“How long has it been since you broke into the Imperial Palace?”
“Oh,” she said. She fell silent, her eyes lidded. Then, “Are you sure you want a thief, and not a spy?”
“I want a spy,” I said. “But I don’t know any I can use right now.”
“They’re different skills, you know.”
“I know.”
She nodded. “Go on, then.”
“There must be wonderful amounts of paperwork associated with Aliera’s prosecution.”
“Boxes, I’m sure. Stealing them will be less of a problem than transporting them. Not to mention that someone will notice they’re missing.”
“I don’t need all of them. Just one.”
“Which?”
“That’s the kicker. I don’t know.”
She gave me the eyebrow and waited for me to continue.
“Somewhere,” I said, “among the earliest papers associated with the case—maybe the very earliest—I’m hoping there will be something that will tell us how it started. I want to know who thought of arresting Aliera, or how the idea came up, or how hard it was to talk the Empress into it, and who objected and why, and—”
“Why should such a thing exist?”
“Because—okay, look: I won’t claim to know the Empress. We aren’t buddies. But I’ve met her, talked to her, and been there when Aliera and Morrolan and Sethra talked about her.”
She nodded. “Go on.”
“It wouldn’t have crossed her mind to solve her problem by ordering the arrest of a friend. I don’t think it would have crossed her mind to solve her problem by ordering an arrest.”
Kiera chewed her lip, then nodded. “I can see that. All right.”
“So someone else came up with the idea. I want to know who it was.”
“You think that will be in one of the papers in her case files?”
“I’m hoping to find something to point me in the right direction. I’m not expecting a complete answer, just a hint about where to look.”
“You do want a spy.”
“Yes. Know any?”
“A few. But this sounds like a challenge. I’d like to try it.”
“Good! How much?”
“Two thousand. What, too much?”
“No, no. Just startled me. But for what I’m asking, pretty reasonable.” I pulled out bank draft and a pencil, wrote a little, and handed it to her.
“I suppose you’re in a hurry?”
“Hard to say. Aliera’s in prison, so maybe she is.”
She nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. I’m looking forward to this.” She grinned the unique Kiera grin that brought back some memories and drove out certain others.
We drank our wine quietly; there was a low hum of conversation around us. The door opened again behind me, and an inoffensive-looking fellow in Jhereg colors came in and took a table against the far wall. He leaned against the wall, stretched out his legs, and looked at me.
“Think the Jhereg knows I’m here?”
“Possibly,” she said. “Do you have a plan for getting out?”
“Not a plan as such. I mean, I can run a lot faster than you’d think.”
“Somehow, I don’t think you’d have come here if that was the best you had.”
I shrugged. “I can always teleport to Castle Black. It isn’t officially safe, but the Jhereg isn’t going to mess with a Dragon.”
She nodded. “But they’ll know where you are, and they’ll be watching for when you leave.”
“Yeah. I’ve gotten kind of used to that, though.”
“If you’d prefer, I have another idea.”
“Let’s hear it.”
She told me. I laughed. Loiosh laughed.
I removed Lady Teldra’s sheath from my belt and slipped it into my cloak. “Do it,” I said.
She was quiet for a moment while she psychically spoke with a mutual friend, or maybe acquaintance. At one point she looked at me and said, “Where do you want to end up?”
I considered a few things, then told her. She nodded and again got that blank look. Eventually she focused on me and said, “It’s all set.” Then we drank wine and got a bit caught up on little things that couldn’t matter to anyone else.
Presently, the door opened behind me. Kiera focused over my shoulder and I turned my head. They were both women, nearly identical in appearance, both wearing the black and silver of the House of the Dragon and the gold uniform half-cloak of the Phoenix Guards.
They took two steps forward until they were directly behind me, and one of them said, “Count Vladimir Taltos of Szurke? Please surrender your weapon and come with us.”
I could feel everyone in the restaurant staring at us. I didn’t look, but I could imagine the carefully expressionless faces of the two Jhereg. I gave the guards a big smile.
“Of course,” I said. I removed my sword belt and passed it back to them, then stood up slowly, my hands well clear of my body.
“It was a pleasure, Kiera. Until next time.”
“Be well, Vlad.”
I turned and gave my captors a nod. “I’m at your service.”
They escorted me out, one on either side, and directly into a prison coach. The driver and another guard were already in position. Loiosh and Rocza launched themselves from my shoulders, which the guards pretended not to notice; I guess they’d been informed that something like that might happen. I didn’t spot any assassins, but I wasn’t looking that hard, either. The guards climbed in, one next to me, the other opposite. The door closed, and the lock snicked, and there was the shifting of the coach as the sideman took his position next to the driver. Then the coach started moving and the Dragonlord opposite me handed me my weapon back.
“I trust that went as requested?”
“Yes,” I said. “My thanks.”
She shrugged. “Orders are orders. I don’t need to understand them.”
That was my invitation to explain what this was all about; I declined.
We rattled off. I couldn’t see where we were, but Loiosh kept me informed. Not speaking with my “captors” became uncomfortable, so I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. That lasted until the first jolt cracked the back of my head against the hard wood of the coach. After that I stared straight ahead, and just waited.
I didn’t need Loiosh to tell me when we arrived at Innocent’s Gate, as we call it in the Jhereg—the sudden dip into the lower floors where they bring prisoners. We stopped, and there were a few words exchanged in low tones, and then we started forward again—something I’d never done.
“Going through a tunnel, Boss. Okay, now we’re in a kind of courtyard. They sure have a lot of those coaches for prisoners. Stables, too.”
“Yeah, I can smell them.”
“Out of the tunnel, and, okay, you’re heading away from the Palace.”
“In the right direction, as agreed?”
“Yes.”
“Good, then.”
Or maybe not. I had mixed feelings about the whole thing.
The two guardsmen in the carriage with me seemed a lot more comfortable not talking than I was. We clanked through the streets; it’s always strange to ride in one of those, because you know everyone is staring at you, but you also know they can’t see inside the coach.
Eventually we reached our destination. One of them tapped the ceiling—two, then one. The reply came back, three slow taps. The coach bounced more, there was a clanking, and the door opened, letting light in and me out. My legs were stiff.
I looked around and felt a moment of panic; I didn’t recognize the place. It was a little cottage in a neighborhood full of two-story rooming houses. I noticed a small niball racquet, in front of it, on the narrow walkway between the street and the front door.