“Like what?”
I spread my hands.
“Okay,” he said. “Well, you now know what you don’t know. See how much progress you’ve made?”
“Could you do something for me?”
“If it involves a mind-probe of the Empress, no. Otherwise, probably.”
I reached over and found a blank piece of paper on his desk, right where I used to keep them. I wrote a name on it and passed it over to him. He looked at it and did a thing with his eyebrows. “Left Hand?”
“Yeah. I have an itch that tells me they’re in on this. I’d love to be wrong, but if I’m right, she’s probably in it. Find out what you can about her.”
“I already know more than I’d like to.”
“Start with that, then.”
“Madam Triesco is one of the high figures in the Left Hand. She’s probably richer than the Empress. She answers to Caola, and I don’t think Caola would dirty her hands with this directly. When someone sells a trinket to influence the roll of the stones, Triesco is getting some of it. If it doesn’t actually do anything, she’s getting more. Every malicious imitation spell in town, some of it goes to her. Whenever there’s an unauthorized clairvoyance spell cast, she’s getting a piece. When—”
“Hey. Are we safe?”
“Hmmm?”
“Could someone be watching or listening to us? How good are your protections?”
“They’re the same ones you had, Vlad. Three tied to two, double-filled and locked. Cast for twenty years, remember? Checked four times a year.”
“All right. Anyway, yeah, I know she’s big.”
“What else do you want to. . . oh.”
I shook my head. “Don’t jump to conclusions. I just need to know things. I’m not ready to start indiscriminately putting shines right and left.”
“All right. But you’ll let me know before you do, so I can be somewhere else?”
“I’ll send a special courier.”
“Thanks.”
“You’ll check on her for me?”
“Just like the old days.”
“Except now you have people to do the legwork for you.”
“Yeah, except for that, it’s just like the old days.”
“And you’re more sarcastic than you used to be.”
“Right.”
“Which I didn’t think was possible.”
“When you stop being surprised, you’ve stopped living.”
“All right, all right. Can I get an escort back to the Imperial Palace?”
He called for Yenth, and said a couple of names I didn’t recognize. I didn’t recognize their faces, either, when they showed up. Kragar gave them instructions that didn’t leave any room for doubt about the condition I was to arrive in, or what would happen to them if I so much as stubbed my toe; they appeared to notice.
“Thanks, Kragar. I’ll be in touch.”
He gave me a salute, and my escort escorted me back down the stairs, out the door, and onto the sweet-sour smell of the part of the City I knew best. I’d have liked to have relaxed more and enjoyed the walk, but I was too busy thinking.
I made it back to the Palace, the Iorich Wing, and the over-priced inn, giving my escorts a couple of orbs to drink my continued good health. The room was empty, the bed was soft, I was tired.
I woke up with that ugly feeling you always get when you sleep in your clothes—years on the run hadn’t inured me to it. I checked the Orb and found the time, tried to figure how long I’d been asleep, and realized I had no idea what time it had been when I’d lain down. Was it light out? I couldn’t remember. It was disorienting and annoying.
“You’ve been out about six hours, Boss.”
“Okay. Was everything solved while I slept?”
“Almost everything. Just a bit of cleanup left.”
“Good, then.”
I hauled myself out and took myself to the public baths nearest the Iorich Wing; over-priced like the rest of the area, full of marble and sorcerously created hot springs. I wrapped my things in my cloak, which I kept next to my hand, and had an attendant have everything else cleaned while I soaked for a long time. It helped.
I dried myself off, picked up my cloak, slipped a hand onto Lady Teldra’s hilt, and went over to the attendant to pick up my clothes. I over-tipped, because I’m just that kind of guy. There was enough privacy near the privies that I could replace the surprises about my person—the few I still carried: dagger for each sleeve, throwing knife in a boot, garrote in the collar of the cloak, a couple of darts inside it, and so on. Then I strapped on my sword belt, with the rapier hanging from it in front of Lady Teldra, and the cloak covering the whole thing. There. Ready to face the world again. Assassins? Bring ’em on.
No, actually, don’t. Skip that. Just kidding.
“Breakfast?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Liar.”
“Okay, breakfast.”
I negotiated my way back to the Palace, figuring to grab something there and hoping to run into Poncer again. The dining area was much busier now, and those I’d noticed before were gone. I found a vendor selling fresh, hot potato bread with an orange-flavored mustard, about which you shouldn’t laugh until you’ve tried it. Loiosh and Rocza had theirs without mustard; I explained that the looks they kept getting were because of that, but I don’t think they bought it. There was no sign of Poncer.
I returned to the House of the Iorich and made my way to the advocate’s office. His door was open and there were no ambiguous notes on it, so I clapped and went in.
He glanced up from the tome he was reading, his finger guiding him, and said, “Lord Taltos.”
“High Counsel.”
He gestured to a chair. “What have you found out?”
“That was going to be my question,” I said.
He grunted and waited.
I sighed. “I’m not sure how much to tell you.”
He shrugged. “Don’t tell me anything you want kept secret. I’m not about to withhold information I’m compelled to disclose.”
“I was afraid you’d say something like that.”
“You can keep it hypothetical, if you want.”
“Hypothetically, what would happen if you were questioned about this conversation?”
“Hypothetically, I’d give evasive answers.”
“And then?”
“Hypothetically, either or both of us could find ourselves at the long end of a short slide.”
“Right. What if there were no hypothetical situations?”
“Eh?”
“Never mind. I don’t think telling you my current theory is a good idea.”
“I can’t argue, but it makes my work harder.”
“I know. What have you learned?”
“They’re skipping several steps.”
“Like what?”
“Seals on depositions, verification of psiprint maps, character vetting of witnesses—”
“So, that means they want to rush this through?”
“No, it isn’t that simple.” He frowned. “I’ve been reading some histories of prosecutions with political motives.”
“And?”
“They come in various forms, but they usually fall into two classes: the ones they try to rush through, so it’s over before there can be any outcry, and those that make certain all the formalities and niceties are observed, ah, scrupulously, so it can stand up to any examining among the nobles who may question it.”