The Book of Athyra (39 page)

“We’re going to do this.”

“—we should at least be careful about it. And being careful means finding out.”

“He could have given us his right address.”

“Sure. And he could be the King of Elde Island, too. You follow him, Domm. And don’t let him pick up on you.”

“You want to put those orders in writing,
Lieutenant
?”

“Would you like to eat nine inches of steel,
Lieutenant
?”

“Don’t push me, Loftis.”

“Or we could just dump the whole thing on Papa-cat’s lap and let him decide our next step. Want to do that? How do you think he’d feel about it?”

“I could tell him it was your idea.”

“Sure. Do it. I’m sure he’ll believe you, too. You know as sure as Verra’s tits I’ll roll on this as soon as I have a good excuse. Go ahead.
My protests are down in writing, Domm. How about you? Did you just shrug and say, ‘Hey, sure, sounds like fun’? Probably. So go ahead.”

“Lieutenant, sir, with all respect, my lord, you tire me.”

“Tough. You’ve got your orders, my lord lieutenant. Carry them out.”

“All right, all right. You know how much I love legwork, and I know how much you care about what I love. I’ll wait until his interview is over, then pick him up. Should I bring some backup?”

“Yeah. Take Timmer; she’s good at tailing, and she hasn’t stirred her butt since she’s been here.”

“Okay. What should I tell Birdie about the interview?”

“Play it straight, see what he has to say, and try to keep the bell ringing.”

“Huh?”

“Battle of Waterford Landing, Domm. Tenth Cycle, early Dragon Reign. A border skirmish between a couple of Lyorn over rights to—”

“Oh, now that’s extremely useful, Loftis. Thanks. Why don’t you skip the history, and the obscure references, and just tell me what you want Birdie to do.”

“I mean Birdie should try to get him talking, and then just keep drawing him out until there isn’t anything left to draw.”

“And if he won’t
be
drawn?”

“Then that’ll tell us something, too.”

“Okay.”

“You got to admit this is better than just sitting here day after day pretending. At least it’s doing something.”

“I suppose. Mind if I put him in front of the queue so I don’t have to wait all night?”

“Yeah, I mind. Nothing to make him suspicious. You can put him in front of the Teckla if you want.”

“Okay. Hey, Loftis.”

“Yeah?”

“You ever wonder why?”

“Why what? Why we got the word?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s a laugh. I haven’t been doing anything
but
wondering why for the last two weeks.”

“Yeah.”

They stopped talking. I moved my head forward, replaced the Phoenix Stone around my neck, and didn’t look as someone I didn’t recognize
walked out of the door and across the hall. An instant later he came back. I watched him, as did all of the others who were waiting, but he didn’t look at me at all. Assuming that was Domm, my opinion of him went up a bit—it isn’t easy to avoid taking even a quick glance at someone you’re going to be following in a few minutes. I got the uncomfortable feeling that I was dealing with professionals here.

I sat there trying to decide if I should skip out now, which would mean I wouldn’t have to worry about losing the tail and would give them something to wonder about, or if I should go ahead and let them interview me, and hope to pick up more information that way. I decided to gamble, because, now that I had a better idea of what was going on, as well as how they were going to handle me, I felt like I could maybe learn a bit. I was glad Domm had demanded the explanation for “keep ringing the bell,” because it would have been a mistake to have asked Loftis myself.

Someone else showed up, went into the room I’d just come out of, then emerged and took a seat next to me. We didn’t speak. None of us had so much as made eye contact with any of the others. But as I sat there waiting for about an hour and a half planning what kind of story I was going to tell them, I didn’t get any less nervous.

When they finally called out “Kaldor,” it took me a moment to realize that was the name I’d given them. I tell you, Kiera, I’m not made for a life of deception. But I shuffled into the office, still taking long strides and swaggering, but shuffling, too, if you can imagine it, where sat a fairly young, competent-looking Lyorn behind yet another desk. I’ve been seeing a great number of desks lately—it makes me miss my own. I don’t know what it is about a desk that gives one a feeling of power—perhaps it is that, when you are facing someone behind a desk, you don’t know what is concealed within it; the contents of a desk can be worse than a nest of yendi.

The chair he pointed me to was another of the inevitable plain, wooden chairs—there’s something about those, too, now that I think of it.

He said, “I am the Baron of Daythiefnest. You are Kaldor?”

Daythiefnest? Birdie. I didn’t laugh. “Yes, my lord.”

“Number three Coattail Bend?”

“Number six, my lord.” Heh. Caught that one, at least.

“Right, sorry. And you have come in on your own?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Why?”

“My lord?”

“What brought you here?”

“The investigation, my lord. I have information.”

“Ah. You have information about Fyres’s death?”

“Yes, my lord.”

He studied me carefully, but, as far as intimidation went, he was nothing compared to Loftis. Of course, it wouldn’t do to tell him so; it might hurt his feelings.

“And what is this information?”

“Well, my lord, after work—”

“What sort of work do you do, Kaldor?”

“I mend things, my lord. That is, I mend clothes, and sometimes I mend pots and pans, except my tools got took, which I reported to the Guard, my lord, and I mend sails for sailors sometimes, and—”

“Yes, I understand. Go on.”

“I know that you aren’t the gentlemen who are going to get my tools back, that’s a different outfit.”

“Yes. Go on.”

“Go on?”

“After work . . .”

“Oh, right. Well, after work, on the days I have work, I like to go into the Riversend. Do you know where that is?”

“I can find it.”

“Oh, it’s right nearby. You just take Kelp down to where it curves—”

“Yes, yes. Go on.”

“Right, my lord. Well, I was in there having a nice glass of ale—”

“When was this?”

“Last Marketday, my lord.”

“Very well.”

“Well, I’d been drinking a fair bit, and I’d gotten a kind of early start, so before I knew it I was seeing the room go spinning around me, the way it does when you know you’ve had more than maybe you should?”

“Yes. You were drunk.”

“That’s it, my lord. I was drunk. And then the room spun, and then I must have fallen asleep.”

“Passed out.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Well?”

“Yes, my lord?”

“Get on with it.”

“Oh. Yes, my lord. I must have been sleeping five, six hours, because when I woke up, needing to relieve myself, you understand, I wasn’t nearly
so drunk, and I was lying on one of the benches they have in back, and the place was almost empty—there was Trim, the host, who was in the far corner cleaning up, and there was me, and there were these two gentlemen sitting at a table right next to me, and they were talking kind of quiet, but I could hear them, you know, my lord? And it was pretty dark, and I wasn’t moving, so I don’t think they knew I was there.”

“Well, go on.”

“One of them said, ‘If you ask me, they didn’t get anything.’ And the other one said, ‘Oh, no? Well, I’ll tell you something, they got a lot, and it’s going on the market next week,’ and the first one said, ‘What’s it going for?’ and the other one said, ‘A lot. It has to be a lot. If someone is going to lighten Fyres, especially after he’s dead, and not take anything but a bunch of papers, they must be important.’ And the first one said, ‘Maybe that’s what he was killed for?’ And the other one said, ‘Killed? Naw, he just fell and hit his head.’ And then, my lord, I sort of figured out what they were saying, even though I was still maybe a bit woozy, and I knew I didn’t want to hear any more, so I moaned like I was just waking up, and they saw me, and they stopped talking right then. And I tumbled out of there, singing to myself like I was even drunker than I was, and I went out the back way and I beat it for home as quick as I could, and I didn’t even settle up with Trim until the next day. But, as I was walking out, just at the last minute, I took a quick look at the two gentlemen. I couldn’t see their faces too well, but I could see their colors, and they were both Jhereg. I’ll swear it. And that’s what I have, my lord.”

“That’s what you have?”

“Yes, my lord.”

He stared at me like I was a rotten pear and he’d just bit into me, and he thought for a while. “Why did you come and see us now, and not two weeks ago?”

“Well, because I heard of the reward, and I was thinking about my tools that got stole, and—”

“What reward?”

“The reward for anyone who gives evidence about how Fyres died.”

“There’s no reward.”

“There’s no reward?”

“Not at all. Where did you hear such a thing?”

“Why, just yesterday, down at the Riversend, a lady told me that she’d heard—”

“She was deceived, my friend. And so were you.”

“My lord?”

“There isn’t any reward for anything. We’re just trying to find out what happened.”

“Oh.” I tried to look disappointed.

He said, “How did you learn to come here, by the way?”

“How, my lord?”

“Yes.”

“Why, the lady, she was a Tsalmoth, and she told me.”

“I see. Who was this lady?”

“Well, I don’t know, my lord. I’d never seen her before, but she was—” I squinted as if I was trying to remember. “Oh, she was about eight hundred, and sort of tall, and her hair curled, and she was, you know, a Tsalmoth.”

“Yes,” he said, nodding. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but there isn’t any reward.”

I looked disappointed but said, “Well, that’s all right, my lord; I’m just glad to have done the right thing.”

“Yes, indeed. Well, we know where to reach you if we have any more questions.”

I stood up and bowed. “Yes, my lord. Thank you.”

“Thank you,” he said, and that was it for the interview.

I walked out the door without seeing anyone except those who were waiting for their turn, and I took my time going down the stairs. As I went, I said, “
Loiosh?
”

“
Right here, boss.
”

“
I’m going to be followed, so stay back for a while.
”

“
Okay. Who’s going to follow you, boss?
”

“
I don’t know, but I think the enemy.
”

“
Oh, we have an enemy now?
”

“
I think so. Maybe.
”

“
It’s nice to have an enemy, boss. Where are you taking them?
”

“
Good question,
” I said. “
I’ll let you know when we get there.
”

I
STOOD ON THE
street, just outside City Hall, not looking behind me and trying to stay in character while figuring out where to go and what to do. You don’t get tailed all that often, at least when you know it’s happening, and an opportunity like that ought not to be wasted.

“
I’ve spotted ’em, boss. Two of ’em. Pros.
”

“
What are they doing?
”

“
Waiting for you to do something.
”

“
Good. Let them wait.
”

I’d done what I actually set out to do, of course—it was easy to fill in the missing pieces of Loftis’s conversation with Domm, and the missing pieces said that they were faking their way through the investigation and putting out the results they were told to, and that was confirmed by the way the other one, Daythiefnest, had been more concerned with how I knew enough to find them and why I wanted to than with the information itself. But what now? Knowing the investigation was faked brought up the possibility (although not the certainty by any means) that Fyres was, in fact, murdered, but it got me no closer to learning who was pulling the financial strings, or who in the next few months and years would be.

But more than that, Kiera, I was bothered, just as you were when I first suggested it. Why would the Empire do something like that? I’d never heard of it being done, and it would take, well, someone very highly
placed in the Empire, and a very strong need, to attempt it. The question was who—who in the Empire and who in Fyres’s world? And I didn’t know anyone who inhabited either realm.

I mentally ran through the notes I’d made when reading the files you lightened Fyres of. Based on what I picked up from the files, and based on what your friend Stony told you, I’d guess that Fyres’s children were somewhere near the center of things—that is, he was certainly going to leave his kids in charge of as much as possible, divided up according to his best guess about who could handle what and how much. He had a wife, one son, and two daughters, as well as a few other scattered relatives.

The wife, I heard somewhere, used to be third mate in a man-o’-war, which might indicate leadership qualities, but according to the files, he never seemed to trust her; and she never had anything to do with his business. There was just enough gossip floating around about his son for me to get the idea that everything he touched turned to mud; over the years, Fyres trusted him with less and less. If I had to guess about the will, I’d say Fyres left him with a house or two, a bunch of cash, and nothing else.

That left the daughters: the younger, Baroness of Reega, and the older, the Countess of Endra. It seemed from Fyres’s notes that, as time went on, he was giving them more and more responsibility and working them into his businesses. Right then, Kiera, I really wished I had my old organization, because I could have made one remark to Kragar—how’s he doing, by the way?—and in two days I would know everything possible about them. I hate doing the legwork myself, and, more important, I just didn’t have time to do it.