Steven Brust - Phoenix

He nodded. Talkative son of a bitch.

"When did it happen?"

"During the night sometime."

"Well, that's a relief."

"Yes."

"What about food?"

"There's bread and cheese and whitefruit and dried kethna below."

"That'll do. Couldn't we just teleport home from here?"

"Go ahead. I'm in no hurry."

"If we run into a storm—"

"I've decided that we won't."

"Ah. Never mind, then."

I went below again, found the food, and did appropriate things with it.

As the next day's dawn spilled an orangish tint on the sea to our right, the city of Adrilankha peered down from the Whitecrest Hills and spread her port and docks like a lap to receive us. The sailors gave us, and Morrolan in particular, ugly looks, because they knew he'd managed the winds that had brought us home so quickly, and Orca, I've learned, believe that if one conjures fair winds, nature will respond with a storm as soon as she can manage it. Perhaps they're right. But Adrilankha, staring down at us like a great white bird, the cliffs her wings and her head the great manor of the Lyorn Daro, Countess of Whitecrest, didn't seem to care. Neither did I, for that matter.

As we passed Beacon Rock, the crew raised a bucket of water from the sea and spilled it on the deck, a ritual I've always wondered about, since I'm told that Adrilankha is the only port at which it is performed. They went through it mechanically, then prepared ropes and did other sailor things that I understood no better than I had the last time I saw them.

But I wasn't really watching then. Aliera was next to me, Morrolan next to her, with Aibynn on my other side, and Cawti a little further away. Loiosh was on my right shoulder. I wondered what was passing through their minds as the city grew before us, one building at a time: the Old Castle, where the Three Barons had practiced their strange magics during an Athyra reign a few cycles ago; Michaa-gu's, perhaps the best restaurant in the Empire except for Valabar's; the Wine Exchange, fat and brown, built of stone that plunged deep into the hill.

And behind them, the city. Or, rather, the cities, for we had each our own: Aliera and Morrolan, who didn't live there, knew the Imperial Palace and her surrounding Great Houses; a perpetually trimmed garden below the slopes of the Saddle Hills. Aibynn, perhaps, saw a place as strange and wild and unknown as his island was to me. Cawti would see South Adrilankha, the Easterners' ghetto, with her slums and her stench and her open-air markets and Easterners who walked always lightly, ready to run from the Phoenix Guards, or the occasional young Dzur adventurer, or damn near anyone else. I saw the city that held my special place along Lower Kieron Road, where the! bitter of violence mixed with the sweet of luxury, and you walked with your eyes open, either to grab at a passing opportunity or to prevent yourself from becoming one.

These cities loomed before us, one and many, growing larger and more present as we watched; they took my eyes and held them as the dock lieutenant signaled to our ship with the black and yellow flags of safe harbor, and guided us in.

I was home, and I was afraid, and I didn't know why.

TWO

Business Considerations

Lesson Six

DEALING WITH MIDDLE MANAGEMENT I

"People are starting to ask about you, Vlad," said Kragar, two minutes before the door blew down in front of us.

I was three days back from Greenaere. Cawti was off seeing her old friend Kelly and his merry band of nut cases and I had returned to running my business and trying to clean up South Adrilankha without filing Surrender of Debts to the Empire. (This is a joke; the Empire would not accept Jhereg debts. Just thought I should clarify that.)

Progress on all fronts was nil. That is, Cawti and I kept trying to talk and it kept going around in circles. I still didn't have an office in South Adrilankha, and I had no reliable reports coming in. I had not heard from Verra. I didn't know what Aibynn thought of Adrilankha because he didn't talk much; in fact, he wasn't around much. I still wondered if he was a spy. I had explained the situation to Kragar, who had suggested getting Daymar to probe his mind. The idea made me uncomfortable, and I wasn't sure if it would even work. We were discussing various alter-natives when Kragar suddenly said, "Never mind that. There are more pressing problems, anyway."

"Like what?" I said, which is when he said, "People are starting to ask about you, Vlad."

"What people?" I said.

"I don't know, but someone above you in the Organization."

"What's he asking about?"

"About that group of Easterners and your relationship with them."

"Kelly's people?"

"Yeah. Someone's afraid that you're involved with them."

"Can you find out—what was that? Did you just hear something?"

"I think so."

"Melestav, what's going on?"

"Commotion of some sort downstairs, boss. Should I check it out?"

"No, hang tight for now."

"Okay. I'll let you know if—" He broke the connection, or it was broken for him. I caught a quick flash of pain, as if he'd been hit.

I took a dagger into my right hand and held it out of sight below the desk. Then came a rumble, and Loiosh yelled into my mind, and the door blew down. There were six Jhereg standing in the doorway, all of them armed. Melestav hung limp between two of them. There was blood on his forehead. His eyes flickered open like a candle uncertain if it should ignite, but then they focused. He caught my eye, turned his head to the enforcers supporting him, taking a good hard look at each one, then he looked back at me. He made a weak attempt at a smile and said, "Someone here to see you, boss."

I kept my hands under the desk as I studied the intruders. They had to assume I was armed, but there were more of them than there was of me. I was puzzled. I knew that they had not come in here specifically to kill me, because there were too many of them for that. On the other hand, I doubted their intentions were friendly.

One of them, a relatively short Jhereg with curly red hair and puffy eyes, said, "Bring your hands up where we can see them."

I let another dagger fall into my left hand and said, "I'd just as soon not, thanks."

He looked significantly at Melestav. I made a significant shrug. He said, "There's someone who wants to see you."

I said, "Tell him I don't appreciate how he sends his invitations."

Puff-eyes looked at me for a moment, then said, "We haven't killed any of your people—yet. And the gentleman who wants to see you is in a hurry. It's probably in your best interest to let me see your hands." He sounded like he had something caught in his throat.

"All right," I said, and brought my hands up. I was still holding the daggers. I think they hadn't expected that.

Puff-eyes cleared his throat, which didn't help. He said, "You want to put those down, or should we settle things right now?"

Six of them, one of me. All right. I deliberately turned and threw the daggers, one at a time, into the center of the wall target. Then I turned back to them, folded my hands, and said, "Now what?"

"Come with us," he said, and nodded to a bony Jhereg who looked like he was made out of knotted rope. The latter made a few economical gestures with his hands, and I felt the teleport begin to take effect. I clenched my jaws against the nausea and wondered who could afford to casually hire a sorcerer who could teleport seven at once. Or maybe it wasn't as casual as it seemed. Maybe—but it was too late for that kind of speculation.

Body and mind went through the sieve and emerged, more or less unchanged, in a part of town I knew, in front of a lapidary's shop that I also knew. I said, "Toronnan."