“If I have, Khaavren, I take my oath that the excess only exist metaphorically.”
“I do not doubt you. But, you were saying?”
“Yes. Word has reached my ears that the object he wishes reimbursement for was stolen.”
“Well, and was it so reported? That is, did he report this theft to himself, and cause himself to investigate it?”
“No, in fact, he did not.”
“That is something else that is unusual.”
“It is. And there is yet another matter of interest.”
“With all of these matters of interest, it no longer startles me that you have become interested. What is this one?”
“The author of the request for reimbursement.”
“The author of the request?”
“The author was what directed my attention to you in the first place.”
“How me? I recall no such request.”
“Not you, Khaavren.”
“Then, who is this famous author?”
“None other than the Countess of Whitecrest.”
“My wife?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, the matter is simplicity itself; I shall ask her about it.”
“And I am certain you will get an answer; the Countess’s loyalty cannot be questioned.”
“I am glad to hear you say that, Pel, for it is also my opinion. So now I perceive why you bring the matter to me, and you are right to do so, but I still do not comprehend how it has any connection with the beating of Count Szurke.”
“Nor did I at first. But, you perceive, once my interest in the matter was aroused, I could not help but look further.”
“Well, and did you wonder what was stolen?”
“That was my first question.”
“And did you find an answer?”
“Nearly.”
“Well?”
“It took several years, as the matter did not seem pressing, but, yes, eventually I did learn.”
“Well, and what was stolen?”
“A silver tiassa.”
Khaavren bounded to his feet. “What is it you tell me?”
“It is described as a tiny sculpture of a tiassa, all of silver, with sapphires for eyes.”
“This is … when did he request reimbursement?”
“Half a year after the uproar of a supposed Jenoine invasion that never occurred, during which, as you recall, the Court Wizard was furiously looking for—”
“A silver tiassa!”
“Exactly.”
Khaavren sat down again.
“You may as well remain standing,” said his friend.
“How, there is more?”
“Yes, for once I learned this, I could not resist attempting further investigation.”
“I know you so well in that!”
“I was curious about two things especially. One, who stole it? And, two, how did Feorae acquire it in the first place?”
“And did you learn the answer to the first question?”
“No, but I learned the answer to the second.”
“Ah! How did you discover it?”
“In the simplest possible way. After assuring him that this was a matter of first importance to the Empire, well—”
“Well?”
“I asked him.”
“Ah, that was cleverly done, Pel.”
“Was it not?”
“And so, how did he acquire it?”
“The details are murky, and it involves some quasi-legal activity that I would prefer not to discuss with you, my friend. But in the end, the trail leads to none other than your friend, the Count of Szurke.”
“Indeed!”
“So it would seem.”
“Well. Does he have the silver tiassa now?”
The other shrugged. “I do not know.”
“We should attempt to find it.”
“I agree.”
“And I should have a conversation with Lord Feorae.”
“Ah, as to that—”
“Well?”
“You may do so if you wish, but I have learned all there is to learn from him.”
Khaavren nodded. “Very well, then. This job of tracing the tiassa, how do I convince Her Majesty that it is suitable for the Tasks group?”
“I am certain you can be persuasive, Khaavren.”
Khaavren made a sound of disgust. “And I am certain you have suggestions that would be helpful.”
“Perhaps I do.”
“Well?”
“You might point out to her that this involves an attack on an Imperial nobleman, which is something she cannot be pleased about.”
“That is true.”
“And, moreover, it has to do with the false Jenoine invasion, which I know is a subject upon which she has strong feelings.”
Khaavren nodded. “That will help.”
“I am always pleased to be of assistance.”
Khaavren stood. “I will go now.”
“If you don’t mind, I shall await you here.”
“Certainly,” said Khaavren, smiling. “That will make it easier for you to look through my files.”
“Now my friend, have you ever known me to do anything so obvious?”
“Never.” Khaavren stood and strode to the door. “Which is exactly what makes it subtle.”
An hour later he returned, to find his friend still sitting in the same place. Khaavren sat behind his desk and said, “How much can you tell me?”
There was, for the moment, a gleam of teeth from within the cowl. “How much do you imagine I can tell you, my friend?”
“Oh, you know I have no imagination.”
“You have Her Majesty’s approval of the mission?”
“Yes, I managed to convince her. She is still angry over the false Jenoine invasion, and is perfectly aware that the matter goes deeper than the man who was punished for it.”
The cowl nodded. “As I’d have expected,” came the soft voice.
“The Special Tasks group will investigate to see if there is a connection between this mysterious silver tiassa and the attack on Count Szurke.”
“Precisely.”
“Pel? Why am I only now being informed?”
“I was conducting my own investigation, until today.”
“What happened today to change your mind?”
“I saw the connection between the two investigations.”
Khaavren studied his friend for a moment, wondering, as he always did with the Yendi, what he hadn’t been told. He said, “Well, I will certainly look into the matter.”
“I am confident you will find whatever there is to be found.”
Khaavren sighed. “Very well, then. But of course, with so little to go on, I can promise nothing.”
“I believe we understand each other. I do not expect promises or guarantees.”
Khaavren smiled. “At any rate, you understand me, and that is sufficient.”
When his friend had left, Khaavren settled back to consider his next move. The file concerning the investigation into the attack on Count Szurke was still before him; he therefore took a few minutes to refresh his mind on the details. After this time had passed, he put the file down and rang the bell for his confidential servant—not to be confused with his private secretary.
The individual, then, who responded to this bell was a man whom we have already met briefly—that is, the individual who went by the name of Borteliff. Physically, there was nothing unusual about him: he had the round face and stocky build of the House of the Teckla; his nose was short and snubbed, his mouth rather thin and pinched. Now this worthy had been employed by the Empire—that is to say, by Khaavren—for several years. Khaavren had discovered him while on a mission in the duchy of Tildhome, where the Teckla had been employed as a procurator for a textile manufacturer. Borteliff, a Teckla of middle years, had so impressed the captain with his organizational abilities and discretion, and above all his reticence, that he had at once offered him a new post, a post which the procurator had accepted with all the more alacrity as Khaavren’s mission had resulted in the destruction of his previous employment.