“Look at me, Vladimir.” I did, wondering. He said, “Sink back into the chair now. Pretend you grow heavy, yes? Feel that you are getting heavy, and joining with the chair now. Can you do this? Keep looking at my face now, Vladimir. Think of me. Close your eyes. Try to still see me, even though your eyes are not open. Can you do this? Can you feel warm, now? Don’t speak yet. Feel that you float in water, and you are warm. Think of my voice, see how it fills your head? Listen to how my voice rings in your head. Listen to nothing else. My voice is everything, all you know. Now, tell me this: How old are you?”
That puzzled me a little; I mean, did he think I’d fallen asleep, or what? I tried to answer him and was surprised at the effort it took. But I finally said, “Ten,” and my eyes snapped open. My grandfather was smiling. He didn’t say anything, because he didn’t have to. As I’d said it, I had realized that the word “ten” had been the first word actually spoken aloud in the room for some few moments.
I stepped over the body as carefully as I could because it would have been embarrassing to slip. The Dark Lady of Dzur Mountain indicated a chair for me. I sat in another one only partly to be contrary—the one I chose wasn’t as soft, and thus easier to get out of quickly. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I was, like, scared.
And I’ll tell you another thing that surprised me: I felt bad about Quion. Sure, I’d been planning to kill him as soon as I caught up with him, but seeing him lying there dead like that, I don’t know ... I remembered how he’d been when he’d pleaded with me to let him work, and how he’d stopped gambling and all that, and it didn’t seem as important that he’d stabbed me in the back by running off with my money. I suppose the fact that Morrolan had set him up for it made some difference.
But yeah, I was scared; I was also mad as a dzur in a chreotha net.
The Lord Morrolan sat facing me, working his chin and jaw. When I do that it means I’m nervous. I was inclined to think it meant something else in Morrolan, but I couldn’t say what. A servant came in, dressed in black livery with a dragon’s head on the left breast. I wondered what sort of man would be a servant to Sethra Lavode. From the roundness of his eyes and fullness of his face, I would have guessed him to be a Tsalmoth. He walked with his face cast down and his eyes squinting out from beneath tufts of hair sticking out from his brows. He seemed old. His tongue kept flicking out of his mouth, and I wondered if he were of sound mind. There was just the slightest bend to his waist. His walk was mostly a shuffle.
He presented us with aperitif glasses half filled with something the color of maple floors. He somehow managed to step over the body without appearing to notice it. He served me first, then Morrolan, then Sethra. His hands were splotched with white and shook with age. After serving us, still holding the tray, he stood behind Sethra and to her left, his eyes flicking around the room, never resting. His shoulders seemed permanently hunched. I wondered if he coordinated his eye motions with his tongue, but I didn’t take the time to check. The drink turned out to be a liqueur that was sweet and tasted just a little like fresh mint.
I didn’t want to stare at Sethra or Morrolan, so I found myself staring at Quion’s body. I don’t know about you, but I’m not used to having a quiet, social drink with a corpse on the floor. I wasn’t sure what appropriate behavior was. After a couple of sips, however, I was relieved of the worry by Sethra taking charge. She whispered to the servant and put a purse on his tray. He shuffled over and, making eye contact with everything in the room except my face, delivered the purse to me.
Sethra Lavode said, “We had cause to borrow some of your funds.”
How nice.
I chewed on the inside of my lip and tried to think about things that would distract me before I lost my temper completely and got myself killed. I hefted the bag while the servant bowed and returned to his place behind Sethra. On reflection, I decided that the hunching of his shoulders occurred when he stopped; rather like a runner sets himself to spring off the starting line. I signaled to him. He hesitated, glanced at his mistress, blinked about twelve times, and returned to me.
“Hold out the tray,” I told him. He did, still not looking at me, and I slowly counted out fifteen hundred gold imperials in fifties and tens. “Give this to the Lady,” I said. His mouth worked for just an instant, as if he had to think about it, and I noticed that he was missing some teeth. But then he brought the tray over to her. The entire scenario felt like a poorly blocked play.
Sethra stared at me. I held her gaze. She said, “This is ... ?”
“Standard rates for the job you did,” I explained, glancing at the body. “You do good—”
At which point the tray with the money went flying as Sethra Lavode struck it. She stood and her hand went to the hilt of her weapon. Morrolan also stood, and I swear he growled. I widened my eyes and did my innocent inquiring act, though my pulse was racing from that delicious mix of anger and fear that usually means someone is about to become damaged.
But Sethra stopped and raised her hand, which stopped Morrolan. Some portion of a smile came to Sethra’s lips and she barely nodded. She sat down and looked a look at Morrolan. He also sat down, giving me a glare that said “That’s another one.” The servant went about methodically picking up the gold and putting it back on the tray. It took him quite a while. I hoped he’d be able to palm some of it.
Sethra said, “All right, Jhereg. You’ve made your point. Can we get down to business now?”
Business. Right.
I cleared my throat. I said, “You wanted to talk business. You want to buy a title in the Jhereg? Sure, I can set that up. Or maybe you want to buy into—”
“Enough,” said Morrolan.
I’ll admit it: Push me far enough and anger overcomes self-preservation. I said, “Shove it, Dragonlord. I don’t know what ‘business’ you think you have with me, but you have interfered with my work, murdered my employee, tricked me, and threatened me. Now you want to talk business? Shit. Talk away.” I sat back, crossed my legs, and folded my arms.
They exchanged glances for a moment. Perhaps they were communicating psionically, perhaps only by expression. After a minute or so I sipped some more liqueur. The servant finished gathering the spilled money onto the tray. He started to offer it to Sethra again, but she glared at him. He gave some sort of grimace of resignation and set it down on a nearby table.
Sethra turned to me and said, “I don’t know what to say. We thought you’d be pleased that we had killed this man and saved you the trouble—”
“Saved me the trouble? Who says I was going to kill him?” Well, sure, I was, but I wasn’t going to admit to these two, was I? “And I wouldn’t have needed to find him if you two hadn’t—”
“Lord Taltos, please,” said Sethra. She seemed genuinely contrite, and I guess the shock of that realization stopped me as much as her words. She said, “I assure you that all we did was help him choose the time for his theft. Morrolan’s spell wouldn’t have worked if he hadn’t been planning to steal from you anyway.” She paused, glanced at Morrolan, and shrugged. “We knew you to be a Jhereg as well as an Easterner, and had been expecting you to respond as a Jhereg only. Most of those in your House would have been happy to discuss a business deal no matter how they were brought into it. It seems we don’t know Easterners. We have erred. We are sorry.”
I bit my lip and thought about it. I would have felt better if Morrolan had expressed an apology, but there’s something to be said for extracting one from the Enchantress of Dzur Mountain, isn’t there? All right, I’ll be honest. I still don’t know if she was making all that up as she went along or if she was telling the truth, but believing her salved my pride a little. It allowed me to continue talking to them, at any rate.