My hand brushed Lady Teldra’s hilt, but I didn’t draw. Pulling a Morganti weapon in the House of the Iorich is the sort of thing that gets you talked about, and I wasn’t going to do it if I didn’t have to.
“Something about that note bothers me.”
“If you tell me you’ve suddenly turned into a handwriting expert—”
He didn’t answer; I could feel him thinking, or at least doing something with his mind, probing or sensing in a way that I couldn’t feel. I waited. I hoped no one walked by, because I’d either kill him or feel like an idiot for standing outside of this door not moving. I studied the note again. Was it the same handwriting I’d seen from Perisil? Pretty close. I started to pull out the directions he’d written out for me to compare the writing, but Loiosh spoke before I could.
“There’s someone inside.”
“Okay.”
“It isn’t him.”
“Okay. Anyone else around?”
“A few of the other offices have people in them.”
“Send Rocza ahead.”
She left my shoulder almost before the words were out of my metaphorical mouth. I turned and walked back the way I’d come—not too fast, not too slow, trying to stay alert for any sound, any flicker of movement. It’s the sort of experience that wakes up every particle of your body. If it weren’t for the thrill of the thing, I’d just as soon skip it completely.
“She says it’s clear ahead, Boss.”
The hallway was much, much longer than it had been two minutes before when I was going the other way, and my footsteps were much louder. Two Justicers were walking slowly toward me, deep in conversation, and I gave them an extra look even though I could tell they weren’t Jhereg from the frankly curious glance they gave me. I could feel Loiosh watching them until they were well past.
I reached the stairway at the far end of the hallway with Rocza still scouting ahead. On the main floor I could relax a little; there were uniformed armsmen there, and a few more people as well as more open space; it was a bad place for an assassin to make a move.
The same elderly woman was in the same place near the door. Next to her was a Chreotha with a cart selling food of some sort. I bought a hot and flaky pastry filled with garlicky potato. I stood off to the side eating and thinking.
I fed the remainders to the jhereg; people around pretended not to notice. Lady Teldra would have been proud of them.
I brushed crumbs off my fingers.
“Okay, Boss. Now where?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“Yeah, like I said.”
“This is pretty safe, but I think after standing here six or seven hours I’ll start to feel silly.”
“When has that—”
“Of course, it might be fun to stand here until the assassin gives up and leaves, and then give him a big smile as he goes by.”
“Sure, Boss. Whatever floats your castle.”
“The other idea is not to do that.” I reviewed a list of more practical possibilities, then approached the woman behind the desk with a short bow. “Is there a common waiting area?”
She frowned. “If you wish to see an advocate, they each have offices.”
“Yes,” I said. “I’d rather wait elsewhere, if you don’t mind.”
She looked like she wanted to ask why, but only gestured to her right, saying, “Fourth door on the right. It should be open.”
“Can a note be delivered to Lord Perisil?”
She frowned again. “Would that be High Counsel Perisil?”
“Yes,” I said, while the ghost of Lady Teldra probably tsked at me for not knowing the proper title and at her for correcting me.
The clerk was kind enough to let me use a piece of coarse paper and a cheap pencil. I wrote a short note and handed it over, not even bothering to fold it. “I do not know the customs of your House,” I said. “I trust this will go to his hand, and nowhere else?”
“That is correct,” she said, a bit contemptuously. She probably hated her job, sitting there hour after hour sending people one way or another. I wondered how long she’d been doing it. Since the Interregnum ended, to look at her.
She took the note and put it casually on her desk under what looked like a piece of polished stone. I turned away from her slowly, scanning the room: A few people, mostly Iorich, were passing by on business of their own. The jhereg got some curious glances.
The place she’d directed me to was big and comfortable, mostly done in a pale blue that was probably calculated to make me feel something or other.
“You know, Boss, for someone who hates waiting—”
“Oh, shut up.”
Not that he wasn’t right. I found a chair against a wall because all of the chairs were against a wall. I stretched my legs out, closed my eyes, and tried to relax. Somewhere below me, there was a Jhereg expecting me to walk into Perisil’s office so I could be killed. Was Perisil in on it? Unlikely. The Jhereg don’t like to use advocates for illegal stuff; and besides, if he’d been in on it the note wouldn’t have looked funny.
Here’s the thing: Anyone can be shined. That’s just how it is. If you want someone bad enough, you can get him. But if he knows you’re after him, he can pretty much keep out of trouble as long as he stays alert. Which makes the question simple: How long can someone stay alert, always watching alleyways, aware of anyone who is carefully not looking at you, keeping an eye out for a good place to make a move. How long can you keep that up?
For most people, the answer is: hours, maybe a day or two.
But it turns out that you can do it a lot longer if you have a pair of jhereg taking shifts for you.
Did that mean I was safe? Not hardly. Sooner or later they were bound to get me. But thanks to Loiosh and Rocza, I had a pretty reasonable chance of making it later rather than sooner as long as I didn’t do too many stupid things.
I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong; I’ve gone for months without doing anything stupid. Did I just survive this time because the assassin got sloppy? Maybe. I’d like to think that if it were me I’d have been more careful with the note. Perhaps not, though. No one can do everything perfectly; mistakes happen. But we’re assassins: when we make mistakes, people live.
From time to time someone would come into the room, wait for a while, be met by someone, and leave. I guess I was there for a couple of hours before Perisil came in. He nodded to me, and said, “You could have waited in my office.”
I stood up, nodded, and followed him back down the stairs. We didn’t see anyone in the long hallway. He walked in, took a seat behind his desk, and gave me a questioning look. I decided it was a safe bet that if there’d been an assassin standing there holding a knife, he’d have reacted somehow, so I went in after him and took a seat.
“Want to explain?” he said.
“Explain what?”
“Never mind, then.”
“You saw Aliera?”
“Just got back. She’s very, ah, proud,” he said.
“If you aren’t stating the obvious, then I’m missing the point.”
“I’m stating the obvious.”
“All right.”
“Mostly.” He sat down behind the desk as if he’d just been through a battle. It was a very familiar motion, although when I sat down like that, the battle had usually been more physical.
“Want to tell me about it?” I said.
“I got her to agree to let me defend her.”