Steven Brust - Orca

After about fifteen minutes, Loiosh said, “She’s found someone, boss. She’s talking to him.”

“And ... ?”

“Okay, they’re coming.”

“Hooray. Where are they now?”

“Just around the corner.”

I said, “Laache and Tip will be here soon.”

They looked at me, and one of them said, “How d’you—” and cut himself off. I smiled enigmatically, noticing the looks of respect and fear. Sort of the way my employees used to look at me, way back when. I wondered if I’d come down in the world. If I handled things just right, I could maybe take the gang over from Laache. Vlad Taltos—toughest little kid on the block. I was the youngest, too.

They appeared then—Laache with a young man who seemed to be about the same age as her, and who I’d have guessed to be an Orca—a bit squat for a Dragaeran, with a pale complexion, light brown hair, and blue eyes. Old memories of being harassed by Orca just about his age came up to annoy me, but I ignored them—what was I going to do, beat him up?

He was looking a bit leery and keeping his distance. Before he could say anything, I flipped him an imperial. He made it vanish.

“What do you want?” he said.

“You’re Tip?”

“What if I am?”

“Let us walk together and talk together, one with the other, out of range of the eager ears of those who would thwart our intentions.”

“Huh?”

“Come here a minute, I want to ask you something.”

“Ask me what?”

“I’d rather not say out here where everyone can hear me.”

Someone whispered something, and someone else giggled. Tip scowled and said, “All right.”

I walked up to him and we walked down the alley about twenty yards, and I said, “I’ll give you another imperial if you’ll take me to the man who prints Rutter’s Rag,” and he was off down the alley as fast as his feet could carry him. He turned the corner and was gone.

“You know what to do, Loiosh.”

“Yeah, yeah. On my way, boss.”

I turned back and the kids were all looking at me—and looking at Loiosh flying off into the city.

“Thanks for your help,” I called to them. “See you again, maybe.”

I strolled on down the alley. It was, of course, possible that Laache had told Tip about Loiosh, but, as we followed him, he didn’t seem to be watching above him.

He stayed with the alleys and finally, after looking around him carefully, stepped into a little door. Loiosh returned to me and guided me along the same path he’d taken, and to the door. It wasn’t locked.

It seemed to be a storeroom of some sort; a quick check revealed that what was stored included a great deal of paper and drums of what had to be ink, judging by the smell coming off them and filling up the room.

“Ah ha,” I told Loiosh.

“Lucky,” he said.

“Clever,” I suggested.

“Lucky.”

“Shut up.”

I heard voices coming from my right, where there was a narrow, dark stairway. I took the stairs either silently or carefully—they tend to be the same thing. But you know that, Kiera. When I reached the bottom, I saw them, illuminated by a small lamp. One was Tip, the other was an old man who seemed to be a Tsalmoth, to judge from the ruddiness of his complexion and his build. I couldn’t see what colors he wore. He didn’t see me at all. The man was seated in front of a desk that was filled with desk things. Tip was standing next to him, saying, “I’m sure he was an Easterner. I know an Easterner when I see one,” which was too good an entrance line for me to ignore.

I said, “Judge for yourself,” and had the satisfaction of seeing them both jump.

I gave them my warmest smile, and the Tsalmoth scrabbled around in a drawer in his desk and came out with a narrow rod that, no doubt, had been prepared with some terrible, nasty killing thing. I said, “Don’t be stupid,” and took my own advice by allowing Spellbreaker to fall into my hand.

He pointed the rod at me and said, “What do you want?”

“Don’t blame the boy,” I said. “I’m very hard to lose when I want to follow someone.”

“What do you want?” he said again. His dialogue seemed pretty limited.

“Actually,” I said, “not very much. It won’t even be inconvenient, and I’ll pay you for it. But if you don’t put that thing down, I’m likely to become frightened, and then I’m likely to hurt you.”

He looked at me, then looked at Spellbreaker, which to all appearances is just a length of gold-colored chain, and said, “I think I’ll keep it in hand, if you don’t mind.”

“I mind,” I said.

He looked at me some more. I waited. He put the rod down. I wrapped Spellbreaker back around my left wrist.

“What is it, then?”

“Perhaps the boy should take a walk.”

He nodded to Tip, who seemed a little nervous about walking past me, so I stepped to the side. He almost ran to the stairs, stopping just long enough to take the imperial I threw to him. “Don’t squander it,” I said as he raced past me.

There was another chair near the desk, so I sat down in-it, crossed my legs, and said, “My name is Padraic.” Quit laughing, Kiera; it’s a perfectly reasonable Eastern name, and no Dragaeran in the world is going to look at me and decide I don’t look right. Where was I? Oh, yeah. I said, “My name is Padraic.”

He grunted and said, “My name is Tollar, but you might as well call me Rutter; there’s no point in my denying it, I suppose.”

He was a frightened man trying to be brave; I’ve always had a certain amount of sympathy for that type. From this close, he didn’t seem as old as I’d first thought him, but he didn’t seem especially healthy, either, and his hair was thin and sort of wispy—you could see his scalp in places, like an Easterner who is just beginning to go bald.

He said, “You have me at a disadvantage.”

“Sure,” I said. “But there’s no need to worry about it. I just need to find out a couple of things, and I took the easiest method I could think of.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I ask you a couple of questions that you have no reason not to answer, and then I’m going to give you a couple of imperials for your trouble, and then I’m going to go away. And that’s it.”

“Yeah?” He seemed skeptical. “What sort of questions, and why are you asking me?”

“Because you have that rag of yours. That means you hear things. You pick up gossip. You have ways of finding out things.”

He started to relax a little. “Well, yeah. Some things. Where should I start?”

I shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. What’s the good gossip since the last rag came out?”

“Local?”

“Or Imperial.”

“The Empress is missing.”

“Again?”

“Yeah. Rumor is she’s off with her lover.”

“That’s four times in three years, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“But she always comes back.”

“First time it was for three days, second time for nine days, the third time for six days.”

“What else?”

“Imperial?”

“Yeah.”

“Someone high up in the Empire dipped his hand into the war chest during the Elde Island war. No one knows who, and probably not for very much, but the Empress is a bit steamed about it.”

“I can imagine.”

“More?”

“Please.”

“I’m better on local things.”

“Know anything that’s both local and Imperial?”

“Well, the whole Fyres thing.”

“What do you know about that?”

“Not much, really. There’s confirmation that his death was accidental.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“That’s what I hear.”

“I hear the Empire is investigating his death.”

He snorted. “Who doesn’t know that?”