I wondered if “Lord Szurke” were intended as a cut, and if so what the insult was supposed to be. “I’ll try to be brief,” I said.
She did the lip thing again. “Very well.”
“If I can’t ask about the Empress, I’ll ask about you.”
“Hmmm?”
“What are you hoping will happen?”
“I have no hope.” Nor much inflection in her voice, either.
“Things were easier in the Jhereg, weren’t they?”
She looked up at me, eyes narrowed; then she shrugged. “Different, anyway.”
“Generally, the only ones who get it are those who deserve it.”
“And not all of them,” she said.
“Fair point.”
“What else?”
I hesitated. “Does it seem odd to you that this law is being used against someone in Aliera’s position?”
She shrugged. “There’s been talk about that at Court. I don’t pay much attention.”
“So you can’t explain it?”
“If I have any guesses, I don’t care to share them with you.”
“Norathar, are we enemies all of a sudden?”
“I serve the Empire. That means I serve the Empress.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Her fingers rolled on the tabletop. “No,” she said. “We aren’t enemies.”
“Good, then—”
“We’re opponents.”
“Um,” I explained. “I’m trying to get Aliera out of this mess. Aren’t you her friend?”
“If you can find a way to do that without unacceptable consequences, I’ll be glad to work with you.”
“That’s exactly what I’m hoping you’ll help me find.”
“I know.”
“Norathar, you aren’t giving me a lot of help here.”
“Is there a reason why I should?”
“I don’t know. Old times’ sake? I mean, my son is named after you.”
She looked down and drew a circle with her finger on the table. I did the same thing, back when I had a desk; it was a little strange seeing her do it. She said, “Cawti would like to see you.”
After a bit, I managed, “Are you sure?”
“No,” she said. “But she said so.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“She knows I’m in town?”
“Evidently.”
After a bit she said, “Will you see her?”
“Yes,” I said. “If I can do so without getting her killed.”
“I think she can look after herself, don’t you?”
“You think so? Against the Jhereg? If they decide to take after her to get at me? Not to mention the Bitch Patrol, who developed a sudden interest in her activities a few years ago, and who don’t like me much.”
“They guaranteed to leave her alone. And they’ve done so.”
I nodded. “So far.”
She scowled. “If they don’t—”
“What will you do? Bring the House of the Dragon against them? Or the Empire?”
“I’ll bring me against them.”
I nodded. “And the Jhereg quakes in fear.”
“You, least of all, should mock me.”
I clenched my teeth and nodded again. “I’ll go see her,” I said.
That marked the end of the interview. I gave her a bow that I tried to make devoid of irony and started to leave the way I came, only she stopped me.
“Use the other door. You can get into the Palace that way; the way you’re going leads outside.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Nice to know you haven’t forgotten some things.”
“There are things you don’t forget,” said Her Highness.
I went out the way she indicated, got lost in the Dragon Wing, got lost in the Palace, and eventually made my way onto the streets of the City, where I hailed the fourth closed footcab to come by, and gave directions to the Punctured Jug in the Summergate section of Adrilankha. Loiosh and Rocza flew above the cab, watching and complaining.
This was a place I’d been to a few times. I’d heard a few different stories about who actually owned it. It was variously put as (1) belonging to everyone on the Council, operating through shells; (2) belonging to a guy with no ties to the Organization, but lots of pull at Court; or (3) owned jointly by the Council, so there’d always be a safe meeting place. Whichever; it was one of a dozen or so places in the City where you could eat without worrying about unpleasantness, no matter who was after you.
Of course, walking out the door afterward was your problem.
There’s an L-shaped bar running the length of the wall to the right and continuing to the far wall. The rest of the room is filled with chairs and a score of tables almost big enough for two people, all of which have four chairs in front of them; you usually end up holding your plate on your lap and keeping just your drink on the table. A row of small windows high on the wall lets in a token amount of light. The rest is provided by two massive candelabra behind the bar, and I imagine those who work there acquire a good number of head-bumps as well as a few odd burns until they get to know the place.
It was the middle of the day and not very crowded; about a third of the tables were occupied, mostly with the Chreotha and Jhegaala tradesmen that you’d think comprised most of the population of the City if your eyes pass over the innumerable Teckla. A hooded woman in dark clothing, with nothing to indicate her House, sat alone at a table near the door. I sat down opposite her; Rocza turned around on my shoulder to watch the door.
“Hello, Kiera. I hope you weren’t waiting long.”
She raised her head and her lips quirked. “What are you drinking?”
“Here? Something white and inoffensive. I don’t trust them.”
“You’re a snob.”
“Yes. But I’ll pay; this is my meeting. Are we eating?”
“Nothing for me.”
That was a shame. This was one of the few Dragaeran places that had good food—a specialty called “cure” which involved meat covered in a spicy-sweet sauce. Other places made it, but here they’d been using the same oven for more than eight hundred years; it’s hard to compete with something like that. But it was my meeting, and she wasn’t eating, so neither would I. Lady Teldra would have approved.
Kiera got the attention of a middle-aged Teckla with extraordinarily thick eyebrows and a slack mouth, who tightened up his mouth long enough to nod at the order. A guy with almost no chin and wearing Jhereg colors came in and took a seat where he could ostentatiously watch me. I ignored him; Kiera kept an eye on him without discernible expression. “Is he the only Jhereg in the place, Loiosh?”
“At the moment. Give it two minutes. They’ll be coming in the windows.”
“I don’t doubt it a bit.”
The wine arrived; it was as inoffensive as the Teckla who delivered it.
Kiera nodded her thanks. “It’s been years,” she lied. “I trust I find you well?”
“My ass is smaller and my feet are flatter, but I’m all right other than that.”
“And your purse? Is that flatter and smaller as well?”
“No, it’s all right. I still have most of what I got for Laris.”
She looked mildly startled. In this light, her eyes seemed almost gray, and her complexion nearly as dark as mine. She always seemed a little smaller than she was. “When I heard you wanted to meet me, I assumed you wanted something stolen. Is it information, then?”
“No, you were right. Well, both, really. I want something stolen. But not for recompense.”
“Ah. Of course.” She looked interested. “Tell me more.”