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“So, you think the Jhereg,” she al­most spat the word, “are go­ing to sab­otage this in­ves­ti­ga­tion?”

“Have you ev­er known them, or the Or­ca, to give up a chance for prof­it if there was a way not to?”

“No. But I don’t see any­thing they can do that won’t back-​fire on them.”

“You aren’t re­al­ly drunk, are you?”

“No, not re­al­ly.”

“I should prob­ably tell No­rathar, or else the Em­press, about what I think is go­ing on.”

“Prob­ably.”

“Un­less you’d rather.”

“Why would I?”

“I don’t know. A way of say­ing there are no hard feel­ings?”

“What makes you think there are no hard feel­ings?”

“Okay, a way of play­ing pol­itics? My prob­lems aren’t the sort that can be solved by hav­ing the Em­pire owe me any­thing.”

“I don’t ac­tu­al­ly care.” She hes­itat­ed. “But thanks for the of­fer.”

“D’ski!tna.”

“What?”

“You owe me no debt.”

“I know what it means. When did you learn Se­ri­oli?”

“On­ly a cou­ple of words,” I said, feel­ing my face turn­ing red. “I met a bard who—nev­er mind.”

She shrugged. “Any­thing else, or can I get back to plot­ting my jail­break?”

“You can get back to it. Can I smug­gle you in a lit­tle blue stone or some­thing?”

“They’re ac­tu­al­ly pur­ple, and, yes, I’ll take three of them.”

“Heh.”

I stood up to go. She said, “Vlad.”

“Hm?”

I ex­pect­ed her to thank me for all my work. Or maybe an­nounce some­thing pro­found, like telling me about a vi­sion she’d had of the De­mon God­dess. What she said was, “I don’t mind my daugh­ter play­ing with your son.”

“Um. Okay, thanks.”

I had the guard let me out of the place.

Be­ing in the Palace any­way, I went back to the same ven­dor and found some sausages that weren’t too bad, and bread that could have been staler, then made my way back to my room. Loiosh told me it was emp­ty, so I went in. I lay down on the bed and tried to think. My stom­ach grum­bled a lit­tle. I won­dered if I was get­ting too old to be liv­ing on bread and sausage; that would be sad.

As I lay there, I found my hand stroking the tiny gold­en links on the hilt of La­dy Tel­dra. In the years I’d had her, I’d on­ly used her twice; I some­how thought that would please her. Those thoughts led me to an­oth­er Is­so­la I knew, but I pushed those away: I need­ed to con­cen­trate on busi­ness.

My hand kept stroking La­dy Tel­dra’s hilt.

Hey, you in there? Any ideas? Can you help?

Noth­ing.

I sud­den­ly missed her—I mean, the re­al per­son—very sharply. It’s all well and good to think of her per­son­al­ity be­ing pre­served in­side a weapon, but for one thing, I’d nev­er felt it that I could be sure of. And for an­oth­er, I didn’t en­tire­ly be­lieve it. I won­der if she would say mur­der­ing a bunch of Teck­la was im­po­lite. I won­dered if the fact that I didn’t much care made me a bad per­son. Prob­ably.

“I won­der if she’d say any­thing about ly­ing on top of the bed with your boots on.”

“Prob­ably.”

My mind wan­dered, which is a good thing, be­cause some­times it wan­ders to where it needs to go and un­cov­ers just the right rock. In this case, it wan­dered to High Coun­sel Perisil. An in­ter­est­ing fel­low. What I’d said to him had been true: None of the ad­vo­cates I’d run in­to be­fore had any in­ter­est oth­er than in mak­ing them­selves rich. This shouldn’t be seen as say­ing any­thing about the House over­alclass="underline" it’s a par­tic­ular set of them who end up work­ing for the Jhereg. I don’t know, maybe the Jhereg ex­erts an in­flu­ence on some peo­ple, turn­ing them. Or maybe those with such in­cli­na­tions, in any House, are more sub­ject to work­ing for them, more sub­ject to tak­ing and giv­ing bribes, to stab­bing peo­ple in the back, to set­ting up some poor bas­tard the way Perisil had said—

Oh.

Well, sure. That would do it.

“You think, Boss?”

“Why not? What would hap­pen?”

“I don’t know. You fig­ure that out.”

“I al­ready have, Loiosh. The in­ves­ti­ga­tion would be stopped, at least for a while, and there would be all sorts of noise about round­ing up and sup­press­ing Teck­la and East­ern­ers, and the no­bles would blame Zeri­ka for let­ting it get out of hand, and it would be a round throw whether she’d be able to get things back in hand, or whether she’d have to cave to the Jhereg to get the pres­sure off.”

“That’s the part I don’t see, Boss. How does go­ing along with the Jhereg re­lieve the pres­sure on Zeri­ka?”

“Now that is an ex­cel­lent ques­tion, my fine jhereg friend. I think I’ll go ask her.”

“Now?”

“I’ll prob­ably have to wait for hours to see her; can you think of a rea­son not to start the wait?”

“Put that way, I guess not.”

It was ear­ly evening; just be­gin­ning to get dark. I didn’t know what hours Her Majesty kept, but it could do no harm in ask­ing, so long as no one pol­ished me up dur­ing the walk from the inn to the Palace.

Loiosh and Rocza kept care­ful watch, and I took the round­about path I’d tak­en be­fore, and made it to the Palace with­out in­ci­dent. I won’t bore you with a rep­eti­tion of mak­ing my way to As­skiss Al­ley. Harn­wood was still there; like Aliera, he seemed not to have moved.

“Count Szurke,” he said.

I bowed. “Good Lord Harn­wood, would it be pos­si­ble to find out if Her Majesty would con­sent to see me?”

His face gave no sign there was any­thing odd in the re­quest. “Is it ur­gent?”

“A few hours or a day will make no dif­fer­ence,” I said. “But I have new in­for­ma­tion.”

He didn’t ask about what. Maybe he knew, but more like­ly he knew it was none of his busi­ness. “I shall in­quire. Please have a chair.”

I did, and wait­ed maybe half an hour.

“The Em­press will see you.”

I start­ed to fol­low him, stopped, and said, “When back­ing away from Her Majesty at the end of the in­ter­view, how many steps do I take be­fore turn­ing around?”

He smiled; I think the ques­tion pleased him. “If you are here as a per­son­al friend of Her Majesty, then five. If you are here as Count Szurke, then sev­en. If as Baronet Tal­tos, then ten.”

“Thank you,” I said.

If I had the choice be­tween try­ing to fig­ure out an Is­so­la and try­ing to fig­ure out an Iorich, I think I’d take a nap.

Harn­wood led me through a dif­fer­ent route, short­er, and to a co­zi­er room; I had the strong feel­ing this was a part of her liv­ing quar­ters, which meant I was be­ing hon­ored, or else that I was ir­ri­tat­ing her, or both. She was wait­ing. Harn­wood bowed deeply to Her Majesty, less deeply to me. I bowed to Her Majesty, she nod­ded to me. It’s just like a dance.

She didn’t of­fer me a chair. I said, “Majesty, thank you for see­ing me. I hadn’t re­al­ized you knew the Necro­mancer.”

She frowned. “How did you—” then looked down at her gold­en out­fit. “You’ve seen Sethra re­cent­ly.”

“Your Majesty’s pow­ers of de­duc­tion are—”

“Leave it. What is this new in­for­ma­tion?”

“There is go­ing to be an ef­fort made to stop the in­ves­ti­ga­tion in­to the events in Tir­ma.”

She frowned. “What sort of at­tempt, and how do you know?”

I nod­ded. “Please ac­cept my com­pli­ments, Majesty. Those are good ques­tions. I rec­og­nize good ques­tions, be­cause I can come up with them my­self.”

Her brows came to­geth­er. “Are you bar­gain­ing with me, Tal­tos?”

“No, Majesty. I’ll an­swer yours in any case. I’m hop­ing Your Majesty’s grat­itude will—”