Norathar walked up to her. “Two names. I don’t know either of them, but my sources tell me it’s probably one or the other. One is Rynend, who was given the job by the Council. The other is Shribal, who’s been heard to make remarks about wanting to pull it off.”
“I haven’t heard of them either.”
“Where should we start?”
“Rynend, I think.”
Norathar nodded. “We have more leverage if it ties directly to the Council.”
“Exactly. Where do we find him?”
“He works out of his home. On Greenway, in the Parapet.”
“Of course,” said Cawti. “What’s the best way to play this?”
Norathar frowned, then said, “I think the best bet is just me. If I don’t get anything, we’ll both take on Shribal.”
“This is a comfortable bench,” said Cawti. “I’ll wait here.”
Norathar nodded, concentrated, and vanished with a quiet pop of displaced air.
CHAPTER FOUR
TWO DAYS EARLIER, DATHAANI
The Jhereg spoke slowly, his voice as melodic as he could make it, which wasn’t very: And it so happened that Barlen called together the Gods that dwelt in the Halls of Judgment, and said, Our enemy will attack us anew. We must prepare ourselves. And so each of the Gods, in his own way, spoke of the preparations he would make, whether in arms, or magic, or strength of body. But then Mafenyi, the artificer, said, I will make me a mighty device, that in the hands of one who touches the powers, will close whatever door our enemy may open to our world.
Barlen spoke high praise for Mafenyi, and the others of the Gods did as well, and so Mafenyi went forth, built the device, casting it into the form of a tiassa, all of silver, small enough to fit into the hand, yet endowed with power to close the world against the enemy.
And when it was complete, Mafenyi sent it forth into the world, knowing it would be found when it was needed.
It wasn’t about the money. Not really. To be sure, it never would have occurred to him to work for free, and the size of the payoff in this case pleased him immensely; but at heart, he wasn’t motivated by money.
It was the job itself—the pleasure of arranging each detail, and then watching it all come together. He wondered if he had been a Yendi in some previous life. He’d had the thought before, and, the more he thought about it, the more convinced he was.
“Dathaani?”
He glanced up. “Oh, sorry; I was musing.”
His guest said, “You stopped in the middle of the story.”
Dathaani’s guest was a young gentleman named Ched, of the House of the Hawk. Dathaani had invited him over for several reasons. First, Ched, despite his relative youth, had something of a reputation as a collector and popularizer of myths and legends. Second, Ched had a small gambling problem which had turned into a large debt. Third, Ched had expressed a willingness to engage in slight, insignificant dishonesty, provided no law was broken, to see this debt wiped away. Dathaani had bought up the debt, pleasing himself, Ched, and the author of the loan. Everybody won. Dathaani liked it when things worked out that way.
“Actually,” he said, “that’s pretty much it. Do you have it?”
“I have the gist of it. If you want me to be able to repeat it back, I’ll need to hear it again.”
“Presently. First, you need to know what to do with it.”
“All right, I’m listening.”
“There is an Athyra named Kosadr.”
“Funny, that’s the same name as the Court Wizard.”
“What a coincidence. His favorite place to drink is a private club called Shim’s. I’ve bought you a membership.”
“All right. I can do this.”
“Good.”
“Funny, I’ve never come across that story before.”
“If you want to touch it up a bit I’m good with that. Just so long as the key elements come across.”
“The key elements being the silver tiassa, and what it does.”
“Exactly.”
“Actually,” said his guest, “the story isn’t bad.”
“Thanks. Do this, and you owe no one anything.”
“Good.”
“Oh, and I assume I don’t need to tell you to keep your mouth shut about it.”
“No, no need for that at all.”
Dathaani thought he might have detected a slight shudder running through the young Hawklord. If so, all to the good.
Some hours later, he sat in the same place, speaking to another guest; this one wore the gray and black of House Jhereg, and was, as Dathaani couldn’t help but be aware, significantly more female.
“Right. Yes. I require necromancy.”
“That is legal, provided it injures no one, and with a few other exceptions. What effect do you require?”
“The appearance of a gate about to open.”
“The appearance? Not the gate?”
“Not the gate.”
“Why ask me? Any—”
“It needs to appear as if it is the Jenoine.” Then, “Come, Lady Cheoru. If you keep staring at me like that, I’ll start to think you’re ensorceling me.”
“Appear as if the Jenoine are trying to break through?”
“Exactly. And it must be convincing.”
“Are you aware of what will happen if I do that?”
“Oh yes,” he said. “I am very much aware. There are certain devices the Empire uses to monitor such activity. The devices themselves are not guarded against—”
“And are you aware of what will happen to us if we get caught?”
“I don’t believe I’ll be caught. And if I am, you’ll not be implicated, of course.”
“I don’t even know how to set a price for that. I’ll need to think about it.”
“Take as much time as you need.”
“It is not impossible that the Enchantress of Dzur Mountain will interest herself. It’s happened before.”
“That’s as may be.”
Cheoru hesitated. “Have you a location in mind?”
He opened a map and indicated the marked spot.
“That is very close to the city,” she said.
“Yes, it is.”
“Very well, I trust you know your business. One thousand.”
“I assume you’d prefer coin. Send someone by to pick it up.”
“My man’s name is Jessic. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”
“I’d like two days’ notice.”
“Two days? This is a matter of hours. I can give you two days’ notice whenever you wish.”
“Now then.”
“Very well.”
Dathaani rose and bowed. “A pleasure, Lady Cheoru.”
“Lord Dathaani.”
Once she was gone, he carefully counted two hundred five-imperial coins into four bags of fifty each. As he did so, he discarded a few which showed sufficient wear to reduce their value. When finished, he set the bags aside, and studied his notes, making sure he hadn’t missed anything. He continued until he heard a clap at the door, which he assumed, correctly, to be the messenger for the gold.
When the messenger had left, he put on his cloak, strapped on his sword, checked the dagger in his sleeve and the other in his boot; then he went out. He followed Westwind as it curved and twisted and turned into Spinners. After half a mile, as he came to the Parapet, he turned onto Greenway, with its flowering hedges marking the private homes of the almost wealthy. Number Eighty-eight was a dark green house of three stories, with an artificial stream surrounding a rock garden. To look at it, one might think it the home of an Iorich advocate, or a successful Jhegaala merchant.