Steven Brust - Issola

Morrolan, Aliera, and the Goddess all turned and walked out the door. I guess if you put a pretty little stream outside your door, people will want to look at it. I hoped the Jenoine would feel gratified.

“Okay,” I said to Teldra. “Look. I’ll concede that, over the years, I’ve learned that there’s no point in making a bad situa­tion worse, and that it’s less work to talk yourself out of a tough spot than to slice your way out, and that words, while potentially deadly, are less deadly than Morganti daggers. But I don’t think that is quite the same thing as being courteous.”

“I believe, Lord Taltos, that it is very much the same thing. And you know more than those things, if I may say so. You know when a casual insult is, in fact, courteous under the cir­cumstances—and when it is not. You know when to make a friendly gibe, and when the gibe is not quite so friendly, but still called for. You know how to negotiate from a position of weak­ness but make it appear to be a position of strength. These are the sorts of things I’m talking about. And do you know how many of our folk—and yours—never learn these lessons that appear so simple to you?”

“Maybe, being an Easterner, I have a natural talent.”

“You forget how many Easterners I have known, Vlad. Your people have no such natural talent. In fact, the conditions under which your people live tend to promote the opposite: an irritating obsequiousness, or an aggravating combativeness.”

After a moment’s thought, I said, “That’s true.”

She nodded. “It is really all a question of taking appropriate action for the circumstances. I’m sure you realize that I could have this conversation with few others—human or Eastern—that I know. Some it would embarrass, others it would merely confuse.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“You have learned, faster than some of my own House, what actions—and words are only a special case of actions—are appropriate to the moment.”

“A survival skill, Teldra.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Ah. That’s your point, isn’t it?”

She smiled, making me feel like my grandfather had made me feel when I had managed the correct riposte after parrying a lowline cut.

Morrolan, Aliera, and Verra returned at this point, speaking in low tones. I gestured toward them and said, “And the Goddess?”

“What about her?”

“What need has she of courtesy?”

“Toward her peers, the same as you or I. Toward us? None. Many of the gods, I believe most of them, display a certain degree of courtesy even though none is needed. Those who don’t acquire a reputation.”

“For being, say, chaotic?”

“Yes.”

“So it is all a question of courtesy?”

“It is all a question of doing the appropriate thing. Of acting as the situation calls for.”

“Appropriate thing. You keep saying that, Teldra. When someone walks up to me and says, ‘Out of the way, whiskers, you’re blocking the road,’ is it appropriate to bow and say, ‘Yes, my lord?’ Is it appropriate to suggest his mother was a toothless norska? Or to quietly step out of his way? Or to urinate on his boot? Or to pretend to ignore him? Or to put a knife into his left eye? Just what does appropriate mean, anyway?”

“Any of those things might be appropriate, Vlad, and I daresay there are circumstances where you might do any of them. But you are always, or nearly always, correct in which you choose. And this is not a matter of instinct, but of observation, attention to detail, and experience. Appropriate action means to advance your own goals, without unintentional harm to anyone else.”

“Unintentional harm.”

“Yes.”

“By Verra’s tits,” I said, forgetting then remembering that be pair of them weren’t all that far away, “you’re as cold as Morrolan, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” said Teldra, “I suppose so. Or as cold as you.”

“Me? I’m not cold. I’m the soul of compassion, understanding, and courtesy.”

“Yes,” said Teldra, dimpling. “You are indeed. But only when it is appropriate.”

I chuckled. And, “Okay. I’m convinced. All problems are matters of courtesy, and I am the personification of tact. So, to return to the question, what is the appropriate thing for us to do now?”

“I have no idea,” said Teldra, still smiling. “I imagine that is what our friends are discussing right now.”

I glanced over at them: heads together, deep in conversation.

“Great,” I said. “I can hardly wait to see what they’ll come up with.”

“I have no doubt,” said Teldra, “that it will be entertaining.”

I nodded. “Entertaining. Good. That’s always been high on my list for the kind of plan I need to get out of a fix.”

She didn’t reply. I shrugged, gave her a hint of a bow, and wandered over to the others. As I approached, they all stopped talking and looked up, like they’d been caught at something.

“Well?” I said. “Have we come up with the ultimate solution to all of our physical and spiritual problems? Have we saved the world, made sure the Empire is secure, and—”

“That will do, little Easterner,” said the Goddess, giving me a look that made me question what Teldra had just been telling me. I restrained an insolent shrug, perhaps answering the question.

“What do you think, Loiosh? Am I the very soul of tact, discretion, manners, and courtliness?”

“Am I a three-legged tiassa?”

“]ust checking.”

“We have decided,” said Verra, “that if the Jenoine are not polite enough to appear suddenly and force us into action, we will attack them.”

“That took serious discussion?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, okay. I sort of suspected you might come up with that one. Have you worked out the details yet?”

“Some of them.”

“Okay. How are you going to try to get me killed this time?”

“This time,” said Verra, “we just might succeed.”

“Heh. You should be so lucky.”

Morrolan said, “We’re trying to reach the Necromancer. We’re hoping she—”

“The Necromancer!”

“Yes. We’re hoping—”

“With you and Aliera and the Goddess and Sethra Lavode we don’t have enough of a concentration of power? You need to bring the Necromancer in on this? How ‘bout the Empress, for the love of V ... something or other.”

Morrolan waited for me to run down, then spoke again “We’re trying to reach the Necromancer,” he said. “We’re hoping she can find the Jenoine, and a way to get at them. Our problem at the moment is reaching the Necromancer.”

“Why do you need the Necromancer at all? Why not have Aliera do it?”

“What are you talking about, Vlad?” asked Aliera a bit im­patiently.

“Pathfinder,” I said, and suddenly they were all staring at me.

Then, “Pathfinder,” repeated Aliera.

“Damn,” said Morrolan.

“How did I manage to not think of that?” said Verra.

“How did I manage to not think of it?” said Aliera.

“Pathfinder,” said Morrolan.

“All right, all right, I’m a genius,” I said. “Now we’ve thought of it. Can we get on with whatever we’re going to do?”

“I’ve never met anyone so impatient to get himself killed, Boss.”

“Shut up, Loiosh.”

“Yes,” said the Goddess, “I believe we can, as you put it, ‘get on with it.’ Aliera, your weapon?”

I involuntarily took a step back as Aliera drew, and, as the weapon cleared her sheath, I noticed something odd.

I had been in the presence of Morganti weapons a great deal more than I cared to in my brief life; and the same is true of the Great Weapons. I had become, if not used to, then at least familiar with the ugly and terrifying sensation of their pres­ence—sort of the mental equivalent of finding sour milk in one’s pitcher, combined with the feeling of waking up suddenly after a dream of being in a cave with a dzur blocking the exit while anklesnakes slithered around behind. But what was odd was that I suddenly realized that Pathfinder felt different from Blackwand. Not that it was at all pleasant, you understand, but it was as if I were picking up bits of personality from the weapon. I don’t know, maybe what is strange is that I’d never noticed it before.