Стивен Браст: Tiassa

“What can you tell me about her?”

He looked deeply uncomfortable; all he could manage was a muttered, “I couldn’t say, I’m sure.”

I don’t know if it was Issola impenetrability, or butler impenetrability, but I couldn’t penetrate it so I let the matter drop. He opened a door and stepped aside. I was hit with an odd pang: Cawti, at one time at least, would have loved a room like this, all velvet drapes in red and gold, plush carpet, stuffed chairs, a bed you could hold a party in. There was a washbasin and jug on the table, an inlaid chamber pot beneath it, and a stack of towels. The water jug next to the basin was steaming.

“It’s a very nice room,” I said. “And someone certainly prepared it quickly.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Harro. “Should you require anything, pull that rope once and I shall come immediately. I will clap when dinner is ready.”

“Will I have the honor of dining with Lord Zhayin?”

“I’m afraid I do not know, m’lord.”

“All right.”

“Will that be all, m’lord?”

“Sure.”

He bowed and backed out, shutting the door behind him in front of him. I wondered how long you had to practice something like that. I poured some hot water onto a towel and ran it over my face, because I always grab luxury when I can. I laid down on the bed. It was awfully soft. But then, after having been in the wilds for so long, anything better than hard ground felt soft. I closed my eyes and drifted off for a bit.

Loiosh woke me up just before the clap came. I sat up, blinked, and said, “How long did I sleep?”

“Not long, Boss. Maybe half an hour.”

“Come in,” I called, and Harro did so, holding a bronze-colored tray with one hand at shoulder level. Somehow, even when I’d had money, I’d never gotten around to hiring servants. He set the tray on the table and bowed to me, and I decided that was a shame. Servants would have been nice.

When he’d gone, I sat down to a roasted fowl stuffed with greenfruit, spiral mushrooms, and capers; it should have tasted better than it did, but Loiosh and Rocza approved. The wine had been decanted so I couldn’t read the label, but it was a very full red, and good.

“If we go back to that kitchen, Loiosh, it’ll still show no signs of use.”

“Yeah.”

“Think we’ll ever figure out what’s going on around here?”

“Hope so, or I’ll never have any peace. More exploring, or do we want to get some sleep?”

“You think I could sleep now, Loiosh?”

“Probably.”

I thought about it. “Yeah, you’re right.”

I really needed sleep.

The smell of klava woke me up. It was on the stand next to the bed. I swung my feet down to the floor, managed to lift the klava glass, and sampled it. I’d had better, but it was drinkable. Over on the table were a few small round loaves of bread with a hole. They were of a type I’d had once before, back when Lady Teldra was still Lady Teldra. They’d been toasted and buttered. I prefer a more substantial breakfast when I can get it, but there have been times I hadn’t managed any at all, so I called it a push. The two jhereg sat at the foot of the bed, and I got the impression they were waiting for me to wake up so they could eat. It’s possible Loiosh had to remind Rocza to wait, but I didn’t ask.

I took my time eating the bread and drinking the klava. There have been times I’ve had to wake up and deal with someone being anti-social before my brain started working, but whenever possible, I like to take my time. I had an uncomfortable moment when I suddenly realized that someone had snuck into the room with food without me waking up.

“It was Harro,” said Loiosh. “I was awake.”

“All right, then.”

The klava was better than the coffee I’d had yesterday, but klava is always better than coffee. Well, isn’t it?

“All right,” I said aloud. And to Loiosh, “Now what?”

“When did it become my job to—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I got up and used the chamber pot, splashed some water on my face, and got dressed. I made sure the surprises I concealed about my person—not nearly as many as I had once carried—were in place. I was about to step into the hall when there came a clap outside the door. I opened it, and Harro was there.

“Well,” I said. “Good morning.” And, “Loiosh, are we being watched?”

“Not magically,” he said.

“Good morning, m’lord,” said Harro. “I was wondering if you would care for another glass of klava.”

I shook my head. “Have you checked the door?”

“I fear it remains sealed, my Lord.”

“And the secret entrance?”

“Sir?”

“A castle like this must have a secret entrance or two. Have you checked?”

“If it has one, my lord, it is secret.”

“Heh. Mind if explore a bit?”

“My lord, my instructions are to request that you remain here until we have solved the problem.”

“Good, then,” I said. “Agreed. Your request has been heard.”

I pushed past him, turned right, then left, heading in the direction of the kitchen, and the place I’d seen whatever it was that I’d seen.

“Sir?” said Harro. He caught up to me.

“Not to worry,” I told him. “I always like to take a nice walk in the morning. I’m thinking there might be a pale, big, ugly thing to talk to.”

He swallowed. “I must insist—”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

“M’lord, please.”

“You really don’t want me investigating, do you?”

He coughed, I guess trying to figure out how to answer the question without giving me any information. I considered the matter. A lot of what I do is pulling information from people, and that means figuring out the best approach for that person. Everyone is different. Some will respond to being smacked around or other forms of reason, some have to be tricked, some cajoled. And it isn’t always easy to tell. With Harro, I leaned against the wall, folded my arms, and said, “If you don’t want me wandering about, maybe we can have a conversation.”

He shifted his weight a couple of times, then said, “What would you like to know, sir?”

One thing I wanted to know was why I was sometimes “sir” and sometimes “my lord,” but I figured that was kind of a low priority. “This place is lousy with things I don’t understand, so maybe just pick one and explain it.”

“My lord, I—”

“All right. Try this: You’ve been unwilling to tell me anything about anything. Every time I’ve tried to learn anything, you stiffen up like—you get stiff, and you don’t give anything away. But that one thing, that weird whatever-it-was I just threatened to go look at, when I mention that, your eyes crinkle and your left hand twitches and from the way you swallow I think it makes your mouth dry. So, why that? What makes that one personal?”

He stared straight ahead, but I had the impression it took some effort.

I stretched out my legs, smiled at him, and waited.

He shook his head.

“All right,” I said. “Whatever. You don’t have to tell me.” I snapped my wrist and a dagger fell into my hand. I could have just drawn one, but the effect of having it appear like magic couldn’t do any harm. He made a tiny squeaking sound and pushed himself against the wall, his eyes wide, his lips pressed firmly together, his teeth clenched.

“Oh, don’t worry,” I told him. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He kept staring at me like he didn’t believe me. I pushed away from the wall, flipped the dagger, and caught it. “It’s just that I’m really annoyed at not getting answers to my questions. So I think I’ll go find Lord Zhayin and cut his throat, just to make myself feel better. Excuse me.”