“Yeah, well, I said it was hard to explain.”
“Boss—”
“The thing is, if you’re in a situation where you don’t know if you’re dreaming, you try to wake yourself up to see.”
“I’ll take your word for that.”
“And if that doesn’t work, you play it as if it’s really happening, because what other choice do you have?”
“Half asleep is no time to make decisions.”
“I never said it was.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“Besides, there’s still useful information to be gathered. So there’s a practical side of this.”
“Right. Useful information. Okay, Boss?’
“Then again, I could get to the Demon Goddess, wave Lady Teldra in her face, and say, ‘You caused this problem, now fix it.’ I have to admit, I like the idea of the Demon Goddess appearing in the middle of a Council meeting and setting the Jhereg straight?”
“I like it too, Boss. But I doubt it’s practical.”
“Yeah. I don’t know how to get to her Halls, for one thing.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Uh ... come to think of it, maybe I do.”
“Boss—”
“Never mind, Loiosh.”
I finished my klava and handed the cheap glass to an old beggar, along with a couple of copper pieces. You see a fair number of beggars in South Adrilankha; I’ve never seen one in the City. Maybe Dragaerans kill their beggars. I wouldn’t put it past them.
I walked the streets aimlessly for a while. At the time, I was just thinking about giving Vaasci time to show up. On reflection, maybe I was tempting fate and the Jhereg. But no one took a run at me.
“I’m trying to decide if it’s time to cross over to the City and have that talk.”
“Boss, what’s the point in pulling a weapon before you have a target?”
“I have a target, Loiosh.”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“The thing is, that’s going to really set things popping.”
“Yes, it will.”
“The timing is going to be tricky.”
“Yes, it will.”
“Especially because I don’t know how long the, uh, weapon is going to take. I mean, I have no idea. A day? A year? Something in between?”
“Well, you could always tell him to make it fast.”
“You’re funny.”
“You make a good example, Boss.”
“And then, really, when you’re calculating how someone will react to something, you never know. I mean, I think I know what he’ll do, but what if I’m wrong?”
“Yeah. What if.”
“So I’m trying to figure out—”
“You’re scared, right, Boss?”
“Not scared exactly. Call it nervous.”
“Uh huh.”
I juggled this and that in my head. It was a couple of hours after noon. I said, “All right, Loiosh. Let’s head over there.”
“To the City?”
“No. We’ll hold off on that part.”
“Oh, the fun part.”
“Uh huh.”
He and Rocza launched themselves into the air, and we set off.
Falworth Hill overlooks the Stone Bridge, which, someone once told me, is the bridge the Empress would take if she ever crossed the river. It is the place where the elite among Easterners live next to, or, at least, not too far from, Dragaerans in that odd in-between station in life where they are willing to rub shoulders with us. I’ve met a few of them; they are mostly Chreotha and Tsalmoth, with a few odd Iorich here and there. They’re strange. To Easterners who live on Falworth Hill, they are either genuinely friendly or they fake it enthusiastically. To other Easterners, they are even worse than your typical Dragonlord, if you can imagine it.
“What’s the play, Boss?”
“They have a glass window.”
“Okay, so they’re rich.”
“Yeah. You and Rocza ready to break a window?”
“Can do.”
“You sure? Remember—”
“I can do it, Boss.”
“Okay. I’ll let you know where I am. The better the timing, the more boring this is going to be.”
“I’m in favor of boring.”
“That’s two of us.”
Between Pear Orchard and Driftwood Streets in the Falworth Market is a great, square, red stone building that rents out space to several businesses. The front, where it faces the market, is a public house with a piece of wood painted on the sign. I think it was supposed to be The Driftwood Inn, but everyone calls it The Twig. It was a nice place; padded benches and chairs around dark hardwood tables, etchings on all the lanterns, and like that.
I got some stares as I walked in. The host frowned at me and might have said something about Easterners not being permitted, but I gave him a look before he could say anything, and I guess he thought better of it. Besides, I didn’t sit down; I walked straight through to the back of the room and pushed aside a curtain.
“Straight to the back, and through a—”
“I saw, Boss.”
Two Dragaerans sat at a table, looking at a ledger of some kind. Both wore the black and gray of House Jhereg.
One of them looked up at me. “Who are you supposed to be?”—which would have been an interesting question if I were still being Sandor.
“You must be Vaasci.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“I’m a messenger.”
“From?”
“Your friend Josef.”
“Who?”
I suddenly got worried; he looked sincere. “Josef,” I said. “Easterner? Ristall Market?”
“Oh, that. Well, what does he want?”
“He said that the operation is over and he’s leaving town.”
Vaasci frowned. “Why?”
“Because if he didn’t, he was going to be harmed.”
“Harmed?”
“Yeah.”
“Now, Loiosh.”
“We’re on the way.”
“By who?”
“Me.”
I smiled.
His eyes narrowed, and I had the sudden feeling he might have recognized me. Then the curtains moved and Loiosh and Rocza came flying in. Or, actually, Rocza came flying in. I was going to ask Loiosh where he was, but then things happened quickly.
They both stood up, and Rocza flew into the face of Vaasci’s friend, who lost his balance and landed in his chair again. I rammed a shoulder into Vaasci, drew a dagger, and shoved it into the one who was sitting. I caught him below the heart, left the knife there, and turned to face Vaasci. It was like a dance. Pretty slick.
I drew Lady Teldra, and drawing her, felt a sudden rush of invincibility. I’d have to make sure not to believe that rush; it could get me into trouble. But this time, at least, it seemed justified: Vaasci made a little squeaking sound, very un-Jhereg-like, and flinched.
I heard myself say, “Drop it,” which was when I realized he was holding a dagger.
He didn’t hesitate; he just dropped it.
Lady Teldra, sweet and firm in my hand, had gotten a little shorter and a lot wider—a throat-cutting weapon. Perfect for the occasion. What a coincidence.