Iorich (16 page)

Her eyes were just the same, though maybe they looked a little bigger than I remembered them. I stood looking at her.

“Nice place,” I managed.

A quick smile. “You haven’t even seen it yet.”

“From the outside.”

She stood aside and I walked in.

“It’s nice in here. I like the hearth being near the kitchen, so you can use it for cooking.”

“Not much of a kitchen, really.”

“You have water.”

“When the pump works. When it doesn’t, there’s a well in back.”

“You share a room with, with the boy?”

“Yes. One other room.”

“I remember that chair.”

“Sit in it. I’ll get you something.”

I didn’t really want to sit in it, but I did. It seemed to remember me. Rocza flew over and landed on Cawti’s shoulder, rubbed against her cheek. I felt the most bizarre flash of jealousy I can recall, then chuckled at myself. Here and there, on counters and mantelpieces, were things I remembered: the small white vase, the lant, the winneasaurus bookends. Other things I didn’t recognize: a jar of a such a pure violet color that it was almost painful, a frame drum with attached beater, the books between the bookends.

She found a bottle and opened it. She was much better with the tongs and feather than she had been before; I’d always opened the bottles.

She poured a couple of glasses and brought them back, sat down opposite me. By turning my head, I could see outside, where there was a little garden; I couldn’t tell what was growing, but I guessed a mix of bright-blooming flowers and vegetables.

I raised my glass to her. “You’ve become very domestic.”

She nodded. “Necessity.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it.”

Rocza remained on her shoulder, nuzzling and getting reacquainted.

I said, “Where is Vlad Norathar?”

“Out playing; I expect him back soon.”

I nodded. “He has friends?”

“A few. And the little girl, Devera, comes by from time to time.”

“Good,” I said.

I wanted to ask if she missed me, only I didn’t want to ask. I said, “Do you see much of Norathar these days?”

“Yes,” she said. “She’s pretty much the boy’s other parent.”

I nodded. “How’s that working out?”

“Well. We haven’t gotten to the political conflicts yet.” She smiled a little. I tried to smile back, but I think it came out more of a grimace.

“This business with Aliera,” I said. “It must be hard on her.”

“I suppose.”

“I mean Norathar.”

“Oh. Yes, it is.”

“How is it she was picked to be Warlord?”

“I don’t know; it isn’t something I’m comfortable talking about with her.”

“I guess.”

“And if it were, I don’t think she’d want me talking about it with you.”

I nodded and drank some wine.

I said, “I trust everything is settled in South Adrilankha.”

“I’m not involved, if that’s what you mean. Things are as they were, there. No better.”

“Are you still giving reading lessons?”

“Twice a week, until lately.”

I nodded.

Various questions formed in my mind: “Do you miss me at all?” “Is it hard to raise him without me here?” “Does he ever ask about me, and if he does, what do you tell him?” I didn’t give them voice.

“Do you like the wine?” she asked.

“You know I do.”

“Just trying to make conversation.”

“And avoid talking.”

“Yes,” she said. “That too.”

I let out a breath. “Sorry. I didn’t intend to be difficult. I just wanted to see you. And the boy.”

She nodded. “And see if you could find out anything that might help your current project.”

I nodded. There was something about how she said “project” that I could have explored if I’d felt like it, but I didn’t.

She said, “If there was something I could tell you that would help, I would.”

“I know.”

Cawti said, “What has happened since you were here last?”

I laughed. “Could you answer that question?”

“Probably not,” she said, gifting me with a small smile. “Any lovers?”

“One,” I said. “A Dragaeran, oddly enough.”

“Interesting. I’m surprised. How did that work out?”

“That’s hard to answer. I guess it still hasn’t, quite. You?”

“Lovers? A couple, but not really lovers as you and I understand the word.”

I nodded. “Also, I had a few things out with the Demon Goddess.”

“Oh, really? Settled to your satisfaction?”

“No, but I learned yet more things to make me uncomfortable. On account of I didn’t have enough uncomfortable information, I suppose.”

“I see. Do I want details?”

That was a hard question. “No,” I finally said.

“I’ll trust your judgment.” She hesitated. “Can you beat them?”

“The Jhereg? No. Not in the long run. They’re going to get me eventually. You know how it works, Cawti.”

“I do. I wasn’t sure you were willing to face it.”

“They’d have gotten me already if I weren’t.”

She hesitated again. “I suppose you’ve thought about the way to make sure they can’t use a Morganti weapon on you.”

I nodded. “Suicide? Of course. I can’t do that. It isn’t in me.”

“So, what do you do instead?”

“You pack as much living as you can in between delaying the inevitable.”

“I guess that’s all you can do.”

“Unless, of course, I can fix it.”

Her eyes flashed. “How?”

“I’m not sure, yet. I have some ideas.”

“Anything you can tell me about?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll be interested, when you can.”

“Yeah, me too.”

At which point, Vlad Norathar came bursting in the door, obviously about to say something important, then looked at me, stopped, and stood motionless. I don’t know what I expected; I know that a child changes from four years old to eight; but he had so little in common with my memory that it was startling. His face had thinned, his eyes weren’t so amazingly large, though they were still bright. His hair, though not black, had become a much darker brown, and was long and curled just a little. And he’d become lanky where he had been chubby.

I stood up. “Well met, Vlad Norathar,” I told him.

Cawti said, “Shut the door, Vlad. Do you remember your father? If not, do you remember your manners? Either will do, for now.”

The boy shut his mouth, looked at me, then at Loiosh and Rocza, and said, “I remember. Well met, sir. I’ve been studying the Art, as you suggested.”

I remembered making no such suggestion, but I said, “I’m gratified to hear it.” I turned to Cawti. “Is he doing well?”

“Yes, very well, when he chooses to apply himself.”

He came more fully into the house. “I’m pleased they haven’t killed you yet.”

“Thank you, so am I, and you have a good a memory.”

“You make an impression,” said Cawti, with an expression that was a hard to decipher. Then she addressed Vlad Norathar and said, “You should get cleaned up.”

He nodded, and sketched me a bow, and went through to the other room.

“He’s quite the boy,” I said.

She smiled. “Yes, he is.”

“He should meet his great-grandfather.”

“I’m planning a trip this summer.”

“Good.”

“Any chance you can be there, meet us?”

“Maybe. If it seems safe.”

She nodded.

Vlad Norathar came out again. He didn’t look any tidier, but his mother gave a nod of approval. He walked over and stood in front of me. “Sir,” he said. “May I touch the Jhereg?”

“Loiosh?”

“What, I have a choice?”

“This time.”

“Sure, all right.”

“Go ahead,” I said. Loiosh bent his neck down and suffered his head to be scratched.

“He’s so cold,” said the boy.

“In every way,” I agreed.

“Heh.”

He looked momentarily puzzled, then he said, “I remember you.”

“Good,” I said. “I’d hate for you to forget.”

“I won’t,” he said, looking very serious.

Cawti cleared her throat. “Vladimir, would you care to sup with us?”

“Another time, if I can,” I said. “There are things I need to do.” I stood up and solemnly bowed to my son. “Until I see you next, be well.”

“And you, sir.”

“It was good seeing you again, Vladimir,” said Cawti.

“You too.”

“I miss you.”

I think I must have said something there, and then I was walking away from the house. I heard the door close. “Thud,” it said.

“No one. You’d think they’d have this place watched all the time.”

“Who? What?”

“The Jhereg, Boss. You know, the ones trying to kill you?”

“Oh, right. Them.”

“You okay, Boss?”

“Compared to what? Compared to how I’d be if there’d been assassins waiting outside her house, I’m doing fine.”

“Boss, why wasn’t her house being watched?”

“Economics. If they’re going to watch here, there are at least ten other places to watch. That’s more than thirty people they have to pay to stand around and not earn, on the chance that I’ll show up. They want me bad, but I don’t think they want me that bad.”

“What if you’re wrong?”

“Then they were here and I didn’t see them. Or they weren’t here for some other reason. What’s the point in what-ifs, Loiosh?”

“To get answers.”

“How?”

“Gee, Boss. Do you know anyone in the Jhereg who might be willing to talk to you?”

“Kragar.”

“Kragar.”

“So, how do we get there without telling the whole Jhereg where we are? Any suggestions for that, O wise one?”

He made a couple of sarcastic ones. I trusted him and Rocza to keep a careful watch for me; I let my mind wander to see if it happened to stumble over a clue or something. I was making my way toward the Stone Bridge when Loiosh said,
“Let’s steer clear of Five Markets, Boss. It’s too easy to miss something.”
It was a good plan, and I was happy to go along with it. My mind, instead of looking for clues, sent me down the best alternate route, which was along the Flintway. Farther down, past where I was going, the Flintway would run into Malak Circle, and from there it was just a step to my old area.

So I continued until I reached the long, winding Flintway, which meandered from the Chain Bridge to what had once been the Flintwood Estates, far out of town. It was an uncomfortably narrow street, with rooming houses of three and four stories looming over you and channels cut into odd places for drainage. It changed its name three or four times during the walk, but to locals it was always the Flintway. I walked past a woodworker’s shop. The door to the shop was flanked by the doors to two rooming houses. In one of them, there had once lived the mistress of a s’yang-stone banker who had thought
he could make some extra cash by feeding information to his boss’s competitor. I’d gotten him as he emerged from visiting his mistress. Yep, that same odd mark in the grain of the door, like someone had partially squashed a pear.

A little farther down it joined Malak Circle. From there I cut left; my feet knew the way. I felt an odd little jolt as I reached my destination. I stepped inside, exchanged nods with the guy keeping the peace for the players, and gestured upstairs. He gave me an odd look as he nodded, like he might suspect who I was but wasn’t sure. I made my way up the narrow stairs.

I didn’t recognize the secretary; he seemed rather small, friendly, ingenuous, and was probably very dangerous. He asked if he might be of some service to me.

“Is Kragar around? That is, assuming you’d notice.”

He smiled as if it were a shared joke, just between us. “I’m afraid he’s stepped out. If you’d care to wait?” He gestured to a chair.

“Sure,” I said.

I sat down and stretched out, memories of this old place flooding back. Funny, I’d never noticed the smell before: a mix from the herbalist shop across the street, the baker down the way, and the musky smell of ancient furniture. Kragar should get around to getting new furniture one of these days. It was comfortable, though.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

He looked up, and smiled. “Yenth,” he said, or something like that.

“A pleasure,” I told him. “I’m Vlad.”

“Yes, I know,” he said pleasantly. “The jhereg on your shoulders were kind of a clue.”