Steven Brust - Teckla

The trouble was, not many assassins besides Mario would agree to take on the job. Herth was a boss—a much bigger one than I. He was the kind who doesn't take a pee without four or five bodyguards there in case his pecker decides to attack him. Shining someone like that requires getting to at least one or two of his bodyguards, or Mario, or finding someone who doesn't mind dying, or a great deal of luck.

I could forget Mario; no one even knew where he was. Maybe Kelly knew someone who wanted to make a suicide attack on a Jhereg boss, but I don't hang around with that sort of individual. Getting to his bodyguards might be possible, but it takes time. You have to find the ones who will take, check them out afterwards to make sure they've taken, and set up a time when both you and they can do it with a minimum of risk. I didn't have that kind of time before the assassin made another attack.

That left luck. Did I feel lucky? No, I didn't.

So where did that leave me?

Dead.

I finished changing weapons while I thought about it. I looked at it from a few other angles. Could I somehow convince Herth to cease hostilities? Laughable. Especially since I still had to make sure he wouldn't kill Cawti. I mean, that's what had gotten me into this mess, I might as well—Was it? Is that why I'd gotten involved in all of this nonsense? Well, no, not at first; at first I had wanted to find the murderer of this Franz fellow whom I'd never met. I'd wanted to do that to help patch things up with Cawti. Shit. Why was I trying to patch things up with her She was the one who'd gotten involved in alt this without mentioning it to me. Why did I have to go sticking my nose into a place where I wasn't wanted and I didn't want to be? Duty? A pretty word, that. Duty. Doo-tee. Easterners—some of them—made it sound like doo-dee; the kind of thing you hum to yourself while changing weapons. Doo-dee-da-dee-dee-do. What did it mean?

Maybe "duty" can't just hang there in a void; maybe it has to be attached to something. A lot of Easterners attached it to Barlan, or Verra, or Crow, or one of the other gods. I couldn't do that; I'd been around Dragaerans too long and I'd picked up their attitudes toward gods. What else was there? The Jhereg? Don't make me laugh. My duty toward the Jhereg is to follow its rules so I don't get shined. The Empire? My duty toward the Empire is to make sure it doesn't notice me.

That left it pretty small. Family, I guess. Cawti, my grandfather, Loiosh, and Rocza. Sure. That was a duty, and one I could be proud to do. I thought about how empty I'd felt before Cawti came into my life, and even the memory was painful. Why wasn't that enough?

I wondered if Cawti had felt this way. She didn't have the organization; she just had me. She used to have a partner and they'd needed each other, but her partner had become a Dragonlord and heir to the Orb. Now what did she have? Was that why she'd gotten involved with Kelly's people? To give her something to do, so she'd feel useful? Wasn't I enough?

No. Of course not. No one can live his life through someone else, I knew that. So what did Cawti have to live for? She had her "people." This group of Easterners and an occasional Teckla who got together to talk about overthrowing the Empire. Cawti hung around with them, helped build barricades in the streets, stood up to Phoenix Guards, and came home convinced that she'd done her "duty." Maybe that's what duty was—something you do to make yourself feel useful.

Fine. That was Cawti. Where was my duty? Doo-deedle-deedle-dee. My duty was to die, because I was going to anyway, so I might as well call it a duty. You're getting cynical, Vlad, stop it.

I had about finished changing my weapons so I just sat there, holding a dagger that was destined for my right boot. I leaned back and closed my eyes. All of this was really beside the point if I was going to be killed soon. Or was it? Was there something I ought to be doing, even if I were dying? Now that would be a good test of duty , whatever I meant by it.

And I realized there was. I had gotten myself involved in this thing up to my neck mostly with the idea of keeping Cawti alive. If it was really as clear as all that that I was going to die, I'd have to make sure that Cawti was safe before I let anyone kill me.

Now there was a pretty little problem.

Doo-dee-deedee-dee-dum. I started flipping the dagger.

…and remove sweat stains

A little later, with the seeds of an idea taking shape in my head, I called for Kragar, but Melestav said he was out. I gnashed mental teeth and kept thinking. What, I wondered, would happen if I was killed and Cawti wasn't? My cynical half said it wouldn't be my problem. But beyond that, I guessed that my grandfather and Cawti would be able to look out for each other. There had been some sort of communication going on between them on the street there, something that had left me out. Were they going to get together and talk about how terrible I was? Was I going to die of paranoia?

Ignoring all of that, however, Cawti would be faced with an interesting problem if Herth killed me: She'd want to kill Herth herself, but she didn't want to be an assassin any more. Or at least, after the way she'd spoken to me I assumed she didn't want to be an assassin any more. On the other hand, it couldn't hurt Kelly any to have his biggest enemy taken off the stage. Too bad I'd have to die to pull it off. Hmmm.

I idly wondered whether there would be a way to convince Cawti I was dead long enough for her to kill Herth. My reappearance afterward would certainly be fun. On the other hand, it could get very embarrassing if she chose not to go after him, and even more embarrassing if Herth found out I was alive.

Still, no need to dismiss it out of hand. It was better—

"You're looking morbid again, Vlad."

I didn't jump. "How kind of you to say so, Kragar. Anything on Herth?" He shook his head. I continued, "All right, a couple of thoughts have been buzzing around my head. I want to let one of them keep buzzing. The other one is to set things up to do it the long way."

"Buy off his protection?"

I nodded.

"Okay," he said. "I'll get started on it."

"Good. What about the assassin?"

"The artist should be just about finished. He said I have and very good mind for detail. Since I got the image from you, I think you ought to be flattered."

"Okay, I'm flattered. You know what to do with the picture."

He nodded and left and I went back to planning my death—or at least thinking about it. It seemed completely impractical, but tempting anyway. The triumphant return was what sounded best, I suppose. Of course, that wouldn't work too well if by the time I returned Cawti was shacking up with Gregory or someone.

I held that thought, just to see how much it bothered me. It more or less didn't, which somehow bothered me.

Loiosh and Rocza scratched on the window. I put the dagger I'd been flipping in its sheath and let them in. I stayed to the side, just in case. They seemed a bit exhausted.

" Sightseeing ?"

" Yeah ."

" Who won the race ?"

" What makes you think we were racing, boss ?"

" I didn't say you were; I just asked who won ."

" Oh. She did. Wingspan ."

" Yeah, that'll do it. I don't suppose you went anywhere near South Adrilankha, did you ?"

" As a matter of fact we did ."

" Ah. And the barricades ?"

" Gone ."

Loiosh settled on my shoulder. I sat down and said, " A while ago you asked me what I'd think of Kelly's group if Cawti weren't involved ."

" Yeah ."

" I've been thinking about it. I decided it doesn't matter. She is involved, and I have to work with things on that basis ."