Iorich (29 page)

“Do you know where and when?”

“No. That’s what I want your help with.”

He put on a “this is going to be good” expression, and waited.

I said, “I’ve been following her, hoping to pick up whichever assassin is following her, hoping to take him out before he moves.”

“Well?”

“Well, no one is following her.”

He shrugged. “Maybe she has no protection spells on, and they’re tracing her movements with magic.”

I kept my face expressionless and said, “I had the same thought. Can you find out?”

“Hmmm? Oh, sure.”

“Good.”

“Now?”

“Up to you,” I said. “Now, or else after she’s dead. Either way is fine.”

“And then,” he said, “there are times I don’t miss you so much.”

“Yeah, well.”

“Okay, a moment.” He closed his eyes, opened them, looked
disgusted, and said, “Oh, right. I’m in the Dragon Wing. Wait here.”

He got up and walked out, so I missed seeing the powerful sorcerer doing his powerful sorcery, which would have involved him closing his eyes and then, I don’t know, maybe taking a deep breath or something.

He was back a few minutes later. He sat down opposite me and said, “No one’s tracing her.”

“Really. Well. Isn’t that interesting. Any chance they have a trace on her you don’t know about?”

“I checked for sorcery, and witchcraft. I suppose it’s possible, but it isn’t very likely. Does this mean you’re wrong?”

“I don’t know. It fit together too well for me to think I got it wrong. But I don’t, as Perisil would say, have any evidence that would work in court.”

He considered. “If you’re right, ignoring the lack of evidence, what happens to Aliera?”

“Good question. In fact, that’s
the
question, isn’t it? I wish I had an answer. If they get away with it, the Empress has to choose between giving in to the Jhereg, and sacrificing Aliera. I don’t know which way she’ll jump.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Hmm?”

“What if you stop them?”

“Oh. Then the Empire runs an investigation into the massacre, and probably drops all those bogus charges against Aliera. She was Warlord when it happened; I have no idea how an investigation like that will work out.”

He considered for a moment. “I’d be inclined to think there’d be no blame attached to her.”

“Should there be?”

“Pardon?”

“Well, she’s the Warlord. It happened. How far up should the responsibility go?”

“Do you care?”

“Not really. Just curious.”

“I’m not an Iorich.”

“Right.”

He said, “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Maybe get out of town. I don’t want to be here when whatever happens happens.”

He stared at me. “What, just give up?”

“I was thinking about it.”

“That isn’t like you.”

“Morrolan, I’m lost. Sometime, somehow, they’re going to take out Desaniek. And it will look like these Easterners did it to protest the massacre. It could be anywhere. I’ve spent most of the last week following her. I counted more than thirty times and places that would have been great to nail her. How am I supposed to know which they’ll do? You cannot stop an assassin unless you know the assassin and get to him first. If you have any suggestions on how to figure that out, feel free to mention them. I’m beat.”

“Can’t help you,” he said, dryly. “You’re the only assassin I know.”

“I know plenty of them, and I’m no better off. The other possibility is that I’m entirely wrong, and in that case I’m even more helpless because I have no clue at all that points to what they’re planning, and I can’t convince myself they’re going to just take this without making a move of some kind.”

He frowned. “We need to do something.”

“I’m glad it’s ‘we’ now.”

His nostrils flared, but he didn’t say anything; he knows when I’m just blowing sparks.

“Thanks for coming by,” I said.

“Need a teleport anywhere?”

“Yes, but I can’t risk it. Thanks, though.”

We both stood up. “If you come up with anything, and I can help—”

“I’ll let you know.”

He nodded and preceded me out the door, heading deeper into the Wing; presumably to find a place he could teleport from. I miss the small conveniences, you know? I took myself out and started back toward my inn, thinking a bit of rest wouldn’t be a bad idea.

“Was that true, Boss? Are you really giving up?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. But I have no idea what to do.”

“I’m with Morrolan. Doesn’t seem like you to leave town with things unfinished.”

“Would you be against it?”

“No! I’m all for it, Boss! This place scares me. But it seems like you showing good sense, and that’s not what I expect.”

I sighed.
“I probably won’t.”

“You should.”

“I know.”

“You have no idea where they’re going to hit, Boss. What can you do?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying. I only know who they’re going to nail, and who they’re going to—oh.”

“What?”

I stopped in my tracks, and my mind raced. Then I said,
“I know who they’re going to blame it on.”

“What does that get you?”

“A walk to South Adrilankha.”

“Uh, care to tell me why?”

“There might be things to learn from the people who are supposed to take the fall.”

“Like what?”

“If I learn them, I’ll let you know.”

“Oh, good.”

I was standing in the middle of the courtyard outside of the Dragon Wing of the Palace. The House of the Dragon, dark and oh-so-imposing, loomed over me as if matching glares with the Wing. There were four or five walkways leading out of the area, some to other parts of the Palace, others to the City. For all I knew, there were assassins hanging around all of them waiting to make my skin glisten.

But I had something to do, which is all anyone can ask.

“Yeah, Boss? What are we going to do?”

“I’m going to go back to the inn and drop a note to Kiera asking her to bring by the names of whatever Left Hand businesses she’s been able to find, then I’m going to have a decent meal sent up, drink half a bottle of wine, and go to sleep.”

“Sounds like my kind of plan.”

“Tomorrow is a busy day. I know a couple of places owned by the Left Hand. If Kiera doesn’t show up, we visit one.”

“Good. Then at least we don’t have to worry about a plan for the day after tomorrow, because neither one of us will be around to see it.”

M’lady: Just got word through your office of the event. I’m perfectly willing to attend and answer any questions the mob has, though I cannot imagine what good H.M. imagines such a thing will do. They’re going to believe what they believe, and I can talk until my voice is hoarse without changing them; nor do I see what difference it makes what they think, unless H.M. is afraid of more disorders like there were a few years ago. Officially, I have no opinion about that, of course (though unofficially a troop of guards will deal with however many of them take to the street). My question is, if I’m going to do this, how do you want me to handle it? I’d rather not have it in writing. Let me know when a good time is, and I can be in your offices, or wherever else you’d like to meet.

—Unsigned (not authenticated)

I felt a bit better the next morning. I stood up and stretched again, taking it slow and easy. I was still trying to make my muscles obey when there was a clap outside the door; Loiosh
told me it was Kiera, I suggested she enter. She asked how I was feeling, and I lied a little. “Did you find out anything?”

“I learned a few businesses that are covers for Left Hand operations. Here.” She handed me a sheet of paper with some names and addresses.

I held it out in front of her and tapped one. “You sure about this?”

She studied it. “Tymbrii,” she said. “Pre-spun cloth and yarn. What about them?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Except Cawti used to go there all the time. I had no idea.”

“I don’t know who the real owner is, but it’s a good place to go if you want to be listening in on someone who thinks he has spells that will prevent that.”

I nodded. “It’s just odd, is all. The number of times I went in there, and never knew.”

I looked over the rest of the list. There were places spread out all over the City, and I recognized a couple from having walked past them, but there were no others I’d actually been in.

“Now what, Boss? Put the list on the wall, throw a knife at it, and see where it lands?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“This is liable to get you killed, you know. You’re in no shape—”

“Sit on it.”

He psychically grumbled, but shut up.

“What do you know of these?”

“What do you want to know?”

I hesitated. “I’m not sure what to ask. I know so little of the Left Hand.”

“As do I. As do they.”

“Hmm?”

“Part of the secrecy thing; most of them know very little other than their own business.”

“Oh. Um, how little do they know?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“I guess I’m asking if I were to show up at one of these places, would the individual running it know who I am?”

She considered. “I don’t know. Maybe. My guess is not, except by coincidence. Don’t bet your life on that, though.”

I nodded. “Uh, how do I do this, Kiera?”

“You’re asking me?”

“I don’t mean that part. But say, this one—” I tapped the list. “It’s an inn. Do I walk in and ask for a certain drink? Or—”

“Oh. Sorry. I’d have thought you knew. If you want to reach someone in the Left Hand, ask to see the mistress of the house, and deliver three silver coins, one at a time, with your left hand.”

“Left hand,” I said. “How clever.”

“Imaginative, even.”

I sat on the edge of the bed and considered. I took the knife from my right boot, pulled the coarse stone from my pack, and started working as I thought.

“You aren’t lubricating it,” said Kiera.

“Superstition,” I told her. “You don’t need to lubricate the stone, you just need to clean it when you’re done.”

“I know. I wondered if you did. What sort of edge are you putting on that?”

“Five degrees a side.” I stopped and studied the knife. It was a wicked thing that I’d found in Shortrest, near Tabo. There was a cheap and worthless enchantment on it that was supposed to help it find a vital spot, and the point wasn’t much, but it had a lovely edge and the wrapped antler fit my hand like it had been
made for an Easterner. I worked some more, checked the bevel, switched to the other side.

“Where did you learn to do that?” she asked.

“Where did we first meet?” I asked her.

“Oh, right.”

I nodded. “Sharpening knives was what I first learned to do after I learned to wash pots and pans, bring trash to the midden, and clear tables. I had one knife I kept a dual edge on: front three-quarters for slicing, back quarter for cutting. Best knife I’ve ever had.”

“Where is it now?”

“Cawti has it. She still uses it. I showed her how to do the dual edge. She—” I stopped and went back to sharpening, switching to the extrafine stone.

“Sorry,” she said.

“No, no. Don’t worry about it.”

“If you slip and take a finger off, I’ll feel bad.”

I held up my left hand. “That happened once. I’ve learned my lesson.”