The Book of Jhereg (81 page)

About seven minutes later Herth showed up, along with Bajinok and another three bodyguards. They entered the flat. I concentrated for a moment and performed
a very simple spell. A coin heated up. A teleport block occurred around Kelly’s flat.

Just about that time, Easterners and an occasional Teckla began to congregate on the street. One of the legmen outside went in, presumably to report on this development. He came out again. Then Phoenix Guards began to collect on the opposite side of the street. In a surprisingly short time—like five minutes, maybe—there was a repeat of the scene before: about two hundred armed Easterners on one side, eighty or so Phoenix Guards on the other. That to you, Kelly. Instant confrontation, courtesy of Baronet Taltos.

Trouble was, I no longer wanted a confrontation. That plan had involved having Cawti out of the way, so I could kill Herth while Ishtvan killed Quaysh and the Guards killed Kelly and his band. But I hadn’t sent the messages informing the Phoenix Guards of this occurrence; they had found out on their own. Damn them anyway.

Well, there was no way of pulling out at this stage. By now Herth would be inside, he would have realized that the message didn’t come from Kelly, and he would have realized that there was a teleport block around the building. He would deduce that I was out here somewhere, waiting to kill him. What would he do? Well, he might just try to come out, hoping that I wouldn’t try anything with the Phoenix Guards all around. Or he might call for more bodyguards, surround himself completely and walk out of the place; far enough away to be able to teleport. He was probably pretty unhappy now.

The lieutenant who’d been there last time was not in sight. Instead, the commander of the Phoenix Guard was an old Dragaeran who wore the blue and white of the House of the Tiassa beneath the gold cloak of the Phoenix. He had that peculiar, stiff-yet-relaxed pose of the longtime soldier. Had he been an Easterner, he would have had a long mustache to pull. As it was, he scratched the side of his nose from time to time. Other than that, he hardly moved. I noticed that his blade was very long but lightweight, and I decided that I didn’t want to fight him. Then it occurred to me that this was an old Tiassa in command of Phoenix Guards, and I realized that it was probably the Lord Khaavren himself, the Brigadier of the Guards. I was impressed.

Easterners and Guards continued to gather, and now Kelly stepped outside and looked around, along with Natalia and a couple of others. Soon they went back in. I was able to tell nothing from watching Kelly. A bit later Gregory and Paresh went out and began speaking to the Easterners, quietly. I assumed they were telling them to remain calm.

I flexed my fingers. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the building across the street. I remembered the hallway. I saw the broken porcelain below next to my right foot, but ignored it; it could have been cleaned up. I called up a picture of the reddish stain that was probably liquor on the floor and against the wall. Then I remembered the stairs in the middle of the hall, probably leading down to a cellar, with a curtain at the top. The ceiling above it was pitted with broken paint and chipped woodwork. A frayed rope dangled from it. The rope had probably once held a candelabrum. I remembered the thickness
of the rope and the way the frayed end had hung and the shape of the frays. I recalled the layer of dust just inside the curtain. And the curtain itself, woven in zigzags of dark brown and an ugly, dirty blue, both against a background that might once have been green. The smell of the hallway, compressed, dust-choked and stuffy, so thick I could almost taste it; I
could
taste the dust in my mouth.

I decided I had it. I held it there, fixed, and called upon my link to the Orb, and the power rushed through me to the forms I created and shaped and spun, until they matched, in a deep yet inexplicable way, the picture and scent and taste I held in my mind.

I drew them in, my eyes tightly closed, and I knew I had caught
somewhere
, because the sickening movement began in my bowels. I gave the last twist and opened my eyes, and, yes, I was there. It didn’t look or smell quite the way I remembered it, but close enough. In any case, it hid me quite effectively.

I was assuming that there were bodyguards in the hallway, so I tried to keep silent. Have you ever felt you were about to throw up, and yet had to keep silent? But let’s not dwell on that; I managed. After a while I risked a look past the curtain. I saw a bodyguard standing in the hall. He was about as alert as it is possible to be when nothing is immediately happening, which isn’t all that alert. I ducked my head back without being seen. I looked the other way, toward the back door, but didn’t see anyone. There may have been one or two outside the back door, or just inside the back entrance to the flat itself, but I could ignore them for now either way.

I listened closely and I could make out Herth’s voice, speaking peremptorily. So he was inside. He was well-protected, of course. My options seemed rather limited. I could try to pick off his protection one by one. That is, find a way to quiet these two without alerting those inside, remove the bodies and wait until someone investigated, repeated as needed. It was attractive in a way, but I had real doubts about my ability to handle that many without a noise; and, in any case, Herth might duck out at any moment if he decided that was his best chance.

On the other hand, there was only one other option, and that was stupid. I mean,
really
stupid. The only time for doing something that stupid is when you’re so mad you can’t think clearly, you expect to die anyway, you have weeks of frustration built up to the point where you want to explode and you figure maybe you can take a few of them with you, and, generally, you just don’t care anymore.

I decided this was the perfect time.

I checked all my weapons, then drew two thin and extremely sharp throwing knives. I kept my arms at my sides so the knives, if not hidden, at least wouldn’t be obvious. I stepped out into the hall.

He saw me at once, and stared. I was walking toward him, and I seem to recall that I had a smile on my lips. Yes, in fact I’m sure of it. Maybe that’s what stopped him, but he just stared at me. My pulse was racing by then. I kept walking, waiting until either I was close enough or he moved. My guess,
looking back on those ten steps down the hall, was that I would have been cut down at once if I’d tried to rush him, but by walking toward him, smiling, I threw him out of his reckoning. He stared at me as if hypnotized, making no motion until I was right up to him.

Then I nailed him, one knife in his stomach, which is one of the most disabling of non-fatal wounds. He crumbled to the floor right at my feet.

I took a knife from my boot; one I could throw as well as cut or stab with. I entered the room.

Two bodyguards were just looking up toward the doorway and tentatively reaching for weapons. The messenger was sitting on a couch with his eyes closed, looking bored. Bajinok stood next to Herth, who was talking to Kelly. I could see Kelly’s face, but not Herth’s. Kelly wasn’t pleased. Cawti stood next to Kelly and she spotted me at once. Paresh and Gregory were in the room, along with three Easterners and a Teckla who I didn’t recognize.

Also next to Herth was a bodyguard who was staring right at me. Whose eyes were widening. Who had a knife in his hand. Who was ready to throw it at me. Who fell with my knife high on the right side of his chest.

As he fell, he managed to release his weapon, but I slipped to the side and it only grazed my waist. As I avoided it, I turned to kill Herth, but Bajinok had stepped in front of him. I cursed to myself and moved farther into the room, looking for my next set of enemies.

The other two bodyguards drew weapons, but I was faster than I thought I’d be. I sent each of them a small dart coated with a poison that would make their muscles constrict, and I put a couple of other things into their bodies as well. They went down, got up, and went down again.

Meanwhile, my rapier was out and I had a dagger in my left hand. Bajinok pulled a lepip from somewhere, which was nasty because it could break my blade if it hit. Herth was staring at me over Bajinok’s shoulder; he hadn’t yet drawn a weapon. I don’t know, maybe he didn’t have one. I avoided a strike from Bajinok and riposted—taking him cleanly through the chest. He gave one spasm and fell. I looked over at the guy who’d acted as a messenger. He had a dagger in his hand and was half standing up. He dropped the dagger and sat down again, his hands well clear of his body.

It had been less than ten seconds since I’d stepped into the room. Now three bodyguards were down in various stages of discomfort and uselessness (not to mention two more in the hall), Bajinok was probably dying, and the remaining Jhereg on Herth’s side had declared himself out of the action.

I couldn’t believe it had worked.

Neither could Herth.

He said, “What are you, anyway?”

I sheathed my rapier and drew my belt dagger. I didn’t answer him because I don’t talk to my targets; it puts the relationship on entirely the wrong basis. I heard something behind me and saw Cawti’s eyes widen. I threw myself to the side of the room, rolled, and came to a kneeling position.

A body—one that I hadn’t put there—was lying on the floor. I noticed that
Cawti had a dagger out, held down to her side. Herth still hadn’t moved. I checked the body to make sure it wasn’t anything more than that. It wasn’t. It was Quaysh. There was a short iron spike protruding from his back. Thank you, Ishtvan, wherever you are.

I stood up again and turned to the messenger. “Get out,” I said. “If those two bodyguards outside start to come in here, my people outside will kill you.” He might well have wondered why, if I had people outside, they hadn’t killed the bodyguards. But he didn’t say anything; he just left.

I took a step toward Herth and raised my dagger. At this point I didn’t care who saw me, or if I was going to be turned over to the Empire. I wanted this finished.

Kelly said, “Wait.”

I stopped, mostly from sheer disbelief. I said, “What?”

“Don’t kill him.”

“Are you nuts?” I took another step. Herth had absolutely no expression on his face.

“I mean it,” said Kelly.

“I’m glad.”

“Don’t kill him.”

I stopped and stepped back a pace. “Okay,” I said. “Why?”

“He’s
our
enemy. We’ve been fighting him for years. We don’t need you to step in and settle it for us, and we don’t need an Imperial, or even a Jhereg, investigation into his death.”

I said, “This may be hard for you to believe, but I don’t really give a teckla’s squeal what you want. If I don’t kill him now, I’m dead. I thought I was anyway, but things seem to have worked out so that I might live. I’m not going to—”

“I think you can arrange for him not to come after you, without killing him yourself.”

I blinked. Finally I said, “All right, how?”

“I don’t know,” said Kelly. “But look at his situation: You’ve battered his organization almost out of existence. It’s going to take everything he has just to put it together. He is in a position of weakness. You can manage something.”

I looked at Herth. He still showed no expression. I said, “At best, that just means he’s going to wait.”

Kelly said, “Maybe.”

I turned back to Kelly. “How do you know so much about how we operate and what kind of situation he’s in?”

“It’s our business to know everything that affects us and those we represent. We’ve been fighting him for years, one way or another. We have to know him and how he operates.”

“Okay. Maybe. But you still haven’t told me why I should let him live.”

Kelly squinted at me. “Do you know,” he said, “that you are a walking contradiction? Your background is from South Adrilankha, you are an Easterner,
yet you have been working all your life to deny this, to adopt the attitudes of the Dragaerans, to almost
be
a Dragaeran, and more, an aristocrat—”

“That’s a lot of—”

“At times, you affect the speech patterns of the aristocracy. You are working to become, not rich, but
powerful
, because that is what the aristocracy values above all things. And yet, at the same time, you wear a mustache to assert your Eastern origins, and you identify with Easterners so much that, I’m told, you have never plied your trade on one, and, in fact, turned down an offer to murder Franz.”

“So, what does this—?”

“Now you have to choose. I’m not asking you to give up your profession, despicable as it is. I’m not asking you for
anything
, in fact. I’m telling you that it is in the interest of our people that you not murder this person. Do what you want.” He turned away.

I chewed on my lip, amazed at first that I was even thinking about it. I shook my head. I thought about Franz, who was actually pleased to have his name used for propaganda after he died, and Sheryl, who would probably have felt the same, and I thought about all that Kelly had said to me over the last few times we spoke, and about Natalia, and I remembered the talk with Paresh, so long ago it seemed, and the look he’d given me at the end. Now I understood it.

Most people never have the chance to choose what side they’re on, but I did. That’s what Paresh was telling me, and Sheryl and Natalia. Franz had thought I had chosen. Cawti and I had reached a point where we could choose our sides. Cawti had chosen, and now I had to. I wondered if I could choose to stay in the middle.

It suddenly didn’t matter that I was standing in a crowd of strangers. I turned to Cawti and said, “I should join you. I know that. But I can’t. Or I won’t. I guess that’s what it comes down to.” She didn’t say anything. Neither did anyone else. In the awful silence of that ugly little room, I just kept talking.

“Whatever this thing is that I’ve become is incapable of looking beyond itself. Yes, I’d like to do something for the greater good of humanity, if you want to call it that. But I can’t, and we’re both stuck with that. I can cry and wail as much as I want and it doesn’t change what I am or what you are or anything else.”