'The most accurate history of our last two hundred years,' Lesarl announced when he saw Mihn looking around at the files, 'if you know the way to read it. Can you guess which file is yours?'
'I expect one of the more recent ones on that bookcase behind you,' Mihn said, approaching the desk. Two straight-backed armchairs were positioned next to it.
'You'd hope so, wouldn't you?' Tila commented breezily, walking around the desk to her own chair, 'but it turns out our Chief Steward's paranoia knows no bounds. The numbering system allows for new files to be inserted into the system at apparent random and I have yet to work out how to identify either the dummy files or the false documents inserted into most of the
folders in case the wrong eyes do find them. I have started to get the hang of his elliptical style of notation at last, so the infrequency of names is proving less of a problem now.'
Lesarl smiled at Mihn like a snake about to swallow a mouse. 'It would be foolish to rely solely on the security precautions of the palace, don't you agree?'
Mihn shrugged.
'No desire for idle banter?' the Chief Steward asked. He was a thin man, with spidery limbs and a narrow, pointed face. His grin was one of the most malicious expressions Mihn had ever seen, and it was clearly one of Lesarl's favourite from a selection that might not have been as varied as a Harlequin's repertoire, but was certainly as accomplished.
He stood up and said, 'As the Lady Tila is quick to point out, my paranoia imposes significant demands on my time, so if you want to just sit there and stare, that's fine; you'll forgive me if I get some work done in the meantime.'
'I want some information,' Mihn said.
The smile returned to Lesarl's face. 'It is something I have in abundance, but you may have to be a little more specific'
'A journal – a very unusual journal, one Lord Bahl read before his death.'
It was almost imperceptible, but Mihn thought he detected a very slight hesitation before the Chief Steward answered him.
'Our lord was an erudite man; you would have to be more specific.'
Interesting – you know what I'm talking about, and it's a subject you don't want to discuss. Either you're not the sadist you're reputed to be, or there's something here you'd prefer didn't come to light.
'I think perhaps you know the journal,' Mihn said.
'Perhaps I can make an educated guess,' Lesarl replied coolly, 'but what of it?'
'I want to read it – do you still have it?' Mihn ignored Tila's bewildered expression.
'You arrogant little-!' Lesarl snarled suddenly. 'Are ydu fishing to find out if I have sold it?' He leaned forward on the desk. 'I have done nothing of the sort, and nor would I – how dare you suggest such a thing?' The Chief Steward was almost shaking with anger. 'I take my position here more seriously than any of you- you children could possibly understand. My remit is specific and to stray beyond that would mean immediate execution without trial-'
'I thought it prudent to ask,' Mihn interrupted, keeping his voice quiet. 'It is a sensitive subject, after all.'
Lesarl looked at him, considering. His heightened colour started to dissipate and his voice was calmer when he said, 'It is. The journal isn't for public consumption. Before we go any further, I would like to know why exactly you want it – in fact, how you heard of it in the first place.'
'Lord Isak mentioned it in my presence,' Mihn said. 'As for what I want with it, I cannot tell you exactly. I seek answers – and perhaps more questions. As yet I am not entirely sure. But I am answering you honestly.' And this is the problem; I don't know exactly what 1 want it for. Perhaps Isak's recklessness has rubbed off on me. 'Cannot? When this is a matter of state security?' Out of the corner of his eye Mihn saw Tila's expression grow more intent, but she didn't interrupt. Doubtless she knew all too well that Lesarl loved to hear someone beg him for information. 'Should Lord Isak be asking why you did not destroy it?' 'Do not think to threaten me with that; bluffing doesn't work when I'm the one who can see all the cards. Anyway, if you do know what it is, you will also know that such things are not easily disposed of.'
Mihn smiled grimly. 'I assume you will be able to think of an appropriate favour in return for either the journal or its location.' He shivered at the sudden, unequivocal delight that flourished on Lesarl's face.
'A favour, eh? Now that is an interesting prospect.' 'A favour,' Mihn warned, 'no long-term arrangement.' 'Frightened of commitment?' Lesarl grinned. 'My mother always warned me about men like you.' 'Do you accept?'
Lesarl pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully. 'I do, but the favour comes first.' 'What is it?'
'Give me a day or two; I'll need to make some preparation first.' 'And you'll tell me about the journal once I've finished.' Lesarl gave him a beatific smile. 'It will be discussed the very moment you return.'
*
Two nights later Mihn found himself squatting behind a statue, trying to avoid the worst of the wind whistling up the river. Gusty spurts of rain made the exposed streets of Tirah even more unpleasant. The Irist, the city's principal waterway, was running high and dangerous this winter; and its surrounds were dark and treacherous.
A hundred yards upriver lay the Temple of Death, Mihn's destination. Like most temples, this one was adjoined by the clerical quarters and offices. The temple was built like an enormous cross marking the location of buried treasure on a map. It occupied a large stretch of prime waterfront, and had converted the buildings on either side of the temple itself to more secular activities or rented them out to merchants.
This ensured there was sufficient wealth to properly welcome their unusually large crop of penitents, while many of the actual temple staff – devotees, priests and novices – had been moved further south. Only the principal residence of the high priest remained; a modestly sized palace that nestled in the crook of two arms of the temple cross and retained the fine river views lost by those less devoted to their God. It meant there were fewer people around to catch Mihn when he finally left the statue's shadow to break in.
He had eschewed his staff in favour of a pair of fighting sticks, more easily stowed on his back and better for use indoors. Aside from those and the rope-and-grapple currently tied around his waist, he also carried a small porcelain vase with a lid screwed on tight and bound with wire, a flask of moonshine the Palace Guards had named bastard, and a black cloth hood from which trailed a plait of horse-hair.
Showing a breathtaking lack of loyalty, Lesarl had suggested that last so that if Mihn were seen, his build, coupled with the plait, would lead observers to direct any possible blame towards the Temple of the Lady and her devotees. The Chief Steward hadn't been impressed that his agents there had recently ignored his orders; he was quite happy for any potential problems to land on the temple's doorstep rather than his own.
Mihn had skirted the perimeter earlier and had a fair idea of where the guards would be stationed. Even while taking care not to be seen – he was, after all, suspiciously foreign-looking, as Isak was always quick to point out – he'd made ah extra effort to keep clear of the patrolling penitents. The crucial detail of the mission was to avoid being detected; Lesarl's other available agents were better at murder than subtlety, hence his current position.