Jhereg (13 page)

"
Here he comes, boss.
"

"
Alone?
"

"
Two bodyguards, but they're waiting by the door.
" The Demon slid smoothly into the seat across from me. "Good afternoon," he said.

"How are things coming?"

"They're coming. I recommend the tsalmoth in garlic butter."

"As you say." He signaled over a waiter, who took our orders with enough respect to show that he knew who I, at least, was. The Demon picked out a light
Nyroth
wine to go along with it, showing that he also knew something about eating.

"Things are looking a little more urgent now, Vlad. May I call you Vlad?" he added.

"
Tell him, 'no,' boss.
"

"Of course." I chuckled. "I'll call you 'Demon.'" He smiled, without showing how bored he must have been at the remark. "As I was saying--things
are
starting to look serious. It seems that a few too many people know already. The best sorceresses in the Left Hand have figured out that someone big is interested in finding Mellar, but there wasn't any way to avoid that. On the other hand, there are a few others who are wondering about some cutbacks we've had to make in our operations. All it's going to take is for someone to start putting the two things together, and then things get unpleasant real fast."

"So, are you--" I stopped, as the soup came. Out of reflex, I passed my left hand over it briefly, but there wasn't any poison, of course. Poison is clumsy and unpredictable, and few Dragaerans knew enough about the metabolism of an Easterner to leave me seriously worried about it.

I continued when the waiter left. "Are you saying you want me to push it a bit?" I held down my annoyance; the last thing this side of Deathsgate I wanted just then was for the Demon to get the idea that I was upset.

"As much as you can without risking mistakes. But that wasn't really what I wanted--I know you're moving as fast as you can."

Sure, he did. The soup was flat, I decided.

"We've learned something that may interest you," he continued. I waited.

"Mellar is holed up in Castle Black."

He looked for a reaction from me, and, when he didn't get one, continued.

"Our sorcerers broke through about two hours ago, and I got in touch with your people right away. So, you can forget checking out East. The reason we couldn't find him for so long was because Castle Black is close to two hundred miles from Adrilankha--but, of course, you know that. You work for Morrolan, right?"

"Work for him? No. I'm on his payroll as a security consultant, nothing more." He nodded. He worked on his soup for a while, then, "You didn't seem surprised when I told you where he was."

"Thank you very much," I said.

The Demon let me know that he had teeth and raised his glass in salute. Smiling, say the sages, comes from an early form of baring the teeth. While jhereg don't bare their teeth, Jhereg do. "Did you know?" asked the Demon, bluntly. I nodded.

"I'm impressed," he said. "You move quickly."

I continued to wait, while finishing up my soup. I still didn't know why he was here, but I was quite sure that it wasn't in order to compliment me on my information sources, or to give me information he could have had sent over by a courier.

He picked up his wineglass and looked into it, swirled it around a little, and sipped it. Crazily, he suddenly reminded me of the Necromancer. "Vlad," he said, "I think we may have a possible conflict of interest developing here."

"Indeed?"

"Well, it is known that you are a friend of Morrolan. Now, Morrolan is harboring Mellar. It would seem that our goals, and his goals, might not run along the same paths." I still didn't say anything. The waiter showed up with the main course, and I checked it, and started in. The Demon pretended not to notice my gesture. I pretended not to notice when he did the same thing.

He continued, after swallowing and making the obligatory murmur of satisfaction.

"Things could get very unpleasant for Morrolan."

"I can't imagine how," I said, "unless you plan to start another Dragon-Jhereg war. And Mellar, no matter what he did, can't be worth that much."

Now it was the Demon who said nothing. I got a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I said slowly, "He
can't
be worth another Dragon-Jhereg war." He still said nothing.

I shook my head. Would he really go ahead and try to nail Mellar right in Morrolan's castle? Gods! He was saying that he would! He'd bring every Dragon on Dragaera down on our heads. This could be worse than the last one. It was the reign of the Phoenix, which made the Dragons correspondingly higher on the Cycle. The higher a House is, the more fate tends to favor it. I don't know the why or how of that, but it works that way. The Demon knew it, too.

"Why?" I asked him.

"At this point," he said slowly, "I don't think that there is any need to start such a war. I think that it can be worked around, which is why I'm talking to you. But, I will say this: if I'm wrong, and the only options I can see are letting Mellar get away with this or starting another war, I'll start the war. Why? Because if we have a war, things will get bad, yes, very bad, but then it will be over. We know what to expect this time, and we'll be ready for it. Oh, sure, they'll hurt us. Perhaps badly. But we will recover, eventually--in a few thousand years."

"On the other hand, if Mellar gets away with this, there won't be an end to it. Ever. As long as House Jhereg lasts, we'll have to contend with thieves plotting after our funds. We'll be crippled forever."

His eyes became thin lines, and I saw his teeth clench for a moment. "
I
built us up after Adron's Disaster. I made a dispirited, broken House into a viable business again. I'm willing to see my work set back a thousand years, or ten thousand years if I have to, but I'm not willing to see us weakened forever."

He sat back. I let his remarks sink in. The worst thing was, he was right. If I were in his position, I would probably find myself making the same decision. I shook my head.

"You're right," I told him. "We have a conflict of interest. If you give me enough time, I'll finish my work. But I'm not going to let you nail someone in Castle Black. I'm sorry, but that's how it is."

He nodded, thoughtfully. "How much time do you need?"

"I don't know. As soon as he leaves Castle Black, I can get him. But I haven't come up with a way to get him to leave yet."

"Will two days do it?"

I thought that over. "Maybe," I said finally. "Probably not." He nodded and was silent.

I used a piece of only slightly stale bread to get the rest of the garlic butter (I never said it was a good restaurant for
eating
in), and asked him, "What is your idea for avoiding the Dragon-Jhereg war?"

He shook his head, slowly. He wasn't going to give me any more information about that. Instead, he signaled the waiter over and paid him. "I'm sorry," he told me as the waiter walked away. "We'll have to do it without your cooperation. You could have been very helpful." He left the table and walked toward the door.

The waiter, I noticed, was returning with the change. I absently waved him away. That's when it hit me. The Demon would have realized that this outcome was possible, but wanted to give me a chance to save myself. Oh, shit. I felt the waves of panic start up, but forced them down. I wouldn't leave this place, I decided, until help arrived. I started to reach out for contact with Kragar.

The waiter hadn't caught my signal and was still approaching. I started to gesture him away again when Loiosh screamed a warning into my mind. I caught the flicker of motion almost at the same time. I pushed the table away from me and reached for a dagger at the same moment that Loiosh left my shoulder to attack. But I also knew, in that instant, that both of us would be too late. The timing had been perfect, the setup professional. I turned, hoping to at least get the assassin.

There was a gurgling sound as I turned and stood up. Instead of lunging at me, the

"waiter" fell against me, then continued on to the floor. There was a large kitchen cleaver in his hand, and the point of a dagger sticking out of his throat. I looked around the room as the screams started. It took me a while, but I finally located Kragar, seated at a table a few feet from mine. He stood up and walked over to me. I felt myself start trembling, but I didn't allow myself to fall back into my chair until I was sure the Demon had left.

He had. His bodyguards were gone, probably having been out the door before the assassin's body had fallen. Wise, of course. Any of his people left here were dead. Loiosh returned to my shoulder, and I felt him glancing around the room, as if to make any guilty party cower in shame. There would be none of them left now. He'd taken his best shot, and it had almost worked.

I sat down and trembled for a while.

"Thanks, Kragar. Were you there the whole time?"

"Yeah. As a matter of fact, you looked right through me a couple of times. So did the Demon. So did the waiters," he added sourly.

"Kragar, the next time you feel like ignoring my orders, do it." He gave me his Kragar smile. "Vlad," he said, "never trust anyone who calls himself a demon."

"I'll remember that."

The Imperial guards would be showing up in a few minutes, and there were a few things I had to get done before they arrived. I was still trembling with unused adrenalin as I walked over to the kitchen, through it, and into the back office. The owner, a Dragaeran named Nethrond, was sitting behind his desk. He had been my partner in this place since I'd taken half-ownership of it in exchange for canceling out a rather impressive sum he owed me. I suppose he had no real reason to love me, but still.... I walked in, and he looked at me as if he were seeing Death personified. Which, of course, he was. Kragar was behind me and stopped at the door to make sure no one came in to ask Nethrond to sign for an order of parsley or something. I noticed he was trembling. Good. I no longer was.

"How much did he pay you, dead man?"

(Gulp) "Pay me? Who--?"

"You know," I said conversationally, "you've been a rotten gambler for as long as I've known you. That's what got you into this in the first place. Now, how much did he pay you?"

"B-b-b-but no one--"

I reached forward suddenly and grabbed his throat with my left hand. I felt my lips drawing up into a classic Jhereg sneer. "You are the only one, besides me, authorized to hire anyone in this place. There was a new waiter here today. I didn't hire him, therefore you did. It happened that he was an assassin. As a waiter, he was even worse than the fools you usually hire to drive customers away. Now, I think his main qualifications as a waiter were the gold Imperials you got for hiring him. I want to know how much."

He tried to shake his head in denial, but I was holding it too tightly. He started to speak the denial, but I squeezed that option shut. He tried to swallow; I relaxed enough to let him. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and then opened it and said, "I don't know what you--"

I discovered, with some surprise, that I had never resheathed the dagger that I'd drawn when first attacked. It was a nice tool; mostly point, and about seven inches long. It fitted well into my right hand, which is moderately rare for a Dragaeran weapon. I used it to poke him in the sternum. A small spot of blood appeared, soaking through the white chefs garment. He gave a small scream and seemed about to pass out. I was strongly reminded of our first conversation, when I'd let him know that I was his new partner and carefully outlined what would happen if the partnership didn't work out. His House was Jhegaala, but he was doing a good Teckla imitation.

He nodded, then, and managed to hand me a purse from next to him. I didn't touch it.

"How much is in it?" I asked.

He gurgled and said, "A th-thousand gold, M-milord."

I laughed shortly. "That isn't even enough to buy me out," I said. "Who approached you? Was it the assassin, the Demon, or a flunky?"

He closed his eyes as if he wanted me to disappear. I'd oblige him momentarily.

"It was the Demon," he said in a whisper.

"Really!" I said. "Well, I'm flattered that he takes such an interest in me." He started whimpering.

"And he guaranteed that I'd be dead, right?"

He nodded miserably.

"And he guaranteed protection?"

He nodded again.

I shook my head sadly.

I called Kragar in to teleport us back to the office. He glanced at the body, his face expressionless.

"Shame about that fellow killing himself, isn't it?" he said. I had to agree.

"Any sign of guards?"

"No. They'll get here eventually, but no one is in any hurry to call them, and this isn't their favorite neighborhood to patrol."

"Good. Let's get back home."

He started working the teleport. I turned back to the body.

"Never," I told it, "trust anyone who calls himself a demon." The walls vanished around us.

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"You can't put it together again unless you've torn it apart first."
Over the years, I have developed a ritual that I go through after an attempt has been made to assassinate me. First, I return to my office by the fastest available means. Then I sit at my desk and stare off into space for a little while. After that I get very, very sick. Then I return to my desk and shake for a long time.

Sometime in there, while I'm alone and shaking, Cawti shows up, and she takes me home. If I haven't eaten, she feeds me. If it is practical, she puts me to bed. This was the fourth time that I had almost had my tale of years snipped at the buttocks. It wasn't possible for me to sleep this time, since Aliera was expecting me. When I had recovered sufficiently to actually move, I went into the back room to do the teleport. I am a good enough sorcerer to do it myself when I have to, although generally I don't bother. This time I didn't feel like calling in anyone else. It wasn't that I didn't trust them.... Well, maybe it was.

I took out my enchanted dagger (a cheap, over-the-counter enchanted dagger, but better than plain steel), and began carefully drawing the diagrams and symbols that aren't at all necessary for a teleport, but
do
help settle one's mind down when one is feeling that one's magic might not be all it ought to be.