Steven Brust - Orca

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s what any of them would do.”

“So, for the moment, I’m safe.”

“Yes. Until you do something stupid.”

“Right. So I’m safe for another five minutes, anyway. All right. Anything else?”

“Yes,” I said. “One more thing: there’s also some speculation that you had it in for Stony personally, and no one knows why.”

He shrugged. “They’re wrong. So what?” Then he looked at me again and said, “All right, let’s have it. Why do they think so?”

“Because otherwise why, in the middle of a fight, would you have taken the time to put the spells on him that make him unrevivifiable?”

“Huh? Oh.”

“Right.”

“Well, now, isn’t that interesting.”

“I thought so.”

“I take it you didn’t disabuse them of the notion?”

“How could I?”

“Good point. Not that it matters; they don’t like me, anyway. What about his associates?”

“All four were extremely dead, as were three of Von-nith’s personal guards who, as they suppose, got in your way. And so was her servant.”

“Shards! All unrevivifiable?”

“Not all, but there’s another interesting point.”

“Go on.”

“Stony was unrevivifiable, and so were all three of the Orca guardsmen, but the Jhereg weren’t, and there were another three of Vonnith’s private guards who weren’t even touched.”

“Did they see what happened?”

“No. It was all inside. Some of the guards were summoned in, and then ...” I let the sentence trail off with a shrug.

“My word,” said Vlad. “What a bloodbath! Jhereg don’t kill like that, Kiera, at least not since prehistory. Only Dragons kill like that, and Dzur, I suppose.”

“You’re right,” I said. “Dragons and Dzur. And also Orca, if there’s a profit in it.”

“Good point,” he said. “Orca. Yes.”

“What are you thinking now?” I said.

“Thinking? I’m not thinking; I’m being angry. I’ll get over it.”

“Vlad—”

“I’ve been hanging around Orca quite a bit lately. Usually, when I get to know people I begin to be more sympathetic with them. You’d have thought that, now that I’ve gotten a chance to know these Orca, I’d have a little more understanding of them. But I don’t. I hate them, Kiera. I hated them when I was a kid, and I hate them now, and I think I always will hate them.”

I started to defend them, then shrugged and said, “So you don’t invite Shortisle to dinner. We still need to—what is it?”

“Shortisle to dinner,” said Vlad. “That’s what’s odd about it—to dinner.”

“Huh?”

“Those notes you stole from Fyres. Here, just a minute.”

He walked into the cottage and emerged with Buddy and the sheaf of notes I’d stolen from Fyres’s place. He looked through them for a while, then held one up triumphantly. “It says, ‘Shortisle to dinner.’”

“What’s your point?”

He waved the papers in front of my face. “My point, Kiera, is that it was included in his financial notes, not his personal notes.”

“I’m sure it was a business meeting, Vlad. What does that tell you?”

“Everything,” he said.

“Huh?”

Vlad shook his head and was quiet for several minutes, and, once more, I could almost watch him working things out. It was like seeing someone assemble a puzzle, but not being able to see the puzzle itself; it was a trifle annoying. Eventually he said, “One question.”

“Yes?”

“When Stony told you he wasn’t in debt to Fyres, did you believe him?”

“Well, at the time I did, but—”

“That’s good enough for me.”

Then he frowned, and Rocza flew out of the house, landing on his other shoulder. “I’ll see you in a bit, Kiera,” he said abruptly, and started walking away from the cottage.

“Wait a minute—”

“No time,” he said.

“What about your sword?”

“It’ll just get in the way.”

“Where are you going?”

“To town.”

“But—”

“Keep an eye on Savn,” he added over his shoulder as he headed down the road toward Northport.

I watched him go, hoping he wasn’t going to do anything stupid. I had the sudden realization that we hadn’t talked about my decision to let myself be a target in hopes of flushing out whoever was behind it—back when we’d thought there was someone behind it. This mattered because, although he would come up with some reason for justifying it, especially to himself, Vlad might well feel it necessary to go and do something equally dangerous, and if I let him get himself killed, I’d never be able to explain it to Cawti.

On the other hand, I couldn’t insult him by following him. Nothing to do but worry, I suppose. Savn was awake, and looking at me.

“Hello,” I said. “My name is Kiera.”

He looked away, then closed his eyes as if he were going back to sleep. On impulse, I stood up and said, “Come on, Savn. We’re going for a walk.”

He dutifully stood, and I led the way out the door, into air that was crisp with that indefinable smell of snow that hasn’t arrived yet, but is coming, coming; and all overlaid with the ocean, fainter than it smelled in my Adrilankha, but still there.

Buddy got up and padded along after us, a few paces behind. It was odd, not having Rocza there—I’d begun to associate her with Savn even more than with Vlad; I kept expecting to see her on Savn’s shoulder. I wondered if he had a future as a witch. Odd how the jhereg seemed to be so protective of the boy. I wondered if there was a story in it.

What now, Kiera? I’d gotten him moving; should I try to get him talking? I didn’t particularly want to talk about knives.

“The jhereg, Rocza, seems very attached to you,” I said. “She spends a lot of time watching over you. I wonder why that is?” Buddy came up beside us, then suddenly lunged ahead to chase something or other through the leafless trees. After a while he came back. He’d missed whatever it was, but didn’t seem to mind, having enjoyed the chase.

“Although I suppose it’s reasonable to wonder why anyone watches over anyone. Vlad still doesn’t know why I watch over him, you know.” Savn kept walking along, oblivious to me and everything else, but at least not tripping over tree roots. “Come to that,” I added, “I’m not altogether certain myself.” The ground dropped a bit, not like a hill, but more like a small depression, and the trees here were a little more sparse. There are many things that can cause this sort of land formation; even the ground has its story to tell. Not all stories are worth listening to, however.

“Guilt, I suppose,” I said. “At least, that’s part of it.” We rose up again and were back in a part of the forest that was thicker; we splashed through a tiny brook, perhaps four meters across and two or three centimeters deep, running back past us toward the depression. “Though I doubt that Rocza has anything to feel guilty about. And I shouldn’t still feel guilty toward Vlad. It was a long time ago, and, well, we all do what we have to.

“Vlad, too,” I added. “He’s a good person, you know. In spite of many things, including his own opinion, he’s a good person. Maybe a bit conceited, overbearing, and arrogant, but then, people without a trace of these diseases aren’t usually worth one’s time.” I heard myself chuckling. “Or maybe I’m talking about myself, there.

“It’s odd, Savn, addressing someone who doesn’t respond. It’s uncomfortable, but it also frees you up in a way: you can say things and pretend it doesn’t matter, that no one is really hearing them, but, at the same time, you’ve said them, and you don’t really know what you think until you’ve found a way to get your thoughts outside of you, in words, or some other way. And so, my friend Savn, while it may seem that I am speaking for your benefit, to help you overcome whatever it is that pulls you away from us and from the world outside of your head, in fact, I should be thanking you. And I do.