Steven Brust - Jhegaala

I got another glass of wine—it was a particularly harsh and acidic red that tasted better than it should have—and nursed it while I considered things.

An hour or so of that got me nowhere, so I went back to the Hat, and as I walked through the door, the host looked at me, frowning.

"Message for you," he said. Obviously, to him there was something very suspicious about me having asked if there were any messages this morning, and then had one delivered in the afternoon. Obviously, I was up to something.

I returned to the Mouse, found an ugly brown chair, and sat. Then I broke the seal, unfolded the heavy pink parchment, and read. It was, unlike the last missive, very simple and straightforward, with no excess words. It suggested I visit His Lordship tomorrow early in the afternoon.

"Looks like we have a deal, Loiosh."

"Or a trap.”

"Or a trap. Right now, I'll be happy with a trap. It'll give me something to break out of. There's nothing worse than wanting to push and not having anything to push against."

He started naming things that were worse until I told him to shut up. There's nothing worse than a smartass who pretends not to understand hyperbole.

The more important question was: Were there any ways to protect myself in case it was a trap? Were there any arrangements worth making?

"Go armed, Boss."

"Good thinking."

After a while, I noticed the place had pretty much emptied out. The hostess, whose name was Mahri, came over and poured me another glass of wine and asked if something was troubling me.

"No," I said. "Just making plans for an errand I need to run tomorrow."

"Plans?"

I nodded. "So far, I've picked the horse I'm going to ride."

"Well, may it prosper you," she said.

"Indeed." I passed a coin across the table. "Drink with me to that sentiment."

She smiled big and nodded, and went behind the bar and poured something golden into a small glass and lifted it to me, drank. I did too. She said, "Well, you think about your plans, then. I won't disturb you."

"I appreciate that," I said.

Usually when people say that, it's a prelude to an ongoing stream of disturbance, but she was as good as her word, and said nothing while I sat there beating into a headwind, as the Orca say. I wondered if she was the only one in town as good as her word. Which brought up the question of whether she was in on it too. I didn't really think so (and, just for the record, no she wasn't), but it gives you an idea of how my mind was working.

Eventually I sighed and raised my glass for more wine. I couldn't think of any steps to make this safer; I was just going to have to do it. As she brought the wine, I said, "Do you know a light-haired, freckle-faced foreigner named Dahni?"

She nodded. "He's been in a few times."

"Do you trust him?"

She frowned. I had the feeling she was one of those people who trusted everyone, and didn't understand why one wouldn't. "I don't understand."

I smiled. "He's made a business proposition to me, and I'm wondering if he's the sort who can be depended on to be honest in his dealings."

The question seemed to make her unhappy, like she didn't want to consider that the answer might be no. "I'm afraid I don't know him that well," she said.

"What have you heard?"

"Heard?"

"Gossip? Rumors?"

She looked even more uncomfortable.

"I don't know as I should say anything."

"I'd take it as a kindness."

"It isn't a kindness to pass on ill-tongue."

"It would be this time."

She studied me, squinting through troubled dark brown eyes. "Well," she said at last, "some say he works for His Lordship, the Count."

I had the feeling that that, in itself, wasn't necessarily something she might be reluctant to say about someone, so I just nodded and waited.

"Well some say...you know the Count is an old man."

I nodded, having not only heard but seen it.

"Well, he…" She coughed, and I noticed she was turning red, and I was suddenly convinced that whatever I was about to hear would be of no interest to me at all. "Well, I'm not saying there's anything wrong, mind, but they say he has girls who, you know, who do things for him. And Dahni, they say he's the one who finds them for him."

She finished quickly, blushing furiously, and I was pleased to know my instincts were still intact. I put forth all of my effort, all of my power, all of my will that had been hardened in the fires of death and crime—and I didn't laugh.

"Thank you," I said. "That is of great importance to me, and you have done me great good. I assure you, no one will hear of this through me."

She nodded and returned to the bar. I said, "Pardon me, hostess."

"My lord?" she said, looking worried.

I held up my glass.

"Oh," she said, blushing even more, if that were possible, and quickly filled it. "This is on me," she said, with a sheepish grin.

"Thank you," I said, passing over a coin. "Then call this a gratuity." She accepted it gratefully and found something to do in the back room while she recovered from her embarrassment.

"Damn good thing I'm so skilled at investigation, Loiosh. Some' one else might never have uncovered that vital scrap of information."

"You're just saying that because if you don't you know I will, aren't you, Boss?"

" See there? You have the makings of a skilled investigator yourself.”

If you can imagine the mental equivalent of the sound a horse makes when it exhales loudly through its nose, that's what I received then.

I drank my wine and thought many thoughts, none of them having anything to do with the Count's love life. Eventually I made my way back to the Hat, spoke with the stable-boy, and said I wanted to make sure Marsi would be available tomorrow. He agreed Marsi would be ready, and I almost thought I saw a flicker of something like amusement in his eyes. If I'd been sure, I'd have hit him. Not for mocking me, but for the implied insult to Marsi, that fine, fine beast.

" So , that's it, Boss? That's all we're going to do?"

"I'm open to suggestions."

He made muttering sounds.

I left the place and found another merchant, this one a bookseller, hoping to find something entertaining to kill the time until tomorrow afternoon. I'd left all my books with Cawti. I missed them. I missed sitting around with her, reading; listening to her giggle while indulging her weakness for light verse; reading favorite passages to each other.

They didn't have anything good in the place, so I left and walked around the town until I felt tired; then I went back to the Mouse and went to bed. I'd now been almost a week in the village of Burz, paper-making center of Fenario, if not the world. I'd come here looking for family, and I guess I'd found them, after a fashion.

My thoughts on waking were not excessively cheerful. But I still liked the part where hot water and coffee were brought to me at the pull of a bell; that was something I decided I could get used to. I wondered why Cawti and I had never hired a servant. We could have afforded one, and I'd obliquely brought up the subject now and then. I tried to remember her reaction on those occasions, and how the subject had been put aside, but I couldn't.

As I drank that harsh, bitter stuff, I removed the daggers and throwing knives I carried about my person, and took out my whetstone (practically new, I'd bought it on the way out of Adrilankha), and carefully sharpened and honed each one, then my rapier. It felt like it might turn into that sort of day. Dragons don't seem so concerned with getting a fine edge on a weapon; I guess because the way they fight they'll bludgeon you to death as much as cut you. My approach is more elegant and precise. And elegance and precision are important because, uh, because they're important.