“Just a ‘reasonable excuse,’ eh? Just out of curiosity, do you have any idea how to find an excuse like that?”
“As a matter of fact,” I said nastily, “I do. Easiest thing in the world. I just give you the assignment.”
“Me? Dammit, Vlad, you’ve already got me working on background, as well as trying to figure out a nonexistent event to provide an insufficient reason for a vanished Jhereg to do the impossible. I can’t—”
“Sure you can. I have confidence in you.”
“Go suck yendi eggs. How?”
“You’ll think of something.”
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5
“There are dangers in eyesight too keen.”
The only significant thing that happened the rest of the day was the arrival of a courier from the Demon, along with a rather impressive escort and several large purses. The full sixty-five thousand Imperials. It was official now; I was committed.
I gave Kragar the purses to put into safekeeping, and went home for the day. My wife, I’m sure, knew that something was up, but didn’t ask about it. I had no good reason for not mentioning anything to her, but I didn’t.
The next morning I found a small envelope on my desk. I slit it open and several human, or Dragaeran, hairs fell out. There was also a note which read, “From his pillow.—K.” I destroyed the note and reached out for psionic contact with my wife.
“Yes, Vlad?”
“Are you busy, sweetheart?”
“Not really. Just practicing a little knife-throwing.”
“Hey! I wish you wouldn’t do that!”
“Why not?”
“Because you can already beat me seven out of ten times.”
“I’m going for eight out of ten. You’ve been getting uppity lately. What’s up? Do you have some ‘work’ for me?”
“No such luck. Drop on by and I’ll tell you about it.”
“Right away?”
“As soon as it’s convenient.”
“Okay. I’ll be over shortly.”
“Fine. Meet me in the lab.”
“Oh,” she said, understanding, and the link was broken.
I left word with my receptionist that I wasn’t going to be taking any messages for the next two hours and walked down a few flights of stairs. Loiosh rode complacently on my left shoulder, looking around as if he were conducting an inspection. I came to a small room in the basement and unlocked the door.
In this building, locks are next to useless as a means of actually keeping people out of places, but they are effective as a way of saying “Private.”
It was a smallish room, with a low table in the exact center and several mounted lamps along the wall. I kindled these. In a corner of the room was a small chest. The middle of the table held a brazier, with a few unburned coals in it. I dumped these out and got more from the chest.
I focused, briefly, on one of the candles and was rewarded by a flame. I used it to light the others, then put out the lamps.
I checked the time and found that I still had a little while before I could contact Daymar. I checked the placement of the candles and watched the flickering shadows for a moment.
Removing a few more items from the chest, including a piece of incense, I set them on the table next to the brazier, placing the incense among the coals. Next, I took a candle and held the flame next to a coal. A moment of concentration, and the fire spread evenly and quickly. The smell of incense began to introduce itself to the various nooks and corners of the room.
Soon Cawti arrived and greeted me with a sunshine smile. She was an Easterner, a small, pretty woman with dzur-black hair and fluid, graceful movements. If she’d been a Dragaeran, she might have been born into the House of the Issola, and taught them all something about “courtliness.” And something about “surprise,” as well.
Her hands were small, but strong, and could produce knives out of nowhere. Her eyes burned—sometimes with the impish delight of a mischievous child, sometimes with the cold passion of a professional killer, sometimes with the rage of a Dragonlord going into battle.
Cawti was one of the deadliest assassins I had ever met. She and her partner, then a defrocked Dragonlord, had made one of the most sought-after teams of killers in the Jhereg, going under the somewhat melodramatic names of “The Sword and the Dagger.” I had deemed it a high honor when an enemy of mine had considered me worth the expense of hiring the team to take me out. I’d been quite surprised when I woke up afterwards and found that they hadn’t managed to make it permanent. For that, thank Kragar’s alertness, Morrolan’s speed and fighting ability, and Aliera’s rather exceptional skill in healing and revivification.
Some couples fall in love and end up trying to kill each other. We’d done it the other way around.
Cawti was also a competent witch, though not quite as skilled as I. I explained to her what was going to be needed, then we made small talk.
“Boss!”
“Yes, Loiosh?”
“I hate to interrupt—”
“Like hell you do.”
“But it’s time to contact Daymar.”
“Already? Okay, thanks.”
“Well, I suppose you’re welcome.”
I reached out, thinking of Daymar, concentrating, remembering the “feel” of his mind.
“Yes?” he said. He was one of few people whose voice I could actually hear when we were in contact. In the other cases it was because I knew them well enough for my imagination to supply the voice. With Daymar it was simply the strength of the contact.
“Would you mind showing up?” I asked him. “We’d like to get started on this spell.”
“Fine. Just let me . . . Okay, I’ve got a fix on you. I’ll be right there.”
“Give me a minute first, so I can turn off some protections and alarms. I don’t want to have forty-eleven things go off when you teleport in.”
I ordered our teleport protections taken down for a few seconds. Daymar appeared in front of me—floating, cross-legged, about three feet off the floor. I rolled my eyes; Cawti shook her head sadly. Loiosh hissed. Daymar shrugged, and stretched his legs down; stood up.
“You left off the thunderclap and the lightning flash,” I told him.
“Should I try again?”
“Never mind.”
Daymar stood roughly 7 feet, 3 inches tall. He had the sharp, well-chiseled features of the House of the Hawk, although they were somewhat gentler, softer, than those of most Hawklords I’ve met. He was incredibly thin, looking almost transparent. It seemed that his eyes rarely focused, giving him the appearance of looking past whatever he was observing, or at something deep inside it. We had been friends since the time I had almost killed him for mind-probing one of my people. He’d done it out of curiosity, and I think he never understood why I objected.
“So,” Daymar asked, “who is this you want located?”
“A Jhereg. With luck, I should have what you wanted for the trace. Will this do?”
I handed him a small crystal I’d taken from the chest. He inspected it carefully, although I’m damned if I know what he was looking for. He nodded and gave it back to me.