Steven Brust - Jhegaala

"I am Merss Vladimir," I told him.

"Yes, my lord."

"I understand that we're related."

He nodded, suddenly looking a little afraid. Of me? Or what being related to me might mean? Probably not the latter; apparently not many people believed that my name was really Merss. Which it wasn't, so I guess they were right.

"You know, of course, about what happened? To the family?"

He nodded tersely, still looking at his cap. If I hadn't been unable to move, I'd have slapped him.

"That was your family once, you know. You are related to them."

He nodded, and it was obvious he didn't like where this was going.

I said, "It doesn't bother you, what happened to them?"

He looked up at me for the first time, and I caught a flash of something in his eyes, very quickly, that I hadn't suspected would be there. Then he looked down at his cap again and said, "It does, my lord."

"Well, it's my intention to do something about it."

"My lord?" He looked like I had just announced plans to grow another head.

"It is not my intention to permit someone to feel my family may be slaughtered with impunity. Do you think this should be permitted?"

His mouth opened and closed a few times, then he said, No, my lord, but—"

"But what?"

"What can I—?"

"If you're willing, you can help me."

He very badly wanted to ask, "What if I say no?" but he didn't dare. I don't mind cowardice. I can respect cowardice. I practice it whenever possible. But craven I have no use for. No, I mean, I don't like it; quite often I find I have use for it.

"What can I do?" he finally asked; asking it with the tone, of, "What use could I possibly be?" rather than, "I am offering to help."

I said, "Well, I'm not going to ask you to kill anyone."

Once again, he lifted his head briefly, and I saw that look; but it didn't last.

"What do you want of me?"

"I've told you what I'm doing. Are you willing to help me, or not?"

He clamped his jaws shut. Finally, still staring at his cap, he said, "Not without knowing what you want me to do."

Well! Good on him. I was impressed in spite of myself. "Fair enough," I told him. "I want answers to some questions."

He nodded. "That I will do."

"We'll see," I told him. "How much of your family history do you know?"

"My lord? I already said we were related to—"

"Yes. But why was your name changed?"

"M'lord? It wasn't."

"Eh?"

"No, sir. Old Matyawsh changed the name. My great grandfather, Matyawsh's brother, kept the name he was born with."

"All right," I said. That much, at least, agreed with what I'd been told by Father Noij. I like having things confirmed. It gives me such a warm, comfortable feeling.

"And do you believe what was said about them?"

"Meaning what?"

"About being evil, about summoning demons."

"Oh, that. I'm no peasant, Lord Merss. I was educated. At the school. I can read, and write, and do sums, and think. No, I don't believe that."

"What school?"

"There's been a school in Burz for years and years, to teach symbols and sums and citizenship."

"Citizenship?"

"Doing your duty to your country and county."

"Um. And what is your duty to your country and county?"

He made a face, and for the first time smiled a little. "That part didn't take so well. If they want me to fight their war they'll have to drag me there."

"I see. So the peasants here can read?"

"Peasants? No. It's not open to the peasants. Just children of mill workers."

"Mmm. What about children of merchants?"

He sniffed. "Father Noij teaches them."

"All right, then. So you don't believe in summoning demons, or groups of evil witches. Then why did most of the Merss family leave?"

"Because the peasants believed in those things."

"You don't think much of peasants, do you?"

"They're ignorant. It isn't their fault," he added magnanimously.

Most people seem to take pleasure in feeling superior to someone. I'm not like that, which pleases me because it makes me feel superior.

"Why?" I said.

"Hmm?"

"Count Saekeresh. Why did he start a school?"

"It wasn't him, it was his grandfather. Because you have to be able to read to work in the mill, you see. It isn't just brawn; you need to use your head to make paper. At least, to make it right. The process—"

"All right," I said. "I get it." He sounded proud. He wasn't a peasant. He was superior.

That, too, was a piece of the puzzle.

Don't be distracted by shadows, Vladimir. Concentrate on the target.

There were shadows everywhere.

There were shadows covering the actions of people who didn't want what they did to be known; and there were shadows covering the minds of people who didn't want to see, and even shadows covering the minds of those whose lives became easier if they believed themselves to be powerless. Shadows, shadows everywhere. Don't let them distract you, Vlad.

In a town this size, you'd think that nothing could be concealed; that everyone would know everyone else's business. I'd mentioned that once to my grandfather, when he'd suggested Cawti and I leave Adrilankha and find a small town somewhere. He'd said it wasn't as true as people thought—that small towns were full of secrets. If he was right, it was just possible that—

"My lord?"

Saabo was looking at me.

"Sorry, I was thinking. I was remembering things my grandfather told me about the East."

"The East?"

"This country. Fenario."

"What did he tell you, my lord?"

I shook my head on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. I was getting tired of that ceiling. "Is there a house here?"

"My lord?"

"A house of, ah, I'm not sure what term you'd use. Boys and girls who, no, I guess it would be only girls here. Girls who, for money—"

"Oh!" First he blushed, then he gave me a puzzled look as if wondering how, in my condition, I could possibly make use of a place like that. Then he said, "No, my lord. But there are girls who work out of the Mouse."

"I see. And have you made use of their services?"

He didn't blush this time, he just shook his head. "I never wished to, my lord. In my youth I, ah, I never needed to."

I decided he wasn't lying, which was unfortunate, because it meant he couldn't tell me one of the things I needed to know. "Does the Guild run these services?"

"Oh, certainly, my lord."

"And it's legal?"

"My lord? Of course. Why—"

"My grandfather told me it was often forbidden by law, but ignored by custom."

"Ah. I see. No, there are no such laws here."

And at exactly that moment, with one of the best incidents of accidental good timing of my career, there was the light tapping at the door that I'd come to recognize.

"That would be my physicker," I said. "Thank you for taking the time to visit a sick kinsman."

He managed a slight smile to go with his bow, and, hat in hand, walking backward, he left as Aybrahmis and the witch came in. I noticed that Aybrahmis nodded to Saabo, who gave him a smile of recognition as well as the polite bow he also gave the witch.

He wasn't all bad, was Saabo. But he was still a deferential little wretch I'd like to kick.

Some time later, Aybrahmis remarked that I was making good progress, and complimented me on being in generally good shape. For someone who couldn't even stand up to—couldn't even stand up, I didn't take it too seriously. The witch muttered and murmured and changed my dressings, and when they were about to leave I said, "A moment, please."

Aybrahmis got that look physickers get when they're prepared to reply politely to an enormity about your condition, or to an impossible-to-answer question about when you'll be able to do something or other. I said, "What do you know of the Art?"