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Authors: Steven Brust

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Yet, in that peculiar space of time between Khaavren’s sudden awareness of the attack and its culmination, another factor appeared, equally unexpectedly—this being a sharp sound as if a flashstone had been discharged (which was, in fact, exactly the case), which sound was followed instantly by the cessation of the attack. Khaavren, whose sword had come into his hand as if propelled from the sheath by its own will, now pointed at a body which was stretched out full length upon the ground, face downward, and which twitched and jumped as bodies so often will when the body has not realized that the mind no longer lives. At the same time, several onlookers, whose attention had been commanded by the sound we have already mentioned, looked toward Khaavren, the body, and the area in general.
All of these actions, be it understood, had happened so quickly that they were over, save for the twitching of the body and the appearance of Khaavren’s naked sword, so that none of the onlookers actually saw what had happened —there had been a quick motion, a loud sound, and then the changed circumstance. A Teckla screamed. A voice said, “Well, my dear Khaavren, our arrival seems to have been timely.” We should note here that, in fact, it was not a voice which spoke at all, but, rather, a person—yet as it took Khaavren some little time to identify the voice (and, hence, the person), we have chosen to use this locution to both indicate the unknown identity of speaker with reference to Khaavren, and fulfill our desire to delay, if only briefly, the revelation of the speaker’s name to our readers, thus striking with two edges at once, as the Dzur say, and saving ourselves from the necessity of over-explaining, which could not but provide an annoyance to the discerning reader.
“Ah,” said Khaavren turning his head in the direction from which the
voice originated. “Is it you, my good Aerich? Was it you who discharged that flashstone to such good effect?”
“Not at all,” said Aerich, emerging from around the side of the platform. “For here is Tazendra, who has come with me, and whose skill with such devices you know as well as I.”
And, indeed, the Dzurlord appeared at that moment, the flashstone (still trailing dark blue smoke) in her hand. She smiled to Khaavren, made as if to bow, but instead rushed to embrace him—which embrace he returned in full measure, then greeted Aerich similarly, encumbered not at all by the sword still in his hand.
It was at this moment that three guardsmen, also with weapons drawn, rushed up, looking about for danger, disturbance, or, failing these, at least orders from their superior officer. “What has happened?” they cried.
“What has happened?” said Khaavren. “Indeed,” he continued, as if to himself, “what
has
happened? Aerich, what did you see?”
“That person,” said the Lyorn, indicating the body (which had, by now, quite stopped twitching) “made a treacherous attack upon you, which Tazendra,”—here he bowed to the Dzurlord—“managed to foil.”
“I wonder who he is,” said Khaavren, approaching the body. He turned it over with his foot and remarked, “Do you know, after all of these years I still cannot see a corpse—even the corpse of someone who has tried to kill me—without feeling sad. Isn’t it odd?”
“I think it speaks well for you,” said Aerich. Tazendra said nothing, but seemed perplexed.
“My dear Tazendra,” said Khaavren, “would you be good enough to provide enough light to allow me to make an investigation?”
“Why, I should be more than happy to do so,” said Tazendra. “In fact, I will do so this very moment, if you wish.”
“That is exactly what I wish,” said Khaavren.
“Well, here it is then.”
“An Orca,” remarked Khaavren as a soft yellow light appeared above his head and began to brighten. “Though he has not been to sea for a score of years at least. He has never served forward of the catchhold, but was a maintopman of some skill. He has only handled weapons of the roughest sort—hardly an expert.”
“You have good eyes,” said Aerich. “And you have learned to use them.”
“I do not see—” began Tazendra.
“He has been eating well lately, but was hungry for some time before that.”
Tazendra began, “How can you—?
“The fit of his clothes,” murmured Aerich. “As well as certain lines visible on his face.”
“He lives in the Underside,” continued Khaavren. “Or, at any rate, has spent much time there recently.”
“Ah,” said Aerich. “I had wondered what that odor was.”
“He uses dreamgrass extensively.”
Tazendra said, “How—?”
“Stains,” said Aerich quietly.
“And he is no longer addicted to murchin—”
“Which he took orally,” added Aerich.
“—although he was within the last six weeks; he probably used the dreamgrass to combat his addiction.”
“Which means,” said Aerich, “that if you can find a murchin supplier in the Underside, you could perhaps learn more about this Orca, such as with whom he associates.”
Khaavren shrugged. “There is no shortage of murchin suppliers in the Underside; half the Jhereg in the city use such enterprises to explain their income to the tax-collectors, and half of these are located in the Underside.” He knelt next to the body and conducted a closer examination, which occupied some ten or twenty minutes, after which he remarked, “To the left, it helps to know that this particular supplier has a shop which lies next to a wax-merchant’s or a candle-maker’s, and faces directly onto the Street of the Jhereg, the Street of the Vallista, or the Street of the Tsalmoth.”
Aerich frowned. “I confess, my dear friend, that you have now mystified me.”
“That is good,” put in Tazendra. “For you know I dislike being the only one mystified.”
“There is no mystery,” said Khaavren, “when you recollect with what material those streets are paved, and if you know what happens to someone who has just ingested murchin orally, and you have looked closely at this poor fellow’s hair and beneath his nails.”
“Ah,” said Aerich. “Now I comprehend.”
“You do?” said Tazendra doubtfully.
“Therefore,” said Khaavren, “we know what to do, and, for my part, I wish to begin at once—it may be that I will be able to discover a great deal by acting quickly, when nothing is known yet of the failure of this poor fellow’s mission by those who sent him upon it.”
“Mission?” said Tazendra.
“It is obvious,” said Khaavren, “that he was set upon me—the signs are clear even if I had not had the experience of which I wrote Aerich.”
“An assassin,” said Tazendra, her brows drawing together in much the
same way as the overcast will draw together and darken before the lightening opens a path in the heavens for the rain.
“A moment, if you please,” said Khaavren. “I must speak to these worthy guardsmen who have been standing so patiently while I made my investigation.”
Khaavren turned and beckoned to his subordinates, who held themselves perfectly still and awaited his orders. “My dears,” said Khaavren, “duty forces us into the Underside, and you perceive that it is quite night. I am not unaware of the dangers associated with this course of action, and I should hesitate to ask it of you if I thought you to be any less brave and skillful than I know you are. But, as you are brave and skillful, and as duty absolutely requires it, will lead the way, on foot as you are, into the Underside, where we will attempt to learn something of matters which affect the security of the Empire, as well as the health of him who who has the honor to be your Captain.”
The guardsmen bowed at once, impressed by this lengthy speech from their laconic Captain, though perhaps they wished at that moment that he entertained a slightly lower opinion of their courage and ability.
“May we accompany you?” said Tazendra.
“Why, I should like nothing better,” said Khaavren. “For one thing, it will make us that much safer, and thus more likely to accomplish our mission, and for another, it will allow us to continue our conversation, during which I can perhaps discover how it is that you came to be here at just the moment I needed you, when I had thought you were far to the East in the Duchy of Arylle.”
“Well, we were,” said Aerich, and they began to walk toward the Underside with their escort of three guardsmen.
“Not long ago, at that,” said Tazendra. “You would scarcely credit how quickly we came here—thirty hours ago we were leaving home.”
“How, you came from Arylle in a day and a night?”
“Exactly,” said Tazendra, proudly.
“You must be exhausted!”
“Not in the least,” said Tazendra. “Oh, I confess that I was feeling a certain fatigue an hour ago, but it has quite fallen from me, so that now, why, I could charge into battle with no difficulty. And you, my good Aerich?”
“I must say that Tazendra speaks for me, too,” said Aerich. “If we can be of help to you, why, you need only ask.”
“I nearly think I already have,” said Khaavren, smiling. He found another guardsmen, and arranged for his—that is, Khaavren’s—horse to be returned to the post.
“Well,” he said after his horse—a fine-blooded animal with a fiery temper—had been attended to, “Tell me something.”
“What is that?” said Aerich.
“You must have had a reason for coming to the city—the more so if, as you say, you came with all speed.”
“Indeed,” said Aerich. “You wrote a letter.”
“Well, that is true.”
“And then,” he added, “Pel wrote a letter as well.”
“How, Pel wrote a letter?”
Aerich nodded.
“Mmmm,” said Khaavren. “Pel has been much given to writing letters of late. Perhaps it had become a habit with him.”
Aerich shrugged.
“So it was my letter and Pel’s letter, in conjunction, that brought you here in such haste.”
“Exactly,” said Aerich.
“Well, I know the contents of my letter, having written it, but I confess a curiosity about the contents of Pel’s letter. So much so, in fact, that I beg you to tell me, without further delay, as much of its contents as you can honorably reveal.”
“I will do so,” said Aerich. “Pel wrote that he was concerned about an assassination attempt, which he expected would take place very soon.”
“How, an assassination attempt?”
“Exactly.”
“Then he knew what would happen here?”
“Not the least in the world.”
“But he knew that someone was going to make an attempt on my life?”
“To the best of my knowledge, he did not.”
“But then—”
“The attack he anticipated, my dear Khaavren, was not directed at you.”
“Then it was directed at another?”
“Just so.”
“Well? Who?”
“Lord Adron.”
“How, Adron e’Kieron? The Duke of Eastmanswatch? Dragon Heir to the Throne?”
“The very man,” said Aerich.
“Cracks and shards!”
“There is no doubt,” said Tazendra, “that tonight’s attack was an error, and the assassin took you for His Highness.”
Khaavren and Aerich exchanged looks, after which the Tiassa turned to Tazendra and cleared his throat. “And yet,” he said gently, “we look nothing
alike, and I am dressed as a guardsman, and a Tiassa, rather than as a Prince and a Dragonlord.”
“Well, that is true,” admitted Tazendra. “Perhaps I am mistaken.”
“Did Pel know anything about the nature of the attack upon Lord Adron?”
Aerich shook his head. “He said that he had already foiled one attempt, but did not know the nature of the second; only that he was convinced there would be one.”
“I see,” said Khaavren. “Yes, indeed, much is now explained. Ah, ah! Such a Yendi he is!”
“Well?” said Aerich.
“When we have discovered what we can in the Underside, we must speak with Pel, for I am certain he knows things that I would benefit from learning.”
“That is not impossible,” said Aerich.
“And yet,” said Tazendra, “could there be two assassination attempts within the same day? It seems so unlikely.”
“Well?”
“That is why I think the assassin attacked the wrong man.”
“Well, yes,” said Khaavren, and cleared his throat again. “Aerich, you have now explained why you are in the city; but what brought you to this place?”
“Upon arriving,” said Aerich, “we wasted no time in asking after Lord Adron’s whereabouts.”
“Well, and?”
“It seemed that everyone knew, or, rather, thought, that he was to be here at the dedication of the Pavilion of Kieron. It seemed that such circumstances would be ideal for a murderous attack, so we came with all speed with the idea of protecting him, only to discover that he was not here at all, which both mystifies and worries me.”
“Cha!” said Khaavren. “He is not here because Pel arranged for him to be elsewhere, no doubt thinking, like you, that this would be a good place for the assassin to strike.”
BOOK: Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards)
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