Steven Brust - Yendi

When I was growing up, and collecting lumps from guys who’d go out “whisker-cutting,” most of them were Orcas. Because of this, I gave my enforcers very explicit instructions about what to do to anyone they caught a second time. And, because these instructions were carried out, in less than three weeks my area was one of the safest in Adrilankha after dark. We started spreading rumors, too—you know, the virgin with the bag of gold at midnight—and it got so I almost believed them myself.

By my figuring, the increase in business paid for the extra enforcers in four months.

During that period, I “worked” a few times to increase my cash supply and to show the world that I could still do it. But, as I said, nothing much happened that concerns us now.

And then my good neighbor, Laris, showed me why I hadn’t gotten into this end sooner.

The day after I’d tried to break up the game and ended by throwing up on the street, I sent Kragar to find people who worked with or knew Laris. I killed time around the office, throwing knives and swapping jokes with my secretary. (“How many Easterners does it take to sharpen a sword? Four: one to hold the sword and three to move the grindstone.”)

Kragar came back just before noon.

“What did you find out?”

He opened a little notebook and scanned through it.

“Laris,” he said, “started out as a collector for a moneylender in Dragaera City. He spent thirty or forty years at it, then made some connections and began his own business. While he was collecting he also ‘worked’ once or twice, as part of the job.

“He stayed a moneylender and made a good living at it for about sixty years, until Adron’s Disaster and the Interregnum. He dropped out of sight then, like everyone else, and showed up in Adrilankha about a hundred and fifty years ago selling Jhereg titles to Easterners.”

I interrupted, “Could he have been the one—”

“I don’t know, Vlad. It occurred to me, too—about your father—but I couldn’t find out.”

“It doesn’t matter. Go on.”

“Okay. About fifty years ago he went to work for Welok as an enforcer. It looks like he ‘worked’ a few more times, then started running a small area directly under Welok, twenty years ago, when Welok took over from K’tang the Hook. When the Blade took the trip—”

“From there I know it.”

“Okay. So now what?”

I thought this over. “He hasn’t had any real setbacks, has he?”

“No.”

“He’s also never been in charge of a war.”

“That isn’t quite true, Vlad. I was told that he pretty much ran the fight against the Hook by himself, which was why Welok turned the area over to him.”

“But if he was only an enforcer then—”

“I don’t know,” said Kragar. “I get the feeling that there was more to it than that, but I’m not sure just what it is.”

“Hmmmm. Could he have been running another area during that time? Behind the scenes, or something?”

“Maybe. Or he might have had some kind of club over Welok’s head.”

“That,” I said, “I find hard to believe. The Blade was one tough son-of-a-bitch.”

Kragar shrugged. “One story I heard is that Laris offered him the Hook’s area, if he could run it. I tried to verify that, but no one else had heard of it.”

“Where did you hear it?”

“A free-lance enforcer who worked for Laris during the war. A guy named Ishtvan.”

“ Ishtvan? An Easterner?”

“No, just a guy with an Eastern name. Like Mario.”

“If he’s like Mario, I want him!”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. Okay, send a messenger to Laris. Tell him I’d like to get together with him.”

“He’s going to want to know where.”

“Right. Find out if there’s a good restaurant that he owns, and make it there. Say, noon tomorrow.”

“Check.”

“And send a couple of enforcers in here. I’m going to want protection.”

“Right.”

“Get going.”

He got.

“ Hey, boss. What’s this about ‘protection’? ”

“ What about it? ”

“ You got me, don’tcha? What’d ya need those other clowns for? ”

“ Peace of mind. Go to sleep. ”

One of the enforcers who’d been with me from the time when I took over the area was called N’aal the Healer. He got the name first, the story goes, when he was sent to collect on a late payment from a Chreotha noble. He and his partner went to the guy’s flat and clapped at the door. They asked for the money, and the guy snorted and said, “For what?”

N’aal came up with a hammer. “I’m a healer,” he said. “I see you got a whole head. I can heal that for you.” The Chreotha got the message, and N’aal got the gold. His partner spread the story around and the name stuck.

Anyway, N’aal the Healer walked in about two hours after I’d told Kragar to send the messenger. I inquired as to his business.

“Kragar had me deliver a message,” he said.

“Oh. Did you get an answer?”

“Yeah. I saw one of Laris’s people and delivered it. Word came back that it was fine with him.”

“Good. Now, if Kragar would just show up, I could find out where—”

“I’m right here, boss.”

“Eh? Oh. Jerk. Get lost, N’aal.”

“Where am I?” he said, as he headed out the door. Kragar flipped it shut with his foot and stretched out.

“Where is it set up for?” I asked him.

“A place called ‘The Terrace.’ Good place. You won’t get out for less than a gold apiece.”

“I can stand it,” I said.

“ They make a mean pepper sausage, boss. ”

“ Now, how would you know that? ”

“ I hit their garbage dump once in a while. ”

Ask a stupid question—

“Okay,” I continued to Kragar, “Did you arrange protection for me?”

He nodded. “Two. Varg and Temek.”

“They’ll do.”

“Also, I’ll be there. Just sort of being quiet and hanging around. I doubt he’ll even notice me.” He smirked.

“Fair enough. Any advice?”

He shook his head. “I’m as new at this as you are.”

“Okay. I’ll do my best. Any other business?”

“No. Everything’s running smooth, as usual.”

“May it stay that way,” I said, rapping my knuckles on the desk. He looked at me, puzzled.

“An Eastern custom,” I explained. “It’s supposed to bring good luck.”

He still looked puzzled, but didn’t say anything.

I took out a dagger and started flipping it.

Varg was of a nastier school than I. He was one of those people who just reek of danger—the kind who would kill you as soon as look at you. He was Kragar’s size, which is just a bit short, and had eyes that slanted upward, indicating that there was Dzur blood somewhere in his ancestry. His hair was shorter than most, dark, and worn slicked back. When you spoke with him, he held himself perfectly motionless, making no extraneous gestures of any kind, and he’d stare at you with those narrow, bright blue eyes. His face was without emotion, except when he was beating someone up. Then his face would twist into a Jhereg sneer that was among the best I’d ever seen, and he projected enough hate to make an army of Teckla run the other way.

He had absolutely no sense of humor.

Temek was tall and so thin you could hardly see him if you came at him sideways. He had deep, brown eyes—friendly eyes. He was a weapons master. He could use an axe, a stick, a dagger, a throwing knife, any kind of sword, shuriken, darts, poisons of all types, rope, or even a Verra-be-damned piece of paper. Also, he was a pretty good sorcerer for a Jhereg outside of the Bitch Patrol—the Left Hand. He was the only enforcer I had that I knew, with one hundred percent certainty, had done “work”—because Kragar had given him the job at my orders.