The Three Lands Omnibus (2011 Edition) (113 page)

"Locked at this time of night, sir, and within full view of the main corridor, which is always busy. No one could enter the royal residence in that way."
"In any case, the man we're looking for was planning to come through this entrance. He must have been scared away when I walked past, but he'll be back." Quentin-Andrew gave a small smile, the hardest exercise he had undergone all night, since he had to remember which face muscles to use. "Forgive me, sublieutenant, for interfering in business that is your own, but my guess is that we are dealing with one of my enemy colleagues. If that's the case, then the man we're waiting for is very dangerous and very clever. He'll be arriving here in disguise – he may already have been disguised for many weeks now. He may be a soldier you know and trust, perhaps even an official."
"Not even army officials can enter the residence unless we allow them to, sir," Roe said flatly.
"And your own officials? We should alert them to what has happened—"
"The Lieutenant of the Royal Residence Watch is in meeting with the Captain of the Palace Guard tonight," Orrick volunteered. His eyes had been darting from wall to wall all this time, as though anticipating the moment of confrontation. "They'll both be in the royal residence."
Quentin-Andrew nodded as though he had known this already, as indeed he had. "And my official, alas, is out on a mission; that means I report directly to the Jackal. So we can receive no help there."
"If we called an alert—" said Orrick eagerly.
"The spy would take alarm from the noise and escape," said Roe. "That's what you fear, isn't it, sir?"
"Worse than that. I fear that whichever official we contacted about this would turn out to be the spy himself." Quentin-Andrew allowed himself to slump dejectedly against the wall. "The only men I would absolutely trust in this palace are my fellow thieves, and they happen to be the only men who could track down this spy or assassin or whatever he turns out to be. The trouble is, only the Jackal knows how to contact the other thieves." He raised his eyes and held them steady upon Roe's. "I'm sorry, sublieutenant, but it appears that either you or Soldier Orrick will need to enter the royal residence to let the Jackal know what has happened."
Blood welled as Orrick bit into his lip; the younger guard looked quickly toward Roe. Roe was evidently well versed in stoic expressions, but he said quietly, "One man can't hold this entrance, sir. Do you have experience in guarding?"
"None, I'm afraid." Quentin-Andrew tried a self-deprecating smile, and then abandoned the effort. "I'm trained only to defend myself through a quick killing. I take it that what we need in this case is to capture the spy so that he can be questioned."
"Yes, sir." Roe kept his gaze fixed on Quentin-Andrew, and Quentin-Andrew was careful not to allow his own gaze to waver. Hidden in the palm of his right hand was his thigh-dagger; if this plan did not work, he would have to kill the guards after all, and he could not allow himself that pleasure tonight. Dead guards would cause greater excitement in the palace than unconscious ones.
After a moment, Roe eased Quentin-Andrew by saying, "I'm sorry, sir; we're under orders to remain at our posts until we are relieved. I'm afraid that you'll need to carry the news to the Jackal of what has happened."
"Well." Quentin-Andrew swallowed in an obvious manner, and then cleared his throat. "No doubt he has a guard at his door who can give the report—"
"No guard, sir; the Jackal doesn't need one. We're only here to protect the other residents of the royal residence." Roe stepped back from the doorway. "Don't worry, sir. If he hears you knock at the door, he'll take the time to learn who you are, and he has met you before."
"Very well." Quentin-Andrew was intensely aware of the passing minutes; he decided that it was time to look forceful again. Squaring his shoulders like a spy setting out on a difficult and possibly life-threatening mission, he said, "If he has any special orders for you, I'll report back. Otherwise . . ."
"No one will pass through this doorway, sir," Roe reassured him. "Not even the subcommander himself."
Quentin-Andrew nodded, adding in a quiet voice as he stepped by, "I'll let the Jackal know how well served he has been tonight." Then he was through the entrance, and he was able to let the dagger lie loose in his hand.
Too long, he thought; it had taken too long to pass that keen-eyed sublieutenant, and if Roe had possessed just a few years more of experience, Quentin-Andrew would not have been able to pass him at all.
Now, of course, Roe would never gain that experience. By this time next week, the sublieutenant would be dismissed or dead, depending on how heavily he was punished for tonight's mistake. But that was a matter of no interest to Quentin-Andrew.
He climbed two flights of steps, pausing only to scoop up a loose chip of marble that he felt underfoot. The stairs were unlit; if the stories about the Jackal were true, the god-man needed no extra help in negotiating the night darkness. At the top of the steps, Quentin-Andrew hesitated in the shadows. No sound came from the corridor except a soft exchange of men's voices to the right; that would be the Lieutenant of the Royal Residence Watch in meeting with his official. Aside from the Jackal, only the High Lord and his family lived in the royal residence. The Jackal's heir had moved from the palace many years ago, purportedly so that he could raise his son in quiet isolation from palace politics.
Quentin-Andrew threw the chip of marble forward into the lighted corridor, then waited. No guard came to investigate. After a moment, he eased his way into the corridor, looked quickly toward the closed doors to the right, and walked equally swiftly to the left, toward the door at the end of the corridor.
The door was unmarked, and was lit only by the glow of the golden stones of the corridor's outside wall. Quentin-Andrew tested the latch cautiously before he began edging the door open at the same speed that a middle-aged tortoise would use when it was in no great hurry. The door had opened little wider than a hand's span when Quentin-Andrew slid inside the chamber and closed the door swiftly and noiselessly.
The shutters in the room were closed; a moment passed before Quentin-Andrew was able to adjust to the patrol vision he had acquired as a child. There was little to see in any case: a table, a stool, a trunk, a bed, and the ruler of Koretia, curled up peacefully in his slumbers.
His back was to the door; Quentin-Andrew could just see the shimmer of his silver hair. The rest of his body was in clear outline against the light peering through the cracks of one of the shutters. On this warm summer's night, the Jackal had abandoned all blankets and lay only in his undertunic and breech-cloth. He looked as defenseless as a child. Not even a cushion lay under his head, the first place Quentin-Andrew had looked, since that was the best place to hide a dagger during the night. With his hand still curled around his thigh-dagger, Quentin-Andrew cautiously approached the ruler. He could see the other side of the Jackal's body now. The ruler's hands were empty and were beyond reach of any object or hiding place.
Quentin-Andrew raised his blade so that it was in line with the Jackal's heart. The light from the shutter shone upon the dagger, causing a small reflection to appear on the opposite wall. Hastily, Quentin-Andrew turned the blade so that the reflection now shimmered on the dark skin of the Jackal's arm. He raised his other hand in order to muffle the Jackal's mouth.
His hand never touched the Jackal. A roar filled the room like the sound of fire eating the heart of a building. Quentin-Andrew saw a shimmer of light move toward him like a falling star, and then he was staggering back, his heart pounding from the pain across his right cheek, where five wounds had suddenly appeared.
Only his quick retreat saved him. The next swipe of the claws, aimed at his heart, fell short of its target, and the Jackal made no immediate effort to follow him. Quentin-Andrew could see the god-man's body only dimly, but his face was as clear as midday: his eyes shone like sun-sparks, his whiskers curled back like butchers' blades, and his teeth were honed to arrow-points. His mouth was smiling.
Quentin-Andrew did not notice that his own body was shaking; he was busy judging the distance between himself and the door. The windows were too far away to escape through, but it made no difference. On second reflection, he realized that any movement he made toward an exit would result in his immediate death. He wished that he had paid closer attention to the stories about the Jackal, as well as to Roe's veiled warning.
The Jackal's roar had diminished, but now a snarling began, like a warning sign given by a beast that is too polite to attack without cause. In the same moment, Quentin-Andrew realized that his greatest mistake had been to enter this chamber armed. With rapid calculation he weighed the odds against himself, and then he dropped the thigh-dagger onto the floor.
The snarling stopped, but the Jackal remained as he was, poised on the edge of his toes, ready to pounce. With a voice as deep as thunder and as soft as flames, the god-man said,
"How dare you come into my presence, you who lie under my curse."
Quentin-Andrew was finding it increasingly hard to breathe, and he laid a silent curse upon himself for seeking out the one man he had most cause to avoid. His voice was cool, though, as he replied, "I came to seek your advice, Jackal."
In an instant, the room turned dark. Blind to all images, Quentin-Andrew waited with tensed muscles, straining his spirit to hear the Jackal's approach. A light flared. Quentin-Andrew shaded his eyes, and when he lowered his arm, the god-man of Koretia stood before him, emptied of his power.
His human face was in no way remarkable, except for his eyes, which were as black as dead coals. His face contained many lines from old age; his body contained many lines too, but most of these were old blade wounds. Quentin-Andrew realized, with rueful belatedness, that even without his godly power, the Jackal might not have proved easy to overcome. He stood stiffly, enduring the Jackal's inspection, but his breath whistled in as the Jackal raised his left hand. On the nails of the Jackal's fingers, the blood from Quentin-Andrew's cheek was still fresh.
The Jackal laid his hand on that cheek, turning Quentin-Andrew's face gently toward the candlelight. He said quietly, "Your wounds need to be washed."
He turned away, and Quentin-Andrew, without being aware of the fact, closed his eyes momentarily and let his breath out in a long sigh. After a minute, the Jackal returned with a basin and washcloth in hand. He raised the cloth and began wiping the blood from Quentin-Andrew's cheek, which continued to burn sharply.
With his gaze focussed on his task, the Koretian ruler said softly, "May I know your name?"
Quentin-Andrew's eyes narrowed. "Don't you know it already?"
"I know only what my powers tell me: that you lie under the gods' curse." The Jackal stepped back, dipped his left hand briefly in the water, and wiped the remaining blood from his hand before placing the basin on the table nearby. As he did so, he carefully nudged three objects aside. Quentin-Andrew made note of them in an automatic manner.
The Jackal took several steps back. His body was now full in the light, and Quentin-Andrew could see the sagging skin and the slight tremble of old age. The ruler was still wearing nothing more than his undertunic. In the same soft voice as before, the Jackal said, "No one places men under the gods' curse in our day except the priests of the Unknowable God, and they have done so very few times over the years. I remember one case that occurred twenty years ago, when they placed the curse upon a borderlander because he had killed a twelve-year-old boy."
"I tortured him to death," Quentin-Andrew said in the emotionless voice of a man who simply wishes to clarify facts.
The Jackal made no immediate reply. In the interval of silence – which seemed empty and cold in comparison to the fire-roar that had come before – a pounding began upon the chamber door. "Jackal!" shouted an accompanying voice. "Jackal, are you in there?"
Quentin-Andrew's estimation of Roe rose another notch. It had not taken the sublieutenant long to recognize the flaws in Quentin-Andrew's story. Unhurriedly, the Jackal walked to the door and opened it slightly. A low-voiced discussion followed, and then the door closed. When the Jackal turned back, his expression had not changed. He said nothing more than, "You could teach my thieves a few lessons."
Quentin-Andrew shook his head. "My only skills in that respect are in breaking into buildings and breaking out of them."
"Breaking out of them," the Jackal murmured. Then: "How many times have you been arrested?"
Quentin-Andrew made no reply, and after a moment the Jackal nodded. "You tortured the boy to death," he said, as though there had been no pause in the conversation, "and because you were a boy yourself, not yet sixteen, you were beyond the penalties of the Chara's law. So the priests tried at first to talk with you, and when you refused to answer their questions, they tried to show you the evil you had done, so that you would turn your face once more toward the gods. But all that you said was, 'I cannot change what I am.' And so, seeing your cold refusal of all efforts to help you, they took the only path left to them: they placed you under the gods' curse and drove you from their midst."
Still Quentin-Andrew made no reply. His heart's pace was unhurried now, and his body was warm with the remembrance of what he had done. A smile entered into his eyes, and he saw the Jackal's expression flicker. Then the ruler asked, "Were you fond of the boy?"
"Why would I have been?" Quentin-Andrew replied tersely.
The Jackal raised his hands in a brief shrug. "I was trying to determine under what circumstances you would commit such a deed. Do you kill out of hatred? Or out of love?"
This was the first indication Quentin-Andrew had received that the Jackal's mind was as quick as his body. It took him a moment to formulate his reply. "I enjoy pain. Long pain most of all. And deep pain. If I know the person well, then I am able to drive the pain deeper."
"So," the Jackal said softly, "those who love you are in greatest danger from you."
"All are in danger from me."
The Jackal stood considering this. His hand was upon the table beside him, absentmindedly brushing the faded colors of a cluster of autumn leaves. After a while he asked, "Why have you come here?"