Hawk (Vlad) (12 page)

“Really?”

“So he says. And I trust him as well as I trust anyone in that position.”

“What’s the plan?”

I hesitated.

“No,” he said. “Skip that. What do you need to make it work?”

“Kragar, are you really asking me that?”

“Yeah. I invited you to stay here, and now I’m asking what you need. Tonight, I’m going to drop a rock on my foot, and tomorrow is eat a live teckla day.”

“Hey, now—”

“Shut up.”

“Fair enough,” I told Kragar.

“So, what do you need?”

“Any idea where we can find a hawk’s egg?”

He frowned. “A hawk’s egg. I assume you mean the, you know, the magical hawk’s egg, not just the egg of some hawk.”

“Right.”

“I’d ask Daymar.”

“Yeah, I’ve been trying to avoid that.”

He chuckled. “I can understand that. I could look for someone else—”

“No, no. We’ll go with Daymar. I told him I’d be needing his help again.”

“That makes me feel better. If I have to deal with you, you have to deal with Daymar. More klava?”

“Always.”

“Want me to get a message to him?”

“If you would, Loiosh would be grateful.”

“Got that right, Boss.”

“What should I tell him?”

“Let’s say an hour before noon in the back room of Mertun’s.”

“Will do. Need any money?”

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

He gave the orders for the message to be sent, then we sat in companionable silence while we waited for klava, and then again after it arrived. It was good, and I felt some tension drain out of me.

*   *   *

I was going to need a hawk’s egg.

Depending on the region, it is known as the thorn-hawk, the gully-hawk, the scatter-hawk, or the brushbird. It is one of 114 varieties of raptors so far identified by Imperial naturalists, all of which are commonly called hawks. The thorn-hawk is ubiquitous in many regions, including the jungles near Adrilankha itself. It makes its nest in thorny shrubs, where the male guards the eggs and the chicks as the female hunts. Many naturalists believe that, long ago, by chance or design, essential material from an athyra was mixed with that of a raptor. Maybe so. What cannot be argued is that in the normal course of things, such a creature could not survive in the environments where it is found without some form of that odd hiccuping of nature that we call magic.

As with all magical creatures, it is impossible to say how much of what it does is natural and how much supernatural. But there’s no doubt that one element is magical concealment of the nest. That’s what makes it so tedious to search through the jungle, looking at each nest, to find the one egg in thirty that cries out into the mind as having the peculiar properties needed.

There isn’t much danger in the search; provided the searcher has a modicum of psychic ability—enough, that is, to send the cock away while eggs are searched; and enough savvy to survive in the jungle for the two or three days the search is liable to take.

I know all of this, because I found it in Jescira’s
Birds of the Southeast
and most of it I just quoted word for word, at least as well as I can. If it bothers you that I did that, feel free to write a letter of complaint, fill it with threats and obscenity, and send it to Lord Morrolan, Castle Black. Let me know how that works out for you.

*   *   *

“Hawk’s egg,” Kragar repeated after a while. “I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never been clear on what they are, or what they’re used for. Is it a witch thing?”

“Not exactly.”

“Some weird kind of sorcery?”

“In a way.”

“Psychics?”

“Kind of.”

“Vlad—”

“I’m not an expert.”

“I was starting to suspect that.”

“Shut up. What I know about the hawk’s egg is that it comes from a particular kind of hawk, and it can be used by a witch to simulate the effect of a circle for a short time, and that psychics use it in different ways, and—”

“Circle?”

“A witchcraft thing. Amplifies power.”

“So, you’re not sure what it does, or what it is, but you know you need one?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh, okay. What else do you need?”

I shook my head. “Lots of stuff.”

“Then I suppose we should get started.”

“I saw the Demon about this.”

“Yeah, so you said.”

“Before I went in to see him, he tried to have me killed. For an on-the-spot effort with no set-up, it wasn’t a bad try. It was close.”

“I’m listening, Vlad.”

“That was fourth attempt on me in three days.”

“Fourth?”

“Yeah. All of them spur-of-the-moment, so I was able to survive, but—”

Kragar looked me over. “You got nailed, didn’t you?”

“Pretty bad, but I lived.”

He nodded. “All right. Is there a particular point you’re getting at, Vlad?”

“I’m saying that there have already been bodies, and there might be more before this is over.”

“Just like old times.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Just like old times.”

“Vlad? You okay?”

“With any luck, I will be in a few days.”

He nodded. “One more klava, then we switch to wine?”

“Better eat something in between.”

“Steamed kethna rolls.”

“I just had some bad ones.”

“So I’ll get us some good ones. I have a craving.”

“I like how your mind works.”

“More klava, first.”

“I’m tempted to ask for a report.”

“And then set me to learning an impossible number of things about unknown people in too little time?”

“Exactly.”

“Resist the temptation.”

“Okay.”

Someone poked his head in and asked Kragar if someone with a name full of consonants could slide another week. Kragar said to add another point.

I drank some more klava. Not long ago, that would have been me. It was an odd feeling—mostly relief, but just a hint of nostalgia for seasoning.

“Kind of miss it a bit, don’t you, Vlad?”

“Get the fuck out of my head and order some kethna rolls.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

“Heh,” I said.

He called out for someone to pick up a basket of kethna rolls and a bottle of Khaav’n. When it was delivered, he told the guy to pick up a pillow and a bunch of blankets. The guy didn’t even give him a funny look; just nodded and headed out.

“I never would have thought it, Kragar.”

“What?”

“Nothing, never mind.”

I had the odd feeling of my shoulders relaxing when I hadn’t noticed they were tense. My hand twitched—not like it wanted to go for a dagger, but like it could. Does that make sense?

“Time to pour some wine.”

We spent the next couple of hours being lazy: drinking, exchanging stories, reminding each other of the good times and the bad, sometimes just sitting there. Talking about those hours is pretty dull, but it had been years since I’d spent more pleasant time. Yeah, there was a lot to do and this wasn’t getting it done. But.

Somewhere in there, a non-magical kind of magic happened. Just that couple of hours did something. Even with half a bottle of wine in me, when I got up my head was clearer; I was more alert than I had been in longer than I cared to remember. I realized how lucky I had been in the fight with the Demon’s button-men. I should have seen it coming sooner, and either avoided it, or struck sooner. I hadn’t been at my best. I hadn’t been at my best for years. I was going to need to be.

“Glad to hear it, Boss.”

“Which part, Loiosh?”

“That you know you were off.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I assume that’s the sort of thing you mammals call a joke?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

“Boss, you know there was nothing to be done about it.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“I’m glad you’re back, Boss.”

“Thanks.”

“At least, partway back.”

“Yeah.”

Like I told Loiosh; I was at least partway back—back to feeling like my old, competent self.

Yes, I’d have liked to spend time with my boy. And there was an Issola minstrel it would have done me a world of good to have sat around with, listening to her sing, drinking obscure liqueurs and chatting about a Teckla boy we both knew. Other things would have been good. But this was what I needed; I felt it. I felt a stirring of the old optimism, of the feeling that I wasn’t just a chip of wood swirling down a creek. I could swim against the current if I needed to. I could maybe even build a dam.

I said good-bye to Kragar, and headed down the stairs, down more stairs, and into the tunnel. It let out in a part of the neighborhood that was relatively safe. There were no signs that I’d been spotted, so I blended in with passing crowds as much as I could while I made my way to Mertun’s Fine Wine Sampling House. I’d picked it because it was big, almost always busy, and you could enter it right from the street—in fact, when I was younger, I’d occasionally hang out there just to watch what happened when an obnoxious aristocrat left the place and bumped into another obnoxious aristocrat who was walking by. That’s entertainment, you know? Or it was when I was younger. I guess somewhere in there I got old and boring.

“You said it, Boss, not—”

“Shut up, Loiosh.”

We went in without bumping into any obnoxious aristocrats. I approached the hostess and passed her some silver and said, “Back room free?”

She looked me up and down disapprovingly. “Help yourself,” she said.

I got a couple of glasses instead of cups because I prefer glass when possible, a habit I picked up years ago from Morrolan. I also got a bottle of the house white, which fell short of “fine” but was good and affordable, then I took us to the back room, Loiosh and Rocza making sure no one paid undue attention to us. I poured myself a glass and settled in to wait for Daymar.

“I feel like I should give a speech about how, once we do this, we’re committed.”

“You mean we weren’t committed when you spoke to the Demon?”

“Yeah, we were. That’s why I’m not giving the speech.”

I drank some of the wine and was pleased that my hands weren’t shaking.

Daymar has never been known for punctuality; it was most of an hour before he showed up, as before, floating cross-legged two feet off the floor. I jumped, of course, but was lucky enough not to be holding my wineglass.

“Have some,” I said, pouring. “Thanks for showing up.”

Daymar picked up his wine and studied it through the glass, holding it up to the light. I’ve seen Morrolan do the same thing. When Morrolan does it, I get the feeling he’s enjoying how pretty the light is through the wine; when Daymar does it, I can’t help but thinking he’s wondering what sort of prism spell would be required to isolate that color from pure white. He lowered the glass and drank a gulp like he was thirsty; I’m pretty sure if I’d bought a bottle of the good stuff it would have been the same.

“So, Vlad. What is it you need?”

“How would you go about acquiring a hawk’s egg?”

He frowned. “A hawk’s egg? Well, I’d find a nest—”

“No, a hawk’s egg.”

“Oh. Why do you want it?”

I just waited.

“Right. It has to do with what you asked me about before.”

“Yeah,” I told him.

“I’ve gotten them before,” he said.

“Can you again?”

“Certainly,” said Daymar. “It may take some time. Where can I find you?”

“Remember my offices?”

“Yes. Isn’t Kragar there now?”

“He’s offered me his hospitality.”

“Oh, I see. I’ll bring it there, then.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah. Ever heard of the Wand of Ucerics?”

His eyes widened. “Why yes, certainly. In fact, it’s in my possession.”

“Really?” I said putting on a surprised look.

“Indeed.”

“Well, that’s convenient. Might I borrow it for a few days?”

“It’ll take me some time to fetch it. It’s in,” he frowned, thought for a moment, then continued, “an inconvenient place.”

I didn’t want to think about what sort of extra-dimensional or imaginary place Daymar would consider inconvenient. I said, “No hurry. If you can get it to me in the next day or two, that’ll be fine.”

“All right,” he said. “Anything else?”

“Yes. Talk to me.”

That Daymar quizzical expression appeared. “About what?”

“Anything. About things that have nothing to do with any of this, with the Jhereg, with hawk’s eggs, with, I don’t care. Just talk to me.”

“Um. I don’t know what to say,” he said. I wondered if those words had ever before passed his lips.

“Try anyway,” I said.

He was quiet for a little longer, then he said, “Could you, um, ask me questions, or something?”

I guess that was only fair. “All right,” I said, and considered. “What do you care about, Daymar?”

“Excuse me?”

“What matters to you?”

“Why would you want to know that?”

“Pretend it’s important.”

“Um.” He got a strange expression on his face. “Is it really important?”

“Yeah. Really.”

“What I like is learning things.”

“What sort of things?”

“Almost anything. Anything that—” He paused. “Anything that makes me sit up straight.”

“I think I understand that.”

Daymar nodded.

“So, it’s about that moment when you suddenly understand something?”

“Not just that,” he said. “It’s also about getting there. Gathering facts, and the connections between them. I like that, too. You know I’m a desecrator?”

“No, I didn’t know that.”

He nodded. “That’s what I like about it. Finding pieces of the past and figuring out how things happened.”

I asked more questions; he answered them. After a while I said, “That helps.”

“Helps what?”

“My project. We talked about it yesterday.”

“I remember. But what part of the project does it help?”

I guess his desire to draw conclusions stopped when it was a conclusion about what I didn’t want to talk about. Or he didn’t care that I didn’t want to talk about it. Or he hadn’t noticed. All of the possibilities equally likely.