Hawk (Vlad) by Steven Brust
“All right. Now, make your mouth do this.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. When you want to play, you don’t just blow into it.…”
The following half an hour was bizarrely irritating and pleasant, but by the end of it, I was making sounds come out of the thing without the help of spells.
They weren’t terribly good sounds, mind you; nothing I’d be inclined to call music. But Sara was very kind about it, and even told me that the weird ache I was feeling below my ears meant I was doing it right. That was sort of a disturbing thought. We spent a little more time on it, so I could at least sometimes hit the right “valves” as she called them. She said that would help with the spell.
“Not bad,” she said.
“You’re a good teacher.”
I thought about trying to kiss her right then, or at least asking her if I could; but things were complicated. For one thing, we were different species and I wasn’t sure how she felt about that—I wasn’t even entirely sure how I felt about that. For another, I wasn’t over Cawti, and she knew it. And for another, I might be dead in a day or two. Plenty of time to decide about that sort of thing if there was plenty of time; not very nice if there wasn’t.
Or, I don’t know; maybe I was just worried about being embarrassed if she said no. I put the instrument back in its case, which required a lesson in itself, but let’s not dwell on that.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” she asked, breaking what was about to become an awkward silence.
I shook my head. “No, this is good.”
“You’ll get hold of me, once this is over?”
“First thing,” I said.
“Thank you,” she said, and stood up. “I should be going.”
I nodded.
“Vlad—” she said, then shook her head and didn’t finish.
“Yeah,” I said. “You’re about to say good luck.”
She gave a sort of smile. “Yes. Good luck.”
She gave me a kiss on the top of my head and walked out of the office.
“Boss.”
“Yeah, I’m over it.”
“I don’t believe you, but all right.”
“Heh.”
“Okay, now what?”
“Now we get a message to the Demon and have him set a time for tomorrow.”
“Then we’re ready?”
“Not really, but we’re going to do it anyway.”
“Tomorrow!”
“Yeah, that’ll be a busy day.”
“We should eat something.”
“I need sleep more than food. But we have to go out again. Dammit. A long walk this time.”
“Important, I take it?”
“Well, everything depends on it, if that’s what you mean.”
“In that case, we really should have food first.”
“Oh, all right. Food first.”
“You know, Boss, I’m not used to doing all these things that make me happy. Getting out from under the Organization, killing Terion, and now food.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t let you get used to it.”
“This is my surprised wing-flap.”
Deragar was willing to get some food for the mere price of a share in the meal. He retrieved some baked felua in coriander-plum sauce from a place called Jarad’s, because I’d been in a mood for flying things for a while. Loiosh commented on it in terms I don’t feel like telling you about. The food was good, even though Jarad’s was far enough away that it wasn’t quite as hot as it should have been. Deragar also picked up a bottle of Descani, which reminded me of the evening all that time back that, in some sense, had started this. More important, however, was that it was a good wine and treated the felua well. I wondered if Deragar knew more about wine than most Dragaerans, or had just gotten lucky. There was no polite way to ask him, however, so I didn’t.
We ate in companionable silence. Deragar kept watching Loiosh and Rocza eat, but he didn’t say anything about it, and neither did they.
When we’d finished eating and had quite demolished the wine, I gave Deragar a little money, and asked him to buy me a wheelbarrow and some clothing appropriate for a peasant. I also gave him a message for delivery to the Demon; tomorrow would be the day.
Deragar gave me a raised eyebrow that suddenly reminded me of Kragar, and headed out.
I sat in an uncomfortable chair and crossed and re-crossed my legs and stretched and got up and sat down again until he came back. It wasn’t long, maybe half an hour.
“This is bound to be good,” he said.
“Not as exciting as you might think.”
“Can I watch?”
“No, not for this.”
He shrugged, reminding me of Kragar again. “All right.”
“Where’s the barrow?”
“Downstairs.”
“Good.”
“Boss? Why do we need a wheelbarrow?”
“To complete the peasant disguise.”
“Really? That’s all?”
“Really. That’s all.”
“Even though it’s empty?”
“When’s the last time you noticed whether a wheelbarrow was empty?”
“Um. Okay.”
I transformed myself into a lowly peasant Easterner. I’m glad I didn’t have a mirror. I threw some dirt on myself and rubbed it in a bit, just to put the final touches on.
Then I collected Rocza, Loiosh, and Loiosh’s attitude, and the four of us snuck out of the tunnel once more, complete with wheelbarrow. For once I wasn’t too worried about an attack, since no one would imagine I was, you know, me. It’s the sort of thing you can get away with for a while, if you’re willing.
Wheelbarrows are, no doubt, fine machines; but they’re still machines. And as far as I’m concerned, mechanical devices have no reason to exist except to do a bad job of something sorcery can do a good job of. There must be more to it than that, or there wouldn’t be all those mechanical devices. I mean, would there? Yeah, okay, so maybe not everyone is good enough at sorcery to pull it off, or rich enough to pay someone else to. I’ve also heard the argument that some things are just easier and more natural when done the hard way; I’m just not sure I buy it.
If I had had any idea how hard it would be to keep wheeling that thing through the streets of Adrilankha, I might have changed my mind about the whole plan. And when I reflected that Teckla usually had something heavy in one, my opinion of Teckla went up; I made a mental note to tell Cawti that when I could. If I could. The good part was that inside of ten minutes I was as filthy and stinky and sweaty as any peasant, and I felt safer than I had in some time. Though if the choice was to live like this or face soul-death, I’d go for the soul-death. No I wouldn’t. Yes I would. Maybe.
Glad the situation hasn’t come up, though.
Amazing how loud those things are, too.
14
MAKING MUSIC OR MAKING BARGAINS
After trudging along Lower Kieron for longer than I want to remember, I was in an area where it was both safe and possible to leave the wheelbarrow, so I did and continued on to Kieron.
It was much easier after that, which is just as well because I had to go a long way, which would have been impossibly long if I’d had to push that thing up and down hills. The area went from poor, to affluent, to peasant (which is like poor but with less trash and more space), and then there were a couple of castles off in the distance and one very large single-story building directly in front of us.
I should explain about that building.
I’d found it a short while back, led there by someone I trusted. The details aren’t important. But I’d been inside of it, and had the chance to get to know it pretty well. It was first built by a Vallista named Tethia as, so she told me, “an experiment,” which is what people say when they do something that makes everyone laugh at them. There’s a story there, too.
It was big, it was empty, and there was a room in it that held a long table and a lot of comfo
It was night when I arrived, and there were no lights to be seen anywhere; the place was empty. It was usually empty. If it hadn’t been deserted this time around, I’m not sure what I’d have done—left town? killed everyone in it? sat down and cried? That had been one of the few things I had to trust to luck on; and so far, luck was with me.
Time to get to work.
There were enough wards and spells and devices on the doors and windows of the place that breaking in would have been a major enterprise. I could have done it, especially with Kiera’s help, but there was no need.
“Anything, Loiosh?”
“No one anywhere near, Boss. You’re good.”
“All right.”
“What if your memory is off? I mean, what if you don’t recall the inside as well as you think you do?”
“I’m going to look first, Loiosh. As in, look inside. Through the windows. Glass windows. They work both ways, you know. Glass. It’s this thing invented by people with oppos—”
“Shut up, Boss.”
We went around to the side of the building, my back to the ocean-sea far below me; I could smell it, and hear the waves crashing on Kieron’s Rocks. I looked through the window, did a quick calculation, then did it again to be sure, and made a note of the spot.
“You know this is crazy, right, Boss?”
“Not if it works.”
Glass windows are a sign of wealth. Not so much because they’re expensive—a good sorcerer with access to sand can, I’m told, create any size and shape window with a bit of time and effort—but because they break. That’s what glass does. And then you have to replace them. And after a few times, the cost starts building up, so you have to not care.
Or you spend even more on enchanting the windows so they don’t break.
I gave the window an experimental smack with my fist. It hardly even vibrated.
“All right, so—”
“Watch and learn,” I said.
I ran my fingers over the place where the window was joined to the wall—a wood frame had been set into the stone, and ingenious slots cut into it to hold the window in place.
Those of us in the business call that a “weak spot.”
The process was a lot longer and slower than I had expected. For one thing, there was this strange glue-like substance between glass and wood that I had to scrape away. Every time my knife tapped the window it made a ringing sound that was not unpleasant but made me worry about breaking it until I remembered that it was unbreakable. Which was the reason for doing this, after all.
But in the end, it was done—the window would come out with a good push, and from there I’d be just a few feet from the cliff, and there were stairs cut into the cliff.
“Sleep now,” I said.
“Yeah, after a long walk back into the City.”
“Who’s whining now?”
It was, indeed, a long and wearying walk, but we made it back, using the tunnel again. I said not a word to anyone; I just trudged into the storage room I was using, threw myself onto my pile of blankets, and went to sleep.
I had an intense dream that night—or rather, morning—but I don’t remember much about it except that there were wheelbarrows, and I don’t see how it relates to anything, so skip it.
I woke up with one of those surges of adrenaline you get on the day something big is going to happen—you know, you gradually wake up to a certain point, and then, This is the day. Here we go. I heaved myself up to a sitting position without even a grunt, and found Loiosh looking at me. He said nothing into my mind. I felt his fear and anticipation—a reflection of mine, and yet still his own—echoing back and forth.
I pulled myself up. I cleaned up in Kragar’s private washroom (that used to be mine) and got dressed. No, my hands weren’t shaking, and yes, my palms were dry. I went through every weapon I had, carefully, checking the edge, and that it was just where it should be, and that I could pull it cleanly. From time to time, I tapped Lady Teldra’s hilt, which was going to become an annoying habit if I let it; but it was very reassuring.
“Food, Boss?”
“Oh, yes. And klava. I’m going to have a full stomach and be wide awake when, you know.”
“Good plan.”
I went out into the office, hoping Deragar was there so I could get him to bring food and klava. He was there, and so was Sellish, but they weren’t alone.
“Kragar!”
“You see, you noticed me right away.”
He looked pale and fragile, but he was sitting upright in Melestav’s old chair.
“How are you?”
“Not ready to fall over dead quite yet. How about you?”
“Probably closer than you are.”
“Probably.”
“You didn’t have to agree so fast.”
“How’s your problem?”
“Nearing a solution.”
“I heard that Terion had an accident.”
“Yeah, I heard the same thing.”
He nodded.
“Deragar’s been great,” I added.
“Aw, shucks,” said Deragar.
“Yeah, I raised him right,” said Kragar.
“You—”
I looked back and forth between them.
“Oh,” I said.
Kragar smirked.
“How about you get him to bring us breakfast and klava while I recover and try to adopt this into my view of the universe.”
Kragar and Sellish nodded solemnly. “We were just waiting for you. Though it’ll be lunch for us.”
Deragar rolled his eyes, reminding me more than ever of Kragar. “What, then?”
“Just some rolls, and a lot of klava, for Vlad. For me, you know what I like. Get something good,” said Kragar.
“Hot sweet rolls?” he asked me.
I nodded.
“All right. I’m including myself in the list, though, and you’re buying.”
“I’d expect nothing less,” said Kragar.
Some coins changed hands, and Deragar left. Kragar started to stand up, failed, looked disgusted and gave me a glance. I helped him up. He hissed with pain, and I guided him to his own office. As he sat down, I said, “You sure you’re out of danger?”
“How do you mean that?”
“I mean, are you about to fall over dead from the wound? I didn’t intend to ask if the world was a safe place for Jhereg bosses, so don’t even start.”
He chuckled and said, “I saw the physicker this morning, and he says I’m doing all right. And he seems to think Aliera is some sort of god.”
“So does Aliera.”
“Yeah. But she does good work. Don’t tell her I said so.”
“Of course not; she’d pound me into dust.”
“She would at that. I wish I’d been able to hear the conversation when you convinced her to save me.”
That was a good time not to say anything, so I gave him my best inscrutable smile and let it drop. Instead, I asked him a few more times about how he was feeling until he started to get annoyed, then I let that drop, too. He wanted to talk about my plans, and if he could help, and I didn’t want to and he couldn’t—at least, any more than he had by loaning me Deragar. He looked like he wanted to argue about it, and I understood how he was feeling, but he just shut his mouth and nodded.
Deragar came back, with klava that made life possible, and some sweet buns that made it worth living. No, sarcasm aside, life is always worth living. Even when sometimes it seems like more trouble than it’s worth.
When have you ever heard me claim to be consistent? Or, for that matter, claim there was any virtue in consistency? I’m just telling you what happened, and what I was thinking, because that’s what I’m being paid for. Don’t read too much into it, all right? There’s one good thing about needing to devote all of your energy to staying alive: It doesn’t give you a lot of time to waste on crap that isn’t worth thinking about.
Fresh rolls and klava, now—there was something worth thinking about. Sellish took his away because he had stuff to do. The three of us enjoyed the rolls and klava in silence.
When we’d finished, I asked one question: “What is the time?”
“It’s an hour before noon,” said Kragar, giving me a significant look. “What time do things get started?”
“I should find out within the next two hours.”
“You didn’t make firm arrangements?”
“I left the exact time and place open, so the client would feel more at ease.”
He rubbed chin with the side of his fist. “So you can’t make any real preparations.”
“Yeah, I’ve already prepped the place.”
His eyebrows asked me a question.
I said, “I just sort of somehow know where he’s going to pick.”
“You’re sure?”
I shrugged. “Nothing is sure in this, but that isn’t one of the parts I’m most worried about.”
“I’d ask,” he said, “but you wouldn’t tell me.”
“Correct.”
“And I loathe giving you another chance to display your wit.”
“Have you been reading books?”
“What?”
I shook my head and wiped my fingers on my shirt. We had more klava, and I don’t remember what we talked about, but I’m sure it was terribly important. Just about exactly noon, a messenger arrived with a note for me from the Demon.
I read it, nodded, folded it up, and tapped it against my hand.