Steven Brust - Jhegaala

"They'll be across town from where I am, with plenty of time for people to notice that there's an 'elf in town, and I'll no doubt hear about it."

"No doubt?"

"And they want it Morganti, Loiosh. Morganti. The Jhereg won't he happy with anything less. There is no chance, none that they can bring a Morganti weapon into a town full of witches without creating an uproar the likes of which this town has never seen."

"And then, sometimes, I don't even wonder."

"Heh.”

"Go ahead, then."

"Glad to have your permission."

I cleared an area of hay, because burning the place down would have attracted unnecessary attention to myself as well as disrupting the ritual; not to mention breaking my promise not to harm the horses.

I lit three candles—two white, and one black—then removed the amulet and carefully separated the two parts. The gold I replaced around my neck; the black I set into my pouch. Once I closed that pouch—I'd crafted it myself—the stone might as well have been a hundred miles away.

I laid out what few things I'd need: herbs, a tube of purified water. I didn't have a brazier with me, but I didn't need one for this.

As I combined the salve with purified water—just a drop— I considered the nasty blisters on my fingers, and thought about what my fingers would be like without them, imagined them healing with a chant that came from inside my body painful muscles unknotting working past the resistance because it cannot stand up to me I am Taltos Vladimir and the power is mine and the body is mine it will do as I will keep at as long as my heart continues to drive the blood mixing with the salve and the fingers inside worked them over and understanding the body is the key to opening the doorway of knowledge of all things within and without a pause in the constant drone in the ears full of my own voiceless calling to a place that is here and also not hearing it again and again becoming part of my own fingertips as they clench against the heel of my hand, unwinding and yielding now, flowing faster as they tap the heel and heal and hear and see and smell the damp moldy straw of the stable in the flickering light of the candles as I stopped.

I took a deep breath, and, my hands trembling, removed the piece of the amulet from my pouch, re-attached it, and replaced it around my neck.

"Anything, Loiosh?"

"I'm not sure, Boss. I thought I felt something for a minute, but I can't be sure. It was subtle. Someone good, if it was anything at all."

"You blocked it, then. I didn't feel anything."

"I blocked you from it, Boss, so it wouldn't mess up the ritual. I don't know if I blocked it from you. I don't know if there was anything to block.”

"All right. If the Jhereg could find a witch at all, I doubt it would be someone good."

As spells go, that one was pretty easy; there isn't much in witchcraft that comes easier than convincing your body to do what it wants to do anyway. By the time my equipment was put away in my pack, the blisters had already started to heal, and the general aches in my body were noticeably improved. I still didn't like the idea of fighting anyone, but I figured I could probably do it if I had to. Of course, I paid a price; I was pretty exhausted and my head was fuzzy, but it was a reasonable tradeoff.

Best of all, no assassins showed up to put a nice shine on my epidermis during the process; my remarks to Loiosh notwithstanding, interrupting a spell to fight are neither easy nor fun. I have, a couple of times, actually performed a spell in the middle of a fight, the way sorcerers do. I don't recommend it, and I really hope I'll never have to do it again.

I gave the boy another silver and a smile as I left, shaky but much improved.

"What now, Boss?"

"Hey, I'm up for anything, as long as it doesn't require moving or thinking."

"So, no moving then, but other than that, just as usual."

"After I've worked that out, I'll probably swat you for it."

The walk back across town to the inn seemed very long indeed. And odd. Things always look different when you've just exhausted yourself with a Working, even a minor one; sometimes, I've never figured out exactly when, the effect is amplified: edges are fuzzy, people seem to blur into the background of whatever they're near. Any reflective surface seems shinier and texturing moves and shifts. There are some witches who believe that in this state you can see profound truths that are normally concealed. Some of them devote themselves, not to the Workings, but to the aftereffects, and reveal hidden secrets of the ages.

I think it's just that your brain is tired and you aren't thinking right.

I made a life-enemy during that walk, too. I think he must have been about six years old, and he was throwing a wooden ball against a house—presumably his—making "thunk-splot" "thunk-splot" sounds as it struck the wall then the street. He missed it, and it rolled across the street right in front of me, and from there down into a gutter and away down the street. I was considerably past it when I realized that I could easily have stopped it, picked it up, and tossed it back to him, and around the time I was finally reaching the Hat it came to me that he had been glaring at me. I actually thought about going back and apologizing, but the explanation would have been beyond my powers so I didn't.

Oddly, I don't remember anything about the smell of the town during the long, long trek; which may indicate something or other. I went to the door and walked through it; the host gave me a sort of look, but I wasn't quite aware of it until I was past him and climbing the long, long, long flight of stairs up to my room, where I collapsed on the bed and stared at the ceiling. The bed felt wonderful, and the ceiling looked remarkably interesting, with all sorts of odd texturing that I could almost see moving if I squinted just a bit.

I wasn't in need of sleep. I was just mentally and physically exhausted. There's a difference, you know. Considering that difference is the last thing I remember for an hour or two.

Naps don't usually do much for me; the few times I've tried napping—when I was with Cawti, who felt about them the way a cat does—they always left me feeling groggy. But that one seemed to do the trick. At any rate, the world wasn't fuzzy anymore when I woke up, and I felt like I could move a bit.

I went back down to the jug-room. Inchay explained that he didn't keep coffee this late in the day. I explained that I wished to drink coffee. Presently coffee appeared.

Inchay had his back to me, and the thought came out of nowhere: What an idiot. He shouldn't have his back to an enemy.

I pondered that for a little while. You know a thought like that comes from somewhere, but that doesn't mean it's reliable. Yes, it could be my subconscious telling me it had noticed something about that guy. It could just as easily be my paranoia at work, combined with some of the nasty looks and remarks he'd given me, starting with his absurd idea, when I'd first walked in, that I take Loiosh and Rocza out.

I mean, I knew I didn't like him much; but that wasn't sufficient to convince me he was working against me. To the left, though, I certainly wasn't about to turn my back on him.

When you get a tip like that from your subconscious, there's as much danger in paying it too much heed as too little. You can't ignore it, but you can't let it distract you, either.

When he turned around, naturally, I was no longer looking at him.

Okay, we have a Guild of merchants, unlike any guild Noish-pa told me could exist. No, Noish-pa isn't infallible, but it's enough to make me think there is something very odd going on here.