“Well, so what’s your bright idea?”
“Let’s go back to the beginning, Vlad. What do we know about Fyres?”
Vlad shrugged. “Not much. We have something to start with, but—”
“Yeah. I’d like to find out more.”
“Kiera, that could take years. We have some of his private notes, okay. But between empty companies, and fake ships, and loans without backing, and reams of paper—most of which we don’t have—we’re never going to be able to track down what was really going on.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But remember Stony?”
“Your Jhereg friend? Sure.”
“I’m thinking that if the Jhereg has been involved in this, then someone, somewhere, knows what’s going on.”
“And why would you think that?”
“Sheer number of Jhereg, Vlad. There are so many of us involved in financing this kind that at least one of them was bound to have been smart enough not to jump in, but to investigate the guy. All we have to do is find out who that is and get the information already collected.”
He looked skeptical. “Do you think you can do that? That is, find just the right guy and get the information without giving the game away?”
“I can do it,” I told him.
He shrugged. “Okay. Go to it.”
“It may take a few days.”
“All right.”
“And there’s something else I want to do, but we’re going to have to think about whether it’s a good idea.”
“I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”
“You’re wise, Vlad. I’m not sure it’s something we ought to do, but I’m thinking about it.”
“Let’s hear it, Kiera.”
“You like honey in your klava, don’t you?”
“Ah. So that’s how it is?”
“You’re very quick.”
“Only because I’ve been stung. Let’s hear what you have in mind.”
I gave him the general outline, omitting details he didn’t need and wouldn’t have been happy knowing. He listened very intently, then he said, “Yes, indeed. And we don’t even have gloves, much less whatever you’re supposed to use to protect your face. The question is, how big is the swarm, and how nasty do they get when they’re roused?”
“Yeah, that’s the question. And can you think of a better way to find out?”
He sighed and shook his head. “Unfortunately, Kiera, I can’t.”
“So I should go ahead?”
He nodded briefly, like he didn’t enjoy the prospect. Well, neither did I, come to that. I said, “What are you going to do while I’m off gathering sweets?”
A peculiar sort of smile came to his lips. “I’ll think of something,” he said.
All we had to do was keep our heads down and keep learning things, and eventually, maybe, we’d start to get an idea about what was going on; then, just maybe, we’d be able to figure out what to do about it. That, at least, was what I was thinking as I stepped out of the little cottage and repaired home to make myself annoying in a couple of different ways to several different people.
The next two days were no more fun than I’d thought they would be—most of those I spoke to I didn’t like, and they didn’t like me, and they couldn’t or wouldn’t tell me anything useful, anyway—but in the end I came up with some hard information. I noted it down carefully, and, psychic communication being impossible while Vlad wore the Phoenix Stones, I had to hold on to what I’d learned until I would see him next: tomorrow or the day after, depending on how things went tonight. When I was done asking irritating questions of irritating people, which was in the afternoon of the second day, I picked up the tools I was going to need and prepared to do what I was good at.
Vlad and I, back in the old days, used to compare our respective crafts, and one of the things common to both was the need for preparation, and, in conjunction, how dangerous it was to try to do anything in a hurry. The trouble was, things were happening too fast, and I had the feeling they were going to happen even faster.
Well, I didn’t like it, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. After getting what I needed from home, I spent the rest of the afternoon going from place to place in Adri-lankha, trying to get the information I needed to have a chance to pull this off.
I wished I had a familiar to grumble at while I did so. Vlad’s told me about several times Loiosh has saved his life, or suggested the solution to a problem, or provided the necessary help to complete a witchcraft spell, but I have the feeling that the most important thing Loiosh does for Vlad is give him someone to grumble at. You feel stupid grumbling to yourself, so I didn’t.
The day was waning when I had finally acquired everything I needed. I took about four hours to study the situation, curse about everything I didn’t know, and come up with a tentative way in, a provisional agenda, and a possible way out, with maybe a couple of alternatives for the last, all of which I knew would likely be rendered useless if something went wrong. For the first time in more years than I could remember I actually thought about how humiliating it would be to get caught, because for the first time in more years than I could remember it seemed like a real possibility.
I cursed yet again and made my way to the Imperial Palace, Orca Wing.
The phrase “breaking into the Imperial Palace” has been used among people I know for a long time as an expression of the unthinkable: “Argue philosophy with an Athyra? Might as well break into the Imperial Palace,” or, “Bet the round stones? Sure. And then we’ll break into the Imperial Palace.” That sort of thing. It’s a fascinating little phrase, because it only makes sense if it goes back to the early days of the Empire, when all that existed was the old nucleus that became the Imperial Wing; breaking into the Imperial Palace is as easy in the execution as it is meaningless as a concept: most of the doors you can just walk into; where in the Imperial Palace do you want to break into?
And, of course, to do what?
In any case, I “broke into the Imperial Palace” by walking into the Orca Wing. I wore a nice, full coat of Jhereg grey with natty black fringe, a hood in case it got cold, and one that was sufficiently voluminous to hide my tools. I nodded to the tired-looking Orca watchman as I went by.
So let’s see. One, two, third corridor to the left, up the stairs, down the hall to the statue. A long way. There was no bloody statue of Sealord Cren; how old was that information, anyway? Well, it had to be either this passage or this one, and ... yes, there were the marks where the statue used to be. Good. Now another stairway, and two more turnings, and it had been quite some time since I’d seen anyone. The Orca were forced to work long, irregular hours when at sea; they made up for it ashore by working no more than they had to.
There were supposed to be a couple more watchmen to circumvent right before I reached my destination, and I became worried when I didn’t see them. But I waited in the corridor outside the doorway into the Ministry until at last I heard one walk by; the footsteps were measured and casual and went away after a while. Nine and a half minutes later I heard a different set. Eleven minutes later the first set returned. I spent another half hour there, just to make sure of the timing, then moved.
The door into the Ministry had only the most cursory lock, and the alarm was trivial. Once past it, I had to get into Shortisle’s office, and I spent most of the seven minutes I’d given myself in checking for alarms; then I retreated once more to wait for another cycle of the watch. The next time I spent only five minutes more checking for alarms, about a minute disabling them, and maybe twenty seconds opening the door, slipping through, shutting it, and locking it again. Then I put the alarms back up in case the guards checked them. I put some cloth under the door so that no one would see light peeking out, then looked around.
There was a door in his office that had a nice little sign on it reading, “Records.”