Steven Brust - Jhegaala

His mouth worked. "Actually, we have fewer here than in many places."

Which reminded me that the number had been reduced by an entire family not long ago. Whatever shape I was in, I was better off than they were. Or Mahket, for that

matter.

I said, "Well, can you get word to them?" "Some of them. A fair number."

"Good. Let them stay alert for an ugly sort of foulness they haven't encountered before. If they relax and let themselves, they can feel it a long way away. It will be a weapon of the same sort that you took from Mahket. When they feel it, another elf is here to kill me."

"What did you do to them?"

"Eh, I made enemies."

He let it go.

Aybrahmis came in with two guards and a servant, and they lifted me up and turned me over and changed the bedding. He asked if I needed to use the chamber pot, and I did, and the less said about that experience the better. The guards politely looked away. When I was back on the bed I was shaking. Then I was fed again, and after that I slept some more. I had dreams and woke up several times. During one of those half-awake, half-asleep times, I noticed Rocza suddenly being very affectionate—rubbing her head against my face, and licking the corner of my mouth—which was a new development. I asked Loiosh about it and he said, "She likes you, Boss," which was oddly warming in my present state. Things between Rocza and me were always odd. I had acquired her; I guess you could say, by magic that shouldn't have worked. I had summoned her the way you summon a familiar, but as an adult. She had taken up with Loiosh, and so stayed with me, but communication between us was vague at best and generally filtered through Loiosh. To discover that she had some affection for me was agreeably disappointing.

The night passed, somehow. I didn't feel noticeably better the next morning, but I suppose Aybrahmis must have thought I was because he let me eat some dry bread in addition to the soup. He looked at what the witches had done for the burns and nodded his approval; then he looked at my hand again while I studied the painting some more. Wherever I end up living, if I ever end up living somewhere (or, in fact, if I end up living), I don't think I will ever have a painting of a waterfall there. And forget that art critic idea, too.

I was left alone at last.

"We need to plan our next move, Boss."

"It's planned. We're going back to the inn. The Mouse."

"After that?"

"I don't know. I need to recover, I guess."

"Boss, you have two choices. One is to take months to recover"— he didn't add "if you ever do"— "and the other is to take that amulet off, which is liable to get you killed fast."

"Maybe there's another choice."

"What?"

"I don't know.”

"We need to figure out the safest way for us to be gone from here before—"

"No. I have things left to do in this place."

"Boss, tell me you're just teasing your old buddy."

"No."

I shocked him into a silence that lasted the two or three minutes until they came to move me to the inn. They picked me up, mattress and all, and carried me down the stairs and out to the wagon. My box came with me.

This trip, also at night, wasn't as bad as the other had been; I didn't have to concentrate all of my energy on not screaming. I could look at the stars, and wonder and speculate and pick out imaginary patterns as does anyone else who has seen them.

We stopped just outside of town. I called over one of the guards and asked why. He shrugged and said, "Orders."

I was about to tell Loiosh to find out what was up, but he flew off before I could formulate it; Rocza stood over me, wings spread, chest out, neck arched, opening and closing her mouth the way jhereg do when they want you to remember that they have really sharp fangs. The guards who had remained behind kept giving her nervous glances.

"It's all right, Boss.”

"What? What's going on?"

"We should have thought of it ourselves. They're arranging for you to be brought in a back way."

"Oh. Yeah, we should have thought of it ourselves."

We started up again, and they finally had to take me off the mattress to make it up the back stairway of the Mouse, which had been built narrow for no possibly good reason, and if I ever meet whoever designed it I'll break both his legs. It took years to get up those stairs, with one guy holding my legs and another, my arms.

When I was finally deposited in a bed—different room, but the bed felt the same—I could only lie there and contemplate the sweet sounds of my moaning. I'll let you in on a secret: I don't sound all that good.

My entourage—the physicker and the witches—arrived within the hour and Aybrahmis made a clicking sound with his tongue as he looked me over. "With these people coming in to see me every day, Loiosh, it isn't going to be much of a secret where I am.”

"Being secret wasn't part of the plan, was it?"

" No, but it would have been nice."

" It would have been nice if..."

He didn't say it.

"I think," said Aybrahmis, "that you will, for the most part, recover full use of your hand."

"For the most part?"

"There should be no loss of strength or flexibility, I believe."

"All right."

"Are you cold?"

"Yes."

He went out and came back about ten minutes later with another blanket. "I have arranged for meals to be brought up to you. I will need to have someone come in and help you with, ah, other things. The Count will pay for it."

"Good of him," I said dryly.

About half an hour after he and the witch had left (just one this time—the fat one with the long sideburns), someone struck the door. Loiosh, Rocza, and I all jumped, then remembered. "Come in," I said.

The door opened and a light-haired, beardless face appeared, followed by a pair of shoulders that looked like they wouldn't fit through the door. He was big. He wasn't exceptionally tall, just very, very big. It looked like he could have crushed my head in one of his hands. Maybe he could have. He smiled—he was missing a few teeth and the others didn't look so good—and said, "You are Lord Merss? I am Meehayi. His Lordship"—he made a quick gesture here that I didn't catch— "sent me to assist you."

I still had to concentrate on speaking so he could hear me. "I am Merss Vladimir," I told him.

He looked me over and shook his head. "What happened?"

"I fell down the stairs," I said.

He nodded, as if he'd seen the same result from a stair fall many times.

He seemed to be harmless and stupid. If he wasn't here to kill me (there's always that possibility, after all) then chances were I'd get him killed in less than a week. But he'd be useful to have around until then.

Am I getting cynical?

Heh. That fruit's already picked.

"So, you tell me what you need done," he said, "and old Meehayi will do it."

"Old Meehayi" was maybe sixteen. I moaned to myself.

But he was careful when he picked me up. I guess he could be; he could have lifted three of me. I told him what I needed, and he did it without comment or, as far as I could tell, any reaction at all. A bit like the butler, I suppose, only from a different source and in a different way.

When he was done, he ran a thin rope out of my window and, as he explained, into his room next door, where it was attached to a bell. "Just ring if you need anything," he said, grinning his ugly grin. I nodded and shut my eyes.

When he had gone I cried for a long time without making a sound. Loiosh and Rocza remained perfectly still.

I slept for a little, and Meehayi brought soup and bread from downstairs. This was better soup, oily and peppery with some substance, not to mention meat. Aybrahmis probably wouldn't have approved, but it made me feel as if it just might be worth staying alive. I mean, after doing what I meant to do; before I dealt with that, nothing was going to take me down.