Steven Brust - Phoenix

They didn't bother to answer, but then I hadn't really phrased it as a question.

We made a parade into the shop where a fellow with the looks and in the dress of the House of the Chreotha did long-fingered things with thin silvery wire and a pair of curved pliers. I had it on good authority that this "Chreotha" had at least three kills on his record; he played his role, however, and didn't give us a glance as we went by.

My stomach, which always flops around when I teleport, was settling down enough for me to be annoyed that Loiosh had been too far away when the teleport went into effect. On the other hand, what could he do? We came to a door at the end of a hallway of tan-colored wood paneling, and one of my escort clapped.

"Come ahead," came the muffled sound from inside, and he opened the door. Toronnan was my boss, if you will. That is, my area was inside of his, and he got a cut of everything I made. In exchange for this, I was rarely bothered by anyone trying to push his way into my area, and I got the benefits of the Jhereg connection inside the Imperial Palace. His office was neither terribly impressive nor revealing. He didn't have a knife target like I did, he didn't have any psiprints of his family or scenes of gently sloping hillsides with happy Teckla working the fields. Just a bookcase with a few folders neatly tucked into it, a wooden desk with a smooth top and a neat array of quill pens on one side, blotter, paper, and well on the other, a tray of sweetmeats on the right corner, a pitcher of water with a half-full glass next to it, a brandy decanter with six glasses near the pitcher. There was one other chair, although there would have been room for several. There were no windows, but that was hardly surprising. Jhereg custom forbids assassination in or around one's home; it says nothing about one's workplace.

Toronnan himself was a small, nervous-looking man, with almost invisible eyebrows and thin lips. His demeanor might make one think of him as weak and harmless, which he wasn't. As I walked in he stood up and put a folder into the bookshelf next to him and motioned me to sit. I did, he did, and he nodded to my escort. They closed the door behind them. I liked it that he put whatever he was working on away; sometimes people like to show how powerful they are by ignoring you for a while. I said, "You know, you could have wheels installed on that chair, so you could scoot over to the bookcase and not have to stand up. That's how I do it. Saves time, you know."

He said, "No, this is about the only exercise I get these days." His voice was smooth, like a minstrel's, and deep. It always made me want to hear him sing.

"I understand," I said.

He kept his eyes fastened on mine. I was uncomfortably aware that my back was to the door. Normally this doesn't bother me because most of the time Loiosh is there.

After a moment he shook his head. "How long has it been, Baronet? Three years that you've been working for me?"

"About that," I said.

He nodded. "You've been earning pretty good, and keeping your buttons polished, and not spilling anyone's wine. There were people in the Organization who were nervous about an Easterner trying to run a territory, but I told them, 'Give the lad a chance, see what he does,' and you've done all right."

This didn't seem to call for a response, so I waited.

"Of course," he continued, "there's been a bit of trouble from time to time, but as near as I can tell you haven't started it. You haven't been too greedy, and you haven't let anyone push you around. The money's been coming in, and your books have been balancing. I like that."

He paused again; I waited again.

"But now," he said, "I'm hearing things I don't like so much. Any idea what I've been hearing?"

"You've heard that I use paper flowers on my dining table? It's not true, boss. I—"

"Don't try to be funny, all right? I've heard that you've been associating with a group of Easterners who want to bring about the next Teckla reign early, or who maybe want to just throw the whole Cycle out, or something on this order. I don't care what the particulars are. But these people, their interests don't coincide with ours. Do you understand this?"

I stared at the ceiling, trying to sort things out. The fact was, I didn't really have anything to do with those people, except that my wife happened to be one of them. But, on the other hand, I didn't feel like explaining myself. I said, "To tell you the truth, I think these people are harmless nuts."

"The Empire doesn't think so," he said. "And there are some people above me in the Organization who don't think so, either. And there are some who want to know what you're doing with them."

I said, "I've just taken over Herth's interest in South Adrilankha. Why don't you relax for a while, see what the profits look like, and then decide?"

He shook his head. "We can't do that. Word's come down from our Imperial contacts that, well, you don't need to know the details. We have to make sure that no one in our organization is involved with those people."

"I see."

"Can I have your assurance that you won't be involved with them in the future?"

He was staring at me hard. I almost felt threatened. I said, "Tell me something: Why is that every time I talk to someone who's high up in the Organization, you always sound the same? Do you go to some special school or something?"

"I wouldn't say I'm high up," he said.

"Now you're just being modest. No, I take it back. The Demon doesn't sound like the rest of you."

"How do we sound?"

"Oh, you know. The same sort of short sentences, like you want to get in all the facts and nothing more."

"Does it work?"

"I guess so."

"Well, there you are."

"But if I ever get that high, am I going to sound like that, too? It worries me. I may have to change all my plans for the future."

"Baronet, I know you're a real funny guy, okay? You don't have to prove it to me. And I know you're tough, too, so you don't have to prove that, either. But the people I'm dealing with on this aren't interested in a jongleur, and they're a lot tougher than you are. Are we clear on that?"

I nodded.

"Good. Now, can you give me any assurances about these Easterners?"

"I can tell you they don't like me. I don't like them, either. I don't have any plans to have anything to do with them. But I control that area now, and I'm going to run it as I see fit. If that brings me into contact with them, I can't tell you how I'll handle it until it comes up. That's the best I can do."

He nodded slowly, looking at me. Then he said, "I'm not sure that's good enough."

I matched his gaze. I was armed and he knew it, but I was in his office, in the one chair he had. If he had done half the things in his office that I'd done in mine, he could kill me without moving a muscle. But sometimes it's safer not to back down. I said, "It's the best I can do."

A moment later he said, "All right. We'll leave it at that and see what happens. Leave the door open when you leave." He stood up as I did and gave me a bow of courtesy. As I was leaving the building, the sorcerer who'd brought me there offered to teleport me back. I declined. It was only a couple of miles.

"But my feet are already sore," said Kragar.

The sorcerer jumped about twenty feet straight up. I managed not to, though it was close.

"How long have you been here?" he said.

Kragar looked puzzled and said, "You teleported me yourself; you should know."

I said, "Sorry, it looks like a walk today," and we left before the sorcerer could decide if he ought to do anything. When we were safely away, we let ourselves laugh good and hard.

It was well past midnight when Cawti returned. Rocza flew from her shoulder and greeted Loiosh, while Cawti threw her gloves at the hall stand, flopped onto an end of the couch, pulled her boots off, wriggled her toes, stretched like a cat, and said, "You're up late."