I went for option three.
I took another street to the left, and wished I still had Spellbreaker.
Well, that was silly. I did still have Spellbreaker.
I reached past my rapier, gripped Lady Teldra, and drew her. Then I stared at her.
Like me, she had changed. 3. Shamy
I slipped Loiosh and Rocza the remains of the bread (neither expressed any interest in the garlic) as Mihi brought the shamy. I’ve never come across shamy anywhere but Valabar’s, and I have no clue how it is made. It is mostly ice, crushed or chopped very fine, flavored, and with, well, with something else in there so it holds together. Maybe a cream of some kind, maybe egg. The flavor is very subtle, but reminds me of certain wines that Morrolan favors—wines that tingle on your tongue. Shamy has no such tingle, but it does have just a bit of the flavor.
“Who was that fellow, Vlad?”
“Hmmm?”
“That fellow who came in before and sat with us.”
“Oh. That was Mario.”
“I got his name, but who is he?”
“Mario Greymist. You never heard of him?”
He shook his head.
“He, uh ... he’s a Jhereg.”
“I saw that. But I was polite to him. Did you notice?”
“Yes. It showed great restraint.”
Telnan smiled.
“You notice I kept my face straight, Loiosh?”
“Yeah, Boss. It showed great restraint.”
“So, why would I have heard of him?”
“The story is, he assassinated the Emperor right before the Interregnum.”
“Oh! That Mario.” He frowned. “I thought he’d been killed.”
“I guess not. Or else it didn’t take.”
He nodded.
The shamy melted on my tongue, taking with it the taste of the garlic, but not the memory.
The idea, as Vili explained it to me long ago, is to keep your mouth from lingering too long on what has just happened; to prepare your senses for what comes next.
Telnan seemed to like it. I know I did.
A good meal, you see, is all about unexpected delight: it’s one thing for food to simply “taste good,” but a real master can make it taste good in a way that surprises you. And for that to work, you have to start from a place where you can permit yourself to be surprised. And, interestingly enough, the person eating has to cooperate for that to really be successful.
I’m a decent cook. I’m an outstanding eater.
For a long time—say, three or four seconds—I forgot that I was being pursued, and just stared at Lady Teldra; even the sensations that rushed through me from having her in my hand took second place to looking at her.
A long, long time ago—about thirteen hours, more or less—I had held in my hand a long, slim Morganti knife, and with it, I had undergone, uh, certain experiences that had transformed it into what those with a flair for the over-dramatic called Godslayer and I called Lady Teldra. But it had been a long, slim Morganti dagger.
She didn’t feel any different; she still caressed my hand the way shamy caressed my tongue. But she was no longer a long knife; now she was a smaller knife, about ten inches of blade, wide, with a slight curve to her; a knife-fighter’s weapon. I’m no knife-fighter. Well, I mean, I can defend myself with one if I have to, but—
“Boss!”
Someone was standing about thirty yards in front of me. How she’d gotten there, I don’t know; there is slight shimmering in the air the instant before an individual arrives from a teleport, and a sort of aura effect for a second or two afterward. I didn’t see anything like that. Maybe I was distracted by staring at Lady Teldra. But there she was, in Jhereg gray, and she was pointing a finger at me, as if accusing me of something.
There was this knife in my hand. I couldn’t reach her from here, and if there was ever a knife that wasn’t designed to be thrown, this curving thing was it. So I spun it in my hand, which I’d learned as a trick for impressing girls back when impressing girls was the entire goal of my life. Once, twice around, much like in the old days, when I’d had a gold chain I’d called Spellbreaker, and a very familiar tingle ran up my arm, just like the old days. Two spins, then I held it out in front of me, and the sorceress crumbled and dropped to the ground.
There were wisps of smoke coming from her clothing. My goodness.
I wasn’t exactly sure what had happened, but whatever it was, I felt neither the deep weariness that accompanies witchcraft, nor the momentary disorientation that often goes with casting a sorcerous spell.
“Boss, what just happened?”
“I didn’t get killed.”
“Okay, I think I understand that part.”
“Beyond that, I’m not sure. Except I’d like to get somewhere safe.”
“Good thinking, Boss. Dzur Mountain?”
“Just my thought.”
I stared at Lady Teldra, then glanced at the sheath. It had changed too; it looked just right to accommodate a curved knife with about an eleven-inch blade. I put the one into the other and resolved not to think about it just then. I removed the amulet from around my neck, put it into the box I carried at my hip, shut the box, and performed the teleport as quickly as possible without risking turning myself into little pieces of Easterner scattered all over the landscape.
It was chilly on Dzur Mountain, but once the amulet was around my neck again, I felt safe.
The door was unlocked. I let myself in and eventually made my way to the sitting room. I badly wanted something to drink, but there was no sign of Tukko. I sat down and considered what had just happened, and what I had yet to do, and all I didn’t know. In particular, all those things I didn’t know that might make the difference between living and dying.
In the midst of my pondering, Sethra came in.
I stood up. “Sorry, Sethra. I had some trouble and needed a place—”
“You know you are welcome here, Vlad.”
“Thank you. Uh ...”
“Yes?
I cleared my throat. “Do you know how, uh, how I might be able to reach Kiera the Thief?”
She raised both eyebrows. I didn’t answer all the questions she didn’t ask.
After a moment, she gave an almost imperceptible shrug, and said, “I expect her to be by shortly.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?”
There was no possible way to answer that, so I didn’t. Sethra left, and I sat there being bored and restless for about half an hour. I passed the time as well as I could by recalling details of the meal at Valabar’s, at the end of which time Kiera slid into the room.
“Hello, Vlad.”
“Kiera. I appreciate you stopping in to see me.”
“It was no trouble; I was in the neighborhood. I assume you wish something stolen?”
“Actually, no. Not this time.”
“Then what’s on your mind?”
“The Left Hand of the Jhereg.”
“Oh? You thinking of joining?”
“Not this week. But I think one of them just tried to send me to that place from which none return except for those who do.”
“Hmmm. You’ve annoyed someone.”
“I’ve annoyed just about everyone in the Jhereg. That is, our side. Would the Left Hand care?”