this on like an Orca thug earning ten imperials from a guy he met over wine at a dockside tavern.

Well, all right then. I did have some advantages over the hypothetical Orca thug: Loiosh, Rocza, knowledge of my target, and the fact that I was much, much better than any of them were.

I looked around, considering.

The thing about merchants—even those at the upper end of the class—is that they’re predictable. If they don’t live behind or above their shop—which most of them do—then they get done with work around six hours after noon, go home, and usually stay there. Sounds dull to me, but I guess they like it. And this was an area with a lot of merchants, which means by the time darkness began to fall, the street was nearly empty. Other than really, really crowded, empty is best for my business.

The night descended gradually. The weather was cold but muggy—a trick Adrilankha would pull every once in a while. I drew my cloak around me to warm up, then started sweating. I was beginning to develop a bad mood. I hoped killing Terion would help. Killing someone doesn’t usually put me in a good mood. The set-up and planning do though, so that’s something. As for the killing, well, it doesn’t usually seem to affect my mood at all. Maybe this time would be different. I hoped so.

“Boss, when have you been so worried about mood? Who are you turning into, and how do I stop it?”

“If I can pull this thing off, that should fix it.”

“Yeah, and if you can’t, it won’t matter.”

“I was about to say that.”

Adrilankha hissed, moaned, thudded, and murmured around me, and I waited.

You know, with all its ugliness and stench and irritations, I really love this city.

A wind came up and my hair got in my eyes; something else I’d forgotten. I tied it back. What else had I forgotten? Rocza settled back on my left shoulder.

This guy, Terion, had annoyed me for a long time. Also scared me, and hurt me. I wanted him gone. And now he’d tried to put a shine on Kragar. That I wanted him dead didn’t mean I was any more prepared to kill him; that I wasn’t really prepared to kill him didn’t mean that I didn’t want him dead. Like that.

Time dragged just like it does—did—for a more standard job, like the kind I used to do and get paid for, when I was living a life that, in retrospect, seems simpler, even though it didn’t seem simple at the time and there was probably not much difference. But waiting was part of the job; you even factored it in. As the waiting time expired, as you got close to the moment to move, you got a little more excited, and a little calmer at the same time—everything got sharper and cleaner, and when it came you were utterly and completely ready. Back then, I’d never work with a three-hour window; I’d find another time, another place, another way.

I wiped the sweat from my palms.

I considered a stiletto again, but then rejected it and drew my rapier. This was not going to be clean. And making sure he couldn’t be revivified might involve severing his spine; that wouldn’t be clean either.