Okay, maybe I shouldn't have told her that; I certainly would never have admitted that I was going to kill someone to anyone, ever, back in the Empire. And maybe I was a bit too contemptuous of what this kingdom used for law, and should have been more worried. But I wanted to give her that much, and, in the event, of all the things that turned around and bit me, that wasn't one; so I guess I got away with it, if you like.
I left her and went back down to the main room and from there back into the stench. It hit me hard that time, I remember; almost like a blow. My stomach turned and I actually gagged there, in the street; the reeking foulness of the whole town was suddenly, just for a moment, too much for me. I made my way back to the Pointy Hat; I can remember my eyes felt glazed and it was all I could do to put one foot in front of another until I'd passed the threshold.
I made it to my table, and, yeah, they had the same subtle incense here they did at the other place, only I couldn't see where it came from. It helped, though. I'd never been fond of incense before; it was another tool of the Art, not something one used just to brighten up one's day. I know that many witches—including my grandfather—live so that there is no clear distinction between practicing the Art and simply living; subtle spells and charms are part of his life. Not me; for me there had always been a sharp line: Here I was doing a spell, here I was done with it. But now, maybe that was changing. I could imagine getting very fond of incense. I could just imagine the look on Cawti's face when I told her I was— Yeah, shake it off, Vlad.
The thought of brandy repulsed me, and I didn't need coffee, so I did something unusual for me: I had the host draw me a summer ale. It was warmer than I'd have liked, but not too bitter. I nodded my approval to Inchay, who gave me a rare smile. I guess he was proud of his ale.
I sat and drank it slowly while my head stopped turning, and gradually I was able to focus on the problem in front of me. I got up and paced a bit, earning me a look from the host; then I sat down again. It hit me that one thing that was so odd was that there was so much violence going on, and I was pretty sure I was somehow at the center of it, but I wasn't doing any of it, and none of it was directed at me. I wasn't used to that.
Well, but let's think about that, Vlad. If they aren't trying to kill you, there's a reason.
The most likely reason is that they know that if they try, you're liable to put a nice pretty shine on a whole lot of them. Which immediately calls up the question: How do they know that? It isn't like I was walking around looking dangerous, or anything. Was the mere fact that I openly carried a blade sufficient to tell them? It didn't seem likely. So either they're good enough to spot me for what I am, or else they have some reason to suspect I'm someone they shouldn't touch. Or they know who I am.
To be sure, the Guild knew my name, as did whatever witch or witches had pulled it from my mind. But how much more had they gotten? Enough to know to get a message to the Jhereg? And, if so, would they want to? Would they know how?
It was possible. It was possible there was an assassin heading this way, right now, as fast as teleportation and feet could carry him. But why? If they were going to do that, it would be for the money. If they did manage to get hold of the right people in the Jhereg, they wouldn't be told to lay off me; they'd be told they could get a lot of money for delivering my head.
Morganti.
The Jhereg would want it done their way. So, if I assume there is some means of communication between some group here and the Jhereg—dubious, but possible—they could have been told to keep me in town, but not to kill me, and that would account for at least some of what was going on.
Maybe, but it certainly seemed like a stretch. Especially considering that they wouldn't have let me know that my name wasn't a secret; nor would anyone working for them. At least, not if they had any sense.
All in all, it was more likely there was something entirely different going on: something that had to do with the complex politics of a strange Guild, a Count who owned a factory— excuse me, a "mill"—and whatever forces there were that I didn't know about. If so, then whatever was going on, it made them believe I was someone they couldn't touch directly.
"What do you think, chum?"
"I think you're right, Boss. Someone wants you not to find out something, and they don't dare come after you directly."
"Suggestions?"
"You mean, other than leaving?"
"Yeah, other than that."
"No."
I considered the plan I'd come up with, all of—uh, two days ago? The people I'd want to get information from were dead, or had dropped out of sight, or had managed to forestall me one way or another. But I had learned a few things, hadn't I?
Yes.
I'd learned that there were all sorts of talk of witchcraft, and maybe it had been used to kill someone, it had certainly been used to burn a house down, and it was unlike the Art I knew, and there were two sides, one of which involved my family, and they were dead, and the other side—Had been bloody noticeable by its absence.
Okay.
I needed to find out who those witches were. A Coven? A bunch of individuals who practiced the Art in some particular way that I didn't know about, one of whom happened to be worried about me finding something out? No, there was a Coven of some kind; with all the strange politics in this town, there couldn't not be. How to find it, and learn about it? Yeah, okay, now at least I had a direction.
Part of the problem is that, at the best of times, witches tend to be secretive. I once asked my grandfather why that was, and he gave me one of those "that's the way it is" kind of answers. I've always hated those. So, how, then, to find a witch?
"Loiosh? You must have a touch of the Sight." "You're just a laugh a minute, Boss. Okay, what do you want me to do?" "Nothing special, just stay aware for any castings. If you pick up on one, I want to
know where it's coming from." "Boss, I'd have to be almost on top of it to tell, or else it would have to be an awfully
strong Working." "I know. Just stay aware." "All right.”
I wondered where Orbahn was, and why he'd been making himself so scarce. It was far from impossible that he was dead by now, like Zollie, and his body concealed.
I wondered where Zollie's body was now, and if I could get permission to look at it, and if I could tell anything if I wanted to risk removing my amulet again, and if I dared do so. The answers were something like "probably not" all the way down the line. But I thought about his red lips and wondered.
8
Boraan (shrugging): He is a Jhegaala. We can't know how a Jhegaala will react until we know what stage he is at. Lefitt: Indeed. That is just how one generally finds out. Boraan: Inefficient, to be sure. Lefitt: Irritating. Boraan: Frustrating. Lefitt: Enraging. Boraan: Monstrous. Lefitt: They ought to be required to wear signs.
—Miersen, Six Parts Water Day Two, Act I, Scene 1
Evening fell, and business picked up a little as it became too dark to work the fields; at the same time, at the other place, workmen would be coming from the mill. All of them, in both places, tired, sweaty, stinking, and determined to forget their dreary lives. Peasants are ignorant and filthy; workmen are smelly and loud. Put 'em together and shake 'em up however you want, and what's the difference? And these were the people Cawti had thrown me over for. How do you make sense of that?