Steven Brust - Jhegaala

Meanwhile, I made a temporary retreat and asked him questions about his furnishings, the pictures in the Great Hall, and so on. He relaxed, and seemed to enjoy the conversation, while I tried to work around to a way to start pumping him again. During a pause between questions about the workings of the Imperial Court (some of which I could answer, the rest of which I could lie about plausibly) I said, "Another oddity is the set of beliefs concerning witchcraft. As a stranger from another country, that is odd to me."

He didn't appear to take the question at any more than face value. "What beliefs?" he asked.

"This notion of 'light' and 'dark' forms of the Art. It is new tome."

"Odd you should bring that up," he said.

"Oh?"

"I had meant to ask you about it."

If he saw some expression of surprise on my face, that was all right; it was both honest and in character for the role I was playing. He glanced at Loiosh and Rocza, cleared his throat, and said, "It is obvious you're a witch."

"Well, yes," I said.

"I am not. But it would seem that anything may be used for, ah, different purposes."

"Well, yes."

"For good, shall we say, or evil."

"I had never exactly thought of it in those terms," I said honestly, "but I guess I know what you mean."

He nodded. "Well?"

"Uh, well what?"

"How would you describe your own practice?"

I drank some wine, then stared at the glass. It was a very nice glass, hand-blown, thin, and delicate. "I have never considered myself evil," I finally said.

"I imagine no one does," he said.

"Maybe you could explain why this is important to you? It seems odd you should ask a stranger that question."

He chuckled. "And impolite? I'm sorry. It has become important."

I sat back a little. "How so?"

He gave one of those looks people give when they imagine they can look into your eyes and see if you're lying. Just for the record, that doesn't work. Well, sometimes it does, if you know what to look for. But don't bet your life on it. And don't try it on me.

After a moment, he said, "There is history there, stretching back for some years. That isn't important right now. More recently, I suspect I have been, ah, harmed by a follower of the darker ways of your craft."

"Recently," I said. "How recently? I only got to town a couple of days ago."

"Last night," he said.

"Indeed? A busy night—I was harmed as well."

"I know. I have simply assumed that it isn't coincidental that, with family in this area, you were sent by your Empress."

"Hardly. And I don't think it coincidental that my kin were murdered after I arrived. Do you?"

"Unlikely," he said laconically.

"I take it you have enemies."

He nodded.

"So, then," I said, "perhaps your enemies are mine."

"Perhaps so," he said. I could see him thinking, or perhaps my enemy is you. Which I guess meant he could be telling the truth, or could be as straightforward as a Yendi—that is to say, not.

"Would you care to tell me what happened to you?"

"Why not?" he said. "It's no secret, or if it is it won't be for long. Last night, my coachman was murdered."

Okay, well, I don't know what I'd expected, but it wasn't that. I couldn't say anything for a moment, while the anger I'd been trying to suppress threatened to erupt right here and now. I don't know what I'd have done—torn apart the room? Thrown his glasses around? Beaten up his butler?

He saw something of what was going on inside of me, I guess, because he flinched.

"Did you know him?" he asked, looking genuinely puzzled.

"Someone," I said, "is going to—"

"Boss."

Loiosh was right. I stopped and just shook my head. I took a couple of deep breaths. "How was he killed?"

"Witchcraft, I am told. I haven't yet learned the details."

"Who would know them?"

He frowned. "This does not, I think, concern you, my lord."

"My lord, in light of what happened to my family, I beg to disagree with you."

"You think they are connected in some way?"

I knew they were connected in some way. "The timing seems significant," I said. "Unless this sort of thing happens all the time around here."

He nodded. "Yes, you may be right. But I know of no connection between my coachman or the Merss family, or between my coachman and you. Do you?"

"No. Nevertheless—"

"Then, for now, I do not believe I should tell you any more."

It was becoming difficult not to say the things I shouldn't say. I took a moment, then eventually managed, "My lord, I'll not take up any more of your time. I look forward to hearing from your people."

"Of course," he said. "Forgive me if I do not stand. My man will show you out."

I bowed. He leaned back as if exhausted; I guess I'd tired him out a bit. It would be an odd sort of irony if my visit exerted him to the point where he dropped dead.

The butler guided me down the stairs and back toward the front doors.

"Did you know him?" I asked suddenly.

"My lord?"

"Zollie. Did you know him?"

He cleared his throat, started to speak, then just nodded.

"What happened?" I asked him.

We had reached the front door. He stopped with his hand out toward the iron handle and gave me a look of inquiry. "My lord?"

I shrugged and met his gaze. "You must have a theory about who killed him, and why."

"Not at all, my lord."

"Crap."

He hesitated. "Did my lord know him?"

"No, but the matter interests me. I was told he was killed by a witch."

"So it would seem, my lord."

"What was the actual cause of death?"

"Sudden heart failure, my lord."

"Um. And you're sure it was a witch?'

"He had the mark."

"The mark?"

"The witch-mark, my lord."

"What's a witch-mark?"

It's hard to describe the look he gave me. It was a mix of surprise, reserve, disbelief, and courtesy. I'm not certain Teldra could have done it better. I waited him out. He said, "I'm sure I wouldn't know, my lord."

"Who would?"

"My lord?"

"Cut it out. Just don't. I'm in a very bad mood, and you don't want to make it any worse. Where did you hear about it, and who would know?"

I could see him at war with himself for an instant, but training, or fear, or something else won. He said, "My lord, I would have no idea about such things."

"All right," I said. "He had a girl he liked to meet at the inn. What is her name?"

He only hesitated a moment, that time. "Eelie," he said.

"Thanks," I said with a bit of a twist on it.

"I shall have the groom bring your horse." He held the door for me and stood like a statue. I really had no choice but to go through it.

I waited in front, and presently the groom emerged, leading Marsi.

I never did learn the butler's name. Maybe he didn't have one.

I gave the stable-boy back at the Pointy Hat a good tip, which he accepted graciously, and then I said good-bye to Marsi, as good a horse as they get, I think; even Loiosh didn't have anything bad to say about her. Here's an odd thing: The inn was feeling enough like home to me that I found I didn't need to conceal how wobbly I was after dismounting.

I got a glass of coffee from the host and went over to what had become "my table" sometime in the last couple of days. Sitting felt good. The ache in my legs passed quickly; it took longer before I had relaxed enough to think clearly. The coffee helped in that, but klava would have helped more. Dammit.

I noticed I was hungry and thought about getting more lamb stew, but changed my mind. Instead I went back out into the street, where the stench pretty effectively killed my appetite. I walked past the docks and saw the factory—excuse me, the "mill"— churning out smoke and stench. I didn't slow down. I got to the other inn and noticed for the first time that they had incense burners about the room. It must have been fairly subtle incense for me not to have noticed, but it worked. I wondered why the Hat didn't have them. Maybe they did and they were just concealed better.