Vili glanced up, turned his head back toward the interior, and said, with no particular inflection, “Klava with honey for Lord Taltos.” He then turned back to me and said, “Your usual table is available, m’lord.”
If Vili wasn’t going to make any observations about the fact that I had been gone for years, was missing a finger, and had a price on my head sufficient to make every assassin in the city drool with greed, well, I certainly wouldn’t either. I followed him inside.
Valabar and Sons is in a part of Adrilankha that looks worse than it is. The streets are narrow and full of ruts winding among the potholes; the dwellings are small and most of them show their age; and the population there—urban Teckla with a few Chreotha—give no appearance of wealth, or even comfort. But, as I say, it looks worse than it is. Few who live there are actually destitute, most of them being tradesmen or those employed by tradesmen and most of the families having lived there for millennia, some for Cycles. Valabar’s fit right in.
You walk down three shallow steps, and if you’re Dragaeran (which I am not) or an exceptionally tall human (which I am not), you duck your head. When you raise it again, you’re immediately ambushed by the aroma of freshbaked bread—ambushed, and you surrender. Why it is that with all of the scents inundating the place it’s the bread you smell, I don’t know; there are myriads of other smells that you notice when you’re outside. But inside, it’s the bread.
You’re in a room with eleven tables, the largest of them big enough to seat a party of six. There is a great deal of space between the tables. The walls and tablecloths are white, the chairs a sort of pale yellow. On each table is a yellow flower, a small white dish with finely ground salt, and a clear glass jar with powdered Eastern red pepper.
I followed Vili to the other room, much like the first, but with space for only nine tables. Those two rooms were all there was; most evenings both were full. We reached my favorite table, a deuce in the back corner that I liked not for any reasons of security, but just because I enjoyed seeing what everyone else was eating.
The chair felt good—familiar. I salivated and my stomach rumbled. As I sat down, Mihi came by with my klava, and I drank some, and right away I have a problem: I could spend so much time telling you about just the klava that I wouldn’t get anything else done. It tasted of cinnamon and monra and honey and heavy cream and I found myself smiling as I sipped it. Loiosh and Rocza, my familiar and his mate, were quiet out of respect for my pleasure—a rarity in Loiosh’s case especially.
Next to my chair, carefully positioned so I couldn’t bump it by accident, they placed a small brazier. In it were wine tongs, carefully kept heated. Next to the brazier was a bucket of ice water, and in the ice was a single, long white feather.
There would be wine tonight. Oh, yes.
I’d come early; there weren’t many diners at this hour, just a quad and a stiff. The quad—all Chreotha—spoke quietly. Valabar’s seems to encourage quiet conversation, though I don’t know why. The stiff looked like a Vallista. He gave me a glance as I entered, then went back to his Ash Mountain potatoes. A good choice. But then, so far as I knew, Valabar’s didn’t have any bad choices.
I had made a good choice by accident, showing up as I did in the early afternoon. I enjoyed Valabar’s when it was full of people, but being almost alone fit my mood. I sipped my klava, and found that I’d closed my eyes for a moment, savoring what was, and what soon would be. I smiled.
An hour earlier, I had been in Dzur Mountain. An hour before that, I had been fighting for my life and the soul of a friend against—
Now, right away, I have a problem. You see me, but I don’t see you. I don’t know who you are. You’re there, but invisible, like Fate if you choose to believe in it; like the Lords of Judgment even if you don’t. Do you know me? Have we met? Do I need to explain who I am, or shall I assume you’re the same individual who’s been listening to me all along?
Well, I guess there’s no point in telling you about what happened before either way. If you’ve been with me before, you know; if you haven’t, you’d never believe it. I just barely believed it. But I touched the hilt of Lady Teldra hanging on my left hip, and there was such a keen sense of her presence that I couldn’t doubt, no matter how much I wanted to.
But then that was ages before—hours, as I’ve said. Now life was klava, and the klava was good, so life was good.
Klava had been part of what I now thought of as my “old life.” Every morning I’d gone into my office, had my first cup of klava brought to me by my secretary, Melestav, and begun planning what crimes I’d commit that day. After Melestav was killed, Kragar, my associate and, if you will, lieutenant, who didn’t know how to brew klava and could just barely make coffee, would order it from a place down the street.
I look back to that now as a good time in my life. I was respected, I had power, I had money, I was happily married (at least, I thought I was), and, if every so often someone tried to kill me, or the Phoenix Guards would beat me
bloody, well, that was just part of the game. At the time, I suppose I wasn’t so aware of being happy; but then, spending your time asking yourself if you’re happy is as good a way to be miserable as I know. If you want to be happy, don’t ask yourself difficult questions, just sit in a quiet, peaceful place and enjoy your solitary klava.
I was not, however, destined to enjoy my solitary klava for long.
“M’lord,” said Vili. “A gentleman wishes to be brought to your table.”
Loiosh gripped my left shoulder a little tighter.
“If he were coming to kill me, do you think he’d ask?”
“No, Boss. But who knows we’re even here?”
“Let’s find out.”
Before Loiosh could reply, I said, “What sort of gentleman, Vili?”
“A Dragaeran, m’lord. He would appear to be of the House of the Dzur.”
I frowned. That was certainly unexpected.
“Bring him over.”
Young, was my first reaction. I’m no great judge of ages of Dragaerans, but if he’d been human, he’d have barely needed to shave. He also had that sort of tall, uncoordinated lankiness that spoke of someone who hadn’t quite settled into his body yet. His House was no mystery at all: Only Dzurlords have ears like that and eyes like that, and think that black on black is the ultimate of fashionable color combinations. And if that wasn’t enough, there was the hilt of a sword sticking up over his shoulder—a sword that was probably taller than I was; a very Dzur-like sword, if you will.
The expression on his face, however, was very un-Dzur-like. He was smiling.
“Hi there,” he said, all cheerful-like. “My name will be Zungaron someday, but for now it’s Telnan.”
It took me a moment to manage a reply. For one thing, I’d never had anyone introduce himself in quite that way. For another, Dzurlords are … well, some of them can be … you might find some who …
You don’t expect to find a cheerful Dzurlord.
I stood up. If he’d been a Jhereg, I’d have remained seated, out of courtesy, but he was a Dzur so I rose and gave him a half bow. “Vladimir Taltos,” I said. “Call me Vlad.” I sat down again.
He nodded. “Just checking. Sethra sent me.”
“I see. Why do they call you Telnan?”
“Sethra says I haven’t yet earned the name Zungaron.”
“Oh. What does ‘Zungaron’ mean?”
“She hasn’t told me that, either.”
“What does Telnan mean?”
He thought about that. “I think it means ‘student’ but I’m not sure. May I join you?”
I held up two fingers to Vili, who nodded and went back about his business. Telnan sat. I don’t know how he managed with that thing slung behind his
back that way, but it seemed easy and natural. Maybe that’s something Dzurlords study. He said, “Sethra was worried about you.”
“That’s a kind thought on her part, but are you trained to handle Jhereg assassins, assuming one shows up?”
He smiled like he’d just been ordered into battle against overwhelming odds with half the Empire watching. “Not yet.”
“Oh. So this is training for you?”
He nodded.
“I don’t know about you, Boss, but I feel worlds better.”
“Uh huh.”
Mihi brought klava for Telnan. I drank some more of mine.
“Have you known Sethra long?” I asked Telnan.
“No, not really. Around twenty years.”
Not long. More than half of the time I’d been alive. “Odd I’ve never met you before.”
“It was only a year and a half ago that I was permitted above the dungeons.”
I blinked. “Uh, if you don’t mind my asking—”
“Yes?”
“What did you do in the dungeons for most of twenty years?”
He frowned. “Why, I studied wizardry of course. What else?”
I nodded. “Yes,” I said. “Of course. What else?”
He nodded agreeably.
“You know, Boss, I don’t think this one is the brightest candle in the sconce.”
“That looks like a sort of uniform you’re wearing.”
He lit up like the skies on Ascension Day. “Oh, you noticed?”
“I picked right up on it,” I said. From his reaction, I knew I was supposed to ask, and the klava had temporarily removed my normal contrary streak. “What sort of uniform is it?”
“The Lavodes.”
Well, that was interesting.
Presently Mihi, a pleasant, chubby Easterner with great, gray bushy eyebrows, approached again. This time holding a large, wooden platter that I knew well. He gave me a sort of conspiratorial smile, as if he knew what I was thinking. I imagine he did. The platter contained a block of granite, smooth, about a foot round, and heated in a bread oven. Mihi set the platter on the table, and took a small stoneware pitcher from his apron. He gave it a quick, practiced shake, then removed the cork from the pitcher.
The bottle had oil—a mixture of grape-seed, olive, and peanut oil to be precise. The aroma it gave off as it spread over the heated granite was mild, slightly musky. I sat back in my chair. It had been so long. The last time I was at Valabar’s, I was—
I was still married, but let’s not go there.
I wasn’t yet on the Organization’s hit-list, but let’s not go there either.
I still had all ten fingers, but let’s &c.
Years. Leave it at that.
Telnan gave the platter a curious glance, as if wondering what was to come. Around it were leafs of lettuce—red, green, and yellow. Between the lettuce and the granite were thin strips of raw beef, smoked longfish, raw longfish, poultry, lobster, and a small pair of tongs for each of us. All of these except the tongs had been marinated. Hey, they marinate the tongs too, for all I know. I’d give a lot to know what’s in the marinade, but it certainly contains lemon.
Also on the platter were three dipping sauces: hot mustard, sweet lemon sauce, and garlic-horseradish-crushed-mustard-seed sauce. I don’t generally use the sweet lemon sauce; something about that combination of flavors bothers me. The other two I alternate between.
You take beef, or the fish, or whatever, and move it to the middle of the granite, where it cooks in about ten seconds on a side—the waiter will do that for you, if you wish. Then you take it with the tongs, dip it in the sauce of your choice, and go to work. With the beef, I wrap it in a piece of lettuce. I started to show Telnan how to do it, but Mihi was faster and better. Telnan paid close attention to Mihi’s instructions.
“You know,” said the Dzur, “this is really good.”
“You know,” I said, “I believe you’re right.”
“Don’t forget to save some for the Planning Committee, Boss.”
“Do I ever forget?”
“About half the time when you eat here.”
“You have a long memory for wrongs.”
“Just looking out for the lady, you know.”
“Think Rocza will appreciate the food?”
“I’ll let you know.”
Telnan was frowning at me. “Are you talking to the, uh, to the jhereg?”
“Yes,” I told him.
“Oh.”
He had no more to say about it, but I enjoyed giving him something to think about.
When we were just finishing up the peasant’s platter, I got two things: The first was a basket of what in my family we called “langosh,” which is an Eastern garlic bread. The second was another visitor.
I really liked the bread; I’ll get to the visitor in a moment.
As I reached for a garlic clove, a little tingle went up my left arm—the lingering effects of a recent injury, even more recently healed by an expert. That was fine; five hours earlier I hadn’t been able to use the arm at all; I’ll take a little tingle.
Telnan and I didn’t talk for a bit. I was concentrating on the process of rubbing garlic on bread when Loiosh tightened his talons on my right shoulder, followed almost immediately by Rocza tightening her claws on my left. I looked up, which gesture alerted Telnan, who turned his head and half turned his body, while reaching for his sword. An elderly, plainly dressed Dragaeran was walking up to the table, with no hint of effort at concealment or speed. If he had hostile intentions toward me, he wasn’t very good; I had time to drop the bread, wipe my fingers, and take a dagger from my boot. I kept the dagger under the table. Telnan must have reached a similar conclusion because he didn’t draw. I studied the fellow as he approached.
He was a bit small for a Dragaeran, and, though I’m not all that good at their ages, I’d have put him at over twenty-five hundred years. I couldn’t identify a House either from his clothing, or from his features.
He showed none of the signs of being a Jhereg—by which I mean that I got no sense that he knew how to handle himself, or was looking around for danger, or that, well, he was anything except an elderly merchant. Naturally, I assumed he was there to kill me.
It took him something like six seconds to get to my table, which gave me time to remember Lady Teldra, so I pushed myself just a bit back from the table, re-sheathed the dagger in my boot, brought my hand back up, and let my right forefinger rest against the hilt of Lady Teldra on my left hip. Lady Teldra is—but we’ll go into that later. For now, let me say that, as before, touching her hilt gave me a comforting sense of her presence. The thought came to me that if this individual was going to disrupt my meal, I would be more than a little annoyed.
Vili frowned and started to approach but I waved him off—I’d hate myself forever if Vili got himself shined trying to valiantly defend my right to a quiet dinner.
It’s funny how time seems to stretch out when you think you’re about to have to defend your life. As he came closer, I was able to make a few more snap observations about him—he had a pleasant, slightly round, almost peasant-like face in spite of the noble’s point, with bright, friendly eyes and thin eyebrows. His hands were the only thing that struck me as dangerous, though I can’t say exactly why I thought so; they were just hands: neatly trimmed nails, fingers about average, though perhaps a bit stubby. I stood; Telnan did as well. If it was rude, I didn’t especially care.
The visitor didn’t keep me in suspense. In a pleasant baritone, he said, “My name is Mario Greymist. May I join you, Lord Taltos?”
When I could talk again, I said, “So, correct me if I’m wrong: You’re not a myth, then?”
“Not entirely, at any rate. May I join you?”
Telnan hadn’t appeared to recognize the name.
“By all means, if my friend doesn’t mind. His name is Telnan, by the way.” I trust my voice was even, and I sounded sufficiently calm.
“Hi,” said Telnan, smiling.
Mario Greymist inclined his head and smiled back.
I addressed my familiar: “Loiosh, you’re about to draw blood.”
“Sorry, Boss.”
He relaxed his grip on my shoulder. Vili shuffled a chair over from another table, placing it to my left and Telnan’s right. If Mario Greymist decided to join us for dinner, the table would be crowded. The three of us sat down.
“Boss, if he’d wanted to kill you—”
“I know, I know.”
“I take it,” said Mario, “that you’ve heard of me?” He smiled. The smile of a downstairs neighbor who has just thanked you for loaning him half a pound of coffee.
“Yeah,” I said. I was at my cleverest.
“I haven’t,” said Telnan.
Mario and I looked at the Dzurlord. I said, “Uh …”
“Never mind,” said Telnan.
“Don’t let me interfere with your meal,” said Mario.
I looked at him. He seemed to be sincere. I said, “Feel like having something to eat?”
“No, thank you. I won’t be here that long.”
I almost said, “Good,” but caught myself. Mihi approached and asked the same question of Mario, and got the same answer. He then asked me if we’d care for wine. We would. He could recommend—fine. I trusted him, just bring whatever he thought best. He bowed.
Mario.
He was to assassins what Kieron the Conqueror was to soldiers. Except that Kieron was dead. Mario had assassinated an Emperor before the Turning of the Cycle, at least according to the stories. When the Phoenix Guards couldn’t solve a murder, they’d say, “Mario did it,” meaning the case would never be solved. There is a story (probably not true) of a guy who was told that Mario was after him who simply brought himself to Deathgate and threw himself over the Falls.
And Mario was sitting across the table from me, and smiling a friendly sort of smile.
It was almost enough to put me off the food.
“Hey, Boss.”
“What?”
“How do you know he’s really Mario?”
“Hmmm … good point. But do you know anyone who’d claim to be Mario if he wasn’t?”
“Well, no. But still.”
“Yeah.”
He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. It was about as non-threatening a position as he could take, without making it painfully
obvious that he was trying to look non-threatening. He said, “Of course, you’re aware that you’ve annoyed some people.”
“Yes,” I said. “That’s been made clear to me.”
Telnan turned to me. I didn’t feel like giving explanation to a Dzur, so I didn’t.
Mario said, I guess to both of us, “There are two things you don’t do: talk to the authorities about the association, and—”
“Association?” I said.
He smiled. “An old term. The Organization? The—?”
“I see.”
“I don’t,” said Telnan.
“Tell you what, Loiosh. You take the Dzur out and explain to him.”
“Uh huh.”
Out loud, Mario and I ignored him. I nodded. Mario continued, “Talk to the authorities about us, and interfere with our Imperial representative. You did both. Well, one and a half, anyway.”
“I didn’t tell the Empire anything about the, uh, Association. Not really.”
“Close enough to annoy people.”
“I suppose.”
“But you know that.”
I nodded. “In the last few years of wandering the world dodging them, it’s become more-or-less clear. I assume, at some point, you were offered the job?”
He looked directly at me. At the same time, I felt an odd little twinge from somewhere in the back of my head, as if there were a voice whispering just too softly for me to hear. I decided now wasn’t the time to think about that twinge, and what it implied.
“Sorry,” I told Mario. “Improper question.”
His nod was barely perceptible. He said, “You’re taking something of a chance coming here, aren’t you?”
Loiosh shifted slightly on my shoulder; in response, Rocza shifted on my other. Telnan said, “I’m here.”
“Yes,” said Mario. “Of course.”
“Not so much,” I said. “You know how we … that is, you know how things are done. By the time word gets out that I’m here, and someone sets something up, I’ll be far from the city.”
“That’s why you were so relaxed when I walked in.”
“Yeah, that’s why.”
He nodded. “There are rumors that you’ve acquired a rather formidable means of defending yourself.”
I felt the length of Lady Teldra hanging from my left hip, just in front of my rapier. I didn’t touch her, though I wanted to. “No,” I said. “They aren’t rumors. You were flat-out told, and from a reliable source.”
“Well, that too.”
Which, I figured, was as close as I was ever going to get to confirming the stories I’d heard—that the most famous assassin in the history of the Dragaeran Empire was the lover of Aliera e’Kieron, second in line as Dragon Heir, and head of the most prestigious line of the House of the Dragon. It was amusing. Or something.
So as I sit here, between Valabar’s Kermeferz and the Jhereg’s Mario Greymist, and await my wine with a strange Dzurlord for company, maybe I should tell you a little bit about myself. Hmmm … then again, maybe not.
Mihi showed up with the wine, asking me to approve the bottle. I nodded. I was sure it was a bottle. He used the feather and, with the aid of a thick glove taken from his back pocket, the tongs. He opened it and poured without flourish. Jani, my other favorite waiter, always made it look like opening the bottle was an occasion for major triumph. It’s the little stylistic things that differentiate us, don’t you think?
I leaned back in the chair like I didn’t have a worry in the world and said, “Care for some wine?”
Telnan did, Mario didn’t. Mihi poured and left the bottle.
I nodded, sipped, and waited for Mario to go on.
“Good wine,” said Telnan. I doubted he’d know the difference. But I could be wrong.
Mario shifted in his chair, and, for just a moment, looked uncomfortable. Before the shock really had time to register, he said, “You know Aliera.”
Well, yes, I knew Aliera. That is, I knew her as well as any “Easterner” (read: human) could know a “human” (read: Dragaeran). I knew she was short, as Dragaerans go; not much over six feet tall. I knew she had a lethal temper and the skill in sorcery to back it. I knew, well …
“Yeah,” I said. “I suppose, in some measure, anyway.”
He nodded. “She asked me to speak with you.”
That was certainly worth an eyebrow. “She’s concerned about my safety?”
He frowned. “Well no, not really.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“There are others she’s concerned about.”
“Are you going to make me guess?”
He sighed and looked unhappy.
“Okay,” I said. “I’m guessing. Since she sent you, it has to have something to do with the Organization, since Aliera would never publicly demean herself by admitting she had anything to do with criminals.”
Telnan and Mario both glanced at me, and I felt myself flushing. “Uh, I hadn’t meant to exactly include you in that,” I told Mario.
He nodded. “Continue, then. You’re doing well.”
Unfortunately, having gotten that far, I drew a blank. If Aliera was in trouble with the Organization, which I couldn’t imagine, Mario could do anything I could do. And if the Organization was in trouble in some way, it was no
longer a concern of mine; I no longer had any interest or connections in their doings, with the possible exception of—
“Cawti,” I said.
He nodded, and something slammed down in the pit of my stomach.
“South Adrilankha,” I said.
He nodded again.
“My fault, then.”
He nodded again.
“Uh … care to explain?” said Telnan.
“No,” I said.
I made a few other remarks, these with more emotional than rational content.
“I suppose,” said Mario. Telnan looked puzzled.
I felt Loiosh’s presence in my mind, the way I sometimes do when a spell threatens to get out of control. I concentrated on my breathing, like during a fencing exercise.
In case we haven’t met before, I used to run a small area of Adrilankha. That is, when anything illegal happened there, I either got a piece of it, or made arrangements for someone to regret that I didn’t get a piece of it. I also, eventually, acquired some similar interests in the Easterners’ Ghetto, what was called South Adrilankha. At this time, I was happily married. To the left, my wife, Cawti, was unhappily married at the same time, mostly because she had some sort of moral objection to making money off Easterners the same way we made it off Dragaerans. Who knew?
Then she was in danger, and I heroically saved her and all like that. In the course of doing so, I made a few enemies and a quick escape. The last thing I did before leaving my career, my friends, my wife, and everything else, was to give Cawti all my interests in South Adrilankha as a kind of going-away present.
At the time, I thought it was funny, in a sick sort of way.
Now it was sounding sick, in a funny sort of way.
Mihi wanted to know if I was ready for—no, I wasn’t. He could return after our guest left, as our guest didn’t care to dine. Mihi understood and vanished into that place waiters and creditors go when they aren’t in front of you.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s hear it.”
He nodded and smiled. Like the guy who lived downstairs, as I said before. Or else maybe the old man who pinches the pretty girl in the market, but she smiles back instead of smacking him. That guy.
“The Dagger started out by—”
“She isn’t called that anymore.”
He gave me an odd look, and said, “That’s what I call her.”
“Eh,” I said. “Okay.”
“She started out by trying to dismantle the Organization in South Adrilankha entirely.”
I nodded. “And, of course, it popped back up, only outside of her control.”
“Yes.”
“I could have told her that would happen.”
He tilted his head a little. “Some things are easy to see when you aren’t in the middle of them.”
“I suppose. What next?”
“She managed to get back some control of the area, and tried running it—” He frowned. “More gently, I suppose you’d say.”
I grunted. “That’s what I’d have tried first.”
“It didn’t work either. As I understand it, debts went uncollected, profit margins were too small—”
“I get the idea.”
He nodded. “So, well, various individuals started smelling opportunities. You know how that works.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t,” said Telnan brightly. We ignored him.
Mario said, “She tried to hang on to what she had, but, really, she didn’t have an organization; just herself and her reputation. That only goes so far.”
I nodded.
“Then she started getting help. A few button-men turned up dead, and—”
“Help from whom?”
“That’s the big question.”
I gave him a look.
“No,” he said. “I had no part in it.”
“Then who …? Oh.”
He nodded. “Her old partner.”
“The Sword of the Jhereg.”
“Yes,” he said. “At least, that’s the rumor.”
“The Sword of the Jhereg, now Dragon Heir to the Throne.”
He nodded. “And not just her personally, but she included various friends and retainers.”
“Aliera?”
“No. Just some Dragonlords who felt obligated to help her, no matter what.”
“That could get ugly.”
“Yes,” he said.
“If word gets out that the Dragon Heir is involving herself in—”
“Exactly.”
I rubbed my chin. “They’ve just gotten over the last near-scandal with her. But I can see it. Norathar and Cawti”—it still gave me a twinge to say her name—“are friends. Norathar can’t just let it alone.”
“Precisely. And it’s upset Aliera more than a little.”
“She mentioned nothing about it to me.”
He frowned. “I don’t know the whole story, but it seems to me that when you last saw Aliera—”
“About two hours ago,” I said.
He nodded. “It seems she had other things on her mind.”
“Yeah, I suppose she did.”
“And then you left rather abruptly.”
“I suppose I did. Has anything been heard from Kiera the Thief in all this?”
His brows came together. “Why would it concern her?”
“No reason that I know of. Just wondering.”
He shook his head.
I leaned back in my chair. “So, Aliera would like me to see if I can help out.”
Mario nodded. “As long as you have returned to the area anyway.”
“Yeah, as long as I’m here.” I didn’t quite roll my eyes. I said, “I admit that,
in some ways, I’m in a position to help. At any rate, I know the principles rather well.”
He nodded again.
“And I can’t argue that the whole situation isn’t my fault.”
He nodded again, which was uncalled-for.
“But there’s the issue that, if I stay around this area for more than a few hours, my life isn’t worth a rusted copper.”
“That’s where we come to the new resources you are reputed to have.”
Telnan twitched a little when he said that. He had, it seemed, mostly been lost during the entire conversation, but he must have guessed something about what we spoke of there.
I ignored him and said to Mario, “Not enough to take on the whole Jhereg, thank you very much.”
“And an additional resource you may not know about.”
“Oh?”
“Me,” he said.
I stared off into space for a while. Then I said, “Sure you don’t want something to eat?”
“Positive.”
I nodded, and cleared my throat. “Uh … shall I call you Mario?”
“It’s my name.”
“Okay. Look. I have some idea of how good you are, but—”
“But?”
“We’re talking about the whole Jhereg being after me.”
“Not the whole Jhereg. Just the Right Hand, as it were.”
“Oh, well, that’s all right, then.”
“And it’s the Left Hand that is moving on South Adrilankha.”
I stared at him. “The Bitch Patrol?”
He chuckled, as if he’d never heard the term before. “If you like.”
“What do they want in South Adrilankha?”
“You’ll have to ask them that.”
I sat back, remembered my wine, and drank some. I don’t remember how it tasted.
Loiosh said, “Boss, this is all kinds of not good.”
“Thank you,” I said, “for the profound observation.”
I sat there and considered what I knew about the Left Hand of the Jhereg, which was not nearly as much as I should have known. The Right Hand, what I usually just called “the Jhereg,” or “the Organization,” was almost entirely male—Kiera, Cawti, and Norathar being exceptions—and it was involved in, well, all the stuff I knew: untaxed gambling, unlicensed prostitution, selling stolen goods, high-interest loans, and other fun things. I had known that the Left Hand, mostly women, existed; but I’d never been exactly clear on what they did. Well, that isn’t completely true; I mean, I know if you need to purchase some artifact of Elder Sorcery, they’re the ones to see. If you need a quick bit of sorcery to help you make someone dead or insure that he stays that way, you go to them. And if you need a piece of information that is only stored inside someone’s head, then a Jhereg sorceress is your best bet.
But I also knew that couldn’t be all the extent of their interests.
What could they want in South Adrilankha?
“What else can you tell me?” I said at last.
He sighed and shook his head. “It’s unfortunate, how little the Right Hand knows what the Left Hand is doing. I wish I could tell you more.”
“Whatever details you have.”
“Yes. Well, at this point, we know that the Dagger has been given warnings to leave South Adrilankha alone. So far as we know, they’ve taken no particular steps.”
“How do you know it was the Left Hand delivering the warnings?”
He reached into his cloak. I tensed involuntarily and my hand twitched toward the stiletto I’d replaced in my boot. Telnan seemed to tense as well. Mario pretended not to notice, and emerged with a neat little square of paper, which he passed to me. The handwriting was simple and clean, almost without personality. It read, “We thank you for your interest in and contribution to this part of our city. Now that your work here is done, we hope you will accept our kind wishes for your continued good fortune and good health.” It was signed, “Madam Triesco,” and had the symbol of House Jhereg at the bottom.
“Madam Triesco?” I said. “Never heard of her.”
“Nor have I.” He shrugged.
“Yeah, well, I agree. It seems clear enough.”
He nodded.
I drank a little more wine.
He said, “So, are you in?”
“Of course I’m in.”
He nodded. “Aliera said you would be.” He stood up. “Where will you be?”
“I could go to Castle Black, but I’m not in the mood to start another Dragon-Jhereg war. So how about Dzur Mountain?”
“That will be fine.”
“Umm … .”
“Yes?”
“If I should wish to get in touch with you, is there any—?”
“Aliera will be able to find me.”
“Uh, it is unlikely that I’ll be able to reach Aliera.”
“Oh?”
I tapped the chain I was wearing around my neck. “Well, as I see it, I won’t want to remove these—”
“Oh, right.”
He frowned for a moment, glanced at Telnan, then leaned across the table and whispered in my ear. Telnan politely pretended not to notice.
I sat back and stared at him.
“You’re kidding.”
He shook his head.
“Uh … I’m not sure if I need to kill someone.”
“It would probably be a bad idea,” he said.
“Yeah, well. All right. I have it. If I need to reach you, I know what to do.”
He nodded and stood up. “I’ll be in touch,” he said. And, “Enjoy your meal,” he added to both of us.
“We’ll try,” I answered for both of us. Telnan gave him a friendly smile.
As he walked away, Mihi approached, appearing from that place where waiters and creditors &c. There being nothing else to do at the moment, I turned my attention back to food.