Steven Brust - Iorich

“Good.”

“Good work, Vlad,” said Mor­rolan.

“And you. All of us.”

“I should have more chairs,” said Perisil.

“Will Aliera be join­ing us here?”

“I’ve no idea,” he said.

I nod­ded. “Be­cause she’d pre­fer to sit, I’m sure.” That earned me a look from Mor­rolan.

It was like the old days in Mor­rolan’s li­brary, ex­cept it wasn’t. For one thing, Aliera wasn’t there. I couldn’t de­cide if I want­ed to see her. Most like­ly, she wouldn’t want to see me. She knew and I knew that, what with one thing and an­oth­er, thanks weren’t ap­pro­pri­ate; but you can’t help when obli­ga­tion makes you un­com­fort­able.

But more than that was the un­com­fort­able feel­ing that, while it was over, it wasn’t over. We couldn’t all re­lax and laugh and make fun of each oth­er, be­cause there was too much un­fin­ished. What would hap­pen with the Im­pe­ri­al in­ves­ti­ga­tion? Would the Left Hand go af­ter Cawti, as they’d threat­ened? When would the Jhereg fi­nal­ly get me? And then there was the un­re­solved mat­ter of—

“Kra­gar,” I said. “Do some­thing for me?”

“Hm­mm?”

“Some ass­hole was just ar­rest­ed for im­per­son­at­ing a Phoenix Guard. He was one of the ones who beat me. Find him, learn who his friends were, and break a few bones.”

He nod­ded. “How are you feel­ing, by the way?”

“Me? Fine.”

“Oh, you healed?”

“I . . . yeah.”

He let it go. He knows me. They all know me. Some­times that’s not en­tire­ly com­fort­able. I know them, too, but I don’t mind that part so much.

Mor­rolan said, “I’ve just heard from Aliera. She went home. Care to join us?”

I shook my head. “I need to speak with my ad­vo­cate.”

“Oh?”

“Long sto­ry.”

He hes­itat­ed. “Will you be around long?”

“Un­less they catch up to me.”

“I meant, around town.”

“Oh. I’ll get back to you on that.”

“I’ll be go­ing,” said Day­mar. “Good to see you again, Vlad.”

“You too.”

“Haven’t seen you much these last few years. Where have you been?”

“Um. I’ll tell you about it some­time.”

“All right.” He waved and van­ished; my ears popped. Peo­ple shouldn’t tele­port out of small rooms.

Mor­rolan was more po­lite; he thanked Perisil again, bowed, and walked out the door, leav­ing me alone with my ad­vo­cate. Oh, and Kra­gar. I looked around. Nope, just the two of us.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked.

“Need an­oth­er client?”

I gave him the short ver­sion, and he agreed to take it on, and I paid him. I was start­ing to feel a bit of a squeeze with mon­ey, which was some­thing I hadn’t had to wor­ry about for sev­er­al years, and thought I’d nev­er have to wor­ry about again. A shame about that. But liv­ing on the run can be pret­ty cheap if you do it right; that’s one good thing about it.

We left it there while I head­ed over to the Palace to have a lit­tle chat with the rel­ative­ly ab­so­lute ruler of the Dra­gaer­an Em­pire.

I reached the place with no in­ci­dents, and there was Harn­wood, bow­ing as deeply as he could with­out hav­ing me think I was be­ing mocked, af­ter which he said, “If m’lord will ac­com­pa­ny me, Her Majesty will see you now.”

My good­ness. How the fall­en have be­come mighty.

He led me to a small (for the Palace, at any rate) room done in gray mar­ble, with a six-​sid­ed mar­ble ta­ble at which sat the Em­press, nib­bling on bread and cheese. As have done mil­lions be­fore me, be­fore I even bowed I couldn’t help but glance at the Orb to see if I could judge the Im­pe­ri­al Mood. I couldn’t, re­al­ly. It was a kind of rusty brown, which might mean any­thing.

“Your Majesty,” I said.

There was a soft click as Harn­wood shut the door be­hind him.

“Sit,” com­mand­ed the ruler. I did so. “Eat,” was the next com­mand. Now that wasn’t some­thing I need­ed to hear twice, so I helped my­self. The cheese was very sharp, and the sort I’d nor­mal­ly think too salty, but it seemed to work. The bread had a thin, hard crust and an odd slight­ly sour taste, re­mind­ing me of some­thing Cawti had once brought home years be­fore.

“Good, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“It comes from Naarsten Coun­ty, in the So­ran­nah. It’s from a spe­cial breed of goat, and on­ly the best of the breed. They make five pounds a year, and it on­ly comes here, to the Palace.”

“Im­pres­sive,” I said. Ac­tu­al­ly, the cheese wasn’t that good.

“Yes,” she said. “Oth­er than the cheese, there isn’t a whole lot about this job I like.”

“Makes the com­pen­sa­tions more valu­able, that there are few­er of them.”

She had an­oth­er bite of bread and cheese, and nod­ded. “By now, Aliera should be home.”

I nod­ded.

“Just like it nev­er hap­pened,” she said.

“Uh huh. What of the in­ves­ti­ga­tion?”

“She’ll be cleared of any wrong­do­ing, I’m sure.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Vlad, a squad of half-​drunk, frus­trat­ed, an­gry sol­diers in Coun­ty Nowhere go berserk, and we’re go­ing to blame the War­lord? She wasn’t even there.”

“The squad?”

“One was ca­reer mil­itary, used to see­ing civil­ians as ei­ther in­con­ve­nient undis­ci­plined id­iots, or else un-​uni­formed sneak killers. The oth­ers were peas­ant boys who weren’t used to see­ing their friends die with­out hav­ing any­one to take their frus­tra­tions out on. Peo­ple fight, peo­ple die, be­cause the al­ter­na­tive is to let some lo­cal baron set his own tar­iffs for pas­sage of ship­wood, which will out­rage the Ly­orn who own the forests and the Or­ca who buy the wood. I can’t risk of­fend­ing the Ly­orn be­cause they’re too high on the Cy­cle, or the Or­ca be­cause they’re al­ready look­ing to form al­liances with the Jhereg. So a few peas­ants have to die. More cheese?”

“Thanks.”

“It’s not bad.”

“So, the in­ves­ti­ga­tion is rigged af­ter all?”

“Of course not. It doesn’t have to be rigged. It just needs to be run by some­one with a good sense of jus­tice. But not too good.”

“All right.”

“When it’s over, I’ll ask Aliera to be War­lord again. That way, she can have the plea­sure of re­fus­ing. I owe her that much, at least.”

The cheese re­al­ly was good.

“I can’t do any­thing for you, you know.”

“Your Majesty?”

“The Jhereg. The Left Hand. They’re go­ing to be af­ter you, and af­ter your wife. I can’t help you.”

I swal­lowed and nod­ded.

“I’ve done what I can,” she went on. “I’ve made some threats, but I can’t car­ry them out. They prob­ably know that.”

“Thanks, though.”

She nod­ded. “What are you go­ing to do?”

“I don’t know. If Cawti’s in dan­ger, I can’t re­al­ly leave town.”

“I’m sure she finds that very en­dear­ing.”

“As much as you would,” I said.

“Or Aliera.”

“Or Aliera.”

“It isn’t that they’re un­grate­ful.”

“I know. It’s just that no one wants to be the one be­ing res­cued, we all want to do the res­cu­ing.”

She nod­ded. “And this job is all about mak­ing ev­ery­one else do the res­cu­ing. Which is why you’re here right now.”

“You want me to res­cue some­one?”

“No. I just know that Aliera can’t thank you, and if she could, you couldn’t hear it. So I’m say­ing it. Thank you.”