Tiassa (8 page)

“Give him an evasive answer.”

“My lord?”

“You’re an aristocrat. Make yourself look like, I don’t know, a Hawk.” I found a scrap of paper and wrote an address on it, handed it to him. “When we’re done, go there and tell them you’re from me, and you need to pass for a Hawklord—ears, complexion, and everything.”

“I can do that.”

“And can you act the part?”

“I believe so, m’lord.”

“Look vague and distracted most of the time. If you’re asked a question, sniff and look disdainful.”

“And if doing so should incite a challenge, my lord?”

“Don’t sniff that loudly.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“If you sniff just loud enough, and hit the disdainful perfectly, you won’t have to wait too long to see him. Then, well, lay it out. You have the item and a sudden need for money.”

“And if he asks me why?”

“Gambling debts.”

He nodded.

“Put the proposition simply. Yes, no, or he’ll think about it. Kragar will give you a psiprint and a description of the object. It’s a silver tiassa, very small and delicate, with sapphires for eyes. I think Feorae will want to buy it, but we’ll see.”

“Yes, m’lord.”

“If he says yes, you can get it to him as soon as tomorrow.”

He nodded. Maybe he’d run out of m’lords.

“Are you clear on what you need to do?”

“Yes, m’lord.” Guess he had another.

“As soon as you have the material, head straight over to the Dragon Wing and get started. In the meantime, we’ll just wait here. Shouldn’t take long.”

He nodded, looking a little nervous, like it had just become real to him.

Foxy nodded to Omlo. “Do you like it?”

“My lord?”

“The job. Do you like it?”

“It seems all right so far, m’lord.”

“No, not this job, being a pr—, a tag.”

“Oh. It’s all right.”

“What House are you? I can’t tell from looking at you.”

“Chreotha, m’lord.”

“How did you end up in your line of work?”

“My lord? I’m not sure how to answer that. I guess I just fell into it.”

“That’s it? You fell into it?”

Omlo seemed puzzled. “Yes, my lord.” He looked at me.

“My lord the Fox wants to hear a hard luck story,” I told him.

Omlo frowned. “There wasn’t anything else I wanted to do, or was any good at. And the money is all right.”

“Do you have a pimp?”

“No, m’lord. What I earn is all mine after I split with the house.”

“Earn,” he said.

Omlo looked puzzled.

“I just don’t know much about it,” said Blue. “I’m curious. That’s a whole world I’ve never come in contact with, and it makes me curious. What it’s like working in a house, sex with someone you’ve never even met—”

“Or,” I told Omlo, “he might be considering switching careers.”

Ibronka reached out a hand and touched his arm. “Maybe you should drop it,” she said. I couldn’t tell who she was addressing, but if it was me I was willing.

Sometime during the conversation Kragar had returned; I know because it was about then he said, “It’s ready.”

I nodded to Omlo, who rose, bowed, and set off to begin the operation, Kragar leading the way.

“What now?” asked Fox.

“Nothing until we get a solid draw on Feorae.”

“You’re that sure we will?”

“If not, it’ll take longer, or we’ll find a different Anvil. Is there an especial hurry?”

“Not as long as my money holds out.”

“If you need a loan, I have some names for you.”

“Thanks.”

“Where do you stay in town?”

“With friends. Why?”

“If you tell me how to reach these friends, I’ll let you know when we’re ready to start.”

He looked at Ibronka, who stared back at him; I suppose there was a fair bit of conversation I couldn’t hear, but then he said, “Ironstone Manor, home of the Lady Lewchin, House of the Issola.”

“I can get a message there.”

“We’ll be waiting.”

He and Ibronka gave us each a bow. I called Melestav to escort them out of the office, then went back to my flat, found the tiassa still wrapped in its cloth, and brought it back.

Kragar, having finished guiding Omlo, had returned. I gave it to him with instructions to write up a description and have a psiprint done. He said, “It’s a pretty thing, Vlad. Sure you’re willing to lose it?”

“It’s in a good cause,” I said. “Get the material to Omlo, then send him on his way.”

“Right.”

“You know what to do with the case?”

“Yep.”

“Good, then.”

“By the way, Vlad, I didn’t want to contradict you in front of the civilians, but the tags weren’t worn on the shoulders. Around the wrist like a bracelet.”

I stared at him. “You mean, I was right about where the term comes from? I was just making it up.”

“I know,” he said. “So am I.”

“Be funny if we were right.”

“Not that funny.”

“If you were in town after a successful robbery, where would you go to spark the dark?”

“Somewhere not in town.”

“Right. Failing that?”

“I don’t know. Someplace not too low, not too high. Big enough for a party, but—”

“Not in general. Name the place.”

“What do I win if I guess it?”

“Loiosh won’t eat you.”

“I don’t think you can guarantee—”

“Can’t pass that up.” He shrugged. “The Flagpole?”

I nodded. “Yeah, that should work. Good call.”

He glanced at Loiosh through narrowed eyes. “You heard that, right?”

“Tell him I think he’s really cute when he acts tough.”

“I think I won’t.”

Kragar left me alone. I laid out a map of the city, and drew circles over the two significant places, then a line connecting them. I studied the various paths until I had one that would work, then went back out onto the streets, heading for Malak Circle, feeling pretty happy about things. I knew what everyone was supposed to do, and we had even gotten started. The only things that were a little hazy were the consequences, and I’ve never especially concerned myself with those.

I took my time walking across town until I reached the Flagpole, a public house that overcharged for everything. I went in, received scowls because I was human or Jhereg or both, and studied the place.

First of all, yes, it felt right: if I had to bet on some particular place checking for tagged coins, I’d be willing to lay good odds on this one. From the look of things, its fortunes had changed a few times over the centuries. The main room was a big square, with a large bar forming a circle, with an island in the middle full of glasses and bottles. There were a lot of windows, all of them big and with the look as if they’d once had glass. The tables were of varying sizes and quality; same with the chairs. The floor was cracked and chipped marble, and the place smelled of ales and pilsners. There were nine patrons at six tables, Teckla except for a pair of Chreotha. All of them were old. It seemed about right for the middle of the day in a place that didn’t serve food.

There were two hosts—no doubt there would be more when the place was busier. One of them was kind enough to pour me a cup of stout. I found a table, sat, and pretended to drink the awful stuff while I looked around.

Yes, there were decent escape routes. The Phoenix Guards would come in the main door. They might have one covering the back, but that wouldn’t matter; it would take too many of them to secure all the windows, and even if they tried, the Dog-man would see it in plenty of time. If we had bad luck, and there were already guards in the place, it would be even easier, because the door would be available. Good.

It took me about a minute to learn everything I had to, but I stayed for a while because not to would have attracted attention. There were no convenient floor plants to dump the stout into, so I forced myself to drink half of it. I should have asked for more money for this job.

I left the Flagpole and headed back to my office, thinking about Cawti.

I need to tell you about the place they jumped me. Right about where Garshos connects with North Garshos there is an area where, because of some strange confusion or dispute among the lords of the city, a stretch of some sixty or seventy feet is not actually part of any district. The only effect of this is that the row of three apartment buildings there—three, three, and four stories, respectively—has no effective garbage pickup. The garbage builds up in one corner, just off Garshos, until, usually once or twice a week, they burn it. The rest of the time, it stinks. When they’re burning it, it stinks, too. Not my favorite part of town.

It was stinking pretty bad that day, because the pile was ten or eleven feet high. There were two Jhereg toughs hidden behind it. Across the street from the trash heap, there was a grocer’s with an open front; the other two Jhereg were inspecting vegetables, with their backs to me about ten feet away. For a job that had to have been done with minimal planning, it wasn’t a bad set-up.

The two of them turned around; presumably they had a lookout giving them timing, but I never saw him. I did see the first pair of Jhereg tough guys start turning toward me, and then things happened fast.

“Two behind you, Boss. I’m on ’em.”

I took a step toward them, because stepping into an attack always throws off the other guy’s timing and distance. I had time to notice that they were carrying lepips, which meant they wanted to beat me, not kill me. I would have been relieved if I’d had time.

I pulled a knife from each boot and tossed them underhanded at the two in front of me—one missed, the other poked a guy in the side; both of them flinched. I drew my blade and slashed at the nearest, ruining his pretty face, which gave me time to skewer the other in the middle of his body. He dropped his lepip and doubled over; must have gotten a good spot. I slashed at the first again, but missed when he fell backward.

I took the opportunity to turn around, which was just as well; one of them had gotten past Loiosh and was coming at me. I didn’t like the idea of his heavy lepip against my little rapier, so I pulled three shuriken from inside my cloak and sent them in his direction. One shuriken scratched his forehead, one missed, and the last almost clipped Loiosh’s wing where he was tagging around the other one’s head.

“Boss.…”

“Sorry.”

The scratch on the forehead was enough to disorient the guy a little. It got worse for him when I raised my rapier like I was going to bring it down on his head, and even worse when I let a dagger fall into my left hand and then put it into his stomach. He indicated that he was no longer interested in the contest, though he didn’t say it in so many words.

I turned toward the one who’d fallen over. He was just starting to get up. I raised my weapon and said, “Don’t.” He looked at me, then relaxed again. That left the one Loiosh was dancing with. I turned my attention to that one, but he was running away as fast as he could.

I took a couple of steps forward and stood over the one lying on his back. I don’t think I’d have known him even if his face weren’t bleeding, not to mention contorted; he didn’t look very happy. I put the point of my rapier at his left eye and said, “Feel like telling me who gave the orders?”

He was vehement in the expression of his feelings; no, he didn’t feel like telling me anything. The others wouldn’t either; it was a waste of time to ask them, so I cleaned my blade on his cloak, patted his shoulder, and walked away.

“Who, Boss?”

“I’m wondering that myself.”

I checked my clothing as well as I could; it had come out of it more or less intact, but I stopped at the fountain near Boiden Square Market and splashed some water on my face. I wasn’t shaking too bad, and after standing in the market for half an hour or so the shaking was gone completely.

“Any idea how to figure it out, Boss?”

“Not yet.”

I went back to the office and nodded to Melestav, who nodded back. I guess there were no visible signs of what I’d just been through or he’d have raised his eyebrow or something. I sat behind my desk, told myself I was fine, and spent a few hours dealing with business and trying not to worry too much about how Omlo was doing with Feorae or who had just wanted to inflict harm on me, and why. I did spend some time thinking about how I was going to play it with Foxy after it went down, but I couldn’t come to any hard conclusions; some things you just can’t plan until you get there. And there were still too many things I didn’t know.

Omlo returned early in the evening. He came sauntering into my office like a Dzurlord into a parlor. He had the dark complexion, narrow eyes, and wore the black clothing of a Hawklord. He looked good. “Ah, Lord Taltos,” he said, before I could open my mouth. “I suppose you’d like to hear the results of my little venture.” He pulled a chair up close to my desk, sat in it, and put his feet up. It would have annoyed me if it weren’t so funny, especially when he yawned.