The Book of Jhereg Page 27
I was not at all displeased by this. For an Easterner kid who used to work his ass off running a restaurant that earned eight gold in a good week, a thousand plus wasn’t bad. I wondered why I hadn’t gotten into this end sooner.
The only other major thing I did for the next few months was buy a small narcotics and psychedelics business to give me a cover for my life-style. I hired a bookkeeper to make everything look good. I also hired a few more enforcers because I wanted to be ready for any possible trouble from my managers or from punks trying to muscle in.
Mostly what I had them do was what I call “hang-around duty.” This involves just what it says—hanging around the neighborhood. The reason for doing this was that this neighborhood was very popular with young toughs, mostly of the House of the Orca, who’d wander through and harass people. Most of these kids were broke most of the time, when they weren’t mugging the Teckla who made up the majority of the citizenry. They came here because it was close to the docks and because Teckla lived here. “Hang-around” duty meant finding these jerks and booting them the Phoenix out of there.
When I was growing up, and collecting lumps from guys who’d go out “whisker-cutting,” most of them were Orcas. Because of this, I gave my enforcers very explicit instructions about what to do to anyone they caught a second time. And, because these instructions were carried out, in less than three weeks my area was one of the safest in Adrilankha after dark. We started spreading rumors, too—you know, the virgin with the bag of gold at midnight—and it got so I almost believed them myself.
By my figuring, the increase in business paid for the extra enforcers in four months.
During that period, I “worked” a few times to increase my cash supply and to show the world that I could still do it. But, as I said, nothing much happened that concerns us now.
And then my good neighbor, Laris, showed me why I hadn’t gotten into this end sooner.
* * *
The day after I’d tried to break up the game and ended by throwing up on the street, I sent Kragar to find people who worked with or knew Laris. I killed time around the office, throwing knives and swapping jokes with my secretary. (“How many Easterners does it take to sharpen a sword? Four: one to hold the sword and three to move the grindstone.”)
Kragar came back just before noon.
“What did you find out?”
He opened a little notebook and scanned through it.
“Laris,” he said, “started out as a collector for a moneylender in Dragaera City. He spent thirty or forty years at it, then made some connections and began his own business. While he was collecting he also ‘worked’ once or twice, as part of the job.
“He stayed a moneylender and made a good living at it for about sixty years, until Adron’s Disaster and the Interregnum. He dropped out of sight then, like everyone else, and showed up in Adrilankha about a hundred and fifty years ago selling Jhereg titles to Easterners.”
I interrupted. “Could he have been the one—”
“I don’t know, Vlad. It occurred to me, too—about your father—but I couldn’t find out.”
“It doesn’t matter. Go on.”
“Okay. About fifty years ago he went to work for Welok as an enforcer. It looks like he ‘worked’ a few more times, then started running a small area directly under Welok, twenty years ago, when Welok took over from K’tang the Hook. When the Blade took the trip—”
“From there I know it.”
“Okay. So now what?”
I thought this over. “He hasn’t had any real setbacks, has he?”
“No.”
“He’s also never been in charge of a war.”
“That isn’t quite true, Vlad. I was told that he pretty much ran the fight against the Hook by himself, which was why Welok turned the area over to him.”
“But if he was only an enforcer then—”
“I don’t know,” said Kragar. “I get the feeling that there was more to it than that, but I’m not sure just what it is.”
“Hmmmm. Could he have been running another area during that time? Behind the scenes, or something?”
“Maybe. Or he might have had some kind of club over Welok’s head.”
“That,” I said, “I find hard to believe. The Blade was one tough son-of-a-bitch.”
Kragar shrugged. “One story I heard is that Laris offered him the Hook’s area, if he could run it. I tried to verify that, but no one else had heard of it.”
“Where did you hear it?”
“A free-lance enforcer who worked for Laris during the war. A guy named Ishtvan.”
“Ishtvan? An Easterner?”
“No, just a guy with an Eastern name. Like Mario.”
“If he’s like Mario, I want him!”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah. Okay, send a messenger to Laris. Tell him I’d like to get together with him.”
“He’s going to want to know where.”
“Right. Find out if there’s a good restaurant that he owns, and make it there. Say, noon tomorrow.”
“Check.”
“And send a couple of enforcers in here. I’m going to want protection.”
“Right.”
“Get going.”
He got.
“Hey, boss. What’s this about ‘protection’?”
“What about it?”
“You got me, don’tcha? What’d ya need those other clowns for?”
“Peace of mind. Go to sleep.”
* * *
One of the enforcers who’d been with me from the time when I took over the area was called N’aal the Healer. He got the name first, the story goes, when he was sent to collect on a late payment from a Chreotha noble. He and his partner went to the guy’s flat and clapped at the door. They asked for the money, and the guy snorted and said, “For what?”
N’aal came up with a hammer. “I’m a healer,” he said. “I see you got a whole head. I can heal that for you.” The Chreotha got the message, and N’aal got the gold. His partner spread the story around and the name stuck.
Anyway, N’aal the Healer walked in about two hours after I’d told Kragar to send the messenger. I inquired as to his business.
“Kragar had me deliver a message,” he said.
“Oh. Did you get an answer?”
“Yeah. I saw one of Laris’s people and delivered it. Word came back that it was fine with him.”
“Good. Now, if Kragar would just show up, I could find out where—”
“I’m right here, boss.”
“Eh? Oh. Jerk. Get lost, N’aal.”
“Where am I?” he said, as he headed out the door. Kragar flipped it shut with his foot and stretched out.
“Where is it set up for?” I asked him.
“A place called ‘The Terrace.’ Good place. You won’t get out for less than a gold apiece.”
“I can stand it,” I said.
“They make a mean pepper sausage, boss.”
“Now, how would you know that?”
“I hit their garbage dump once in a while.”
Ask a stupid question . . .
“Okay,” I continued to Kragar, “Did you arrange protection for me?”
He nodded. “Two. Varg and Temek.”
“They’ll do.”
“Also, I’ll be there. Just sort of being quiet and hanging around. I doubt he’ll even notice me.” He smirked.
“Fair enough. Any advice?”
He shook his head. “I’m as new at this as you are.”
“Okay. I’ll do my best. Any other business?”
“No. Everything’s running smooth, as usual.”
“May it stay that way,” I said, rapping my knuckles on the desk. He looked at me, puzzled.
“An Eastern custom,” I explained. “It’s supposed to bring good luck.”
He still looked puzzled, but didn’t say anything.
I took out a dagger and started flipping it.
* * *
He had absolutely no sense of humor.
Temek was tall and so thin you could hardly see him if you came at him sideways. He had deep, brown eyes—friendly eyes. He was a weapons master. He could use an axe, a stick, a dagger, a throwing knife, any kind of sword, shuriken, darts, poisons of all types, rope, or even a Verra-be-damned piece of paper. Also, he was a pretty good sorcerer for a Jhereg outside of the Bitch Patrol—the Left Hand. He was the only enforcer I had that I knew, with one hundred percent certainty, had done “work”—because Kragar had given him the job at my orders.
A month before this business with Laris started, a certain Dzurlord had borrowed a large sum from someone who worked for me, and was refusing to pay it back. Now this Dzurlord was what you call “established”; that is, he was considered a hero by the House of the Dzur, and had earned it several times over. He was a wizard (which is like a sorcerer, only more so), and more than just a little bit good with a blade. So he figured that there was nothing we could do if he decided not to pay us. We sent people over to plead with him to be reasonable, but he was rude enough to kill them. This cost me fifteen hundred gold for my half of the revivification on one of them (the moneylender, of course, paid the other half), and five thousand gold to the family of the second, who couldn’t be revivified.
Now I did not consider these sums to be trifling. Also, the guy we’d lost had been a friend at one time. All in all, I was irritated. I told Kragar, “I do not want this individual to pollute the world any longer. See that this is attended to.”
Kragar told me that he’d hired Temek and paid him thirty-six hundred gold—not unreasonable for a target as formidable as this Dzur was. Well, four days later—four days, mark you, not four weeks—someone stuck a javelin through the back of Lord Hero’s head and pinned his face to a wall with it. Also, his left hand was missing.
When the Empire investigated, all they learned was that his hand had been blown off by his own wizard staff exploding, which also accounted for the failure of all his defensive spells. The investigators shrugged and said, “Mario did it.” Temek was never even questioned. . . .
* * *
So I brought Temek and Varg in the next morning and had them close the door and sit down.
“Gentlemen,” I explained, “I am going to a restaurant called ‘The Terrace’ in a few hours. I am going to have a meal with a certain man and speak to him. There is a chance that he will wish to do me bodily harm. You are to prevent this from happening. Clear?”
“Yes,” said Varg.
“No problem, boss,” said Temek. “If he tries anything, we’ll make pieces out of him.”
“Good.” This was the kind of talk I liked. “I want an escort there and back, too.”
“Yes,” said Varg.
“No extra charge,” said Temek.
“We leave here fifteen minutes before noon.”
“We’ll be here,” said Temek. He turned to Varg. “Wanna look the place over first?”
“Yes,” said Varg.
Temek turned back to me. “If we aren’t back on time, boss, my woman lives above Cabron and Sons, and she’s got a thing for Easterners.”
“That’s kind of you,” I told him. “Scatter.”
He left. Varg dropped his eyes to the floor briefly, which is what he used for a bow, and followed him. When the door had closed, I counted to thirty, slowly, then went past my secretary, and out into the street. I saw their retreating backs.
“Follow them, Loiosh. Make sure they do what they said they were going to.”
“Suspicious, aren’t you?”
“Not suspicious; paranoid. Go.”
He went. I followed his progress for a ways, then went back inside. I sat down in my chair and got out a brace of throwing knives that I keep in my desk. I swiveled left to face the target, and started throwing them.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
3
“This Laris teckla is no teckla.”
“HEY, BOSS! LET ME in.”
“Coming, Loiosh.”
I wandered out of the office, into the shop, and opened the door. Loiosh landed on my shoulder.
“Well?”
“Just like they said, boss. They went in, and I watched through the doorway. Varg stood and looked around, Temek got a glass of water. That’s all. They didn’t talk to anyone, and it didn’t look like they were in psionic communication.”
“Okay. Good.”
By then I was back in the office. I consulted the Imperial Clock through my link and found that I still had over an hour. It’s the waiting that really gets to you in this business.
I leaned back, put my feet up on the desk, and stared at the ceiling. It was made of wooden slats that used to be painted. A preservation spell would have cost about thirty gold, and would have kept the paint fresh for at least twenty years. But “God-boss” hadn’t done it. Now the paint, a sick white, was chipping and falling. An Athyra would probably have taken this as a sign. Fortunately I wasn’t an Athyra.
Unfortunately, Easterners have always been superstitious fools.
“Boss? Varg and Temek.”
“Send them in.”
They entered. “Right on time, boss!” said Temek. Varg just looked at me.
“Okay,” I said, “let’s go.”
The three of us left the office, went into the shop. I was heading toward the door when—
“Hold it a minute, boss.” I knew that tone of telepathy, so I stopped.
“What is it, Loiosh?”
“Me first.”
“Oh? Oh. All right.”
I stepped to the side. I was about to tell Varg to open the door when he came up and did it. I noted that. Loiosh flew out.
“All clear, boss.”
“Okay.”
I nodded. Varg stepped out first, then I, then Temek. We turned left and strolled up Copper Lane. My grandfather, while teaching me Eastern fencing, had warned me against being distracted by shadows. I told him, “Noish-pa, there are no shadows near the Empire. The sky is always—”
“I know, Vladimir, I know. Don’t be distracted by shadows. Concentrate on the target.”
“Yes, Noish-pa.”
I don’t know why that occurred to me, just then.
We reached Malak Circle and walked around it to the right, then headed up Lower Kieron Road. I was in enemy territory. It looked just like home.
Stipple Road joined Lower Kieron at an angle, coming in from the southwest. Just past this point, on the left, was a low stone building nestled in between a cobbler’s shop and an inn. Across the street was a three-story house, divided into six flats.
The low building was set back about forty feet from the street, and there was a terrace with maybe a dozen small tables set up on it. Four of these were occupied. Three of them we ignored, because there were women or kids at them. The fourth, close to the door, had one man, in the black and gray of House Jhereg. He might as well have been wearing a sign saying “ENFORCER.”
We noted him and continued. Varg walked inside first. While we waited, Temek glanced around openly, looking like a tourist at the Imperial Palace.
Varg came out and nodded. Loiosh flew in and perched at the back of an unoccupied booth. “Looks good, boss.”
I entered, and stopped just past the threshold. I wanted to let my ey
es adjust to the dim light. I also wanted to turn and bolt back home. Instead, I took a couple of deep breaths and walked in.
As the inviter, it was up to me to select the table. I found one against the back wall. I sat so I could watch the entire room (I noticed a couple more of Laris’s people in the process), while Varg and Temek took a table about fifteen feet away. It had an unobstructed view of mine, yet was politely out of earshot.
At precisely noon, a middle-aged (say around a thousand) Jhereg walked into the room. He was of medium height, average girth. His face was nondescript. He wore a medium-heavy blade at his side and a full cloak. There were none of the telltale signs of the assassin about him. I saw no bulges where weapons were likely to be hidden, his eyes didn’t move as an assassin’s would, he didn’t hold himself with the constant readiness that I, or any other assassin, would recognize. Yet—
Yet he had something else. He was one of those rare people who radiates power. His eyes were steady, but cold. His arms were relaxed at his sides, his cloak thrown back. His hands looked perfectly normal, yet I was aware that I feared them.
I was an assassin, trying to be a boss. Laris had maybe “worked” once or twice, but he was a boss. He was made to run Jhereg businesses. He would command loyalty, treat his people well, and suck every copper piece possible from everything he had a hand in. If things had worked out differently I might have gone with Laris instead of Tagichatn, and he and I could have done well together. It was a shame.
He slid in across from me, bowing and smiling warmly. “Baronet Taltos,” he said. “Thank you for the invitation. I don’t get here often enough; it’s a good place.”
I nodded. “It’s my pleasure, my lord. I’ve heard it highly spoken of. I’m told it’s very well-managed.”
He smiled at that, knowing that I knew, and bowed his head to acknowledge the compliment. “I’m told you know something of the restaurant business yourself, Baronet.”
“Call me Vlad. Yes, a little bit. My father—”
We were interrupted by the waiter. Laris said, “The pepper sausage is particularly good.”
“See, boss, I—”
“Shut up, Loiosh.”
“So I’ve heard.” I told the waiter, “Two please,” and turned back to Laris. “A red wine, I think, my lord. Per—”