Steven Brust - Jhegaala

"She doesn't know you very well, does she?"

" It's sort of instinct."

"All right. Do what you can for her. Any idea what happened?"

"That woman. She used a dart of some kind. Orbahn tried to get me, but I was expecting it."

"Expecting it."

"When they grabbed you, Boss. As soon as they grabbed you—"

"Who grabbed me?"

Fortunately, I had some time right then. Loiosh explained as best he could what had been going on, and gradually my memory kicked in, bringing me up to the point I've already brought you. After that, I hope you're confused about what happened, because if not I haven't explained it well.

By that time, I knew that I was naked, on my back, blindfolded, and couldn't move my arms or my legs. It seemed very likely that, whoever had me, they were planning to do unpleasant things to me. That had happened once before, and I hadn't done well with it, during or after. It was something, even now, my memory shied away from. Had I learned anything last time that might be useful this time? Not really, no. I knew that the anticipation was part of it—they wanted me to be afraid, to work on myself; and my memory of what had happened before was making it easier on them. I knew that.

It was astonishing how little it helped that I knew that.

Loiosh and I continued talking; he filled me in on the details of the attack, and said hopefully that he thought Rocza wasn't hurt too badly, and we talked about how thoroughly we had been set up, and I made some amusing—in intent, anyway—remarks about how they could have done it better. In short, he kept me occupied while I waited for something to happen.

Loiosh, still being hopeful, suggested that, if they hadn't done anything terrible to me by now, maybe they weren't going to.

By now?

"Loiosh, how long has it been? " "Three days, Boss. " "Three — Loiosh, what have I been doing for three days? " "I don't know, Boss! I couldn't tell!" If he were human, it would have sounded like he

was on the verge of tears.

"All right, chum. Take it easy. We'll get out of this. The drugs have worn off. I can think now." Loiosh kept whatever wisecrack that might have generated to himself.

I was beginning to be able to see, and more important, my mind was clear enough to realize that I'd been drugged. My inquisitor wore a gray hood over his face; I couldn't help but wonder if he was trying to conceal his features or if he was just doing it for effect. Other than that, I had the impression that the room I was in was something like a larder, or small storage room of some kind. In any case it was small, not too much bigger than it had to be to hold the table I was strapped to. I was strapped in pretty well, by the way, and the table was solid.

The man peered out at me from under his hood and said "As you no doubt are aware by now, your familiars are no more."

"Hear that, Loiosh? You are no more."

"True, Boss. I'm no less, either."

"Funny guy."

"I have been asked to get information from you. You will tell me what I want to know. How much screaming you do before you give the information is up to you."

I cleared my throat, wondering if I could talk. "You could just ask. I've been known to be cooperative."

"Oh, I'll try that first. But if I don't like the answers I get, I will hurt you. I will cause you pain. If that doesn't work, then let me remind you that you have ten fingers, ten toes, two eyes, two ears, and various other bits and pieces that can be treated individually. Also remember that I don't much care what condition you're in when I'm done."

"If you're trying to scare me," I said, "its working."

"I can do a great deal more than scare you."

Where do they get this stuff? "Um, if I thought all you could do was scare me, you couldn't scare me, if you see what I mean."

"We'll see how funny you are in a little while."

I was mildly curious about that myself.

Then and then and now.

Then, it was all about the moment; each instant a transition from terror to its realization, almost as a relief; and then back. But each isolated, unique, individual.

Then it was sharp as a knife, clear as the sky in the East, distinct as the face of a loved one. Each event was pure and moments flowed together like a river, where no droplet has meaning save as part of those around it, and the entirety moving according to its own logic, regardless of what pieces of driftwood may be caught in a momentary eddy.

Now it is what memory has left. A single strip of cloth implies the garment from which it was torn, but yet I cannot, from a few dirty pieces, give you the cut and the fit and the blend of colors. The implication must remain implication, because memory preserves, and it protects, and in doing so picks for its own reasons, so if now I give you tattered rags, it is because they are what remain to me. You may regret this; I do not.

"Who are you working for?"

Blinding, impossible brilliance washing over me.

"What was your mission?"

High in an upper corner of the room was a spider, too small for me to see clearly, but her web grew as I watched, lines forming in patterns that reminded me of something I'd seen once, something associated with vast quantities of water. I tried to remember what it was. Spiders are by nature very patient. The flow of moments means nothing to them.

"Who do you report to?"

The room fading in and out, in and out, trying to focus on the spiderweb annoyed that it kept vanishing into a pale haze.

"How is Rocza?"

"Snappy and bad ‘tempered, Boss."

"Is that a good sign?"

" I wish I knew."

"Are you working for the Empire?"

"No," I said. I remember that. I said, "No."

"Very well. I will accept that provisionally, though I don't really believe you. But I'll give you a chance. Who are you working for?"

"I'm not working for anyone," I said. "I came here looking for my family."

"No, no," he said. "That won't do at all."

"Sorry," I said; and honestly, I was.

And fractured pieces of the spiderweb fluttered about inside my head, and I know it is impossible to grind your teeth when your mouth is wide open; why is it that I remember doing so?

Islands of calm in a sea of pain, a sky of fear covering all.

I know there were times when I was myself. I don't know who I was the rest of the time, and I'm glad of that.

"We know what you are doing here; we just aren't certain who you're doing it for."

"Well, all right. I'll be happy to say whatever you'd like, you know. If you give me a name—"

"Don't play with us, Lord Merss, or whoever you are."

I didn't answer that.

"Would you like some water, Lord Merss?"

"I don't know. Drugged or undrugged?"

"Oh, undrugged. I wish your mental faculties to be at their sharpest."

"Then I'd be delighted."

He held my head carefully as I drank; his eyes were brown, and actually seemed rather friendly, even kind. Shows how reliable eyes are, I guess. He put ice on the inside of my forearms; I'm not sure what that was supposed to do. It felt nice, though.

He gave me a few minutes, I guess to think things over.

"All right," he said. "Now, let us consider this. You are working either for the Empire, or for a private entrepreneur. In the latter case, it is a question of money. In the former, it could be loyalty. If it is money, how much pain is the money worth, not to mention being unable to spend it? In the latter, would the Empress truly wish you to endure great pain for what must be a minor project for her?"

He had a point. Well, if I said it was an individual, he'd want a name, and I didn't have a good name to give him. "All right," I said. "It's the Empire."