Before entering into the substance of the events to which this chapter of our history is dedicated, it is necessary to describe a certain series of incidents that fall somewhat beyond the boundaries of our narrative, in that they involve individuals with whom we have not, until now, spent any time. We might well expect the reader to be astonished at such a decision, as our hypothetical reader is no doubt aware, both because of the over-all shape the combination of incidents has acquired, and because of the easily observed number of pages remaining, that we are farther, or, perhaps deeper into the text than would usually accompany introductions of previously unknown persons.
The reason for this decision, unusual as it is, is easily explained. What we have earlier referred to as the substance of this chapter will inevitably raise questions in the mind of the reader, which condition is, of course, quite normal, and requires us to mention that among the skills that are necessary in order to effectively communicate historical understanding is the ability to rigorously maintain an awareness of questions raised in the reader’s mind, for the simple reason that, should there become too many of these questions, or should they remain unanswered for too long, there is a certain strain on the mind that is as antithetical to clarity and antagonistic to comprehension as would be a single sentence that is extended beyond reason—which confusion can best be remedied by, in the one case, the answering of the question, and in the other, by coming to the end of the sentence, or, if the reader prefer, in the latter case by failing to extend the sentence beyond what the reader’s awareness is able to hold, and in the former case by means of answering the question before it is asked, a method that, as the reader has no doubt deduced, we have chosen to employ in this instance (the issue of the length of a single sentence, which we had the honor to use as an example, can be considered moot due to the author’s habitual terseness).
The small matter that must be understood, then, is quickly explained by directing the reader’s attention to a rundown cabaret in the hamlet of Dinshouse some ten or eleven days after Alishka and Dust took their departure on the way to Northport. While we need not explain exactly what happened, trusting the reader’s perspicacity to draw the necessary conclusions, we must, by way of providing the necessary foundation for these conclusions, explain that two men were sitting at a small table within this establishment. One of these men the reader has seen before, albeit briefly: this was Kitescu, one of Alishka’s band. With him was a man of middle years and dark complexion whose House, owing to his leather traveling garb, could not be determined. On the table with them were two cups, and four bottles of wine, three of them empty.
We will not stay with this pair for long, as the reader will be able to determine the substance of their conversation quickly. The man in leather continued to buy wine, Kitescu continued to drink it. The conversation gradually turned from affairs of the day, comparisons of their respective home towns, discussions of the various child-rearing methods practiced upon them, and hopes for family, to a discussion in which the unknown asked certain questions which the bandit answered.
After some time, Kitescu ended by putting his head down on the table and commencing to snore, an event that, evidently, the other considered the end of the discourse, whereupon, inquiring of the host, he was supplied with pen, paper, sand, and pounce (the latter because, since the fall of the Empire, paper had been in short supply, produced locally, and was therefore frequently of poor quality). The unknown made use of these items to write a letter, which he sealed with a ring he wore, and then went down to the pier to hire a ship or a boat that would be willing to carry the message.
At this point, it becomes important, indeed, indispensable to say two words about communication, by which we mean, the exchange of thoughts or information, particularly over vast distance. The difficulties involved in this are something the modern reader may have difficulty in comprehending. To-day, of course, such communication is simple: providing that no material object need be transmitted, one can exchange thoughts with a close acquaintance nearly without effort, merely by casting a spell so simple that few are even aware that a spell is being cast. In order to get a message to someone one does not know well, one can, for a price, visit any of several services that connect all of the major cities of the Empire and, indeed, many of the minor ones, and a hand-written message delivered to such a service will become a hand-written message in the possession of the recipient in a matter of few hours, or, if in an outlying duchy, a few days. Beyond this, and for a smaller payment, we have the Imperial Post, which stations post riders at such numerous places that a letter going from one end of the Empire to the other will arrive within a few days of its being sent (a system that, admirable as it is, will in this historian’s opinion have entirely vanished within a century owing to the ongoing reduction in cost of commercial psychic communication).
Before Adron’s Disaster, the Interregnum, and Zerika’s reemergence with the Orb and all of its new powers—that is to say, in the old Empire—the only one of those systems in place (with the exception of those individuals with the skill and knowledge to touch each other’s minds) was the post system, which was nowhere near as well developed as in our own time, which meant that a message could take a month or more to reach its destination, which meant, of course, double that if a reply was required. That this was a limiting factor in the growth and prosperity of the Empire is well known.
All of which is to say that, with the fall of the Empire, communication became so slow and cumbersome—and sometimes dangerous—that it is difficult for to-day’s reader to imagine. When it might take most of a year for a message to be received—if it ever was—and then as much time for the answer to return, the reader should have no difficulty understanding why decisions that would normally be based on communication and information became less reliable. It should be added for the sake of completeness that a message sent from one port city to another might arrive faster than one sent overland, but there was even less certainty that it would arrive at all.
This is one (although certainly not the only) cause of what has been described by historians as the “splintering” that began thirty or thirty-five years into the Interregnum, when various sections of the Empire either set up as independent kingdoms, or were torn apart during an effort to so establish themselves. As a point of interest, Northport itself was heavily involved in such a conflict, as the effort was made, first, to create a Kingdom of Zerika’s Point, and then to carve various pieces out of it. Although beyond the scope of our present work, the author would like to take the opportunity to recommend Chersa of Cuttertown’s excellent study of this phenomenon, which in the end turned into an impassioned dispute among two dukes and a prince over who would be able extract the most value from the local peasants (which peasants, who were of course drawn into the conflict, for reasons that are difficult to understand failed to declare a clear preference among the contenders).
This, however, is beginning to stray from the point, which, however tempting, we should prefer not to do. The point, then, is, quite simply, that it took some twenty-two days for a particular message sent from Northport to reach Adrilankha. This message, which the reader has already deduced is important to our history, was sent by an agent of Hadrice to Traanzo’s manor.
This message was at once placed into Hadrice’s hand, after which Hadrice called for the director and showed it to him. And so it was that, a few hours later, Livosha heard about this message.
As to the contents of the message, which we are aware we have not as yet discovered to the reader, it was simplicity itself: “The one called Eremit now styles himself Dust, and can be identified easily as he dresses himself in white. He is in the company of a bandit chief named Alishka, and they left for Northport 12 days ago. I am now going to Northport to look for them.” It was signed with the letter “L” which was either the first name of the individual sending it, or a special designation, a matter of which we must confess our ignorance. It should be noted, in passing, that this is an example of a matter—small, it is true, and arguably insignificant—that this historian has not discovered. We hope the reader, and, even more, any who wish to study the art and science of history, will take a lesson from this: there are things we may be unable to discover, and, upon coming across such matters, the honest historian will say so forthrightly rather than, as we have seen from certain supposed academics who disgrace the name of “scholar” as they shame the institution that awards them such prestige, obscuring one’s lack of knowledge by obfuscatory prose or, worse, by outright fabrications, such as inventing the name and history of an unknown drummer-boy at the Battle of Shining Mountain. It should be obvious that, to the serious historian, there can be no greater crime than this.
Livosha and Kefaan met that evening on the terrace, and Kefaan said, “Well, once more I perceive there is news.”
“And once more you are right, my dear brother.”
“Well, and then? You do not propose to keep me waiting, I hope.”
“Not in the least. And the proof is, I am about to tell you.”
“Then I am listening.”
Livosha, no more inclined to waste words than this author, quickly described the message she had learned of.
“At last, we have certain word,” said Kefaan with evident satisfaction.
“Yes, although—”
“Yes?”
“He calls himself Dust.”
“Well, this was something we already knew.”
“And he wears white.”
“That is also true.”
“I cannot help but wonder what has happened to him.”
“We will find him, sister, and then we will know.”
“Then, you propose to set out after him?”
“The trouble,” said Kefaan, considering the matter, “is time. We could spend a hundred years following him to one place only to learn he has come to the very place where we would have seen him if we had waited, and if we wait, why, it may be that he will remain where he is, and so we could have found him.”
“That is true,” said Livosha. “How then shall we address this conundrum?”
“You must make the decision,” said Kefaan.
Livosha nodded, accepting this. They stood in silence while she considered all that she knew, contemplating her options the way the author of a fiction might consider the possible twisting and turning of the plot. At last she said, “Very well, I have decided.”
“I recognize you so well in that,” said Kefaan. “But, what have you decided?”
“For now, we will remain here.”
“So, we wait?”
“Not entirely,” said Livosha. “We will do more than wait.”
“Ah, and what else will we do?”
“You, my brother. Have you contacts among the Jhereg of Northport?”
Kefaan considered this question. “It may be that someone I know knows someone who knows someone else.”
“Attempt to discover this, then. And if possible, learn what you can. Is Eremit, that is to say, Dust, still in Northport? And what is he doing there?”
Kefaan nodded. “I understand, my sister.”
“And your affairs? That is to say, the matter of Rennis the Orca and the pirates and Count Dorin?”
“I have made certain small advances.”
“Well?”
“I have learned something of the nature of the association among them, and, I assure you, it is tolerably complex.”
“Well?”
“In simple terms, that is, as simple as I can make it, in order to deliver gold, goods, and even messages along the coast, it is necessary to convince the pirate ships to leave one unmolested. There is, I am told, a significant danger that one will encounter a pirate or two when sailing along the coast between Adrilankha and Hartre, or between Hartre and White Harbor; no doubt it is also true if one were to continue to Northport, but I have no knowledge of this.”
“Your knowledge, my brother, is extensive. Go on, and discover more of it to me.”
“But here is what I learned from my friends in the Jhereg: If one encounters a pirate, let us say, when setting out from Adrilankha, one might, with a sufficient ransom, or tribute, be released.”
“I had not known pirates accepted such tributes.”
“It is what I have learned, and it is, moreover, the custom all along the southern coast. Though the quantity of bribes varies among the bands—”
“If that is the word.”
“—if that is the word, and even among ship captains, the custom is inviolate among the pirates. And there is more.”
“Well?”
“Well, it seems that all of the captains within a band are known to each other, and, if one pays the proper ransom to a ship, one is given a certain note, signed by the captain, and if one is stopped a second time, why, one need only show that note, and one is at once released. It is this that has allowed trade to resume, at least in a small way.”
“I understand. But does this have an effect on our plans or intentions?”
“As to that, I am uncertain. I hope to receive news to-day or to-morrow that will make clearer Count Dorin’s role in the matter. In the meantime, I am keeping Lord Traanzo abreast of what I have learned, but, so far, he has not displayed the hoped-for animosity toward Dorin.”
“Very well, then. I think we are done for now. We will meet again the day after to-morrow and see what we have learned.”
“Until then, my sister.”
“Until then, my brother.”
Livosha embraced her brother and left the terrace to return to work. The next day it was still early in the morning when she heard a clap outside of the closet where she was accustomed to perform her duties. She opened the door at once, and, to her shock, found Hadrice there.
Livosha had seen Hadrice from time to time, but they had never had occasion to speak; upon seeing the strange woman there now, the thought immediately grew in Livosha: We are discovered. It is over. She did not, however, permit this thought to express itself on her countenance; she bowed and said, “My lady, how may I—?”
“I am not your lady, call me Hadrice,” said the other coolly.
“As you please, Hadrice. I am—”
“Nedyrc, I know.” We apologize if we have not, until this time, mentioned the names under which Livosha and Kefaan—that is to say, “Nedyrc” and “Arin,” concealed themselves; we have, until now, had no occasion to bring the matter up, and so we made the decision to withhold these statistics out of a desire to avoid requiring the reader to keep in mind information that could be, until now, of no use.
Nedyrc—that is to say, Livosha—curtsied and said, “How may I be of service, Hadrice?”
“You are the assistant advocate, are you not?”
“I am.”
“You can attest to a witness statement?”
“I can.”
“Then come with me. I must speak with someone. I will be questioning him later, in detail, but he may make important utterances when I first speak with him, and these may have legal importance.”
“It is, then, to be an arrest?”
“Exactly.”
“I am trained in recording such events, though I have never done so. May I know the name of the individual to be arrested?”
“Sajen.”
It was a stroke of luck that, as she pronounced these words, Livosha was gathering paper, pen, and ink from the desk and preparing them for transport, for her face was turned away, and thus the expression of shock that, she had no doubt, flashed across her countenance was concealed. She merely said, “Very well,” and continued her preparations, after which she said, “Permit me, then, to get my cloak.”
“I will meet you outside of the east door.”
“You will not need to wait long.”
Livosha returned to her chamber, threw on a hooded cloak, and gathered what she would need to record conversations. She wrote a note to her brother, using the language of the Iorich and also certain codes known to the two of them to tell him to be ready to depart in an instant. She left the note in his chamber, and then went down to the east door where Hadrice waited with three horses.
“Do you ride?” she asked.
“I do. But, will there be no others to help with the arrest?”
“No one else will be needed. Come, let us go.”
Livosha hung back slightly as they made their way north through Adrilankha, afraid that she might accidentally turn onto the right street ahead of Hadrice, thus inspiring questions she would not care to answer. As they rode she said, “Hadrice, if there is to be violence—”
“Well?”
“I beg you to observe that I am unarmed.”
“I beg you to observe,” said Hadrice coolly, “that, were you armed, I should disarm you for fear you would cut yourself, or me, by accident.”
“Very well,” said Livosha, clenching her teeth and fists. She pulled her hood over her head, hoping to avoid recognition by Sajen.
Hadrice nodded and the journey continued without conversation.
At one point, they turned away from the Favintoe district, and Livosha nearly asked if he had moved, but caught herself in time. Somewhat later they entered a part of city she had never seen before, with narrow, curving streets paved with stones that had been laboriously planed flat. The street they were on at once began to climb as well as turn until Livosha lost all sense of direction, and looked around hoping to spot the harbor to give her a sense of where she was; the houses, most of them three stories tall and built of stone, were too close together—some of them actually touching—to permit much of a view.
From this street they turned onto another that was so similar, in width, style, and in the sorts of structures built along it, then she became even more confused. At one point Hadrice stopped, looked carefully around, consulted a scrap of paper in her palm, and continued, though what she could have been looking for Livosha could not imagine. After climbing for some time, they started down the still-curving street, and shortly after that they stopped outside of a building that, to Livosha’s eye, had nothing to distinguish it from a hundred she had just passed.
Hadrice dismounted and hobbled her horse and the one she was leading, there being nothing apparent to which to tie them.
Livosha said, “Do I wait, or come?”
“Come, but remain behind me.”
“Very well,” said Livosha, who then dismounted, hobbled her own horse, and followed Hadrice to a stone stairway of four steps ending in a door. While Livosha remained at the top of the stairs, Hadrice went down to the door and clapped sharply. Livosha was unable to distinguish the words from inside, but Hadrice answered them by saying “water and wine,” which Livosha assumed was a kind of password.
The door opened, and Hadrice put her shoulder to it and pushed in quickly. Livosha, startled by the movement, took a moment to follow her. By the time she got there, she discovered that Hadrice had drawn a weapon and there were three individuals, all of them wearing black and gray, on the ground, bleeding, writhing, glaring, and gasping in various ways, until one of them stopped moving and stared upward with glassy eyes, a pool of blood still spreading from his neck. It seemed to be a small apartment, with a bedroom and its own kitchen, but mostly a single room with chairs and couches. The couch was occupied by an individual whom Livosha at once recognized as a very frightened Sajen. She started to raise the hood of her cloak, then realized it was already up. Either the hood was working, or the forger couldn’t pull his eyes from Hadrice; in any case, he gave no signs of having recognized Livosha.
Hadrice, in the meantime, was raising her sword and pointing it at Sajen. When this was accomplished (with, in Livosha’s opinion, an admirable amount of drama), she said, “I have a writ of arrest from the Countess of Whitecrest on the charge of forgery, and must beg you to come with me to answer certain questions.”
Sajen’s eyes were as wide as the gap between certain academics avowals and their results; his mouth opened and closed, and at last he said, “My lady, I—”
“Don’t call me my lady. My name is Hadrice, and I arrest you in the name of the Countess of Whitecrest.”
“How did you find me?” he said, which abruptly reminded Livosha that she should be marking down anything he said, which she immediately began to do.
“As to that,” said Hadrice, “why did you suddenly leave your home and find Jhereg to hide, or to,” she paused and looked around, “protect you?” There may have been a certain ironic emphasis on the word “protect.”
“Oh, well,” said Sajen, and coughed. “I was, that is to say, I was visiting friends.”
Livosha wrote that down.
“Are many of your friends Jhereg?” Hadrice wanted to know. “And do you visit them often, suddenly, bringing with you a satchel containing changes of clothing?” Hadrice was, at this point, looking in a corner of the room where there was, indeed, a sort of tote bag with the top open next to a square case, presumably containing Sajen’s art supplies.
“Oh, that,” said Sajen. “Well.”
“Yes?”
“I do not believe I wish to continue this conversation.”
Hadrice shrugged. “Then take your things and come with me.”
Sajen, obviously not at all happy, picked up his two cases and started toward the door. He noticed Livosha for the first time then, and attempted to peer under her hood, but evidently could not, for no sign of surprise or recognition appeared on his countenance.
As they left the room with two wounded men and one dead man, Hadrice turned to Livosha and said, “Can you lead on the way back?”
Livosha shook her head.
“Very well,” said Hadrice. “Did you record the conversation?”
“Yes,” she said.
Hadrice nodded and led the way out. As they mounted their horses, Hadrice said, “Sajen.”
“Well?”
“If you attempt to escape I will catch you, and then I will break both of your legs. Do you understand?”
The forger nodded.
“Good, then. Get behind me, and Nedyrc in the rear.”
In due course, they made their way back to the duke’s manor, at which time, though there had been no conversation until that time, Sajen said, “But, that is not Whitecrest!”
“Well.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Do not worry, though not the estate of the countess, it is under her authority, and, moreover, there are secure dungeons there, so you need have no fear for your accommodations.”
He fell silent after that, although Livosha guessed he was not reassured. Once they had dismounted, Hadrice took Sajen by the arm and, turning to Livosha said, “Have the transcript to me by to-morrow morning.”
Livosha, not wishing to speak more than necessary, lest Sajen recognize her voice, merely bowed, and Hadrice led Sajen inside.
Once she was on her own, she threw her hood back and closed her eyes, leaning against the manor next to the door and letting the cold breeze buffet her face. She shook for some few moments before she was certain that she was able to walk. Having come to this conclusion, she entered the manor and at once made her the way to the library, where Kefaan often spent his time when not actively engaged in service to the duke.
He was, in fact, there, and as he looked up, she nodded to him, accompanying this gesture with a significant look, and at once made her way to the terrace. In a few minutes, Kefaan arrived, and said, “I received your note, and I have prepared for a departure if it is necessary.”
“It is necessary, I assure you.”
“Then, we are discovered?”
“We are about to be, and no artifice can prevent it. The forger, Sajen, has been taken, and he will soon tell everything he knows, and that must necessarily include us.”
“Shards!” said Kefaan. “I perceive that there is no question of joking.”
“None at all. And yet—”
“Well?”
“I cannot help but wonder why the forger was taken, and, moreover, how he came to be found.”
“How, found?”
“Yes, for he had hastily left his old quarters, and was now staying in a new part of the city, protected by three Jhereg.”
“What do you tell me?” cried Kefaan, turning pale and displaying evident excitement.
“Why, only the truth, my brother. He had recently, I think within a day, left his previous domicile and relocated among three Jhereg in a part of the city with which I am unfamiliar. But this intelligence seems to disturb you.”
“Ah, ah! I spit upon all the gods!” cried Kefaan. “Which is only just, as they all seem to have chosen to spit upon me!”
“But come, calm yourself and explain.”
“Calm myself? I do not believe I am capable of this exertion!”
“Nevertheless, you must try, because, if you remain in this distressed state, your explanation must necessarily suffer, and I suspect that it may be important for me to comprehend.”
“Well, I will do my best, then.”
“That is all I can ask.”
“And you wish me to explain?”
“Nearly! The way you carry on fills me with curiosity.”
“Then I will tell you the entire story.”
“That is what I wish.”
“You know that I have been keeping in touch with various Jhereg.”
“I am aware of this.”
“And, moreover, my assignments from His Highness Traanzo also require such intercourse.”
“Assuredly. It was because of your knowledge of these persons that I thought to arrange this position for you.”
“And so I have been carrying out these duties.”
“Well, and?”
“You may remember that I spoke of certain orders from his lordship Traanzo to discover who was trading goods with the pirates who operate out of the Shallow Sea.”
“Indeed, I remember that exactly. So well do I remember it, that I remember you found such a person. And the proof is, he is an Orca named Rennis.”
“No one can question your memory, my sister.”
“That is good, for I have come to rely on it. But go on.”
“After the last time we spoke, I learned something important: in order to save money for ransom, Count Dorin and Rennis had come up with a scheme to save the tribute money.”
“Ah, ah. Well, what was this famous scheme?”
“Instead of paying the first ship to catch him, and receiving a note stating that the ransom had been paid—”
“Well?”
“He simply had someone forge those notes at a cost of one or two Imperials each, and then put them into the hands of his captain, who would pass them off as if received from a pirate. That is, should he meet Captain Tall—”
“Is there a Captain Tall?”
“I do not know, my sister; I am merely making up a name for the purposes of illustration.”
“I understand. Should he meet Captain Tall, then—?”
“He would give him a note that seemed to be from Captain Short. And if he happened to meet Captain Short, well—”
“He would give him a note as if from Captain Tall. I see that. And, moreover, I see something else: you said a forger. Could it be—?”
“Not only could, but is, my sister! Of course, I hadn’t even guessed it might be the one we knew.”
“Well, but what happened then?”
“Upon learning of this scheme, Lord Traanzo admired it so much, he thought to do the same himself, and the easiest way to become involved was to have the forger work for him.”
“Well, but how did Hadrice become involved?”
“Ah, ah! I did that, fool that I am! I learned that the forger—you perceive, I had not been told his name—”
“Yes, yes, I understand that.”
“I was told that he had learned inquires had been made of him, and, fearing arrest for forgery, he had gone to the Jhereg who had first hired him and asked for protection. Well, when I learned this, I thought that the simplest way to advance his lordship’s interests would be to have him brought in. His lordship thought the same, and ordered his arrest.”
“And then?”
“It seemed to me that if I could gain information from this forger before his lordship did, it might provide useful information for us in our quest for vengeance.”
“That was not badly thought, I admit. And so, after thinking this?”
“After thinking this, I told Hadrice—”
“Yes? What did you tell her?”
“Ah, it is to weep! If I had a beard like an Easterner, I would tear it out.”
“Go on, go on! What did you tell Hadrice?”
“I told her that this was the very forger who had been previously hired by Dorin, and so she must arrest him to keep her master’s secret safe!”
“But it was the same forger!”
“I know! If I had suspected that it was, I never would have said so!”
“Well,” said Livosha thoughtfully. “It is unfortunate. How did you not tell me about it? For I had spoken to Sajen, and might have made the important connection.”
“It was yester-day, Livosha. We were not to meet until to-day.”
“Well, that is true.”
“I have been foolish.”
“Not in the least, my brother. For consider, if we had known who the forger was, what could we have done? You might have put his lordship off the scent for a while, but that is all. We might not have needed to run at once, but we still would have had to run.”
“You are good to say so, Livosha. But, as you say, now we must run.”
“Yes, before this forger talks and reveals who we are, as he certainly will.”
“But, run to where?”
“Why, Northport, of course. We will once more attempt to track down Eremit!”