Steven Brust - Jhereg

Lady Teldra bows to you. She bows exactly the right amount for your House and rank, and greets you by name whether she knows you or not. She says such words as will make you to feel welcome, whether your mission be of friendship or hostility. Then, if it be your desire, you are escorted up to the banquet hall. You ascend a long, black-marble stairway. The stairs are comfortable if you are human, a bit shallow (hence, elegant) if you are Dragaeran. They are long, winding, sweeping things, these stairs. There are lamps along the wall that highlight paintings from the long, violent, sometimes strangely moving history of the Dragaeran Empire.

Here is one done by the Necromancer (you didn’t know she was an artist, did you?), which shows a wounded dragon, reptilian head and neck curled around its young, as its eyes stare through you and pierce your soul. Here is one by a nameless Lyorn showing Kieron the Conqueror debating with the Shamans—with his broadsword. Cute, eh?

At the top, you may look to the right and see the doors of the actual dining hall. But if you turn to the left, you soon come to a large set of double doors, standing open. There is always a guard here, sometimes two. As you look through, the room makes itself felt only a little at a time. First, you notice the picture that fills the entire ceiling; it is a depiction of the Third Seige of Dzur Mountain, done by none other than Katana e’M’archala. Looking at it, and tracing the details from wall to wall, gives you an idea of just how massive the room really is. The walls are done in black marble, thinly veined with silver. The room is dark, but somehow there is never any problem seeing.

Only then do you become aware of people. The place is always packed. The tables around the edges, where food and drink are served, are focal points for an endless migration of humanity, if I may use the word. At the far end there are double doors again, these letting out onto a terrace. At other sides are smaller doors which lead to private rooms where you can bring some innocent fool to tell your life story to, if you so choose, or ask a Dragon general if he really had that last counterattack planned all along.

Aliera uses these rooms often. Morrolan, seldom. Myself, never.

“ You know, boss — this place is a friggin’ menagerie. ”

“ Very true, my fine jhereg. ”

“ Oh, we’re a wit, today; yes, indeed. ”

I shouldered my way through the crowd, nodding to acquaintances and sneering at enemies as I went. Sethra Lavode spotted me, and we chatted for a few minutes about nothing. I didn’t really know how to deal with her any more, so I cut the conversation short. She gave me a warm-despite-the-cold kiss on the cheek; she either knew or suspected, but wasn’t talking.

I exchanged pleasant smiles with the Necromancer, who then turned her attention back to the Orca noble she was baiting.

“ By the Orb, boss; I swear there are more undead than living in this damn place. ”

I gave a cold stare to the Sorceress in Green, which she returned. I nodded noncommitally at Sethra the Younger, and took a good look around.

In one corner of the room, the crowd had cleared for a Dzur and a Dragon, who were shouting insults at each other in preparation for carving each other up. One of Morrolan’s wizard-guards stood by, casting the spells that would prevent any serious damage to the head, and laying down the Law of the Castle with regard to duels.

I continued searching until I spotted one of Morrolan’s security people. I caught his eye, nodded to him, and he nodded back. He slowly drifted toward me. I noted that he did a fair-to-good job of moving through the crowd without disturbing anyone or giving the impression that he was heading anywhere in particular. Good. I made a mental note about him.

“Have you seen Lord Mellar?” I asked him when he reached me.

He nodded. “I’ve been keeping an eye on him. He should be over in the corner near the wine-tasting.”

We continued to smile and nod as we talked—just a chance meeting of casual acquaintances.

“Good. Thanks.”

“Should I be ready for trouble?” he asked.

“Always. But not in particular at the moment. Just stay alert.”

“Always,” he agreed.

“Is Morrolan here at the moment? I haven’t seen him.”

“Neither have I. I think he’s in the library.”

“Okay.”

I began walking toward the wine-tasting.

I scanned in one direction, Loiosh in the other. He rode on my right shoulder, as if daring anyone to make a remark about his presence. He spotted Mellar first.

“ There he is, boss. ”

“ Eh? Where? ”

“ Against the wall—see? ”

“ Oh, yes. Thanks. ”

I approached slowly, sizing him up. He had been hard to spot because there was nothing particularly distinctive about him. He stood just under seven feet tall. His hair was dark brown and somewhat wavy, falling to just above his shoulders. I suppose a Dragaeran would have considered him handsome, but not remarkably so. He had an air about him, like a jhereg. Watchful, quiet, and controlled; very dangerous. I could read “Do Not Mess With Me” signs on him.

He was speaking to a noble of the House of the Hawk that I didn’t know, and who was almost certainly unaware that, as he spoke, Mellar was constantly scanning the crowd, perhaps even unconsciously, alert, looking . . . He spotted me.

We looked at each other for a moment as I approached, and I felt myself come under expert scrutiny. I wondered how many of my weapons and devices he was spotting. A good number, of course. And, naturally, not all of them. I walked up to him.

“Count Mellar,” I said. “Hew do you do? I am Vladimir Taltos.”

He nodded to me. I bowed from the neck. The Hawklord turned at the sound of my voice, noted that I was an Easterner, and scowled. He addressed Mellar. “It seems that Morrolan will let anyone in these days.”

Mellar shrugged, and smiled a little.

The Hawklord bowed to him then, and turned away. “Perhaps later, my lord.”

“Yes. A pleasure meeting you, my lord.”

Mellar turned back to me. “Baronet, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”

“Not at all.”

This was going to be different than my dealing with the Dzurlord, Keleth. Unlike him, Mellar knew all the rules. He’d used my title to let me know that he knew who I was—implying that it might be safe to tell him more. I knew how the game was played as well.

This was a strange conversation in other ways, however. For one thing, it simply isn’t my custom to speak to people that I’m going to nail. Before I’m ready, I don’t want to go anywhere near them. I have no desire to give the target any idea who I am or what I’m like, even if he doesn’t realize that I’m going to become his executioner.

But this was different. I was going to have to get him to set himself up. That meant that I needed to know the bastard better than I’d ever known any other target in my career. And, just to put the honey in the klava, I knew less about him that I did about anyone else I’d ever set out after.

So, I had to find out a few things about him, and he, no doubt, would like to find out a few things about me; or at least what I was doing here. I thought up and rejected a dozen or so opening gambits before I settled on one.

“I understand from Lord Morrolan that you acquired a book he was interested in.”

“Yes. Did he tell you what it was?”

“Not in detail. I hope he was satisfied with it.”

“He seemed to be.”

“Good. It’s always nice to help people.”

“Isn’t it, though?”

“How did you happen to get hold of the volume? I understand that it’s quite rare and hard to come by.”