Стивен Браст - Tiassa

“I hardly know how—” He stopped and looked puzzled. It was like I’d asked him how he managed to move his arm.

“Okay,” I said. “Skip that. Why are you dressed as a Teckla?”

He stared at me.

“Oh, come on,” I said. “You think I can’t tell an Issola when one is being polite to me?”

“I am,” he said slowly and distinctly, “of the House of the Teckla, sir.”

“But you weren’t born into it.”

“Sir, may I request we speak of other things?”

I shrugged. “Suit yourself. Who is Klaver?”

I suppose it was a cruel game I played with him, but he’d tried to drug me, so I wasn’t overwhelmed with sympathy. He was by this time so confused he said, “A Vallista, sir. A rival of Lord Zhayin’s, who is determined to learn Zhayin’s secrets.”

“But Zhayin hasn’t solved his problem yet, so how can he?”

“Sir—”

“Well?”

“I don’t know. I imagine he can’t.”

“Then it would be stupid to think I’m working for him, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t—I suppose.”

“Am I going to meet Zhayin?”

“I don’t think so, sir. He’s very—”

“What of his wife?”

Sweat appeared on his forehead. “His wife, sir?”

“Yes. Perhaps I could meet the Lady Zhayin?”

“She—I—sir.”

“Yes?”

“She is no longer with us.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”

“There was an accident.”

“Involving Tethia?”

One way I’d known he was an Issola was the way he stood: like someone had shoved a stick up his ass but he’d learned to relax that way. Suddenly the relaxation was gone, and he was standing even straighter. “How do you know of her?” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

I shrugged. “You know. Word gets around.”

“Sir—”

“What sort of accident was it?”

“I could hardly say, sir.”

He was recovering.

“Where did it happen?”

He stiffened again. “Why would you ask that, sir?”

“Just curious. The bedroom? The bath? Out riding?”

“I really shouldn’t say.”

“The Halls of Judgment?”

He started coughing.

“Careful, mate. Don’t hurt yourself. Want some water? Maybe some wine? I can leave the drugs out of it if you’d like.”

He turned and left, looking like he was about to get sick. I guess Issola, or Issola-turned-Teckla, don’t like to do that in front of people. And actually, I’d lied to him: I didn’t have any wine to offer.

“Boss? How did you know she died in the Halls of Judgment?”

“I didn’t. It was a guess. Sort of. But if I ask about Tethia, and I’m answered about the death of her mother, then time is doing something weird. So, where does time get weird?”

“Okay. But I don’t see how that makes sense of things.”

“It doesn’t. It makes even less sense now.”

“Oh. Good. As long as we’re making progress.”

I considered whether to wait for Gormin, or maybe someone else, or whether I should just set out and explore, or maybe just leave. I mean, the whole “sixty hours” thing went under the hill when they drugged me, right? I didn’t know what to explore for anyway, and if I did set out, things would likely get bloody. How weird would it be if I killed Gormin, whom I’d met, I don’t know, some few hundreds of years in the future? I hadn’t even thought about that until now, and I had actually thought about killing him when I realized what he’d pulled on me. Now, though—yeah, maybe just leaving was the right move. What happens when you make something impossible happen? Is that how you make a path through time? I shook my head. That didn’t seem likely, but neither did I have enough information to make a good guess about how likely or unlikely something was.

I stood up and walked out the door, nodded to the two guards. They nodded back, looking wary but determinedly not frightened. As I was making up my mind what to do, three Teckla in Vallista livery, none of whom I recognized, walked in front of me holding covered trays. I smelled strong spices and something that reminded me of watermelon. They continued down the hall, unlocking a door just before the lieutenant’s office, going through it. I heard it lock behind them.

“What’s through there?” I asked.

“Couldn’t say,” said Trev.

“Mind if I look?”

“I’m afraid that’s not permitted.”

I thought about making an issue of it. At a guess, Zhayin and perhaps Discaru and maybe a few others were in a dining room that way. But I wasn’t sure what I could learn from them now that I couldn’t learn just as well later. And I was getting a little tired of wandering aimlessly around hallways.

“Maybe you should escort me out and I’ll be on my way,” I said.

“We’ll be happy to,” said Trev, which I was pretty sure was just honesty.

She took the lead, the guy followed me. “Watch your distance,” said Trev.

I was shown out the door, feeling like I’d missed a chance to learn some important things, but not sure what I should have done differently. I wished I could have explored the place a little more. I looked around, noting what I could about the area and the castle. Even the outside might have told me something.

It still might.

“Loiosh?”

“Yes!”

“Then … now.”

I let a dagger fall into my hand and reversed it. There was flapping and cursing behind me. Trev was already drawing when she turned, and took a backward step; but I was moving by that point. I closed the distance and caught her on the chin with the pommel. I turned to see Loiosh and Rocza in the other guy’s face, biting at him, flapping their wings, staying out of the way of his flailing steel. They were both pretty good at this game by now.

“Drop your weapon,” I said. “Or die. I’m good either way.”

He called me a bad name, still swinging his weapon.

“Back off, give him a chance to surrender if he wants to.”

They returned to my shoulder. At the same time, I dropped the dagger and drew my rapier, then advanced so that by the time he faced me I was already inside his guard. He froze, I froze, and he called me another bad name.

He dropped his sword.

“Kneel, hands behind your back.”

I sheathed my rapier and picked up the dagger I’d dropped, reversed it.

Okay, let’s stop and talk about knockout points for a minute. Years ago, Cawti and I saw The Falling Damps at Axon House. We had excellent seats (five rows back, just off center) thanks to Morrolan, and we had a wonderful time. We especially loved the banter and the fights (when Highrunner picks up Rakkos and throws him into the Baron’s men, I cheered like everyone else). But on the fourth day there was a sequence where Atasu, in sneaking into Valguard, knocks out three guards with three perfect shots to the head and then knows exactly when they’ll wake up. Mostly what this did was provide a lot of conversation between Cawti and me that night, because she didn’t buy it either. Yes, you can knock out a Dragaeran (or, presumably, a human) with one good, hard smack, especially on the chin (Cawti explained it in terms of smashing the brain against the skull, which sounds sort of reasonable). There are other knockout points as well. But the thing is, none of them are reliable or predictable. Sure, if I hit a guy perfectly, I can be pretty sure he’ll be out—for five seconds, or maybe ten minutes, or maybe a day, or maybe forever. And I said pretty sure, not absolutely sure.

Point is, if you’d rather knock someone out than kill him, that’s fine, but don’t bet your life on getting him in one shot, and don’t make predictions on how long he’ll be out.