He sat back. “Ah!” he said. “Well, that tells us at least that Her Majesty doesn’t want to execute Aliera.”
“We knew that already.”
“Yes, I suppose we did.”
“Is there a real investigation, or is it just something they’re saying so they can slow things down?”
“Both. There’s a real investigation, but it isn’t about Aliera’s use of pre-Empire sorcery. They’re actually looking into the events at Tirma.”
I sat back, which hurt more than I’d have thought, and tried to figure out exactly what that might mean. I failed. “There are a lot of angles to that,” I said.
“Yes. It means everything to our case if we can draw the connection; nothing at all if we can’t. And in the meantime, we can’t do anything until we know if the Empire is actually going to follow up on the prosecution.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
His eyebrows went up. “Go on.”
“I just mean we may not have things to do legally, but on my end—”
“The things you won’t tell me about.”
“Right. On my end, I have a few things to follow up on.”
He stared at his desk, then looked up. “I don’t like being kept in the dark about things that have an effect on my case.”
“I don’t blame you.”
He grunted. “All right. Do what you have to.”
I nodded and refrained from saying that I fully intended to, whatever he said. “Anything else?”
“Not for now. Keep me informed of anything you can keep me informed of.”
“You too.”
He grunted and I made my way to my feet and left. He never did remark about how I was moving.
I tried to walk as if I wasn’t hurt; it made me feel less of a target, though I guess there isn’t much logic behind that—any assassin worth his stone would assume I was in top form before making a move anyway.
I needed to know what Cawti and her cute little band of would-be rebels were up to; I also couldn’t ask her, since my attitude about them was what had led to our breakup.
I stopped just inside the door of the Wing that would lead me back out toward the Palace. I saw no sign of anyone watching me. That doesn’t prove there wasn’t anyone, but I’m pretty good at noticing such things when I look. The trick is remembering to look.
“Where to now, Boss?”
“I need to see Cawti again. Right away.”
Then, “Sorry, Boss.”
“Yeah. Any ideas how to get there without drawing a crowd? I hate to repeat a trick. Besides, I don’t think the Jhereg would fall for the same one twice.”
“You know I’m not much with the ideas, Boss.”
“I need to see Cawti, and I very much do not want to direct anyone there. Anything you can come up with—”
“Walk around until you’re sure you’ve been spotted, find whoever is following you, and kill him?”
“I’ll consider that option.”
Other than Loiosh’s suggestion, I couldn’t come up with any great ideas, so I went the old traditional route of trying to lose someone in a crowd, alternating with empty streets with a lot of turns so you can see if anyone is staying with you. This can be very effective with one person tailing you; with two or more who are staying in touch, it’s less reliable. But I had the Palace right at hand, which had the additional benefit of being pretty much off-limits to anyone trying to take me down, especially Morganti.
I spent a good couple of hours at it, stopping only to get some bread and sausage from a vendor I passed. When I was as convinced as possible that I was unobserved, I ducked out through the Jhegaala Wing because it had a nice shrub border near where the coaches were. Loiosh and Rocza remained outside, flying around and keeping watch. I switched coaches once, near Briisan Center, then finally gave the address of Cawti’s house.
Iorich
11
Lord Carver, presently in the Iorich Wing awaiting execution, has refused to speak to the committee. We can, however, reasonably conclude that his primary motive was financial. It is clear both from the buildup of military force beginning in Zerika 239 and what may be called propaganda efforts beginning in Zerika 249 that the attempt to break away had been planned for some years. What is less certain is that he expected support from Countess Sicera and Barons Highhold and Delora. Whether he did expect such support, what reasons he may have had for such expectations, and why this support was not forthcoming is beyond the scope of this investigation, save to note that, had he in fact had such support the possibility of success of his rebellion would have been considerably strengthened.
I had the coach drop me off a few hundred feet away, so Loiosh, Rocza, and I could take a last look around. It seemed clear, so I approached the cottage. Vlad Norathar was out front, using the niball racquet to keep a ball in the air. He was concentrating very hard, but eventually noticed me, stopped, and gave a hesitant bow.
“Well met, sir,” I told him, giving him my best sweeping bow. He grinned, making his whole face light up. The door opened and Cawti came out. “And well met to you as well, madam.”
“I didn’t expect to see you back so soon,” she said, looking at me as if uncertain whether to be pleased or worried.
“Some things have come up. Questions. Do you have time to talk?”
It was the middle of the day; a little ways down the street a Teckla watered a garden, probably for the craftsman who owned the house. A couple of children walked toward us, escorted by a bored-looking nurse.
“Come in, then,” she said. “Come inside, Vlad.” This last was to the boy, though it jarred me a bit when she said it. She held the door open for him, and I brought up the rear, Loiosh and Rocza landing on my shoulder, at the same moment, as we stepped through the doorway. Vlad Norathar turned when he heard the wings flapping, and his eyes got big.
“Bloody damned show-offs.”
Something like a chuckle came into my head.
Cawti asked if I wanted some brandy, and I did. She poured it, neat, unchilled, and got something for herself. She gave Vlad Norathar what looked to be a glass of wine mixed with water. He sat in a full-sized chair and waited, ready to be part of the conversation. I’d heard the expression “I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry,” but I hadn’t given it much credit until that moment.
Yeah, okay, whatever.
“It’s good to see you,” she said.
“What happened to your face?” said Vlad Norathar.
“I was beaten up.”
“By who?”
“Whom,” said Cawti.
“I’m not exactly certain,” I said.
“Are you going to find out, and then beat them up?”
I hesitated. When in doubt you can always fall back on honesty. “If I have the chance to hurt them, I will.”
He nodded, and seemed about to ask more, but I guess Cawti didn’t like where the conversation was going. “So,” she said. “What is it?”
I tried to figure out how to express it. “Why am I always in a position where I need to know what’s going on, and no one will tell me anything?”
“You aren’t actually expecting me to answer that.” She phrased it as a statement.
“No, I’m not.”
“What is it, then?”
She was wearing an olive-green dress, with a white half-bodice, half-vest that laced up in front; there were a few ruffles from her white shirt showing at the collar, and the sleeves were big and puffy. It was the kind of thing that made you ache to unlace it. Her hair was looking especially black against it. Damn her, anyway. “Can you tell me anything at all about what, uh, what your people, your group, are doing about this massacre?”