Steven Brust - Orca

Endra’s place was pretty simple, actually. It was a plain house, standing by itself on a little hillock, but it was certainly well built, and it struck me as comfortable. The grounds were well manicured with some nicely behaved trees in a neat row and trimmed grass and patches of garden, but not molded and tended like the Imperial Palace, or like The Demon’s place, if you’ve ever been to—Oh, of course you’ve been there. Sorry.

I don’t know. As I approached it, I was thinking that maybe I’d been spoiled by Castle Black and Dzur Mountain, but I had expected something more—I guess ostentatious is the word. But then I remembered your description of Fyres’s place—the one he actually lived in as opposed to one of the places he used to impress people—and it wasn’t as big and impressive as it could have been either, was it? I figured maybe it’s a family trait. It was also interesting that there seemed to be no guards patrolling the area. Fyres’s place had had plenty, but did one generation cause that big a drop-off in the need for security? I hate dealing with things I don’t understand.

I pulled the door clapper and waited. Presently someone opened the door and frowned at me. I bowed and gave him Kaldor as a name, and asked if it would be possible for his mistress to spare me a few minutes of conversation.

He stared at me for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard me correctly. Then he said, “May I ask what your business is with the Countess?”

“I’m afraid it’s private,” I said.

He looked doubtful. I tried to look like I knew my business, which wasn’t as easy as a Chreotha as it would have been in my usual guise, nor was he responding as well as I’d have expected when I looked like myself; I’m not certain why that is. Maybe there’s more shock value in seeing an Easterner at one’s door. Maybe I’d have been better off pretending to be a Dragonlord, but then I probably wouldn’t have learned as much from the Imperial investigators.

Eventually, however, he let me in, and bid me wait while he found out if the Countess was available. I did what everyone has always done in that situation—I looked around. It was big, and it was impressive, and the stairway was white marble that swept up in a gracious curve and complemented the white, white walls broken by—ah, Kiera, my dear, if you’d been there, you’d still be drooling. I don’t have the disposition of a thief, but I was tempted. There were gold plates on the wall, marble busts, crystal sculpture, a tapestry made of bloody damn pearls that would have made you cry. Stained glass embedded with gems. The place didn’t speak of wealth, it screamed it. All of the ostentation I’d looked for on the outside was reserved for the inside, where it destroyed all my little notions about what a plain, simple, unassuming lifestyle this family chose. It was very strange, Kiera, and I couldn’t help wondering at the sort of mind that had produced it.

And then it occurred to me that there was a similarity between the outside and the inside—and that was how little they said. I mean, sure, they screamed money, but what else? You can tell a lot about someone by seeing his home, right? Well, not these people. The place said nothing, really, except that she was rich. Was that because she was shallow, or because she didn’t want anyone to know anything about her?

The servant appeared as I was considering this and said, “The Countess can spare you a few moments. She’s in the library. Please follow me.”

I did so.

The library. Yeah.

Remember those traps Morrolan has in his library? Oh, I imagine you do. Did you ever fall for them? No, I withdraw the question; sorry. But, yeah, everything in the library looked like Morrolan’s traps—great huge tomes with jewel-encrusted covers chained to pedestals. Well, okay, so I’m overstating it a bit. But that was how the library felt—everything looked good, but it didn’t give you the feeling you wanted to sit down and read anything. The library wasn’t for reading, it was for meeting people in an atmosphere that tried to be intellectual. Or that’s how it struck me, at any rate. I don’t know. Maybe I’ve just never known enough rich people to have an opinion—maybe they have their own rules, or maybe they’re trying to make up with money what they’ve been denied by birth; I don’t know. I’m just giving it to you as it hit me at the time.

She was sitting at a table—not a desk, for a change—and reading a book, or pretending to. She looked up as I came in and gave me a quizzical half-smile, then rose to greet me; she was quite thin and had very short, light-colored straight hair—a “warrior’s cut,” in fact, which went oddly with her dress, which was a flowing blue gown. She had the Orca eyebrows—almost invisible—a largish mouth and thin lips, narrow, wide-set eyes, and a strong chin.

Her voice had a bit of the twang of the region, but not as much as our hostess has, or most of the people we’ve been running into around here, and it was quite musical sounding. She said, “Your name again was—?”

“Kaldor, my lady.”

“You wished to speak to me?”

“Yes, my lady, if I may have a few moments.”

“You may. Please sit. Here. What is your business?”

And here, Kiera, is where I paid the price of deceit. Maybe. Because it occurred to me that I might just be able to come out and ask her if she’d be willing to let us buy this land, or at least plead the case. But if she said no, and she was then questioned by Domm, they’d have no trouble tracing me back, and that could be unhealthy.

I said, “My condolences, my lady, on the death of your father.”

She raised an eyebrow—it looked like a practiced maneuver—and said, “Yes, certainly.”

I said, “It is the death of your father that brings me here.”

She nodded again.

I said, “I have reason to believe the Empire is not looking into his death as seriously as they should.”

“That’s absurd.”

“I don’t think so, my lady.”

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you exactly.”

“You can’t tell me?”

I shook my head. I said, “If you would like, though, a friend of mine who knows something about it will come by, and he can tell you more—he just wanted me to find out if you cared.”

“I care,” she said. “But I don’t believe it.”

“But will you talk to my friend?”

She stared at me very hard, then said, “All right. When can I expect him?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What’s his name?”

“I’m not to say, my lady. He’ll identify himself as my friend, though.”

She looked at me for quite a while, then nodded and said, “All right.”

I stood up and bowed. “I’ve taken enough of your time, I think.”

She stood, which was a courtesy I hadn’t expected, and as I left, the servant came and escorted me to the door. I left the way I’d come and began walking back to town.

What had I accomplished? I’m not certain, but I had left a way open for me to return in some other guise, even as myself, if it seemed appropriate.

I considered the matter as I walked. The day was still young, and I had a long way to go to reach the Baroness of Reega, and my feet were killing me.

Reega lived on a hill—I guess the rich always live on hills, maybe because the aristocrats do—called Winteroak, which was on the northern edge of Northport, overlooking the Kanefthali River Valley. It was quite a hike, so as soon as I was out of sight of Endra’s place I sat down long enough to remove the black Phoenix Stone and perform a quick spell to make my feet feel better. I couldn’t do a whole lot without letting the watchers know what I was up to, but it helped. I put the Phoenix Stone back on and continued. If they were like me when I was following someone, they would have noticed at once that they couldn’t locate me either psychically or sorcerously, and they’d wonder about that, but my luck would have to be awfully bad for them to pick that moment to try again. Sometimes it’s worth a certain amount of risk to alleviate discomfort.