Steven Brust - Jhegaala

I walked to the other end of the town—it wasn't far, maybe an hour's walk. I reached the tavern I'd noticed earlier; it had a small, neat sign showing a small animal I couldn't identify in the dim light. I didn't go in, but made a note of it for later. No one came out as I walked by.

"Hey, Boss, remember a couple of days ago, you said you were getting too comfortable?"

"Yeah, I guess we don't have to worry about that anymore, do we?"

As far as I could tell, the town just stopped; all of a sudden there were no shops, no buildings, just the road going on, parallel to the river. I turned around and walked back. By the time I returned to my inn, the place was pretty quiet and the guy in the blue vest had gone. I went up to my room and slept.

I was awoken the next morning by a horrid light in my eyes, which I eventually figured out was the Furnace; I had neglected to close the shutters. Shutters are much more important in the East than they are back home.

I stumbled out of bed and dressed. I checked the garrote in the collar of my cloak (wondering why I still carried that; I'd never used a garrote in my life, and wasn't even sure I knew how), the throwing knives and shuriken in its lining, and the few daggers I still carried. After some thought, thinking over what Orbahn had said, I left my rapier in the room. I had enough hardware on me without it, and I wanted to see what would happen if I were less overtly dangerous.

Morning: the Furnace slanting down more sharply than my knives; a few kids playing in the street; the occasional woman, with or without a babe in her arms, visiting a shop; lots of people heading off to work in order to produce ugly smells for miles around. I wondered how much paper they produced at that place. They must ship whole barge full of it down the river. Who needed that much paper? And for what?

Loiosh and Rocza took their places on my shoulders— Loiosh taking the left today. I never knew how they picked who was where, and I wouldn't give Loiosh the satisfaction of asking. I had once thought it was a complicated division of labor; now I'm inclined to think they do it just to make me wonder.

As I walked, I gave some thought to how I was going to go about finding my family. Excuse me, my "kin." Two months ago, it would have been easy. I'd have said, "Kragar, find out if I have any family in this village." He'd have made a couple of snide remarks, and a few people would have been bribed, and a few threatened or slapped around, and I'd have had my answers. Now I had to do it myself. I had an image of walking through the area stopping at every peasant's shack and saying, "Ever heard the name 'Merss' before?" I didn't like it much. A few untended kethna wandered around on their undersized cloven hooves, snorting and snuffling and looking for victuals. Presumably, they were owned by various people; I wondered how their owners told them apart. Were kethna smart enough to know where home was? If so, and given their ultimate fate, were they smart enough not to go there?

Across the street, a chubby guy with a fringe of white hair was raising a wooden awning, supported on two posts, and it came to me that this was so people could stand in front of his shop without the light of the Furnace blinding them. I guess I was just beginning to realize how much having the Furnace blazing down affects everything you do. I would have to try to stay aware of that.

I crossed over to him. He gave me the usual merchant appraising glance, the one where he's decided if you might actually buy something. He didn't seem especially excited by me, but managed a nod. Hanging from hooks and sitting on sturdy tables were teapots, coffeepots, hinges, cups, boilers, and even some engraved plates, all of them in that reddish gold color. I warmed to him; I always admire people who can make things.

"You're a tinsmith," I said.

He raised an eyebrow and sniffed. "Hardly, I'm a respectable merchant and a member of the Guild. All of the tinsmiths sell through this shop, or they don't sell around here."

Suddenly I wanted to see how many coffeepots I could shove down his throat. I said, "I see," and continued looking around the shop. He watched me like I was going to steal something. I was tempted to, just on principle.

"Boss, remind me again why you won't kill an Easterner."

"I never said I wouldn't kill an Easterner. I said I won't accept money to kill an Easterner."

"In that case—"

"I am not killing him, and no, you may not eat him even if I do. Besides, that much fat would be bad for you."

I studied the wares, careful not to touch anything, because if he'd said anything about "handling the goods" I would have killed him.

"The Guild," I repeated.

"Yes, young man. So watch your step."

"I'm new in town. What guild is that?"

He sniffed. "The Merchants' Guild, of course."

"Ah. Of course."

"Boss—"

"Hush. I'm working" I gave the guy the sort of smile that means nothing and said, "This is a local Guild, or is it part of a larger Guild throughout the country?"

He gave me what I'm sure he thought was a Penetrating Stare. "Why would you want to know that?"

"Just curious."

"Why do you want to know that?"

"Just curious."

It was interesting, though. Last night, there was someone who had just assumed I was an aristocrat; and now this guy just assumed I was some sort of thug, or criminal. I hate it when people make those kinds of assumptions about me. It makes me want to break their legs.

I said, "Does the name Merss mean anything to you?"

His scowl deepened. "Are you threatening me?"

"No."

"I don't respond to threats, young man."

"That's good, because I don't issue them."

"I think you had best leave my establishment."

Establishment. He had an establishment.

I shrugged and walked out because I didn't think staying would be productive, and because that was probably the last thing he expected me to do.

"That," I told Loiosh, "was one of the more interesting conversations I've had in a life full of interesting conversations."

"Meaning you have no idea what just happened, right?"

"Right. Only something did. Didn't it?"

"Sure, Boss. Is there a reason you think it might be connected with what you're looking for?"

"Loiosh, I mentioned the name of my family and he thought I was threatening him."

He didn't answer.

I walked down the street about ten paces before I was hit with a wave of nostalgia like I hadn't thought I could feel. I was standing in front of a tiny little place, with what looked like a fresh coat of dark green stain on the thin-looking exterior, and no window, and a doorway covered by a thick curtain of pale wool. Hanging from the low eaves were herbs: mistletoe, koelsch, thyme, spinnerseed, eddieberry. My grandfather's shop had looked different, but smelled the same. I stood outside for a moment, feeling the smile on my lips, then pushed aside the curtain and went in.

It was dark inside, a smoky, flickering lamp at either end making the pottery on shelves and plants on hangers jump and twitch. As I stood there, my eyes adjusting to the darkness, the flickering subsided.

The fellow in the shop was nothing like my grandfather. He had one of those faces that looked like someone had grabbed hold of the chin and pulled, with a high domed forehead and a receding hairline to increase the effect. He wore a sweat-stained singlet that had once been blue and loose pantaloons of brown. I couldn't guess his age within thirty years. He looked me up and down with pale brown eyes and an expression that reminded me of the guy I'd just been speaking with. It was obvious he didn't like me. Maybe it was the jhereg on my shoulders. Then again, maybe it was just me. I refrained from breaking his left kneecap and right instep. I didn't even think about it.