Steven Brust - Dzur

“Your weapon. Yes.” I glanced at the hilt sticking above his shoulder, and wondered again how he managed to sit, with all appearance of comfort, with that massive thing strapped to his back.

“Maybe there’s no sword at all, Boss. Just a hilt that he wears to look good.”

“Uh huh. Think I should get one?”

“Oh, certainly.”

“What is it about your weapon?”

His eyes widened a little, and he suddenly reminded me of Aibynn. “You don’t know?”

Several remarks came and went, but, in the interest of a compan­ionable meal, I said, “No, I don’t.”

“Oh. It’s one of the Seventeen.” He frowned. ‘Are you familiar with the Seventeen Gr—”

“Yes,” I said. “I’ve heard of them.”

He nodded. “Like Iceflame.”

“Yes.”

“You know much about them?”

“I’m not sure what qualifies as ‘much; but I’m pretty sure the answer is no however you mean it.”

“Ah. Too bad.”

“Why? You thought maybe I could tell you things Sethra can’t?”

He grinned. “That Sethra won’t. And I was hoping?”

“Oh. Well, I’m pretty sure you know more than I do.”

We ate some soup, drank some wine. A couple more people, Lyorn, drifted into Valabar’s and took a table at the far end of the room.

“I don’t know much,” said Telnan, “except what everyone knows. I mean, that they have their own life, and you have to come to an agree­ment with them, and at some point there will be a test of wills, and that if you have one it is a bridge between you and the powers beyond the world.”

“Uh. Yes. Certainly. Um, everyone knows that?”

He nodded, looking very sincere.

“What does ‘powers beyond the world’ mean?”

“Just what it says.”

“You asked for that, Boss.”

“I suppose I did.”

I tried again. “I’m not familiar with powers beyond the world, or even what world we’re talking about being beyond, and what is be­yond it.”

“Uh, I didn’t quite follow that.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“Um.”

“Your phrase about ‘powers beyond the world’ leaves me confused, that’s all. I’m not sure what that means.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Neither am I.”

I wasn’t certain what to say, so I drank more wine. It was good wine, providing a nice counterpoint to the conversation, as well as to the soup. No question, Mihi knows what I like.

The house on Stranger’s Road hadn’t changed. I studied it from a little farther away than I had last time, to see if they became aware of my presence from here. Loiosh and Rocza circled above it, then perched a short distance away.

Let’s say some time passed here. Then some more time. And still more time.

“Boss?”

“Yeah, okay. I’m pretty well convinced they haven’t detected me.”

“Good. What now?”

“Now we get to wait some more.”

“Oh. Do we know what we’re waiting for this time?”

“Yes.”

Whatever was going on in South Adrilankha, it either had its center there, in that house, or at least that was the nearest ten­dril. Since I’d first seen the place, I’d had the urge to draw Lady Teldra, walk in the door, and just start cutting. Loiosh had felt that urge in me, and was afraid I’d give in to it. But I didn’t survive as hired muscle, a hired knife, and eventually a low-level boss by giving in to urges like that. Especially when I had no way of knowing if, in the unlikely event that I survived, it would get me any closer to solving the problem.

“So, uh, care to let the reptile in on the warm-blooded secret?”

“I’ll tell you when it happens.”

“Oh, good.”

It was about five minutes after that conversation that it hap­pened: A pale little Easterner, about my age, came walking almost right past me, and up the stairs of the house. He was carrying a small satchel. He started to pound on the door with his fist, stopped, set the satchel down, and clapped his hands. The door opened, and he entered.

“So, was that what we were waiting for, Boss?”

“Yep, that was it.”

“It was very exciting.”

“I thought so.”

“Well, good. Now what?”

“We wait some more.”

“I was expecting that.”

The Easterner was still holding the satchel when he left, just a couple of minutes later. He walked past me again.

There is an art to following someone, and I’m afraid I’ve never mastered it. I’ve done it, and done all right, but I haven’t gotten exceptionally good at it because I’ve never had to.

“Okay, Loiosh.”

“On it, Boss.”

“Can Rocza stay here, and keep watching the house?”

“Sure.”

Loiosh followed the runner, and I followed Loiosh. We skirted Six Corners, taking Stranger’s Road as it meandered northeast past shacks and cabins and small markets. Few people paid any atten­tion to me. I got a hopeful look from a skinny, dark-haired beggar who was sitting on the ground next to a pastry shop holding a tin to collect coins in and a small frying pan whose purpose was known only to himself. A stooped old man whose head was wrapped in a scarf leaned on a walking stick and looked like he was going to speak to me, but he must have changed his mind because he turned away and yelled something unintelligible to a fat woman on the other side of the street. Without turning her head, she called him something that sounded like a “fits” and made various obscene suggestions to him. Their conversation continued as I followed Loiosh’s directions and soon I couldn’t hear them anymore. A small group of street dancers danced for tips; the musicians, with violins and pipes, played a fiery chardosh that brought me back to the East for a while. The girls were pretty. I didn’t stop to tip them.

The runner eventually made his way into a hatter’s shop. I didn’t follow him in because I didn’t want him to see me, and I already had a hat.

“Now we wait some more, right?”

“No, let’s head back.”

“I don’t know if I can take the excitement, Boss.”

“Nothing going on there, right?”

“No one in or out, so far.”

We returned to Stranger’s Road, and waited some more, and eventually another runner entered the house with another satchel, then came out, and I followed him, and got another place.

By the end of the day, I had reacquainted myself with much of South Adrilankha: Potter’s Gate, the Drumhead, Donner’s Court, the Round. I had also identified six runners, and six loca­tions they lived in, worked out of, or at least visited. I had no idea if this information would be useful, but it at least gave me some vague idea of the amount of money involved in the operation. That’s one nice thing about the Jhereg: Almost all the time, you can measure the importance of any activity by its weight in gold and be pretty sure you’re right.

How big was this operation?

I’d seen six runners, all carrying satchels that were moderately heavy, no doubt with silver. Six a day, five days a week ... yes, that was a big enough operation to be worth a life here and there.

And, yes, the Left Hand was now very definitely involved in an operation that had, until now, been reserved for the male side of the Jhereg.

I picked up different bread and different sausages from a dif­ferent street vendor, returned to my room, and shared the meal with my familiars while I considered matters. The sausage was greasy, but I kind of like it that way.