Steven Brust - Taltos

Then, one day while I was sitting on the beach quietly getting drunk, a waiter came up to me and said, “Lord Mawdyear?” I nodded, as that was close enough to the name I was using. He handed me a sealed message for which I tipped him lavishly. It read “Come back,” and my boss had signed it. I spent a few minutes wondering if it was faked, until Loiosh pointed out that anyone who knew enough to fake it knew enough to send someone to kill me right there on the beach. This sent a chill through me, but it also convinced me the message was genuine.

I teleported back the next morning, and nothing was said about what I thought must have been a miserable blunder. I found out, over the course of the next few months, that it hadn’t really been that bad a mistake. It was pretty much the policy to send the assassin out of town after he shined someone, especially during a war. I also found out that going to Candletown was a cliché; it was sometimes referred to as Killertown. I never went back there.

But there was something I noticed right away, and I still don’t really understand it. My boss knew I’d killed the guy, and Kragar certainly guessed it, but I don’t think many others even suspected. Okay, then why did everyone treat me differently?

No, it wasn’t big things, but just the way people I worked with would look at me; it was like I was a different person—someone worthy of respect, someone to be careful of.

Mind you, I’m not complaining;it was a great feeling. But it puzzled me then and it still does. I can’t figure out if rumors got around, or if my behavior changed in some subtle way. Probably a little of each.

But you know what was even more strange? As I would meet other enforcers who worked for someone or other in the strange world of the Jhereg, I would, from time to time, look at one and say to myself, “That one’s done ‘work.’” I have no idea how I knew, and I guess I can’t even guarantee I was right, but I felt it. And, more often than not, the guy would look at me and give a kind of half nod as if he recognized something about me, too.

I was seventeen years old, a human in the Dragaeran Empire, and I’d taken a lot of garbage over the years. Now I was no longer an “Easterner,” nor was I Dragaeran or even a Jhereg. Now I was someone who could calmly and coldly end a life, and then go out and spend the money, and I wasn’t going to have to take any crap anymore. Which was a nice feeling while it lasted.

I wondered, walking through the Halls, if there were ever any dragons brought there for judgment. I mean, not only were the doors large enough to admit one, but the halls were, too. At any rate, the scale made me feel small and insignificant, which was probably the reason behind the whole thing.

Reason?

“Loiosh, who designed this place, anyway?”

“You’re asking me, boss? I don’t know. The gods, I suppose.”

“And if I just knew what that meant, I’d be fine.”

“Have you noticed that there isn’t any decoration? Nothing at all.”

“Hmmm. You’re right, Loiosh. But, on the other hand, what sort of mood would you pick if you were decorating this place?”

“A point.”

The place was nearly empty, save for a few purple robes coming or going, all with that same blank look. Seeing them made me queasy. I didn’t notice any side passages or doors, but I don’t think I was at my most observant. It was big and it was impressive. What can I say?

“Good day,” said someone behind us. We turned and saw a male Dragaeran in the full splendor of a Dragonlord wizard, complete with shining black and silver garb and a staff that was taller than he was. His smile was sardonic as he looked at Morrolan. I turned to see my companion’s expression. His eyes were wide. I’d now seen Morrolan wet, embarrassed, and startled. If I could just see him frightened, my life would be complete.

I said, “Are you certain it’s day?”

He turned his sardonic expression to me and sent me the most withering glare I’ve ever experienced. Several comments came to mind, but for once I couldn’t manage to get them out. This may have saved my life.

Morrolan said, “I salute you, Lord Baritt. I had thought you were yet living. I grieve to know—”

He snorted. “Time flows differently here. Doubtless when you left, I hadn’t been ....” He scowled and didn’t complete the sentence.

Morrolan indicated the surrounding wall. “You live within this building, Lord?”

“No, I merely do research here.”

“Research?”

“I suppose you wouldn’t be familiar with the concept.”

By this time I’d recovered enough to appreciate someone being contemptuous of Morrolan. Morrolan, on the other hand, didn’t appreciate it at all. He drew himself up and said, “My lord, if I have done something to offend you—”

“I can’t say much for your choice of traveling companions.”

Before Morrolan could respond, I said, “I don’t like it either, but—”

“Don’t speak in my presence,” said Baritt.

As he said it, I found that I couldn’t; my mouth felt like it was filled with a whole pear, and I discovered that I couldn’t breathe. I hadn’t thought it possible to perform sorcery here. The Lyorn who was guiding me took a step forward, but at that moment I found I could breathe again. Baritt said “Jhereg” as if it were a curse. Then he spat on the floor in front of me and stalked away.

When he was gone I took a couple of deep breaths and said, “Hey, and here I’d thought he hated me because I’m an Easterner.”

Morrolan had no witty rejoinder for that. Our guide inclined his head slightly, from which I deduced that we were to follow him. We did.

A few minutes later he had led us to a big square entrance way, which was where the hall ended. He stopped outside it and indicated that we should continue through. We bowed to him and stepped forward into another world.

After Kynn’s death, and its aftermath, I learned slowly. I trained in sorcery in hopes of being able to follow someone teleporting, but that turned out to be even harder than I’d thought.

I never again used Loiosh as a distraction, but he got better at other things, such as observing a target for me and making sure an area was free of Phoenix Guards or other annoyances.

The war between Rolaan and Welok lasted for several months, during which everyone was careful and didn’t go out alone. This was an education for me. I “worked” several more times during that period, although only once was it a direct part of the war as far as I know.

The mystery, though, is where, by all the gods, my money went. I ought to have been rich. The fee for assassination is high. I was now living in a nice comfortable flat (it was really nice—it had this great blue and white carpet and a huge kitchen with a built-in wood stove), but it didn’t cost all that much. I was eating well, and paying quite a bit for sorcery lessons, as well as paying a top fencing master, but none of these things comes close to accounting for all the income I was generating. I don’t gamble a whole lot, which is a favorite means of losing money for many Jhereg. I just can’t figure it out.

Of course, some of it I can trace. Like, I met an Eastern girl named Jeanine, and we hung out together for most of a year, and it’s amazing how much you can spend on entertainment if you really put your mind to it. And there was a period when I was paying out a lot for teleports—like two or three a day for a couple of weeks. That was when I was seeing Jeanine and Constance at the same time and I didn’t want them finding out about each other. It ended because all the teleports were making me too sick to be of much good to either of them. I guess, in retrospect, that could account for quite a bit of the money, couldn’t it? Teleports don’t come cheap.