Tiassa (22 page)

SPECIAL
TASKS

C
HAPTER THE
F
IRST

How an Easterner Was Discovered
Under Unusual Circumstances,
Causing Some Degree of Consternation
Among the Authorities

It is well known among those who live to the north of the city of Adrilankha that as the great river makes its penultimate southward turn it creates pools, bars, eddies, and shoals. Moreover, as it makes this turn, it will often choose these pools, bars, eddies, and shoals as places to deposit any stray floating items it may have collected during its long journey from the far north. This flotsam may include an oar dropped by a boatman, a cake of soap dropped by a bather, a toy soldier dropped by a child, some spinnerweed flowers dropped by nature, or even, perhaps, a body.

The reader will, we trust, forgive the perhaps overly histrionic revelation of the particular object with which our attention is concerned. We hope, at any rate, that a life has not become such an unimportant thing as to render a small measure of drama inappropriate to the revelation of its end.

The body, we should say, was floating face upward, and turning in a slow circle in a channel separated from the rest of the river by a short, barren sandbar. It was seen first by a Teckla who was driving an oxcart toward Favintoe Market. This Teckla worked land that abutted the river a quarter of a mile from the sandbar; thus the Teckla, whose name proved to be Dyfon, passed by it every day. In the past, he had found an intricately carved doll, the tin cap of an ornate oil lamp, three feet of chreotha-web rope that he had thought at first was a pale yellow snake, a walking stick, and more than forty particularly interesting samples of driftwood, some of which he was able to sell. This, however, was his first body, and so he wasn’t entirely certain what he should do. After some few moments of contemplation he decided to pull it to shore—his work with hogs and poultry having left him without any special distaste for handling the dead.

Dyfon waded a few steps into the shallow water, grabbed the nearest boot, and pulled. Then he frowned and remarked, “Well now, it seems this fellow is alive.” The ox, we should add, had no immediate reaction to this statistic.

Having come to the conclusion that the fellow at his feet was a living rather than a dead man, Dyfon went on to make further inspections, followed by their attendant observations. “An Easterner, or I’ll be planted,” he said. “Complete with hair ’neath his nose. And looks to be bleeding as well.”

Dyfon finished pulling the Easterner to the shore, then considered, not wishing to make a hasty decision which he might have cause to regret. The reader will of course understand that Dyfon had never before had the experience of pulling a body from the river, still less a living body, and an Easterner, and one that was bleeding; so for these reasons, it is our opinion that he may be forgiven a few moments of consideration.

At the end of this time, which was not, to be sure, as long as one might think, he came to a certain decision, and being a practical man as Teckla so often are, he at once put this decision into action. He sat down and removed his boots, and then his stockings—they being, as it happened, his second pair—and put these (that is to say, the stockings) over the two biggest wounds, the one being a slash low on the Easterner’s side, the other a stab wound in the shoulder a scant few inches above the heart. He pushed the stockings, which, though not without holes, were of thick wool, as hard against the wounds as he could. Having done this in a workmanlike manner, he replaced his boots and set off with his ox to see if he could find help.

About two miles farther along, the road split, one side going directly to the market, the other leading toward the town of Junglebrook. This latter road, some distance before reaching the village we have just had the honor to mention, passed before a small travelers’ rest where, more often than not, could be found whichever pair of Phoenix Guards was, on this day, responsible for this region. Insofar as Dyfon hoped to find just such a pair, he was not disappointed; they sat in the far corner of the tavern, the man nursing a stout, the woman sipping a porter, both of them obvious by the gold half-cloaks draped over the backs of their chairs.

After a brief moment spent gathering his nerve as if it were grains of sand to be pulled into a pile, he approached them and bowed so deeply that his forehead positively touched the floor. The man glanced at the woman, rather than Dyfon, and said, “Good Nill, I nearly think our dull patrol has become interesting.”

“Well, Farind, and so do I. For not only would a Teckla never speak to us save under unusual circumstances—”

“Which conclusion I had also come to.”

“—But, moreover, there is blood upon both of his sleeves.”

“Blood which, you perceive, is not his own.”

“Therefore, we are about to learn of a dead or injured person.”

“Who is not a Teckla.”

“Not a Teckla? More than not a Teckla; who is not human!”

“Ah, there you have me. How have you deduced this?”

“You wish me to tell you?”

“If you would, for I am always eager to gain experience in the art of deductive reasoning, so vital if I am to rise to higher rank in the Phoenix Guards.”

“Well then, good Farind, it is this: As you have already concluded, were it animal blood, there would be nothing to tell. Were it a conflict among Teckla, they’d not have told us.”

“Exactly.”

“But if it were of any other House, he should be paralyzed with fear lest we accuse him of harming the noble, or failing to report it quickly enough, or lying, or any of the other thousand things Teckla fear us for.” At this point, she turned to the Teckla, addressing him for the first time. “Is the Easterner still living?”

Dyfon was unable to speak, but did manage to nod, at which time the two Dragonlords rose. “Then guide us to him,” said Farind. “For I find my partner’s logic completely convincing.”

Dyfon, in response to this, tried again to speak, but then merely bowed and turned away, looking over his shoulder to see that the two Phoenix Guards were following him. This they were doing, donning their uniform cloaks as they did so. Once outside, they retrieved their horses from the stable, had them saddled, and mounted with practiced ease. As they did this, Dyfon went to his cart.

“No,” said the guardsman called Nill. “Leave that. It will slow us down.”

“On the contrary,” said Farind. “Bring it. It will make it easier to bring the body.”

Dyfon opened his mouth, closed it, then did the same with his hands. Farind observed this and said, “You may give this to your master in lieu of the supplies you were unable to get; he should be sufficiently understanding.” With this he tossed a silver coin to the Teckla, who dropped it and then recovered it.

“Thank you, my lord,” he managed. Farind carefully noted the expenditure in a note-book he carried for the purpose, after which he nodded to Dyfon to indicate that it was time to go.

Dyfon began to lead the way, driving the ox at his usual steady pace. He wondered if the Easterner might have died while he was gone, or, to the left, have recovered and walked off. He hoped fervently, should either be the case, that he would not be held responsible by the two Dragonlords. From this we can conclude that a Teckla is no less capable of hope than anyone else; indeed, if there is any trait that is universal, it must be hope, or, rather, the capacity for hope. It may well be that even Easterners are possessed of this capability.

Dyfon guided them well, and, as it chanced, the Easterner was not only there, but still breathing. The two Dragonlords dismounted and gave him a cursory inspection. Nill glanced up and chuckled. “I’m sorry, my friends, but you will miss this meal.” Dyfon, following her gaze, saw a pair of jhereg circling overhead and shuddered.

“Interesting,” said Farind. “You perceive he carries a scabbard for a sword, and a dagger in his sleeve?”

“And charms about his neck.”

“Shall we bring him to a physicker?”

“Let us see what else he carries. I suspect he may be of the House of the Jhereg, for else how would he dare carry a weapon openly?”

“And yet,” said Farind, “he does not wear the colors.”

“So I had observed.”

“And then?”

“What is this?”

“An Imperial signet! An Easterner with an Imperial title!”

“Well,” said Nill, “this is an enigma wrapped in, ah…”

“Another enigma?”

“Precisely.”

“I suggest we bring him to headquarters. There they can decide if he should be given to the care of a physicker.”

“And yet, should he die on the journey, and prove to be important in some way, then headquarters would be required to consider the expense of a revivification.”

“Well, and if they are?”

“Should they then decide we were culpable, we might be charged for it.”

“Ah, I should mislike that.”

“As should I.”

“And then?”

“Let us examine his wounds, and attempt to determine how quickly this decision ought to be made.”

“Very well, I agree with this plan.”

They made a quick examination and deduced that, thanks to the Teckla’s stockings, the Easterner would most likely survive being moved. This decision made, they loaded him onto the oxcart, where he suffered through a bumpy ride with significantly less discomfort than he would have experienced had he been awake.

While it is the case that the headquarters of the Phoenix Guards was located in the Dragon Wing of the Palace, the reader should be aware that, when Farind and Nill spoke of headquarters, this was not the place to which they referred. Instead, on Old Quarry Road, not far from the market that had been Dyfon’s original destination, was the North Central Guard Station, a two-story building of baked brick painted a particularly hideous shade of orange. It was to this station that our Dragonlords referred when they spoke of headquarters, and it was, therefore, to this station that the Easterner was accordingly brought.

Upon their arrival, a messenger was at once dispatched for a physicker. Nill and Farind asked Dyfon for his name and lord, which information Dyfon gave for the simple reason that he was too frightened not to; and they also took down what little information he had, after which they went in to see their ensign. Dyfon, for his part, returned to his task and his life. To our regret, we must now bid him farewell, as he no longer forms any part of the history we have taken upon ourselves to relate.

Upon presenting themselves to the ensign, whose name was Shirip, they saluted and, in the brief and business-like manner she required, they explained what had brought them back early from their patrol. The ensign listened until they explained about finding the signet in his purse, at which time her eyebrows rose and she made a noise which Farind and Nill interpreted as surprise.

“I believe,” said the ensign after some consideration, “that you did the right thing. For an Imperial noble to be permitted to die would reflect poorly on our ability to protect our citizens. And yet—”

“Well?” said Nill.

“An Easterner with an Imperial title. It is exceptional. More than exceptional, in fact, it is unusual.”

“And then?” said Farind. “Shall we question him when the physicker has finished?”

“No,” said the ensign. “While I have no fear of battle, nor of crossing swords with anyone you might name, still do I confess that there are things I fear. Rather than risking giving offense to an Imperial lord by questioning him, or annoying my superior officers by letting him go, I will inform the Wing of what has happened, and await instructions.”

Nill said, “If I may speak, Commander.”

“Yes?”

“This seems wise to me, only—”

“Well?”

“What if he should wake up before we have heard from the Wing?”

“Oh, in that case—”

“Well?”

“As the Vallista say, we will burn that house when we enter it.”

Farind frowned, as he was not, in fact, certain that the Vallista said this; but he and Nill comprehended her meaning, and at once nodded and said, “We understand, Ensign. Shall we then return to our duty?”

“Yes, do you do that. I will see that word of this matter reaches the proper ears.”

Nill and Farind bowed and took their leave. The ensign, true to her word, at once wrote out a message to what the guardsmen called the Wing, but was, in fact, the actual headquarters of the Phoenix Guards. She made the decision that the message was not of sufficient urgency to require psychic transmission, and so, upon completing the message, dispatched a messenger, who, thanks to possessing, first, a good pair of legs, and, second, the willingness to use them, less than half an hour later reached the Offices of the Captain of the Phoenix Guard in the Dragon Wing of the Palace.

Once there, he wasted no time in pleasantries, but put the message at once into the hand of Lord Raanev, the personal secretary to the captain (not to be confused with the captain’s confidential servant, whom we shall meet presently). This worthy received the message with the greatest aplomb, glanced at it, and at once replied with a single word: “Interesting.”