Teckla

We undressed and went to bed speaking only as necessary and answering in monosyllables. I lay awake for a long time, moving as little as possible so Cawti wouldn't think I was lying awake. I don't know about her, but she didn't move much.

She arose before me the next morning and roasted, ground, and brewed the klava. I helped myself to a cup, drank it, and walked over to the office. Loiosh was with me; Rocza stayed behind. There was a cold, heavy fog in from the sea and almost no breeze—giving what is called "assassin's weather," which is nonsense. I said hello to Kragar and Melestav and sat down to brood and be miserable.

"Snap out of it, boss."

"Why?"

"Because you've got things to do."

"Like what?"

"Like finding out who shined the Easterner."

I thought that over for a moment. If you are going to have a familiar, it doesn't do to ignore him. "All right, why?"

He didn't say anything, but presently memories began to present themselves for my consideration. Cawti, as I'd seen her at Dzur Mountain after she had killed me (there's a story there, but never mind); Cawti holding me after someone else tried to kill me; Cawti holding a knife at Morrolan's throat and explaining how it was going to be, while I sat paralyzed and helpless; Cawti's face the first time I had made love with her. Strange memories, too—my emotions at the time, filtered through a reptilian mind that was linked to my own.

"Stop it, Loiosh!"

"You asked."

I sighed. "I suppose I did. But why did she have to get involved in something like that? Why—?"

"Why don't you ask her?"

"I did. She didn't answer."

"She would have if you hadn't been so—"

"I don't need advice on my marriage from a Verra-be-damned… no, I suppose I do, don't I? All right. What would you do?"

"Ummm… I'd tell her that if I had two dead Teckla I'd give her one."

"You're a lot of help."

"Melestav!" I yelled. "Send Kragar in here."

"Right away, boss."

Kragar is one of those people who are just naturally unnoticeable. You could be sitting in a chair looking for him and not realize that you were sitting in his lap. So I concentrated hard on the door, and managed to see him come in.

"What is it, Vlad?"

"Open your mind, my man. I have a face to give to you."

"Okay."

He did, and I concentrated on Bajinok—the fellow I'd spoken with a few days before, who had offered me "work" that would be "just my style." Could he have meant an Easterner? Yeah, maybe. He had no way of knowing that to finalize an Easterner would defeat the whole purpose of my having become an assassin in the first place.

Or would it? Something nasty in my mind made me remember a certain conversation I'd recently had with Aliera, but I chose not to think about it.

"Do you know him?" I asked Kragar. "Who does he work for?"

"Yeah. He works for Herth."

"Ah ha."

"Ah ha?"

"Herth," I said, "runs the whole South Side."

"Where the Easterners live."

"Right. An Easterner was just killed. By one of us."

"Us?"said Loiosh. "Who is us?"

"A point. I'll think about it."

"What does that have to do with us?" asked Kragar, introducing another meaning of us, just to confuse us. Excuse me.

I said, "I don't know yet, but—Deathgate, I do know. I'm not ready to talk about it yet. Could you set me up a meeting with Herth?"

He tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair and looked at me quizzically. It wasn't usual for me to leave him in the dark about things like that, but he finally said, "Okay," and left.

I took out a dagger and started flipping it. After a moment I said to Loiosh, "She still could have told me about it."

"She tried. You weren't interested in discussing it."

"She could have tried harder."

"It wouldn't have come up if this hadn't happened. And it is her own life. If she wants to spend half of it in the Easterners' ghetto, rabble-rousing, that's her—"

"It hardly sounds like rabble-rousing to me."

"Ah," said Loiosh.

Which shows how much good it is to try to get the better of your familiar.

I'd rather skip over the next couple of days, but as I had to live them, you can at least put up with a sketch. For two solid days Cawti and I hardly exchanged a word. I was mad that she hadn't told me about this group of Easterners, and she was mad because I was mad. Once or twice I'd say something like, "If you'd—", then bite it back. I'd notice that she was looking at me hopefully, but I'd only notice too late, and then I'd stalk out of the room. Once or twice she'd say something like, "Don't you even care—", and then stop. Loiosh, bless his heart, didn't say anything. There are some things that even a familiar can't help you work out.

But it's a hell of a thing to go through days like that. It leaves scars.

Herth agreed to meet me at a place I own called The Terrace. He was a quiet little Dragaeran, only half a head taller than I, with an almost bashful way of dropping his eyes. He came in with two enforcers. I also had two, a fellow who was called Sticks because he liked to beat people with them, and one named Glowbug, whose eyes would light up at the oddest times. The enforcers found good positions for doing what they were paid for.

Herth took my suggestion and ordered the pepper-sausage, which is better tasted than described.

As we were finishing up our Eastern-style desert pancakes (which, really, no one should make except Valabar's, but these were all right), Herth said, "So what can I do for you?"

I said, "I have a problem."

He nodded, dropping his eyes again as if to say, "Oh, how could little me help someone like you?"

I went on, "There was an Easterner finalized a few days ago, by a professional. It happened in your area, so I was wondering if, maybe, you could tell me a bit about what happened, and why."

Now, there were several possible answers he could have given me. He could have explained as much as he knew about it, he could have smiled and claimed ignorance, he could have asked me what my interest was. Instead, he looked at me, stood up, and said, "Thanks for the dinner; I'll see you again, maybe." Then he left.

I sat there for a while, finishing my klava. "What do you make of that, Loiosh?"

"I don't know, boss. It's funny that he didn't ask why you wanted to find out. And if he knows, why did he agree to the meeting in the first place?"

"Right," I said.

I signed the bill and left, Sticks and Glowbug preceding me out of the place. When we reached the office I told them to take off. It was evening, and I was usually done by that time, but I didn't feel like going back home just then. I changed weapons, just to kill time. Changing weapons is something I do every two or three days so that no weapon is around my person enough to pick up my aura. Dragaeran sorcery can't identify auras, but Eastern witchcraft can, and should the Empire ever decide to employ a witch—

"I'm an idiot, Loiosh."

"Yeah, boss. Me, too."

I finished changing weapons and made it home quickly.

"Cawti!" I yelled.

She was in the dining room, scratching Rocza's chin. Rocza leapt up and began flying around the room with Loiosh, probably telling him about her day. Cawti stood up, looking at me quizzically. She was wearing trousers of Jhereg gray that fit low on her hips, and a gray jerkin with black embroidery. She glanced at me with an expression of remote inquiry, her head tilted to the side, her brows raised in that perfect face, surrounded by sorcery-black hair. I felt my pulse quicken in a way that I had been afraid it wouldn't any more.