Teckla (17 page)

I was starting to go past it into the next room, the library, when I sensed someone behind me. Trying to remember this now, it seems to me that Rocza tightened her grip on my shoulder just at that moment, but Loiosh didn't notice anything. In any case, my reaction to such things is foreordained: I spun, twisting a bit to the side, and drew a dagger from inside my cloak.

At first I didn't see anything, yet I continued to feel that there was someone in the room with me. I let the light from my forefinger fail and moved to the side, thinking that if I couldn't see him, there was no reason to let him see me. Then I became aware of a faint outline, as if there were a transparent figure in front of me. I didn't know what this meant, but I knew it wasn't normal. I let Spellbreaker fall into my left hand.

The figure didn't move, but it gradually grew more substantial, and it occurred to me that the room was dark as Verra's hair and I shouldn't be able to see anything.

"Loiosh, what do you see?"

"I'm not sure, boss."

"But you do see something."

"I think so."

"Yeah. Me, too." Rocza stirred uneasily. Well, I didn't blame her. Then I realized what I must be seeing and I blamed her even less. It had been made pretty clear to me that I wasn't welcome, the time I walked the Paths of the Dead with Aliera and visited the Halls of Judgment. It was a place for the souls of Dragaerans, not the living bodies of Easterners. In order to arrive there, a body had to be sent over Deathgate Falls (which would certainly insure it was a corpse even it hadn't been before). Then it floated down the river, fetching up somewhere along a stretch of bank, from which the soul could travel—but never mind that now. If the soul handled things right, it would reach the Halls of Judgment, and unless some god especially liked or disliked the guy, he'd take his place as part of a thriving community of dead persons. All right, fine.

What might happen to him if he isn't brought to Deathgate Falls? Well, if he was killed with a Morganti dagger, the issue was settled. Or, if he'd worked out some arrangement with his favorite god, then the god had the pleasure of doing anything he wanted with the soul. Other than that, he'd be reincarnated. You don't have to believe me, of course, but some recent experiences have convinced me that this is fact.

Now, most of what I know about reincarnation I learned from Aliera before I believed in it, so I've forgotten a great deal of what she said. But I remember that an unborn child exerts a kind of mystical pull and will draw in the soul most suited to it. If no soul is appropriate, there will be no birth. If there is no child appropriate to a soul, the soul waits in a place that the necromancers call "The Plane of Waiting Souls" because they aren't very imaginative. Why does it wait there? Because it can't help it. There is something about the place that pulls at the Dragaeran soul.

But what about Easterners? Well, it's pretty much the same, as far as I can tell. When it comes down to a soul, there just isn't that much difference between a Dragaeran and an Easterner. We aren't allowed into the Paths of the Dead, but Morganti weapons have the same effect on us, and we can make deals with any god who feels like it, and we're probably reincarnated if there's nothing else going on, or at least that's what the Eastern poet-seer, Yain Cho Lin, is reported to have said. In fact, according to the Book of the Seven Wizards, the Plane of Waiting Souls pulls at us while we're waiting, just like it does Dragaerans. The book says, however, that it doesn't pull quite as hard. Why?

Population. There are more Easterners in the world, so there are fewer souls waiting for places to go, so there are fewer souls to help call the others. Does this make sense? Not to me, either, but there it is. One result of this weaker pull is that, sometimes, the soul of an Easterner will be neither reincarnated nor will it go to the Plane of Waiting Souls. Instead it will, well, just sort of hang around. At least, that's the story. Believe it or not, as you choose. I believe it, myself.

I was seeing a ghost.

I stared at it. Staring seems to be the first thing one does when seeing a ghost. I wasn't quite sure what the second thing ought to be. According to the stories my grandfather had told me when I was young, screaming was highly thought of. But if I screamed I'd wake up everyone in the place, and I needed them to be sleeping if I was going to kill them. Also, I didn't feel the urge. I knew I was supposed to be frightened, but when it came down to it, I was much more fascinated than scared. The ghost continued to solidify. It was a bit luminescent, which was how I could see it. It was emitting a very faint blue glow. As I watched, I began to see the lines of its face. Soon I could tell that it was an Easterner, then that it was male. It seemed to be looking at me—that is, actually seeing me. Since I didn't want to wake everyone up, I moved out of the room, back into Kelly's study. I made a light again and navigated the floor to his desk and sat down. I don't know how I knew the ghost would follow me, but I did and he did.

I cleared my throat. "Well," I said. "You must be Franz."

"Yes," said the ghost. Can I say his voice was sepulchral? I don't care. It was.

"I'm Vladimir Taltos—Cawti's husband."

The ghost—no, let me just call him Franz. Franz nodded. "What are you doing here?" As he spoke he continued to solidify, and his voice became more normal.

"Well," I said. "That's a bit hard to explain. What are you doing here?" His brow (which I could now see) came together. "I'm not sure," he said. I studied him. His hair was light, straight, and neatly combed. How does a ghost comb his hair? His face was pleasant but undistinctive, his demeanor had that honest and sincere look that I associate with spice salesmen and dead lyorn. He had a peculiar way of standing, as if he were leaning ever so slightly forward, and when I spoke he turned his head just a bit to the side. I wondered if he was hard of hearing, or just very intent on catching everything that was said. He seemed to be a very intense listener. In fact, he seemed intense just in general. He said, "I was standing outside the meeting hall—"

"Yes. You were assassinated."

"Assassinated!"

I nodded.

He stared at me, then looked at himself, then closed his eyes for a moment. Finally he said, "I'm dead now? A ghost?"

"Something like that. You should be waiting for reincarnation, if I understand how these things work. I guess there aren't any pregnant Easterners around here who quite fit the bill. Be patient." He studied me, sizing me up.

"You're Cawti's husband."

"Yes."

"You say I was assassinated. We know what you do. Could it have been—"

"No. Or rather, it could have but it wasn't. A fellow named Yerekim did it. You people were getting in the way of a guy named Herth."

"And he had me killed?" Franz suddenly smiled. "To try to scare us off?"

"Yeah."

He laughed. "I can guess how well it worked for him. We organized the whole district, didn't we? Using my murder as a rallying point?" I stared. "Good guess. It doesn't bother you?"

"Bother me? We've been trying to unite Easterners and Teckla against the Empire all along. Why would it bother me?"

I said, "Oh. Well, it seems to be working."

"Good." His expression changed. "I wonder why I'm back." I said, "What do you remember?"

"Not much. I was just standing there and my throat started itching. Then I felt someone touch my shoulder from behind. I turned around and my knees felt weak and then… I don't know. I remember waking up, sort of, and feeling… worried, I guess. How long ago did it happen?" I told him. His eyes widened. "I wonder what brought me back?"

"You say you felt worried?"

I nodded.

I sighed inaudibly. I had a good guess what had brought him back, but I chose not to share it with him.

"Hey, boss."

"Yeah."

"This is really weird."

"No it isn't. It's normal. Everything is normal. It's just that some normal things are weirder than other normal things."

"Oh. That explains it then."

Franz said, "Tell me what's happened since I died." I complied, being as honest as I could. When I told him about Sheryl his face grew hard and cold and I remembered that I was dealing with a fanatic. I tightened my grip on Spellbreaker but continued the recitation. When I told him about the barricades a gleam came into his eye, and I wondered just how effective Spellbreaker would be.

"Good," he said when I'd finished. "We have them running now."

"Um, yeah," I said.

"Then it was worth it."

"Dying?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"I should talk to Pat if I can. Where is everyone else?" I almost told him they were asleep, but I caught myself. "I'm not sure," I said.

His eyes narrowed. "You're here alone?"

"Not at all," I said. Loiosh hissed to emphasize the point. He glanced at the two jhereg, but didn't smile. He seemed to have as big a sense of humor as the others. I added, "I'm sort of watching the place." His eyes widened. "You've joined us?"

"Yes."

He smiled at me, and there was so much warmth in his expression that I would have kicked him, only he was incorporeal. "Cawti didn't think you would."

"Yeah, well."

"Exciting, isn't it?"

"Exciting. Yes, it certainly is that."

"Where's the latest issue?"

"Issue?"

"Of the paper."

"Oh. Urn… it's around here somewhere."

He looked around the office, which I was still lighting up with my finger, and finally found one. He tried to pick it up, couldn't, kept trying, and finally managed. Then he set it down. "It's hard to hold things," he said. "Do you suppose you could turn the pages for me?"

"Uh, sure."

So I turned pages for him, and grunted agreement when he said things like, "No, he's missing the point," and, "Those bastards! How can they do that?" After a while he stopped and looked at me. "It was worth dying, but I wish I could be back in it again. There's so much to be done." He went back to reading. I noticed that he seemed to be fading. I watched for a while, and the effect continued slowly but detectably. I said,

"Look, I want to find people and let them know you're around, all right?

Can you sort of keep an eye on things? I'm sure if anyone comes in you can scare him to death."

He smiled. "All right. Go ahead."

I nodded and went back out the way I'd come, through the kitchen and out the door.

"I thought we were going to kill them all, boss."

"So did I."

"Couldn't you have gotten rid of the ghost with Spellbreaker?"

"Probably."

"Well then, why—"

"He's already been killed once too often."

"But what about the rest of them?"

"I changed my mind."

"Oh. Well, I didn't like the idea any way."

"Good."

I teleported to a point a block from my house. There were lamps in the street that provided enough light to tell me I was alone. I made my way home very carefully, checking for the assassin.

"Why did you change your mind, boss?"

"I don't know. I have to think about it some more. Something about Franz, I guess."

I made my way up the stairs and into the house. The sounds of Cawti's gentle breathing came from the bedroom. I removed my boots and cloak, then went in, undressed, and climbed into bed carefully so I wouldn't wake her.

As I closed my eyes I saw Franz's face before me. It took longer than it should have to fall asleep.

plain gray cloak: clean and press

I slept late and woke up slowly. I sat up in bed and tried to organize my thoughts and decide how to spend the day. My latest great scheme hadn't worked at all, so I went back to an earlier one. Was there any way, really, to convince both Cawti and Herth that I'd been killed? Herth so he'd leave me alone, Cawti so she'd kill Herth for me. I couldn't think of anything.

"You know what your problem is, boss?"

"Huh? Yeah. Everyone wants to tell me what my problem is."

"Sorry I brought it up."

"Oh, go ahead."

"You're trying to find a good trick to use, and you can't solve this with tricks."

That stopped me. I said, "What you do mean?"

"Well, look, boss: What's been bothering you is that you're running into all these people who think you shouldn't be what you are, and you have to decide whether to change or not."

"Loiosh, what's bothering me is that there's an assassin out there who has my name and—"

"Didn't you say yesterday that we'd been in worse places before?"

"Yeah. And I've come up with some trick to get out of them."

"So why haven't you this time?"

"I'm too busy answering questions from jhereg who think that the only problem is great sorrow with my lot in life."

Loiosh giggled psionically and didn't say anything else. That's one trait Loiosh has that I've never found in anyone else: He knows when to stop pushing and let me just think about things. I suppose it comes from sharing my thoughts. I can't think of any other way to get it. I teleported to the office. I wondered if my stomach would ever get used to the abuse. Cawti once told me that when she was working with Norathar they teleported almost everywhere, and her stomach never adjusted. They almost blew a job once, she said, because she threw up on the victim. I won't give you the details; she tells it better than I do. I called Kragar into my office. "Well?"

"We've identified the assassin. His name is Quaysh."

"Quaysh? Unusual."

"It's Serioli. Means, 'He Who Designs Interesting Clasps For Ladies'

Jewelry.'"

"I see. Do we have someone on him?"

"Yeah. A guy named Ishtvan. We used him once before."

"I remember. He was quick."

"That's the guy."

"Good. Who recognized Quaysh?"

"Sticks. They used to hang around together."

"Hmmm. Problem?"

"Not as far as I know. Business."

"Yeah. Okay, but tell Sticks to stay alert; if he knows that he knows who he is, and he doesn't know he knows—"

"What?"

"Just tell Sticks to be careful. Anything else important?"