Hawk (Vlad) (24 page)

“Boss, don’t tell me you’re going to stop in the middle of this and cook something.”

“I’m not.”

“Well, good then.”

“This is for, as the Shereba players say, the endgame.”

I bought an orange and a hollow-blade knife small enough to conceal in my pouch. Then I looked around only briefly, smiled, and made one other purchase.

*   *   *

There is a tree that grows between the Adrilankha River valley and the desert of Suntra, where it was first brought, I’m told, by Pilmasca the Explorer (who might never have existed) from somewhere in the East I’ve never heard of (and which might also not exist). From the tree grows a bean that has some complex name derived from Serioli, even though everyone is convinced the tree came from the East originally.

This bean can be fermented, roasted, ground (I’m not sure in what order), and, I don’t know, have other things done to it to produce a harsh, bitter hot liquid called chocolate, which can then be sweetened in various ways, or used unsweetened if you’d like.

There are lots of things to do with it, and it is very much a part of many Eastern cultures—even those that are nowhere near where the trees grow. There’s this thing called “trading” that happens, and, apparently, chocolate is one of the things that gets traded a lot.

One thing that happens with it, is that it gets blended with honey and a clear distilled alcohol, and maybe some other flavorings, and left to sit, and it turns into a delightful, sweet concoction. It is just the thing to offer your guests to go with the fruit course, or even to replace it. Those who know how to brew it up—if they’re good at it—can make a pretty reasonable income selling it to Dragaeran food and cooking stores.

*   *   *

I smiled when I saw the bottle, nodded, and said, “That will do very well.”

“I’m not seeing it, Boss.”

“You don’t need to, Loiosh.”

“But—all right.”

Onward, then.

The last thing I bought was a small flask, suitable for carrying a small quantity of chocolate liqueur with me. That done, I overpaid and bid farewell to the proprietor.

13

M
AKING
C
ONNECTIONS
OR
M
AKING
M
USIC

There are various reasons for preferring a delivered message to psychic communication. The three most usual reasons are: that a piece of paper signed by a witness is more official; that you don’t know the other person well enough to communicate psychically; and that if you remove the amulet you’re wearing that prevents psychic communication, the Jhereg will know where you are, and it will thus be easier for them to plunge a Morganti weapon into some appropriate portion of your anatomy. This last reason, I would guess, is less common than the other two.

Dotted throughout Adrilankha are small “offices” (sometimes nothing more than outdoor stands) marked by a yellow stripe. Here you can find a runner who will, for a small fee, deliver a message anywhere in the city. Rumor has it that the original owner had a gambling problem, followed by a not-paying-his-debt problem, followed by a someone-now-owns-half-your-business problem. If true, whoever the Jhereg was has to be pretty wealthy by now, because the business keeps growing, with more and more of these places appearing all the time.

The nearest one was a quarter of a mile away. I went there, composed a message addressed to Lady Saruchka, care of the Ball of Yarn Tavern and Music Hall, and sent it on its way.

Back in the office, I had a quick meal of bread, cheese, sausages, and Loiosh complaining about eating the same thing all the time. I went through the list of what we’d eaten lately, but those were only facts, so they didn’t impress him. I told him we’d have a good meal when this was all over. He pointed out that I’d likely be dead. I suggested that would be fine, and asked if he would be willing to deliver his complaints then. He gave me an evasive answer.

Then he said,
“Next we get in touch with Daymar?”

“I think we’re out of excuses.”

I reviewed the list. I had the cloak, the ring, the lockpick, and the wand was coming—almost everything.

My heart gave a thump. It had been doing that a lot lately. I wished it would stop. I mean, stop giving random thumps, not, you know, stop.

I wrote a note and gave it to Loiosh. He sighed and flew off to deliver it to Daymar. I picked up the book on Imperial trade laws just to make sure that I knew the relevant section well enough. I tried reciting it from memory; succeeded. Tried again, succeeded again. I took out the koelsch leaves Auntie gave me, found a bowl, and used the pommel of a dagger to pound them into a powder.

I heard a commotion out in the office, and decided that Daymar was there. Someone stuck his head in and was probably about to tell me so when Daymar brushed past him. In his hand was a tube about four inches in diameter and maybe four feet long. And my heart thumped
again
, because he had what I wanted, which meant, on the plus side, that I was closer to being ready, and on the minus side, that I was closer to being ready.

He handed me the tube.

*   *   *

It is said that before the arrival of Men or Dragaerans, so long ago even the hills have forgotten, in secret caverns deep in the mountains, an ancient race called the Serioli constructed artifacts of breathtaking beauty, profound subtlety, and unimaginable power.

All of which is true, but has nothing to do with this. The object called the Wand of Ucerics was made by a Hawklord in Adrilankha about two hundred years ago. The creation of powerful magical tools, generally, is the result of one of three things: the desire to impress a lover; an accident while trying to create something else entirely; or a side project created to assist while working toward something considered more significant by the creator. This was the third.

Ucerics had been taken with the notion that it should be possible to teach a wounded or diseased body to heal itself, something sorcerers had been working on for more than ten millennia. Ucerics’s notion had to do with stimulating the nervous system in combination with the knowledge contained in the body’s cellular structure, and, from hanging out with Aliera, I almost know what some of that means. Ucerics made the wand to visualize cell structures, and, just for convenience, added in an enchantment to help keep him awake while he worked.

When he passed away from acute exhaustion, malnutrition, and sleep deprivation, the wand, with all of his other possessions, went to his only surviving relative: his nephew, Daymar. I found out about it many years ago, and wondered, even then, if it might be useful someday.

*   *   *

One end of the case had a cover. I removed it, and slid the contents out: a narrow rod that appeared to be made of glass, though it wasn’t.

“That’s it, Vlad.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know how to use it?”

I nodded.

“Why do you want it?”

I looked at him. That look was sending a message, a reminder, that I had already told him all that I wanted to tell him. The message, as it happened, didn’t get through; he waited.

I sighed. “Why do you think?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been trying to imagine. With that amulet on, you won’t be able to detect anything.”

“I know.”

“Will you take the amulet off?”

“No.”

He frowned. “Are you going to make me guess?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“You don’t have to guess.”

“Unless you worry about falling asleep suddenly.”

“Yes, I do. The fear of it keeps me awake at night.”

He nodded, then frowned. “Ah, I see. Yes. The fear of falling asleep keeps you awake, so you aren’t worried about falling asleep. Yes. That’s why it’s funny. I see what you did there.”

“Thank all the gods for that.”

“And you still won’t tell me?”

“When it’s all over, I’ll tell you.”

“What if you’re dead?”

“Then I won’t tell you.”

“No, I suppose you won’t.”

“Thank you for the loan,” I said. “I should be done with it by nightfall tomorrow, one way or the other.”

“All right. Is there anything else you need?”

“A good night’s sleep.”

“Yes, well, good luck with that.”

“Thanks.”

“And with, you know, the other thing.”

“Thanks.”

He turned to go, and I said, “Daymar.”

He turned back. “Hmmm?”

“Thanks.”

He nodded and walked out, shoulders a little stooped, his tread heavy. I wondered if I’d ever see him again.

“Cut it out, Boss.”

“What. I’m in danger. I could be killed. I can’t even look on the bright side?”

I sat down, leaned against a wall, and closed my eyes. A last meal at Valabar’s would be nice. A last talk with my son would be even nicer. And Cawti. What was I—no, stop it, you idiot. All of those are out of the question anyway. Just think how good it’ll be when that becomes your biggest problem, Vlad. So forget the crap and make things work.

Heh. Now Loiosh had me so well trained I was doing it myself.

I went over it all in my head, yet again, looking for things that might go wrong and figuring out what to do about them; or as many of them as possible.

And, you know, it wasn’t that bad. Yeah, there were places I was playing probabilities instead of near certainties, but I had contingencies for most of those.

“I think we have a shot, Loiosh.”

“I think so too, Boss. But I don’t like it that I’m not in the room.”

“Actually, that works out better for us.”

“Yeah, you said that before. But I don’t see how.”

“It means you can be where I need you to be.”

“Yeah, I know. But where is that, and why?”

“Outside. Holding that, and being ready to use it.”

I pointed to the neat little clear ball that Morrolan had given me: a standard, military-issue smoke bomb, only mildly sorcerous, and very reliable.

“So you’re afraid of an attack from outside the room?”

“Exactly. And if that happens, I’ll be climbing up a cliff on a ladder built into the rock, and be in no condition to defend myself.”

“Got it,”
he said.

Deragar clapped and opened the door. “Lord Taltos, someone is here to see you.”

“The most stunningly beautiful Issola you’ve ever seen?”

He nodded. “Expecting her, huh. Well, my opinion of you just climbed a few notches.”

“Good. Now I can sleep nights. So I don’t need the wand.”

“Wand?”

“Never mind. Send her in.”

“I will.”

I stood up. “Hello, Sara,” I said. “Thank you for coming by.”

She wrapped me in a hug, then kissed the top of my head.

*   *   *

I’ve heard a lot of people say music is magical, and a few say magic is musical. I don’t know. Both sound like the sort of clever things people say to make their listeners nod wisely, but when you pick it up to look at it, it crumbles. Or maybe I’m wrong; that isn’t my area.

But it is true—or at least, Sethra told me, and that’s close enough to true for most purposes—that music was one of the first things that magic was applied to, and that the magical arts have been enhanced by music for almost as long. By now, some have even gotten pretty good at it.

So, yeah, even if you don’t buy into stupid aphorisms, there are a lot of enchantments for music, and a lot of musical instruments that carry enchantments. Most Issola had a few, and Lady Saruchka was no exception. She had mentioned the ensorcelled euphonium as an instrument she had no use for: no interest in playing it, nor in being in the sort of orchestra that required one. For the most part, she played instruments that permitted her to sing at the same time, and I’d never known her to play with more than four other musicians at the same time. She’d told me once that it wasn’t the number of musicians that mattered, it was the size of the stage; she liked what she called intimate venues, which I guess means small.

The most basic enchantment that can be put on a musical instrument is, of course, the ability to play it. As I understand it, the more musical skill you have, the better it works, even more if you already know how to play that particular instrument. Or something like that.

And, since we’re doing the whole balance thing, the better you are at playing an instrument, the better you can use any spell that uses the instrument to enhance sorcery, the better your sorcery will work; and the better you are at sorcery, well, you know.

Sara had acquired—she was a little vague as to how—a euphonium that did both; it had a spell that permitted anyone to play it competently, and it had an enchantment that permitted fine control of psychic phenomena; and I imagine that now you’re getting an idea of why I wanted it.

When you don’t have the skill you need, you hire someone who does; and when you can’t do that, you find a way to fake it. Some days I think that explains most of my career.

*   *   *

“You’re welcome,” she said, handing me an instrument case. “Here is what you asked for.”

I took it, but didn’t open it. “Have a chair.”

She did, and looked around. “This is where you’re living now?”

I sat down facing her, relaxed, and crossed my legs. She sat upright, but on her it looked relaxed. “I’d put it as staying, not living. Just for another day.”

“Oh?”

“Then I should have things settled.”

“What things?”

“If it works, I won’t have to run anymore.”

“Vlad, really?”

“Yes.”

“You might get out of trouble with the Jhereg?”

“There’s a good chance.”

“What are you going to do?”

“You mean, afterward, instead of running? Well, I thought—”

“You know very well that isn’t what I meant.”

I sighed. “It’s complicated, and involves some internal Jhereg matters, and arcane magic that I don’t understand, and Imperial trade laws that I understand even less.”