Steven Brust - Dzur

“When?”

“Later.”

“You’re almost back to the room. Are we going in?”

“I don’t know. Why? Nothing to do there.”

“It’s safer than out here.”

“When have I given the least thought to my personal safety?”

“Okay, Boss. I’ll give you that one. That was funny.”

“I am fulfilled. Let’s go back and observe that house some more. That’s not quite as useless as anything else I can think or —”

So we did, and watched for a few hours as another courier or two made drop-offs. If nothing else, I was getting a pretty good feel for how much money was involved in this operation. It was a lot. It was certainly enough that they wouldn’t hesitate to brush aside an inconvenient Easterner. In a way, that thought was more annoying than either the Jhereg wanting my soul, or that sorcer­ess who was after me.

“By all means, Boss, don’t let them insult you.”

“Shut up, Loiosh.”

Between the pointless walking and useless observation, I was feeling a bit better as I headed back toward my room. I stopped and picked up a good loaf of bread, some peppers, and some sausages. There were a number of people queued up for the sausages, from which I concluded they must be all right. The woman in front of me, a frail-looking grandmother, glanced at me and said, “Jancsi has been getting busier and busier. Word must be getting out.”

I nodded.

She said, “I’ve known about his sausages for thirty years, you know.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have told all your friends.”

“Mmm?”

“Never mind.”

She gave me an odd look.

A little later she said, “Why are you wandering around in the middle of the day?”

“I’m permitted to leave for lunch.”

“Oh? What do you do?”

“I keep the books for a slaughterhouse.”

She nodded. “That isn’t bad, I suppose, if you must work for someone.”

“What else is there? I’m not the type to run a shop, or sell sausages in the street.”

“My son is looking to buy some land. Grow some maize, maybe raise some sheep and some chickens.”

I nodded. “How is that looking?”

“He’s a hard worker, my son. He’ll get there.”

“He works in the slaughterhouses?”

She nodded. “And we save everything, he and I.”

“Ah. I wish him the best of fortune.”

She smiled, her whole face lighting up like I’d just given her the farm. “Thank you,” she said. Then Jancsi asked what she wanted and I was saved from further embarrassment.

I ate the bread, peppers, and sausages as I walked. The sausages were dry, but good and peppery, with a bite on the lips and the front of the tongue. And there were people walking by who weren’t any taller than I was. In fact, I was taller than a lot of them, and I rather liked that.

I remembered when there were Phoenix Guards all over these streets, facing off against Easterners holding kitchen knives, ham­mers, sticks, and the occasional rusted sword. There were no signs of that now. Had all of the anger vanished, or was it still there, where I couldn’t see it, waiting to explode again? I had no idea. Nor was I certain if I cared, except that Cawti cared, and was likely to be involved if something happened.

I didn’t know these people—people who dreamed of things like buying land.

I wrapped the remnants of the sausage in its butcher’s paper to give to the jhereg later, and slipped into a place called Ferenk’s. I treated myself to a Fenarian peach brandy called Oregigeret, and sat down at a table to drink it. It stung my tongue and burned my throat, and filled my nose with a harsh smokiness and something almost like pitch. It was wonderful. The Dragaerans have brandy, too, though they don’t call it that. And it’s right that they don’t call it brandy, because if you like brandy, you won’t like the stuff they distill. When it came to brandy, I was an Easterner.

Ferenk’s was nearly empty, save for a couple of old men who looked like they drank professionally. Well, why else would you be here at this time of day? The one at the table next to mine nodded and gave me a half-smile full of yellow teeth. I nodded back. Maybe I should take up drinking professionally.

“Is the brandy good?” I asked him.

“I’m drinking oishka.”

“Oh. How is that?”

He grinned, and I tried to avoid looking at his teeth. “Does the job,” he said.

“Helps you forget your troubles?”

“I don’t have troubles. I have oishka.”

“Good answer.”

Yes, there was a lot to be said for being a professional drinker. Of course, wandering around in a drunken cloud would mean I’d certainly be dead within a couple of days. But they’d be pleasant days.

“You’re retired?” I asked my companion.

He nodded. “I hurt my leg pretty good, and now my daughter and her husband support me.” He grinned. “I don’t mind a bit. I worked hard enough and long enough.”

“Doing what, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“We had some land we worked for Lord Cerulin.”

I nodded. “What happened?”

“The mare kicked me, bless her heart.”

He laughed and held up his glass for a moment, silently toasting the mare, then drained it and wandered up to get another.

I finished the brandy and thought about having a second glass, but ended up walking out onto the street.

I returned to the room long enough to give Loiosh and Rocza the remains of the sausage. While they ate, I pondered. Having rejected drinking as a way of life, I was now back to trying to figure out how to approach my problem. Or all of my problems. Or any of my problems.

What I wanted to do was get hold of Kragar and have him collect information on this Crithnak. But I couldn’t lower my de­fenses long enough to reach him. It was frustrating.

“You could walk over there.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it.”

“And?”

“This disguise is pretty good in the Easterners’ quarter. I don’t now if I want to bet my life on it in my old area.”

“You’ve always been good at sneaking around without being noticed.”

“Yeah, good enough for most things, Loiosh. But the way they’re looking for me now—”

“Well, you could break into the house and see what you can find.”

“I could, if I leave Lady Teldra behind.”

“Oh. Right. I imagine that’s not going to happen.”

“Doesn’t seem likely.”

“This is good sausage.”

It was strange that, after years of wandering around the coun­tryside, completely out of touch with everyone except the occa­sional emotionally damaged Teckla (there’s a story there, but skip it), I felt more alone and isolated here, now, than in all that time. I suppose it was because I was physically close to so many of the people I had missed, but was still out of touch with them.

Once again, I touched the hilt of Lady Teldra. There was that feeling of presence again. It made me think of the time I had spent in the East. Not the unpleasant part, which was actually most of it, but the feeling of standing with my eyes closed, face up toward the Furnace, like a shower-bath of warmth. And yes, she had saved my life; but she had destroyed a soul in an action so auto­matic to her, so instinctive, that I hadn’t even been aware it was happening.

Or was I reading too much into it? Very likely. There were probably, I don’t know, mechanics involved—things that she just sort of did. Putting any kind of moral weight on her actions was perhaps like blaming the rock that someone throws at your head.