Steven Brust - Jhereg

“Indeed?”

“Well, it is known that you are a friend of Morrolan. Now, Morrolan is harboring Mellar. It would seem that our goals, and his goals, might not run along the same paths.”

I still didn’t say anything. The waiter showed up with the main course, and I checked it, and started in. The Demon pretended not to notice my gesture. I pretended not to notice when he did the same thing.

He continued, after swallowing and making the obligatory murmur of satisfaction. “Things could get very unpleasant for Morrolan.”

“I can’t imagine how,” I said, “unless you plan to start another Dragon-Jhereg war. And Mellar, no matter what he did, can’t be worth that much.”

Now it was the Demon who said nothing. I got a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I said slowly, “He can’t be worth another Dragon-Jhereg war.”

He still said nothing.

I shook my head. Would he really go ahead and try to nail Mellar right in Morrolan’s castle? Gods! He was saying that he would! He’d bring every Dragon on Dragaera down on our heads. This could be worse than the last one. It was the reign of the Phoenix, which made the Dragons correspondingly higher on the Cycle. The higher a House is, the more fate tends to favor it. I don’t know the why or how of that, but it works that way. The Demon knew it, too.

“Why?” I asked him.

“At this point,” he said slowly, “I don’t think that there is any need to start such a war. I think that it can be worked around, which is why I’m talking to you. But, I will say this: if I’m wrong, and the only options I can see are letting Mellar get away with this or starting another war, I’ll start the war. Why? Because if we have a war, things will get bad, yes, very bad, but then it will be over. We know what to expect this time, and we’ll be ready for it. Oh, sure, they’ll hurt us. Perhaps badly. But we will recover, eventually—in a few thousand years.

“On the other hand, if Mellar gets away with this, there won’t be an end to it. Ever. As long as House Jhereg lasts, we’ll have to contend with thieves plotting after our funds. We’ll be crippled forever.”

His eyes became thin lines, and I saw his teeth clench for a moment. “ I built us up after Adron’s Disaster. I made a dispirited, broken House into a viable business again. I’m willing to see my work set back a thousand years, or ten thousand years if I have to, but I’m not willing to see us weakened forever.”

He sat back. I let his remarks sink in. The worst thing was, he was right. If I were in his position, I would probably find myself making the same decision. I shook my head.

“You’re right,” I told him. “We have a conflict of interest. If you give me enough time, I’ll finish my work. But I’m not going to let you nail someone in Castle Black. I’m sorry, but that’s how it is.”

He nodded, thoughtfully. “How much time do you need?”

“I don’t know. As soon as he leaves Castle Black, I can get him. But I haven’t come up with a way to get him to leave yet.”

“Will two days do it?”

I thought that over. “Maybe,” I said finally. “Probably not.”

He nodded and was silent.

I used a piece of only slightly stale bread to get the rest of the garlic butter (I never said it was a good restaurant for eating in), and asked him, “What is your idea for avoiding the Dragon-Jhereg war?”

He shook his head, slowly. He wasn’t going to give me any more information about that. Instead, he signaled the waiter over and paid him. “I’m sorry,” he told me as the waiter walked away. “We’ll have to do it without your cooperation. You could have been very helpful.” He left the table and walked toward the door.

The waiter, I noticed, was returning with the change. I absently waved him away. That’s when it hit me. The Demon would have realized that this outcome was possible, but wanted to give me a chance to save myself. Oh, shit. I felt the waves of panic start up, but forced them down. I wouldn’t leave this place, I decided, until help arrived. I started to reach out for contact with Kragar.

The waiter hadn’t caught my signal and was still approaching. I started to gesture him away again when Loiosh screamed a warning into my mind. I caught the flicker of motion almost at the same time. I pushed the table away from me and reached for a dagger at the same moment that Loiosh left my shoulder to attack. But I also knew, in that instant, that both of us would be too late. The timing had been perfect, the setup professional. I turned, hoping to at least get the assassin.

There was a gurgling sound as I turned and stood up. Instead of lunging at me, the “waiter” fell against me, then continued on to the floor. There was a large kitchen cleaver in his hand, and the point of a dagger sticking out of his throat.

I looked around the room as the screams started. It took me a while, but I finally located Kragar, seated at a table a few feet from mine. He stood up and walked over to me. I felt myself start trembling, but I didn’t allow myself to fall back into my chair until I was sure the Demon had left.

He had. His bodyguards were gone, probably having been out the door before the assassin’s body had fallen. Wise, of course. Any of his people left here were dead. Loiosh returned to my shoulder, and I felt him glancing around the room, as if to make any guilty party cower in shame. There would be none of them left now. He’d taken his best shot, and it had almost worked.

I sat down and trembled for a while.

“Thanks, Kragar. Were you there the whole time?”

“Yeah. As a matter of fact, you looked right through me a couple of times. So did the Demon. So did the waiters,” he added sourly.

“Kragar, the next time you feel like ignoring my orders, do it.”

He gave me his Kragar smile. “Vlad,” he said, “never trust anyone who calls himself a demon.”

“I’ll remember that.”

The Imperial guards would be showing up in a few minutes, and there were a few things I had to get done before they arrived. I was still trembling with unused adrenalin as I walked over to the kitchen, through it, and into the back office. The owner, a Dragaeran named Nethrond, was sitting behind his desk. He had been my partner in this place since I’d taken half-ownership of it in exchange for canceling out a rather impressive sum he owed me. I suppose he had no real reason to love me, but still . . .

I walked in, and he looked at me as if he were seeing Death personified. Which, of course, he was. Kragar was behind me and stopped at the door to make sure no one came in to ask Nethrond to sign for an order of parsley or something.

I noticed he was trembling. Good. I no longer was.

“How much did he pay you, dead man?”

(Gulp) “Pay me? Who—?”

“You know,” I said conversationally, “you’ve been a rotten gambler for as long as I’ve known you. That’s what got you into this in the first place. Now, how much did he pay you?”

“B-b-b-but no one—”

I reached forward suddenly and grabbed his throat with my left hand. I felt my lips drawing up into a classic Jhereg sneer. “You are the only one, besides me, authorized to hire anyone in this place. There was a new waiter here today. I didn’t hire him, therefore you did. It happened that he was an assassin. As a waiter, he was even worse than the fools you usually hire to drive customers away. Now, I think his main qualifications as a waiter were the gold Imperials you got for hiring him. I want to know how much.”

He tried to shake his head in denial, but I was holding it too tightly. He started to speak the denial, but I squeezed that option shut. He tried to swallow; I relaxed enough to let him. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and then opened it and said, “I don’t know what you—”