“My thanks,” I said, and put a couple of orbs on the table. “Have another round on me.”
I stood, turned on my heel, and crossed the room before they could start asking questions I didn’t want to answer.
I found the host and arranged to get a room for the night.
Well, well. Aliera, arrested. Now, that was interesting. She must have done something pretty remarkable for the Empress—a good friend of hers—to have permitted that to happen. Or caused it to happen?
I lay on my back on the hard but clean bed the inn provided; conversation drifted up from below and the wind made the trees outside hiss as I thought things over.
My first reaction had been to return to Adrilankha and see if I could help her. I could get there fast. Anyone in Adrilankha would take more than a month to reach me here, barring a teleport or access to a really efficient post system. But I was only a few days from Adrilankha; rivers work like that.
Very little reflection was required to realize how stupid that idea was—even Loiosh hadn’t felt the need to point it out. Adrilankha was the capital city, and the heart of the Empire, and the center of operations of a certain criminal organization that very much wanted me dead. I had spent several years now avoiding them—successfully, with one or two exceptions.
Returning would mean putting myself into their hands, an action for which Aliera herself would have nothing but scorn. And, in fact, whatever sort of trouble Aliera was in, there was unlikely to be anything I could do about it anyway.
A stupid idea, to be sure.
Three days later I stepped off a boat onto North Market Pier Number Four in Adrilankha, smelling like fish and looking for trouble.
Iorich
1
For a State to investigate the actions of its own military is, as no less than Lanya pointed out as far back as the Third Cycle, to either begin with a set of assumptions that will ultimately control the investigation, or to tangle one’s self hopelessly in contradiction before beginning. This report, then, will begin by stating those assumptions (see Part One).
The questions this committee was asked to address were as follows:
1. What were the facts in and around the events in the village of Tirma in the county of Shalomar involving Imperial troops on Lyorn 2 of Zerika 252?
2. Was there any moral or legal culpability attached to any Imperial representatives associated with the incident?
3. If so, who should be held to blame, for what, and how are the interests of justice best served in this matter?
4. Insofar as there was culpability, what steps might be taken in the future to prevent a repetition of any unfortunate or regrettable events . . .
I felt confident that the immediate dock area was safe, because I had sent Loiosh and Rocza ahead of me to look for anyone suspicious, and Loiosh is good at that sort of work. I’d come in on a boat filled with flour from the Pushta and fish from the river; though as I understood it, the main profit from the trip would come from the salt they’d bring back. Next to the dock was a small market area, where bakers would bid for the sacks of flour I’d slept among for the last couple of nights.
I brushed brown flour off my brown leathers, adjusted my cloak, and moved past the market, climbing the seemingly endless flight of concrete stairs that led up to street level. It was morning, and the streets were just starting to get busy. Loiosh and Rocza flew above me in wide circles, keeping watch.
Adrilankha.
My city.
River and ocean smells—entirely different—battled for attention, along with flour and refuse of various kinds. Tradesmen were setting up, Teckla were running errands, coins were already starting to clink all around me. This was my home, whether I liked it or not. In fact, I didn’t like it, at least at the moment; but it was still home.
As if to emphasize the point, I became aware once more of the Imperial Orb, now close enough that its effects penetrated the Phoenix Stone amulet I wore about my neck. Its presence in my mind was like a low shepherd’s pipe playing quietly over the next hill.
From here, it was only a couple of miles to the most northeastern entrance of the Imperial Palace; I didn’t think the Jhereg would be stupid enough to make a move on me once I was inside. Even the Jhereg Wing would be safe—the thought of going there just to taunt them was only briefly tempting.
“As stupid moves go, Boss, this one isn’t bad. I mean, comparatively.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“I knew you’d be relieved.”
Usually, if you’re a professional and you’re going to kill someone, it takes a while to set things up—you need to be sure of where to find your target, how you’re going to take him, all the escape routes, and so on. Arriving unexpectedly in town like this, I figured my chances of making it safely to the Palace were pretty good. And if anyone did try anything, it would be a clumsy, last-minute effort that I ought to be able to deflect.
That, at any rate, was my thinking. And, right or wrong, I did make it; taking the Street of the Issola to what is called the Imperial Wing, though in fact it is not a wing, but the heart of the Palace, to which the other wings are attached. Once inside, I had to ask directions a few times, but eventually managed to walk quite nearly all the way around the Imperial Wing. In fact, I’d entered rather close to the Iorich Wing, but the Jhereg Wing was in between, and walking in front of it didn’t feel like a smart move, so I took the long way.
The main entrance to the Iorich Wing from the Imperial Wing is through either of a pair of twin arches with no door. Above one arch is a representation of an empty hand, palm open like a porter expecting a gratuity; above the other is a hand holding an ax, like a porter mad at not getting one. These same symbols are on the opposite sides of the arch in the other order, so you can’t escape the ax. This would, no doubt, be a powerful statement if I knew what the images were supposed to symbolize. High above both of the arches is a representation of an iorich, its toothy snout curving back as if looking over its low shoulder. Given what the ugly thing is famous for, that is another bit of symbolism that doesn’t make sense to me. I could find out if I cared.
The Iorich like to make everything bigger than it has to be, I guess to make you feel smaller than you’d like to be. It was a long walk through a big, empty room where my footfalls echoed loudly. The walls were dark, only slightly lit by oddly shaped lamps hanging high overhead, and there were half a dozen marble statues—pure, white, gleaming marble, about twenty feet tall—depicting figures that I imagine were famous within the House.
Loiosh gave no signs of being impressed.
In front of me was a desk, elevated about two feet, with a square-shouldered middle-aged Dragaeran at it. Her straight hair glistened in the torchlight.
I went clack clack clack clack against the hard floor until I reached her; her eyes were slightly higher than mine. She glanced at the jhereg on my shoulders, and her lips tightened. She hesitated, I suppose trying to think if she could come up with a law against their being there. She finally gave up and said, “Name.”