Steven Brust - Orca

“That’s what you have?”

“Yes, my lord.”

He stared at me like I was a rotten pear and he’d just bit into me, and he thought for a while. “Why did you come and see us now, and not two weeks ago?”

“Well, because I heard of the reward, and I was thinking about my tools that got stole, and—”

“What reward?”

“The reward for anyone who gives evidence about how Fyres died.”

“There’s no reward.”

“There’s no reward?”

“Not at all. Where did you hear such a thing?”

“Why, just yesterday, down at the Riversend, a lady told me that she’d heard—”

“She was deceived, my friend. And so were you.”

“My lord?”

“There isn’t any reward for anything. We’re just trying to find out what happened.”

“Oh.” I tried to look disappointed.

He said, “How did you learn to come here, by the way?”

“How, my lord?”

“Yes.”

“Why, the lady, she was a Tsalmoth, and she told me.”

“I see. Who was this lady?”

“Well, I don’t know, my lord. I’d never seen her before, but she was—” I squinted as if I was trying to remember. “Oh, she was about eight hundred, and sort of tall, and her hair curled, and she was, you know, a Tsalmoth.”

“Yes,” he said, nodding. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but there isn’t any reward.”

I looked disappointed but said, “Well, that’s all right, my lord; I’m just glad to have done the right thing.”

“Yes, indeed. Well, we know where to reach you if we have any more questions.”

I stood up and bowed. “Yes, my lord. Thank you.”

“Thank you,” he said, and that was it for the interview.

I walked out the door without seeing anyone except those who were waiting for their turn, and I took my time going down the stairs. As I went, I said, “Loiosh?”

“Right here, boss.”

“I’m going to be followed, so stay back for a while.”

“Okay. Who’s going to follow you, boss?”

“I don’t know, but I think the enemy.”

“Oh, we have an enemy now?”

“I think so. Maybe.”

“It’s nice to have an enemy, boss. Where are you taking them?”

“Good question,” I said. “I’ll let you know when we get there.”

I stood on the street, just outside City Hall, not looking behind me and trying to stay in character while figuring out where to go and what to do. You don’t get tailed all that often, at least when you know it’s happening, and an opportunity like that ought not to be wasted.

“I’ve spotted ‘em, boss. Two of ‘em. Pros.”

“What are they doing?”

“Waiting for you to do something.”

“Good. Let them wait.”

I’d done what I actually set out to do, of course—it was easy to fill in the missing pieces of Loftis’s conversation with Domm, and the missing pieces said that they were faking their way through the investigation and putting out the results they were told to, and that was confirmed by the way the other one, Daythiefnest, had been more concerned with how I knew enough to find them and why I wanted to than with the information itself. But what now? Knowing the investigation was faked brought up the possibility (although not the certainty by any means) that Fyres was, in fact, murdered, but it got me no closer to learning who was pulling the financial strings, or who in the next few months and years would be.

But more than that, Kiera, I was bothered, just as you were when I first suggested it. Why would the Empire do something like that? I’d never heard of it being done, and it would take, well, someone very highly placed in the Empire, and a very strong need, to attempt it. The question was who—who in the Empire and who in Fyres’s world? And I didn’t know anyone who inhabited either realm.

I mentally ran through the notes I’d made when reading the files you lightened Fyres of. Based on what I picked up from the files, and based on what your friend Stony told you, I’d guess that Fyres’s children were somewhere near the center of things—that is, he was certainly going to leave his kids in charge of as much as possible, divided up according to his best guess about who could handle what and how much. He had a wife, one son, and two daughters, as well as a few other scattered relatives.

The wife, I heard somewhere, used to be third mate in a man-o’-war, which might indicate leadership qualities, but according to the files, he never seemed to trust her; and she never had anything to do with his business. There was just enough gossip floating around about his son for me to get the idea that everything he touched turned to mud; over the years, Fyres trusted him with less and less. If I had to guess about the will, I’d say Fyres left him with a house or two, a bunch of cash, and nothing else.

That left the daughters: the younger, Baroness of Reega, and the older, the Countess of Endra. It seemed from Fyres’s notes that, as time went on, he was giving them more and more responsibility and working them into his businesses. Right then, Kiera, I really wished I had my old organization, because I could have made one remark to Kragar—how’s he doing, by the way?—and in two days I would know everything possible about them. I hate doing the leg work myself, and, more important, I just didn’t have time to do it.

Well, if all I could do was blunder about, I might as well get to it, I decided, and I turned around and back into City Hall I went. I didn’t see those tailing me scramble out of my way; in fact, I didn’t see them at all.

The nice Lyorn didn’t recognize me and were far more helpful to Kaldor the Chreotha than they’d been to Padraic the Easterner—what they would have thought of Vlad the Jhereg I don’t even want to think about. Oh, and they weren’t all Lyorn, either, just for the record—but the ones who weren’t looked like they wanted to be. Enough said.

In two minutes I was in front of the collection of city maps, and it took me about half an hour to determine that neither a barony of Reega nor a county of Endra could be found in the area. So I puttered around some more and found out that neither one actually existed—they were titles without places to go with them, which I suppose I should have expected of Orca. I then dug into the citizen rolls, which took a fair bit of time. I could have done it faster by asking for help, but then, no doubt, my shadows would have been able to find out what I was up to and I wasn’t sure that was a good idea.

Endra—that is, the person—lived high on Vantage Hill, overlooking a little town called Harper on the outskirts of Northport. It was, I calculated, only an hour’s walk, and I liked the idea of Domm and Timmer getting blisters on their feet; besides, you know how I feel about horses. So I set out. The day was nice, with a mild breeze blowing in from the sea. As I walked, I made a few minor but important adjustments to my costume—you know, I turned up the collar, I fixed my hair, I straightened my buttons, and, generally, I made myself appear more prosperous, because I figured I had to reach a certain social level before I’d have a chance that Endra—or, more likely, whoever answered the door for her—would even consider letting me see her.

One thing I’d forgotten when I set out was that, since I was still in my disguise, I was wearing the platform boots that didn’t fit me very well; about halfway there I started calling myself names, and Loiosh, trailing behind to keep an eye on my shadows, starting laughing at me. And I was a bit worried about not having my sword with me. And it made me nervous to know there were two people following me. In other words, I was not in a good mood by the time I reached Vantage Hill.