Steven Brust - Yendi

“ Funny. What is it really? ”

“ A question. Did you open up a new gambling joint in Malak Circle? ”

“ Of course not. You’d have heard about it long ago. ”

“ That’s what I thought. Then there’s a problem. ”

“ I see. Some punk thinking we won’t notice? Or is somebody trying to muscle in? ”

“ It looks professional, Vlad. He’s got protection there. ”

“ How many? ”

“ Three. And I know one of them. He’s done ‘work.’ ”

“ Oh. ”

“ What do you think? ”

“ Kragar, you know how a chamberpot gets when it isn’t emptied for a few days? ”

“ Yeah? ”

“ And you know how, when you finally do empty it, there ’ s all that stuff stuck on the bottom? ”

“ Yeah? ”

“ Well, that stuff on the bottom is how I feel about this. ”

“ Gotcha. ”

“ I’ll be right over. ”

I found Morrolan in a comer with Aliera and a tall Dragaeran who had the facial features of the House of the Athyra and was dressed all in forest green. She looked down at me, figuratively and literally. It’s frustrating being both a Jhereg and an Easterner—people sneer at you for both reasons.

“Vlad,” said Morrolan, “this is the Sorceress in Green. Sorceress, this is Baronet Vladimir Taltos.”

She nodded, almost imperceptibly. I bowed with a deep flourish, dragging the back of my hand over the floor, bringing it up over my head, and saying, “Gentle lady, I am every bit as charmed to meet you as you are to meet me.”

She sniffed and looked away.

Aliera’s eyes were twinkling.

Morrolan looked troubled, then shrugged.

“Sorceress in Green,” I said. “I’ve never met an Athyra who wasn’t a sorcerer, and the green I can see, so I can’t say the title tells me—”

“That will be sufficient, Vlad,” said Morrolan. “And she isn’t—”

“Sorry. I wanted to tell you that something’s come up. I’m afraid I’ll have to leave.” I turned to the Sorceress. “I’m sorry to do this to you, my dear, but try not to let it ruin your evening.”

She looked back at me and smiled sweetly. “How would you,” she said, “like to be a newt?”

Loiosh hissed.

“I asked you to desist, Vlad,” said Morrolan sharply.

I dropped it. “I’ll be leaving, then,” I said, bowing my head.

“Very well. If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”

I nodded. Unfortunately for him, I remembered the remark.

Do you know what the single biggest difference between a Dragaeran and an Easterner is? It isn’t that they are so much taller and stronger than we are; I’m living proof that size and strength aren’t that important. It isn’t that they live two or three thousand years compared to our fifty or sixty; in the crowd I hang around with, no one expects to die of old age anyway. It isn’t even that they have a natural link with the Imperial Orb that allows them to use sorcery; Easterners (such as my late, unlamented father) can buy titles in the House of the Jhereg, or swear fealty to some noble, move out to the countryside and become a Teckla—thereby becoming citizens and getting the link.

No, the biggest difference that I’ve found is this: a Dragaeran can teleport without feeling sick to his stomach afterwards.

I arrived in the street outside my office about ready to throw up. I took a few deep breaths and waited while my gut settled down. I had had one of Morrolan’s sorcerers do the actual spell. I can do it myself, but I’m not very good; a rough landing makes things even worse.

My offices at this time were on Copper Lane, in back of a small gambling operation, which was in back of a psychedelic herb shop. My offices consisted of three rooms. One was a screening room, where Melestav, my receptionist-bodyguard, sat. To his right was Kragar’s office and the files, and behind Melestav was my actual office. Kragar had a small desk and one hard wooden chair—there wasn’t room for anything else. The screening room had four chairs that were almost comfortable. My desk was a bit bigger than Kragar’s, smaller than Melestav’s, and had a well-padded swivel chair facing the door. Next to the door were two comfortable chairs, one of which would be occupied by Kragar when he showed up.

I told Melestav to let Kragar know I was in and sat down at my desk to wait.

“Uh, boss?”

“Oh.” I sighed as I realized that, once again, Kragar had sneaked in without my seeing him. He claims that he doesn’t do it on purpose—that he’s just naturally sneaky.

“What have you found out, Kragar?”

“Nothing I didn’t tell you before.”

“Okay. Let’s go blow some money.”

“Both of us?”

“No. You stay out of sight, in case they get rude.”

“Okay.”

As we went out I ran a hand through my hair. This let me rub my arm against the right side of my cloak, so I could make sure that various pieces of hardware were in place. With my left hand I adjusted the collar, letting me check a few more on that side.

Out on the street, I gave a quick look around, then walked the block and a half up to Malak Circle. Copper Lane is what is called a one-and-a-half-cart street, which makes it wider than many. The buildings are packed tightly together, and most of them have windows only on the upper stories. Malak Circle is a turnaround, with a fountain that hasn’t worked as long as I can remember. Copper Lane ends there. Lower Kieron Road enters from the left as you approach from Copper Lane, and leaves again, slightly wider, ahead, and to the right.

“Okay, Kragar,” I said, “where—” I stopped. “Kragar?”

“Right in front of you, boss.”

“Oh. Where is it?”

“First door to the left of the Fountain Tavern. Inside, up the stairs, and to the right.”

“Okay. Stay alert.”

“Check.”

“ Loiosh, try to find a window you can look in. If not, just stay in touch. ”

“ Right, boss. ” He flew off.

I went in, up a narrow stairway with no handrail, and came to the top. I took a deep breath, checked my weapons once more, and clapped.

The door opened at once. The guy who stood there was dressed in black and gray for House Jhereg, and had a broadsword strapped to his side. He was damn near seven and a half feet tall and broader than is usual for a Dragaeran. He loooked down at me and said, “Sorry, Whiskers. Humans only,” and shut the door. Dragaerans often seem confused about who the “humans” are.

Being called “Whiskers” didn’t bother me—I’d deliberately grown a mustache because Dragaerans can’t. But to be shut out of a game that shouldn’t even be here without my permission displeased me immensely.

I quickly checked the door and found that it was bound with sorcery. I gave a flick of my right wrist and Spellbreaker, two feet of thin gold chain, came into my hand. I lashed out at the door and felt the spell fail. I put the chain away as the door was flung open again.

The guy’s eyes narrowed and he started moving toward me. I smiled at him. “I’d like to speak to the proprietor, if I may.”

“I see,” he said, “that you’re going to need help getting down the stairs.” He moved toward me again.

I shook my head. “It’s sad that you can’t cooperate with a simple request, dead man.”

He moved in, and my right sleeve dagger was in my hand. Then I was past him, ducking under his arms. Six inches of steel were buried, at an upward angle, between his fourth and fifth ribs, twisted to notch on the sternum. I stepped into the room as I heard vague moaning and coughing noises from behind me, followed by the sound of a falling body. Contrary to popular myth, the guy would probably remain alive for over an hour. But contrary to another popular myth, he would be in shock and so wouldn’t be able to do anything to keep himself alive.