“If you’d take that amulet off for a minute, I could—”
“No, thanks.”
“As you please. So, why were you beaten by people pretending to be Dragonlords?”
“Pretending.”
“Yes.”
“You just seem awfully convinced of that.”
She gave a Kiera shrug—more implied by the twitch of her lips than by any movement of her shoulder—and said, “I won’t say I can’t be wrong. I just don’t think I am.”
“Then you think it was the Left Hand?”
“Thugs hired by them, yes. At least, that’s the first thing that comes to mind.”
“So then, why?”
“To get you to do something you wouldn’t otherwise do. What did you do?”
“I saw Norathar, and used the event to pry some information out of her.”
“What information? Oh, right. You won’t tell me.”
“I’d rather not. It wasn’t anything she wanted to tell me.”
“So?”
“If you need to know—”
“I will never, ever, understand Easterners.”
“What, that we have scruples?”
“Not that you have them; where you keep them.”
Sethra would have understood completely, but this time I kept my mouth shut about it. “So, anyway, there’s your answer: I was able to get information from Norathar that I wouldn’t otherwise get.”
She nodded. “And does the Left Hand know you well enough to have predicted you’d do that?”
I started to say no, stopped, considered, and said, “It’s not impossible, I suppose. But it’s a little scary if they do. Think of how much they’d have to know, how many implications, how many possibilities.”
“Maybe. But, you know, they wouldn’t have had to know you’d do it. Just knowing you might do it would be enough.”
“Enough for what?”
“Vlad, I understand that you might not pay attention to what I say, but you ought to pay attention to what you say, don’t you think?”
“Kiera, you know I love you. But I swear by all I despise that I would hit you over the head with a chair if I could lift one right now. Please just explain it? Please?”
“You’ve just said that, after the beating, you got Norathar to tell you things she wouldn’t have otherwise.”
“So? How does that benefit them?”
“The Left Hand, Vlad. What do they do?”
“Illegal magic. Devices for gamblers to cheat. Defeating spells to prevent eavesdrop—oh.”
“Yes.”
“They were listening.”
“We’d best assume so.”
“Norathar is going to kill me.”
“I don’t much care about that,” said Kiera sweetly. “I’m worried about who else she’s liable to kill.”
“Oh. Yes. Um. If they’re clever enough to know what I’d do, aren’t they clever enough to know what Norathar will do?”
“You’d think so.”
“Well?”
She spread her hands. “Maybe they’re counting on her years in the Jhereg to have given her some sense. Or maybe they think it’s worth the gamble. Or maybe that’s exactly what they want.”
“Coming up with a complex plan that, if it works, will result in your throat being cut seems like a lot of wasted thinking. But maybe that’s just me.”
“I don’t know, Vlad.”
“Can you find out?”
“How? I have no sources in the Left Hand. No one does. However stupid you may think their rituals are, they work: No one who isn’t one of them knows anything.”
“Ugh,” I suggested. I wondered what had happened to the side of my left shoulder to make it hurt so bad; I didn’t remember getting hit there. “You can’t do what they do without leaving a trace. That means there are ways to find out.”
She nodded. “Let me know how that works out for you.”
“Kiera—”
“What do you expect me to do about it?”
“I don’t know. Kill someone. Steal something. Figure something out.”
“The first and last are your business. I’ll be glad to steal something as soon as you tell me what you want me to steal.”
“Maybe I’ll hire Mario.”
“Heh. As if—” She stopped. “You might, you know.”
“And pay him with what?”
“Vlad, he’s Aliera’s lover.”
“Um. Yeah, I’ve heard that. Is it true?”
She frowned. “I don’t know. It might be worth finding out.”
Mario, in case you’ve never heard of him, is to assassins what Soramiir is to sorcerers. If you’ve never heard of Soramiir, don’t feel bad; I hadn’t either until a few days ago.
I thought about it. “It’s certainly something to keep in mind. At the moment, however, I’m not sure just who I’d ask him to kill.”
She nodded.
I said, “This business of them guessing what I would do, and planning on it, would make me uncomfortable if I believed it. Like, I couldn’t do anything because they’d know just what I’d do.”
“I think you’re overstating it a bit.”
“I know. But it’s strange. Ever had someone try that on you?”
“No. But then, I’ve been pretty scrupulous about Jhereg rules.”
I winced. I guess I had that coming. “My first reaction,” I said, “is to just find some Left Hand business somewhere and start messing it up, to see what they do. Pick one at random, so they can’t predict it. It’ll give me something to take my frustrations out on. I suppose that would be stupid. Unless I can find some useful aspect.”
“There are worse ideas.”
“Also better ones, I suspect. But if they really have this planned based on predicting my actions—which I still don’t believe—then doing something unpredictable might have some benefit.”
“Suppose I’m right—using this to kill you is just a grace note in a larger concert.”
“All right. What then?”
“Who is playing the instrument? That is, who in the Left Hand have you especially pissed off?”
“Triesco,” I said.
“You don’t aim small, do you?”
“What’s the point of having weak enemies? They just waste your time.”
“It would make sense,” said Kiera. “From what I know of her, she’s powerful, ruthless, skilled, and not all that nice. And, yes, she’s quite capable of hatching a plot like a Yendi.”
“Matches what I know,” I said. “Think it’s her?”
“If you annoyed her, probably.”
“Well, then.”
“So,” she said to the air. “How did it go down? What are they planning? Or her, if it’s her.”
“Kiera?”
“Hmmm?”
“Thanks.”
She nodded absently, her eyes focused over my shoulder, a frown of concentration on her brow. “The more I think about it, the more I think your idea of randomly messing up a Left Hand cover business isn’t that bad. It’ll make them respond to something new. It could cause a slip.”
“Hear that, Loiosh? It’s from Kiera. You can’t argue.”
“Sure I can.”
“But you won’t.”
“Sure I will.”
Sure he would. “In that case,” I said, “I need to find out a few of their businesses, so I can pick one to mess up. I’m going to enjoy this.”
“Are you in any shape to do any messing? Or, rather, will you be tomorrow?”
I grunted. “Maybe not. Maybe that’s why they did it. Can’t ignore the possibility that they beat me in order to beat me.”
She laughed. I hadn’t thought it was that funny, but you never know what will strike Kiera as amusing. “I’d volunteer to help,” she said. “But messing people up isn’t my talent.”
“It isn’t a talent, Kiera. It’s a learned skill.”