There was a door on either side, and at the end of the hall a pair of sconces—and, yes, a mirror. I took the ten necessary steps, grasped the sconces, and played with them. The one on the right turned to the right, then the one on the left turned to the left. As secret passages go, it wasn’t hard to find. The room was small and comfortable, with a large Eastern rug in red and blue on the floor and several chairs, a small bookcase, some tables, and a cabinet that was a bit taller than I was. There was a hand pump over a deep sink, and in the corner a mop, a broom, and a pail. So, in other words, it was a fairly typical servant’s closet appointed and set up for one of the residents to relax in. If that makes no sense to you, then you’re just where I was. An iron chain with a handgrip hung from the ceiling. Also, there was no mirror. I didn’t know if I should be pleased or worried about that.
I checked the cupboard. It was unlocked, so I opened it and was hit with a blast of cold air. This mystified me for an instant, until I saw there were cuts of meat, steaks, hanging from hooks, like the cupboard was a miniature meat locker, evidently with a cold spell set into it to preserve the meat.
I didn’t find anything else interesting, so I pulled the chain. The back wall opened with a sound like stone sliding over stone. Does that sound familiar? Yeah, me too. But by the time I recognized it, it was already open.
“Uh-oh,” I said cleverly. Loiosh gripped my shoulder.
I only had time to get the impression of stone walls before I saw the thing in the room, and it was looking at me. Its face, if you can call it that, was distorted, its head seemed too small for the rest of it, its shoulders were lumps of muscle or bone, its legs were squat and seemed bigger around than my body, and it was as pasty, ugly white as I’d first thought. It had two horns, like those of a goat, coming out of its head, and irregular splotches of dull white fur here and there about its body. It was naked, too, except for the fur, and I guess I’d still call it a he; its sex was incongruously minuscule on that frame. No, not it, he. It’s a person, or at least was once. His mouth was full of yellow, misshapen teeth, and I was right, he drooled. Or, okay, slobbered. Fine.
I’ve heard people say that when something scary happens, your first reaction is to either fight it, or run away. I guess sometimes, but more often—I say as someone who has been the something scary that happened—people first freeze up. That’s pretty common. But it isn’t true of me. By now you should have figured that a lot of what permits me to survive is that I’m not controlled by reflexes; I look at the situation, figure out what the right move is, and then—
Oh, crap. You won’t believe me anyway. Yeah, I froze.
5. At the Fountains of Sadness
I stood there, unwilling to even draw a weapon until I knew what it was going to do.
Over the years, as I’ve told you of these things, I’ve talked about people who didn’t show fear when they should have, about those who can keep the appearance of calm, and even disdain, when they think they’re about to die. Sometimes, that’s been me. It isn’t just an accident, you know. There’s a reason for it that’s as practical as a leather hilt. In the Jhereg, it matters for your career, and for your life. You have to be able to stare someone down when he’s got you dead to rights, when you’re sure you aren’t going to get out alive. You do it because, if you do get out of it alive, if someone saw you turn into a quivering, shaking ball of terror, no one in the organization will respect you again, and you’ll either need to get out of the business or mess up a lot of people tougher than you to get your reputation back. It’s practical, okay? And by now, for me, it’s become a habit. No, I’m not without fear; I’ve just learned that it isn’t safe to show how scared I am.
So, if you’d been looking at me, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have looked like I was about to piss myself.
It—he? I kept going back and forth on that in my head. It stood up and made a snarling sound, staring at me. Well, now what? I drew Lady Teldra, hoping that the power emanating from her might make the thing cower into a corner long enough for me to close the door. It didn’t seem to notice; it just stood there, snarling. Its eyes were tiny even without the squint.
Then it moved. And it was fast.
I never considered standing my ground and letting it impale itself on Lady Teldra. On reflection, if I had, it probably would have gotten its hands around my throat and broken my neck in its death throes, but whatever; I threw myself backward before making any sort of conscious decision. As I did so, Loiosh and Rocza flew at its face.
I guess they made it flinch, which gave me time to scramble back.
“Careful, Loiosh!”
“Tell me about it!”
Throwing a knife at the thing would just annoy it. I scrambled back some more. Loiosh and Rocza were making quick dives at its head while it batted at them, getting a lot closer than I liked. There would have been several options involving sorcery, but that would have required removing the amulet, which was very likely a death sentence itself, because once it wasn’t around my neck, the Jhereg could find me, and I knew they were trying to.
Well, crap.
I looked for a vulnerable area as I stood up. Maybe, if Loiosh and Rocza could keep it facing the other way long enough, I could hamstring it. I drew my heaviest fighting knife. I didn’t much like my chances. Maybe—
“Excuse me, Lord Taltos. Let me.”
I recognized the voice: the Athyra sorcerer I’d just met, Discaru. I moved to the side. “Yeah,” I told him. “By all means.”
“Loiosh, make some distance. Sorcery happening.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I moved farther to the side, and the beast let loose a horrid screech and cowered back into the corner. Loiosh and Rocza flew out of the room, and Discaru moved past me and pulled the chain. The door rumbled shut and I breathed again.
“There,” he said, turning around and smiling as if it were no big deal, which maybe it wasn’t to him. Me, I don’t embarrass easy, but right then I wanted to be sand in Suntra, if you’ll excuse the cliché.
“I was exploring,” I managed.
“Of course,” he said, as if it were completely reasonable for me to be wandering around unescorted in this manor where I didn’t know anyone and half the rooms were enchanted and they kept a monster hidden in one.
“How did you know?”
“Hmm? Oh. I sensed your weapon being drawn, and came to see why.”
“That took some guts.”
He bowed his head briefly.
“Does this happen often?”
“Him getting out? No, almost nev—”
“No, strangers getting trapped in this place and wandering around opening doors.”
“Ah. No, this is the first time that has happened.”
“Pleased to give you a new experience, then.”