Hawk (Vlad) Page 7

  “Wait. What?”

  “Sorry. Eight or so years ago you made a reference to an incident that had happened a hundred years or so before that.”

  “I keep forgetting what a good memory you have.”

  “I have a terrible memory, Kiera.”

  “You have a good memory for the oddest things. All right. What incident?”

  “You mentioned a phoenix made of gold jade.”

  “I did?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Was I drunk?”

  “A little.”

  “All right. What about it?”

  “You were talking about the lock on the display case.”

  “I remember that lock.”

  “And you mentioned using an enchanted lockpick.”

  “I must have been really drunk,” said Kiera.

  * * *

  I was going to need Kiera’s enchanted lockpick.

  I need to explain.

  I got this story from Kiera, and most of the names are probably wrong because she was drunk and most likely lying about them. But that’s fine because you don’t need to know the names anyway; I just want you to understand a bit of the background, all right? If all the names and stuff confuse you, forget it; that isn’t the point.

  It was never about stealing the jade. Not that gold jade isn’t beautiful, and three-quarters of a pound of it was worth a fortune even before Nescaffi had put his genius to it. But stealing the jade was only a means to an end. There was a man named Scaanil who coveted anything and everything by Nescaffi. It was all about Scaanil, and that made it about the jade.

  Which made it about the lock on the display case.

  Nedev, who owned the jade phoenix, had good taste in art, and a lot of money; the case had been designed by Tudin of Threehills, which meant Kiera was far and away the best choice to steal it, if she could be persuaded to take the job. She could.

  The enchantment that secured the lock was by Heffesca of Longlake, which sent Kiera to Litra.

  Litra wasn’t the name she was born with; she took it five hundred years ago when she moved to Adrilankha. No one knew where she came from or who she was before. She had the dark complexion and sharp features of the House of the Hawk, though of course she was now a Jhereg. She took the name Litra, which was the Dragaeran form of a Serioli word that means “to scrounge.”

  Litra lived in the Captain’s Corner district, surrounded by the ramshackle dwellings of petty merchants. Her own home blended in, but in fact it continued down more than fifty feet below street level, and it was in the subbasements that Litra did her work. Since the Interregnum, she was known as one of the best at what she did.

  So, Kiera gave her details of the position and composition of the pins, the position of the stepper, the weight of the hammer, and the complex interleaving of spells that would preserve the integrity of the lock, verifying the identity of anyone attempting to open it, and sounding an alert if it was opened.

  Litra listened carefully, then said, “I’ve always wanted to go against Heffesca.”

  “I’ve always wanted to go against Tudin,” said Kiera.

  “Three days,” said Litra.

  “I’ll be back then.”

  And she was, and she got the jade, and she put it into the hand of the man who’d hired her, and a week later Scaanil’s severed head turned up on the street outside the Undauntra’s Arms, where the sorceress who’d hired Mario for the job ran her business.

  And that’s what a very drunk Kiera had told me that evening. Some conversations you remember.

  * * *

  “Well, yeah, you were kind of drunk.”

  “All right. What about my lockpick?”

  “Mind if I borrow it?”

  She looked at me. “I’m not sure what to ask first.”

  “You want to ask why.”

  “Yes. You’re right. Why?”

  “I don’t want to tell you.”

  “Why didn’t I see that coming?”

  I smiled.

  “All right. How long will you need it?”

  “Not long. A week at the most.”

  “What are the chances that I’ll get it back?”

  “Fair. If you’re willing to find my dead, soulless corpse and loot it, they go up to excellent.”

  “It’s like that, is it?”

  “Isn’t it always?”

  “Pretty much.”

  She studied me through slitted eyes. “Give me a hint.”

  “I might be able to get myself out of trouble with the Jhereg,” I told her, because she deserved to know, and because I knew I’d enjoy watching her face when I said it.

  “Really!”

  The expression on her face was all I could have wanted. I was beginning to enjoy this.

  “Maybe,” I told her. “I’m not sure yet, but, yeah, I just might manage to pull this off. It’ll be tricky, and I’m going to need help, but yeah.”

  She nodded and her eyes seemed to light up. “How?”

  “By offering them something they want as much as my head.”

  “I can’t imagine what that might be.”

  “I have a good imagination,” I said.

  She glanced around the area again, then turned her attention back to me. “Money, of course. But it would have to be a lot of it. Are you planning to knock over the Dragon treasury?”

  “Nothing so direct, or impossible.”

  She studied me for a minute or two, then said, “It has to be either a scam, or a new business.”

  “A scam would be temporary.”

  “That was going to be my next sentence. What’s the business?”

  “Remember when I said I don’t want to tell you?”

  She looked like she was about to argue, then she said, “All right.”

  “So I can use the lockpick?”

  “You’re sure it wouldn’t be better to just have me open the lock?”

  “I’m sure. I may not even need it. In fact, if things go as I hope, I won’t need it. But if I do, you wouldn’t be—never mind. I’m sure.”

  “All right. What’s the best way to get it to you?”

  “Do you have any favorite drops?”

  “Several. Do you know Filsin’s tannery?”

  “I’ve seen it.”

  “Go around to the back, face the door, turn and take three paces to your left, and at knee level is a loose stone. The pick will be there by this time tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Kiera.”

  “Good luck,” she said. She kissed my cheek again, then she was gone.

  I knew what I wanted to do next. I couldn’t think of any way to do it, and it wasn’t at all necessary to my plan, but I wanted to go visit my estranged wife and my son, because if this was going to kill me I really ought to say good-bye. But the Jhereg would be watching her and watching the house.

  So much for what I wanted.

  I only learned of my son when he was about four. That kind of thing happens when you’re on the run, and is one of the reasons I was tired of running. One of the big reasons. Do you have kids? It’s kind of a big deal. You don’t know how much kids matter until you have one. He was eight now, and I’d only seen him a few times. The last time I’d shown up to see him, he’d smiled and run toward me with his arms out.

  Loiosh was silent while I tried and failed to figure out a safe way to see Cawti and Vlad Norathar. Eventually I sighed and said, “All right. On to the next step.”

  5

  MAKING CONVERSATION OR MAKING DEALS

  The bar was still mostly deserted, and no one was paying attention to me.

  “What’s the next step, Boss?”

  “My old friend Tippy.”

  “The money guy?”

  “Right. Then a jewelry store.”

  “Boss, seeing Tippy is dangerous.”

  “What do you suggest instead, Loiosh?”

  “You could just rob the jewelry store.”

  “What I want, I can’t steal. Besides, that require
s a set of skills I don’t have. And what I want in the jewelry store isn’t in the jewelry store. And the money isn’t for that—it’s for, um, incidentals.”

  “You’re enjoying this too much, Boss.”

  “Indulge me.”

  “I still think it would be easier to rob some place than see the money guy.”

  “No,” I said.

  He didn’t say anything; I got the feeling he was sulking.

  “Oh,” I said.

  “What?”

  “I just figured it out. All those years on the road, when we were robbing the road agents. You liked that, didn’t you?”

  “So?”

  “You just enjoy robbery.”

  “Well, if someone has something, and you want it—”

  “I understand. But that isn’t what we’re doing now, Loiosh. This all has to be done right. It’s complicated, and liable to get messy. I can’t risk improvising.”

  “All right,” he said.

  “Glad I have your permission.”

  “Heh,” he said.

  Loiosh and Rocza flew out and let me know it was safe. I walked fast but not too fast, heading north toward the harbor, then skirting up Overlook, hooking around and back down Pressman’s Hill to enter the Little Deathgate area by the back door, sort of.

  Little Deathgate has a reputation for being one of the roughest areas in the City. It’s not entirely undeserved, but it is exaggerated. As I understand it, it goes back about two hundred years to when there was an especially nasty turf war over control of the area. It was long and bloody and, for the Jhereg, very expensive in both money and Imperial notice. When it finally ended, there were almost no Jhereg operations in the area, and therefore no reason to keep the streets safe. There is, yes, a lot of street crime; but if you’re openly armed and you look like you can handle yourself, you can walk around the area day or night with no real worries, except for any Jhereg assassins who might be looking for you.

  I’d been to Tippy’s a couple of times, but it took a bit of looking to find the way amid the tiny, twisting streets, most of which had no names. Eventually, as dark was falling, I recognized the ugly off-white house with two stories and three doors.

  “Anything, Loiosh?”

  “Seems okay, Boss.”

  I stood outside the middle door and clapped three times, then twice more, then twice more. I waited for half a minute, then walked away. I strolled the neighborhood for twenty minutes, then worked my way around to the right-hand back door of the house. I waited for a couple of minutes, then it opened and I stepped inside. I was in a small, square, dimly lit room with two comfortable chairs and one table. Tippy sat in one of the chairs, I took the other. The first time I’d been there, I’d noticed that my chair was more comfortable than his. And would take considerably longer to get out of. That’s the kind of thing you notice. It proved that Tippy was no fool, even if he looked like—

  Um. How to describe him?

  Imagine, for a moment, that you’re walking through a forest and you come across a woodsman’s hut. You clap, you enter, and there, in this one rustic room, you see someone wearing the full Phoenix regalia: gold garments with tall collar, flared hem, courtier sleeves, and ruff-top boots. Well, a visit with Tippy always seemed a bit like that. He wore the gray and black of the Jhereg, but everything was either silk or velvet, and there were bits of lace at his throat and wrists and his boots gleamed in the light of a pair of wall lamps. He had rings on every finger, pendants, and he had poked holes in his ears and other parts of his face to hang more jewelry from, which is a custom that, I’m told, was lost with the Interregnum.

  Other than that, he was young, a bit short, with an angular face, a strong chin, and a sharp nose. And very white teeth that he displayed whenever possible. I have a theory that the delay he always insisted on as part of the meeting protocol had nothing to do with security, but was all about giving him time to dress. I don’t know.

  “Hello, Vlad. Can I offer you anything?”

  “No thanks,” I said.

  “I assume you need money that clinks?”

  I nodded.

  “How much?”

  “Two hundred.”

  “How soon?”

  “Thirty hours, if necessary. Now would be best if you can do it.”

  “Thirty hours will be two-twenty for two. Now is two-fifty for two.”

  “All right. Now.”

  He pulled out an inkpot, quill, sand, and a blank draft. I filled it out and passed it to him.

  “Anything else?” he said.

  “One thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re good with money.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I mean, you know how money works, in and out of the Jhereg. You understand finance.”

  “Up to a point. Mostly I know how to move money around so it can end up somewhere without appearing to come from where it came from.”

  “Yes, yes. But you have an idea of Jhereg business, and what it earns?”

  “All of it? No.”

  “No, not all of it, but—”

  “Vlad, what are you getting at?”

  “Suppose I had an idea for a new business venture.”

  “For the Jhereg?”

  “Yes.”

  “Big enough that they might, ah, that it might change your situation?”

  “Exactly.”

  He whistled. “That would have to be…”

  “Yeah.”

  “All right. What about it?”

  “Who in the Council would have the authority to make that decision?”

  “A majority vote. The others would have to go along with it. Though it’d be smart to arrange for all of them to get a slice, if you can manage it.”

  I nodded. “The real question, though, is who is the big one. Who do I need on my side?”

  “I have no idea. That isn’t at all my area.”

  “All right. Just checking. I’ll see you next time I need money that clinks.”

  “Watch your ass, Vlad.”

  “I will.”

  I left him with that thought and headed back out into the Adrilankha night.

  “Boss? You knew he wouldn’t know that.”

  “Yeah. I just need a rumor to get started in a few places.”

  “Aren’t you just the clever one. All right. Jewelry store next, then?”

  “I’m going to hold off on that for a little. There’s something I need to do first, because if it doesn’t work, I can just stop before I waste all my time.”

  “So, what then?”

  “A visit to an old friend.”

  “Which old friend?”

  “An old friend who wants to kill me.”

  “That doesn’t limit it all that much, Boss.”

  I kept to the poorest-lit areas, because it made me feel safer. It was a long way to the south and a little east, and took me through parts of the City I didn’t know; that made me feel less safe.

  It eats at you all the time, when you’re being hunted. When you’re moving, you see them everywhere; when you’re holed up, you imagine them figuring out where you are. After a long enough time, it wears you down, you start seeing—

  “Quit whining, Boss. Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere safe.”

  “Was that sarcasm?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Just checking.”

  The homes hereabouts were bigger, more luxurious, and many of them had fences and grounds. There were fewer Jhereg, but more patrols of Phoenix Guards. Suspicious Phoenix Guards: I had to show my Imperial signet twice.

  I stopped just short of a particularly big house, surrounded by a high fence, with a pair of alert-looking fellows in the colors of House Jhereg. They wore cloaks, and no weapons were visible; but either they were guarding the house or a pair of random strangers just happened to be standing by the gate looking very alert for no reason.

  “Boss, this is—”

  “Yeah.”

 
; “We need to—?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. Brash, or sneaky?”

  “Yeah, that’s the question, isn’t it. What do you think?”

  “If brash doesn’t work, they’ll be alerted to sneaky, if sneaky doesn’t work, you can’t pull off brash.”

  “Well done, Loiosh. You’ve managed to state the problem.”

  “Flip a coin?”

  “Take a fly around the perimeter for me; let’s see if sneaky is even possible.”

  “Am I reporting, or are you coming along?”

  “I’ll come along.”

  Across the narrow street and down a short distance was a place between two of the smaller houses where, by pulling my cloak around me, I could effectively be invisible. I crossed and waited there with Rocza, who kept shifting from foot to foot on my shoulder while Loiosh took wing. I relaxed, and fell into a sort of half-awake state, letting the images from Loiosh enter: guards in pairs, looking annoyingly alert; little knobs every fifteen feet on the fences, almost invisible sparkles around the doors, a vision distortion around the windows. Also, really thick-looking bars. One vision of the lock on the back door. Kiera could have handled the lock. I could handle the spells with Lady Teldra, only not without alerting every one of those guards, which in turn would make things bloody, as opposed to sneaky.

  I returned to my own body. Loiosh returned.

  “Brash, then?” he said.

  “Brash it is.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  “A moment. It takes me a little while to build up to brash.”

  “Since when, Boss?”

  There was no answer to that, so I went back across the street, right up to the pair of Jhereg flanking the gate.

  They were good. One took a step forward, no weapon drawn; the other immediately began scanning the rest of the area and, I had no doubt, alerting someone. Bad guards either under- or over-react, and either can be exploited by sneaky types. Yeah, brash was the right choice this time.

  I walked up until the short one—he was still a head taller than I was—was right in front of me, somewhere between sword range and dagger range. If you do enough fighting, you’ll start to automatically notice distances. The point here wasn’t that I did, it was that he obviously knew what he was doing. He had the dead eyes of someone who’s done “work.” He didn’t show fear, or curiosity, or, well, anything. His boss had been able to afford good help, and had gotten it.