Steven Brust - Jhegaala

"What's that, Boss?"

I didn't respond; I was thinking about Tereza, trying to figure exactly how she fit into this.

"Another thing, Boss. If you didn't know then, when did you figure it out?"

"The questions they asked me," I said. "Now let me concentrate on this."

This whole thing should be a lesson to me, and it would have been if I'd known what the lesson was. Come to think of it, I still don't know.

"I don't see what you're hesitating about, Boss. You know you want me to find her and see where she goes and who she talks to."

"Uh, yeah.”

"See you soon," he said, and flew out the window, startling poor Meehayi, who happened to be there seeing to it I didn't stab myself in the mouth with my fork.

Meehayi said, "Where is he going?"

"I'm tired of lamb. He's going to bring me back a cow."

He shook his head. "No one raises cattle nearby. He'd have to go-"

"I was kidding, Meehayi."

"I know," he said.

I sighed. If I kept underestimating people, I'd never make it out of this bed. "Meehayi, do you know a family called Saabo?"

"Huh? Sure. A town this size, you know everyone."

"Tell me about them."

"What do you want to know?"

"For starters, how big is it?"

"Four. Er, six, I mean. Three boys, one girl. The oldest is Yanosh. He's a year younger than me."

"Does he farm?"

"Oh, no, no. They work in the mill. All of them."

"All of them?"

"Except the baby, Chilla. She's only four."

"How old is the youngest who works in the mill?"

"That would be Foolop. He's nine."

"Nine."

He nodded.

"And the father?"

He frowned. "I don't know. Forty? Forty-five?"

"No, I mean, what is his name?"

"Oh. Venchel. I don't know his wife's name, everyone calls her Sis. Vlad?"

"Hmmm?"

"You aren't going to get them, get them, involved in this, are you?"

I studied him. "Just what do you know about what 'this' is?"

The blood rushed to his face and his mouth opened and closed. If he was planning to conceal something, he could give it up right away. I've known Dzurlords who could dissemble better than this guy.

I waited him out. He finally said, "I guess I know what everybody knows. I hear what they say."

"Uh huh," I said. "Let's hear it."

"Well, you wanted to see your—to see the Mersses, and they're dead. And you talked to Zollie, and he's dead."

"And why did I come to town, Meehayi? What are 'they' saying about that?"

"No one seems to know."

"But there are theories. There are always theories."

"That you came to kill His Lordship. That's one."

"Heh. If I had, he'd be dead. What else?"

"That you are a spirit of the Evil Baron, returned for revenge."

"Oh, I like that. Whose opinion is that?"

He looked uncomfortable. "It was Inchay who said it," "The host at the Pointy Hat?"

"The what?" :

"The inn."

"Oh, why do you call it the Pointy Hat?"

"I don't know. What do you call it?"

"Inchay's."

"I see."

"Anyway, yeah, him."

"He thinks I'm going to kill Count Saekeresh. Well. Yeah, that answers a lot of nagging questions. And asks a few more. And what's your opinion?"

"I don't know. But—" He shrugged. "His Lordship likes you, and wants to protect you. So I guess maybe you're working with him against the Guild?"

"Yeah, he loves me," I said. "He'll do anything for me."

He frowned at that.

I said, trying to sound casual, "I understand about the Guild and Sae—and His Lordship. But how does the Coven fit into?"

"I don't know," he said. "I've never even been certain that, you know, there was a Coven."

I nodded.

"Is there?" he said.

"I think so," I told him.

"How do you know?"

"I'll tell you what, Meehayi. I like you. On the off chance that we're both alive when this is all over, I'll explain it all to you."

"Both alive?"

"Yeah, well, not to scare you, but right now I don't like either of our chances much."

"Don't worry," he said. "His Lordship is protecting you. And he's let people know that—"

"Yeah, yeah. He's put the word out not to kill me. I'm now under the same protection Zollie was."

He looked down. I guess I'd hurt his feelings again. It's a damned good thing Cawti and I never had kids; I'm just no good with them.

After a few minutes, he said, "Do you want me to ask Mr. Saabo to come see you?"

"Yes, please," I said. '

"I don't know if he will."

"If he won't, he won't. I wonder which rumors about me he believes."

Meehayi shrugged.

Loiosh returned several hours later, not having found Tereza. Each day that passed made me a little stronger. It also brought the next assassin that much closer. It occurred to me that I should be grateful the Dagger of the Jhereg was no longer in business; she'd have been perfect for this job. If you see the irony in that thought you can enjoy it with me. If not, sorry; I don't feel like explaining.

The next morning, Loiosh resumed his search of the city, while I waited to hear if I'd have company. The physicker and the witch returned shortly after the noon hour, and once more I was poked, prodded, and muttered over as they changed my dressings and inspected the damage. "There shouldn't be much scarring," he said at one point.

I informed him, through clenched teeth, just how little I cared one way or the other about scars. He appeared not to care about whether I cared about scars; I guess it was a question of professional pride with him. I cared just about as much about his professional pride as my own "patients" cared about mine.

When the examination was finally over he and the witch fussed over me a little longer, and had a few more murmured conversations, then went off to speak to Meehayi about the care and feeding of maltreated itinerant assassins.

"I think you're out of danger," said Aybrahmis, which almost made me burst out into laughter.

Then it hit me, and I said, "Wait, you thought I might have been about to die?"

"Your body has been through a lot."

"I don't die that easy," I said.

He grunted, as if to say bravado is cheap. Yeah, I guess it is; that was a stupid thing to say. But then, he's a physicker; he's probably heard a lot of stupid things said. That's one advantage of my profession, or my ex-profession I should say: If you do it right, the "patient" doesn't have a chance to say anything stupid.

Loiosh didn't find Tereza, and talked me out of sending Rocza to help him. She stayed with me, curled up by my ear. The entire day passed that way—little happened that I care to talk about, or to think about, come to that—until the evening, when I was hearing the faint echoes of laughter and conversation from the inn below, and there came a hesitant tap at the door.

Rocza was instantly alert, like a koovash scenting a wolf. Anyone coming to kill me wouldn't have tapped at the door, and it wouldn't matter if I said to go away, so I called out for the person to enter freely.

He was a small man, dressed in some sort of brown tunic and loose pantaloons that I think had been black once. He had a sharply angled jaw, and a beard that he obviously took great pride in. It was a little chin growth that continued the jaw angle to a sharp point about an inch and a half below his chin. He half looked at me, and half looked down, and in his hand was a faded blue cap.

"Come in," I said again, and he did. Deferentially. He didn't look like a peasant—a peasant would never shape his beard— but he acted like one.

"Greetings, my lord," he said. He oozed deference. It was revolting.

"Find a place to sit," I told him. "I'd stand and bow; only I'm not quite able to manage."

He didn't know quite what to say to that, so he sat down and stared at his cap.