"Both alive?"
"Yeah, well, not to scare you, but right now I don't like either of our chances much."
"Don't worry," he said. "His Lordship is protecting you. And he's let people know that—"
"Yeah, yeah. He's put the word out not to kill me. I'm now under the same protection Zollie was."
He looked down. I guess I'd hurt his feelings again. It's a damned good thing Cawti and I never had kids; I'm just no good with them.
After a few minutes, he said, "Do you want me to ask Mr. Saabo to come see you?"
"Yes, please," I said. '
"I don't know if he will."
"If he won't, he won't. I wonder which rumors about me he believes."
Meehayi shrugged.
Loiosh returned several hours later, not having found Tereza. Each day that passed made me a little stronger. It also brought the next assassin that much closer. It occurred to me that I should be grateful the Dagger of the Jhereg was no longer in business; she'd have been perfect for this job. If you see the irony in that thought you can enjoy it with me. If not, sorry; I don't feel like explaining.
The next morning, Loiosh resumed his search of the city, while I waited to hear if I'd have company. The physicker and the witch returned shortly after the noon hour, and once more I was poked, prodded, and muttered over as they changed my dressings and inspected the damage. "There shouldn't be much scarring," he said at one point.
I informed him, through clenched teeth, just how little I cared one way or the other about scars. He appeared not to care about whether I cared about scars; I guess it was a question of professional pride with him. I cared just about as much about his professional pride as my own "patients" cared about mine.
When the examination was finally over he and the witch fussed over me a little longer, and had a few more murmured conversations, then went off to speak to Meehayi about the care and feeding of maltreated itinerant assassins.
"I think you're out of danger," said Aybrahmis, which almost made me burst out into laughter.
Then it hit me, and I said, "Wait, you thought I might have been about to die?"
"Your body has been through a lot."
"I don't die that easy," I said.
He grunted, as if to say bravado is cheap. Yeah, I guess it is; that was a stupid thing to say. But then, he's a physicker; he's probably heard a lot of stupid things said. That's one advantage of my profession, or my ex-profession I should say: If you do it right, the "patient" doesn't have a chance to say anything stupid.
Loiosh didn't find Tereza, and talked me out of sending Rocza to help him. She stayed with me, curled up by my ear. The entire day passed that way—little happened that I care to talk about, or to think about, come to that—until the evening, when I was hearing the faint echoes of laughter and conversation from the inn below, and there came a hesitant tap at the door.
Rocza was instantly alert, like a koovash scenting a wolf. Anyone coming to kill me wouldn't have tapped at the door, and it wouldn't matter if I said to go away, so I called out for the person to enter freely.
He was a small man, dressed in some sort of brown tunic and loose pantaloons that I think had been black once. He had a sharply angled jaw, and a beard that he obviously took great pride in. It was a little chin growth that continued the jaw angle to a sharp point about an inch and a half below his chin. He half looked at me, and half looked down, and in his hand was a faded blue cap.
"Come in," I said again, and he did. Deferentially. He didn't look like a peasant—a peasant would never shape his beard— but he acted like one.
"Greetings, my lord," he said. He oozed deference. It was revolting.
"Find a place to sit," I told him. "I'd stand and bow; only I'm not quite able to manage."
He didn't know quite what to say to that, so he sat down and stared at his cap.
"I am Merss Vladimir," I told him.
"Yes, my lord."
"I understand that we're related."
He nodded, suddenly looking a little afraid. Of me? Or what being related to me might mean? Probably not the latter; apparently not many people believed that my name was really Merss. Which it wasn't, so I guess they were right.
"You know, of course, about what happened? To the family?"
He nodded tersely, still looking at his cap. If I hadn't been unable to move, I'd have slapped him.
"That was your family once, you know. You are related to them."
He nodded, and it was obvious he didn't like where this was going.
I said, "It doesn't bother you, what happened to them?"
He looked up at me for the first time, and I caught a flash of something in his eyes, very quickly, that I hadn't suspected would be there. Then he looked down at his cap again and said, "It does, my lord."
"Well, it's my intention to do something about it."
"My lord?" He looked like I had just announced plans to grow another head.
"It is not my intention to permit someone to feel my family may be slaughtered with impunity. Do you think this should be permitted?"
His mouth opened and closed a few times, then he said, No, my lord, but—"
"But what?"
"What can I—?"
"If you're willing, you can help me."
He very badly wanted to ask, "What if I say no?" but he didn't dare. I don't mind cowardice. I can respect cowardice. I practice it whenever possible. But craven I have no use for. No, I mean, I don't like it; quite often I find I have use for it.
"What can I do?" he finally asked; asking it with the tone, of, "What use could I possibly be?" rather than, "I am offering to help."
I said, "Well, I'm not going to ask you to kill anyone."
Once again, he lifted his head briefly, and I saw that look; but it didn't last.
"What do you want of me?"
"I've told you what I'm doing. Are you willing to help me, or not?"
He clamped his jaws shut. Finally, still staring at his cap, he said, "Not without knowing what you want me to do."
Well! Good on him. I was impressed in spite of myself. "Fair enough," I told him. "I want answers to some questions."
He nodded. "That I will do."
"We'll see," I told him. "How much of your family history do you know?"
"My lord? I already said we were related to—"
"Yes. But why was your name changed?"
"M'lord? It wasn't."
"Eh?"
"No, sir. Old Matyawsh changed the name. My great grandfather, Matyawsh's brother, kept the name he was born with."
"All right," I said. That much, at least, agreed with what I'd been told by Father Noij. I like having things confirmed. It gives me such a warm, comfortable feeling.
"And do you believe what was said about them?"
"Meaning what?"
"About being evil, about summoning demons."
"Oh, that. I'm no peasant, Lord Merss. I was educated. At the school. I can read, and write, and do sums, and think. No, I don't believe that."
"What school?"
"There's been a school in Burz for years and years, to teach symbols and sums and citizenship."
"Citizenship?"
"Doing your duty to your country and county."
"Um. And what is your duty to your country and county?"
He made a face, and for the first time smiled a little. "That part didn't take so well. If they want me to fight their war they'll have to drag me there."
"I see. So the peasants here can read?"
"Peasants? No. It's not open to the peasants. Just children of mill workers."
"Mmm. What about children of merchants?"
He sniffed. "Father Noij teaches them."
"All right, then. So you don't believe in summoning demons, or groups of evil witches. Then why did most of the Merss family leave?"
"Because the peasants believed in those things."
"You don't think much of peasants, do you?"
"They're ignorant. It isn't their fault," he added magnanimously.
Most people seem to take pleasure in feeling superior to someone. I'm not like that, which pleases me because it makes me feel superior.