I still had to concentrate on speaking so he could hear me. "I am Merss Vladimir," I told him.
He looked me over and shook his head. "What happened?"
"I fell down the stairs," I said.
He nodded, as if he'd seen the same result from a stair fall many times.
He seemed to be harmless and stupid. If he wasn't here to kill me (there's always that possibility, after all) then chances were I'd get him killed in less than a week. But he'd be useful to have around until then.
Am I getting cynical?
Heh. That fruit's already picked.
"So, you tell me what you need done," he said, "and old Meehayi will do it."
"Old Meehayi" was maybe sixteen. I moaned to myself.
But he was careful when he picked me up. I guess he could be; he could have lifted three of me. I told him what I needed, and he did it without comment or, as far as I could tell, any reaction at all. A bit like the butler, I suppose, only from a different source and in a different way.
When he was done, he ran a thin rope out of my window and, as he explained, into his room next door, where it was attached to a bell. "Just ring if you need anything," he said, grinning his ugly grin. I nodded and shut my eyes.
When he had gone I cried for a long time without making a sound. Loiosh and Rocza remained perfectly still.
I slept for a little, and Meehayi brought soup and bread from downstairs. This was better soup, oily and peppery with some substance, not to mention meat. Aybrahmis probably wouldn't have approved, but it made me feel as if it just might be worth staying alive. I mean, after doing what I meant to do; before I dealt with that, nothing was going to take me down.
You hear about guys messing themselves up because they wanted revenge and didn't care about anything else. Then you hear about guys who will tell you that revenge is "wrong," whatever that means. Well, they can all go "plunk" at the bottom of Deathgate for all of me. I had come into town to learn what I could about my mother's family, and now they were dead, and if I didn't do anything about it then the bastards who did it would just go on doing things that way because it worked so well. And as for getting messed up: well, you do things and there are consequences; I ought to know. I can live with consequences. Besides, how much more messed up could I get?
But that's all justification, and I knew it even as I lay there, more dead than alive, and told it to myself. The real issue was just that the idea of letting them get away with it was unthinkable. I didn't have any more justification than that, and I didn't need any.
I put my mind to planning how I was going to pull it off. If I couldn't do anything else, at least I could lie there and think. You don't come up with a plan by thinking, "What's the best way to do this?" You start with what you know, assembling it in your head (I prefer to talk it over with Loiosh, actually, because I formulate my thoughts better when I say them), and make special note of oddities—things that stick out as not fitting in some way. You get as clear a picture of the situation as you can, and then— usually—openings start presenting themselves. At least, that was how I approached it when I made my living by making others stop living, and I couldn't see a good reason to change it.
Once, many years ago, I had talked about this with a colleague. It was the only time I had ever discussed the methods of assassination with anyone, including Cawti, because, well, there are things you just don't talk about. But this guy and I were both drunk that night, and talked about how we approached it, and it turned out he did things the same way I did. He called it "the process of elimination." I wish I could claim credit for that line. I thought it was funny.
He eventually got to thinking he was too tough to have to pay off his gambling debts and he got shined. I can't remember his name.
On this occasion, I didn't want to go through it with Loiosh yet, so I just ran things over in my head, organizing what I knew and noting things I still needed to learn. The more I thought about it, the more I realized my picture wasn't complete. To be sure, I had the broad outlines; I now knew who was behind the thing, and who had done what and why. But the holes in the picture could be troublesome when I got around to doing something about it.
"Boss, is this when you finally get around to telling me what's been going on?"
"It's all been a big misunderstanding"
"Why do I get the feeling you aren't kidding about that?"
"I'm not.”
"Uh, okay, Boss. You talk, I'll listen.”
I shook my head and stared at the ceiling, feeling suddenly empty, empty of ambition, empty of anger, empty of energy. Does this always happen when you're seriously hurt, you feel full of desire to make plans one minute, the next minute you just want to soak in self-pity, and the minute after that you don't feel anything? If this pattern was going to continue, it would get very old. I didn't have time for it. I needed to do things. But not right now. I slept some, I think. Later, Meehayi came in and fed me soup. "What is this?" I asked.
"Soup," he said.
"Hardly. There's nothing in it."
"The physicker had them make this specially for you."
I'd have knocked the bowl into his face if I could have moved.
"Eat it, Boss. Please."
I ate it; every tasteless, disagreeable spoonful of it. Then I shook some more, though I can't say why; I wasn't cold. I slept some, and the next time Meehayi brought soup I was able to feed myself. If I told you how much of a sense of triumph that brought me you'd think I was an idiot, or else just pitiful.
As I was recovering from the exertion, Loiosh said, "How much of this was the assassin, Boss?"
"What do you mean?"
"How much of, of what happened to you was his doing?"
"Oh. You think the invisible hand of the assassin was behind it? No chance. For one thing, it started before he got here. For another, the last thing he wanted was for me to be taken. It put me out of his reach. In fact, it..."
I let that thought trail off, and Loiosh didn't pick it up. Yeah, it might have saved my life. Eventually I'd decide if it was a good trade-off. Meanwhile, he was one problem solved, one complication gone. Not that I was in danger of running out of those anytime soon.
"There are things I need to know, Loiosh, and I can't move, so you're going to have to find out for me."
"Sure, Boss. Just give me the list of questions and the people to ask.”
"Now isn't the time to be funny."
"Now isn't the time for me to be anywhere but here."
"There are things I need to know."
"How bad do you need to know them if you're dead?"
That conversation consumed a considerable amount of time, and became rather passionate. In the end, however, he agreed to do what I wanted, because the alternative would have been to say that Rocza was incompetent. Sometimes you have to fight dirty.
"Okay," he said grudgingly. "What do you need to know?"
"Do you think you could follow Orbahn without him seeing you?"
"Don't make me laugh. The question is, can I see Orbahn with' out finding out how far into him I can sink my fangs."
"Um. Well, can you?"
"Maybe. What do you need to know?"
"I need him followed."
"Any guess where I can find him?"
"Try the Hat.”