“Well, I should look for work—”
“How much do you earn?”
“Three pennies within the Imperial Wing. If I have to—”
I gave him an imperial.
He stared at it, then at me, then back to it, then he took it and put into a pouch at his side.
I now had his attention.
Iorich
5
The orders from the Warlord to General Lady Fardra e’Baritt were not put in specific terms (see Appendix 2), but did include the phrase “minimal damage to property and non-combatants in the region is a priority second only to suppression of the disorders.” One question before this committee, then, is to consider what “minimal” means in this context, and who is a non-combatant, and who can reasonably be assumed to be a non-combatant by individual soldiers of various ranks and responsibilities in high-risk areas.
“You see people,” I told him.
“My lord?”
I’m not completely sure how much the titles and how much the imperial had to do with me becoming “my lord.” I said, “I’m trying to learn my way around this place, and who’s who, so I don’t make a fool of myself when I meet strangers.”
He nodded as if it were a great idea, and he was just the man for the job.
“Who do you want to know about first?” He had a serious, business-like expression. I avoided laughing in his face because it would have been unproductive, not to mention rude.
“Who is close to Her Majesty?”
“Close?” he said, as if I’d mentioned something scandalous.
“Who does she listen to?”
“Oh,” he said, and looked thoughtful again. “Well, first, there’s Lady Mifaant.”
“Who is she?”
“An Issola. She doesn’t have, ah, an office or anything. I mean, there’s no name for it. But she’s Her Majesty’s, um, I don’t know the word. The person the Empress goes to when something is bothering her.”
“Confidant? Best friend?”
Something about that bothered him—like, I don’t know, maybe the Empress isn’t supposed to have friends—but he finally gave a hesitant nod.
“Who else?”
“Nerulan, of course. Her physicker.”
I nodded.
“And her, well—” He hesitated, and turned a little red.
“Hmmm?”
“You know.”
“I don’t, actually. Unless you mean she has a lover.”
He nodded once, watching me carefully, as if for a clue as to what sort of expression he should have.
“Who is he? Or she?”
“He. He’s, um, he’s . . .” His voice trailed off and looked a little desperate.
“An Easterner?” I said. In fact, I knew very well, but the less I admitted to knowing, the more he’d tell me.
He nodded.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’d heard rumors. What’s his name?”
“Laszló,” he said. I nodded. Poncer dropped his voice and said, “He’s a witch.”
“Well,” I said. “Interesting.”
And it was.
“He’s been alive for, well, longer than they’re supposed to live, anyway.” He looked at me, reddened again, and became very interested in his drink.
I gave him what I calculated to be a friendly, reassuring chuckle. “What does he look like?”
He frowned. “Like you,” he said. “His skin is your color, and he has hair growing like you have, above his lip. More hair, though, and curlier.”
“I take it he’s usually surrounded by courtiers?”
“They try,” he said.
“Yeah, they would.”
“He tries to stay away from them, though.”
“I don’t blame him. So, how do I manage to talk to him?”
“Um,” he said. I think the question startled him. Gossip was one thing; actually using the gossip seemed to make him uncomfortable. I waited.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t think of any way.”
I waited some more.
“It won’t help,” he said, “but there are rumors . . .”
“Yes?”
“There are rumors that he knows the Enchantress of Dzur Mountain.”
I didn’t have to pretend to look startled.
“Easy, Boss. ‘Rumors,’ remember?”
“But still—”
“And if she knew him, why didn’t she ever mention it?”
“Oh, come on, Loiosh. She’s Sethra.”
“That’s good to know,” I told Poncer. “Who else sees the Empress? Does she have a Prime Minister?”
“No,” he said. “Well, some say she does, but it’s secret.”
“She must have advisers she consults regularly.”
“The Warlord, for anything about the army. And the Lady of the Chairs for anything to do with the Council of Princes. And then for finances and stuff—”
“The Warlord.”
He nodded.
“I thought the Warlord was under arrest.”
“The new Warlord.”
“Who is the new Warlord?”
“Her Highness Norathar,” he said.
I stared at him. After a moment, I said, “I thought she was Dragon Heir.”
“She’s both.”
“Interesting. And they see each other often?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who is Lady of the Chairs?”
“Lord Avissa.”
“House?”
“Issola. The Lady of the Chairs is always an Issola.”
“Oh. Of course.” I almost touched the hilt of Lady Teldra, but I didn’t want to make Poncer any more nervous than I had to.
We talked a little longer about inconsequential things, and I bought him another beer, dodged a few polite questions, and took my leave. I’m much better at getting information from Teckla than I used to be, thanks to a ghost and a knife, in that order. Long story, never mind.
Norathar and Sethra. Yeah, I shouldn’t be surprised that two of the Empress’s secret confidants were people I knew. Aliera herself was a third, for that matter. I had surrounded myself with those types by a complex process that had started years ago when a minor button-man started skimming from me. And no, I’m not about to give you any more details. Get over it.
I thought about walking to the Dragon Wing and seeing if I could have a long chat with Norathar e’Lanya, the Warlord and Dragon Heir. Once, she’d been a Jhereg assassin. She’d worked with the Easterner who became my wife.
My son would be about eight now. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been four. A lot goes on in those four years. By now—
No.
I stood still in a hallway deep in the heart of the Palace that controlled the mighty Empire of Dragaerans, letting humanity (to use the term loosely) flow around me, and tried to convince myself to attend to business. Seeing Cawti and my son would make me miserable and put them in danger. So, naturally, it was exactly what I wanted to do.
Cawti had named him Vlad Norathar.
I suddenly had the feeling that if I met with Norathar—I mean, the Warlord—I’d smack her on the side of the head. Probably best not to talk to her just now.
“Boss?”
“Mmmm?”
“We should visit Sethra.”
“I know.”
“You don’t want to?”
“Partly that. Partly, I don’t want the whole Jhereg knowing I went there. Castle Black is one thing, but Dzur Mountain—”
“You think you’d be in danger in Dzur Mountain?”
“No, not danger. I just don’t feel comfortable having the Jhereg know I’m there; at least right away.”
“Oh.”
“Maybe there’s a way. . . okay, let’s do it.”