I gave Kragar the list, and he took off to fill it. Shortly after that I got a message from Melestav.
“Boss . . . there are some people here to see you.”
“Who?”
“People in uniform.”
“Oh shit. Well, I shouldn’t be surprised.” I made sure there was nothing incriminating on my desk. “Okay, send them in.”
“How bad do you suppose this is going to be, Loiosh?”
“You can always claim self-defense, boss.”
The door opened and two Dragaerans dressed in the golden uniforms of the House of Phoenix came marching in. One looked around the office contemptuously, as if to say, “So this is how the scum live.” The other looked at me with a similar expression, as if to say, “So this is the scum.”
“Greetings, my lords,” I said. “How may I serve the Empire?”
The one who was looking at me said, “You are Baronet Vlad of Taltos?” He pronounced it “Taltoss,” instead of “Taltosh,” so he must have had written orders, for whatever that was worth.
“Baronet Taltos will do,” I said. “I am at your service, lords.”
The other one turned his glance to me, snorted, and said, “I’ll bet.”
The first one asked me, “What do you know about it?”
“About what, my lord?”
He shot a glance at the other, who closed the door of my office. I took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, knowing what was coming. Well, it happens sometimes. When the door was shut, the one who’d been doing most of the talking pulled a dagger from his belt.
I swallowed and said, “My lord, I’d like to help—” which was as far as I got before the hilt of the dagger, held in his palm, smashed into the side of my head. I went flying out of the chair and landed in the comer.
“Loiosh, don’t do anything.”
There was a pause then, “I know, boss, but—”
“Nothing!”
“Okay, boss. Hang in there.”
The one who’d just hit me was standing over me now. He said, “Two men were murdered just outside of the door of this place, Jhereg.” He made it sound like a curse. “What do you know about it?”
“Lord,” I said, “I don’t know oomph!” as his foot took me in the stomach. I’d seen it just in time to move forward, so he missed my solar plexus.
The other one came up then. “Did you hear him, Menthar? He don’t know oomph. How about that?” He spat on me. “I think we should take him to the barracks. What do you think?”
Menthar muttered something and kept looking at me. “I’ve heard you’re a tough one, Whiskers. Is that true?”
“No, lord,” I told him.
He nodded and said to the other one, “This isn’t a Jhereg; this is a Teckla. Look at him squirm. Doesn’t it make you sick?”
His partner said, “What about those two murders, Teckla? You sure you don’t know anything about them?” He reached down and hauled me up, so that I was against the back wall. “You real sure?”
I said, “I don’t know what—” and he caught me under the chin with the pommel of his dagger, which had been hidden in his hand. My head cracked against the wall and I felt my jaw break. I must have lost consciousness for an instant, because I don’t remember sliding to the floor.
Then Menthar said, “You hold him for me.”
The other guard agreed. “But be careful. Easterners are fragile. Remember the last one.”
“I’ll be careful.” He looked at me and smiled. “Last chance,” he said. “What do you know about those two dead men outside?”
I shook my head, which hurt like blazes, but I knew trying to talk would hurt more. He hefted his dagger, hilt up, and swung his arm back for a good windup . . .
I don’t know how long the whole thing lasted. It was certainly one of the worst I’d been through, but if they’d chosen to take me back to their barracks it would have been worse. Phoenix Guards are never ordered to beat up Jhereg, or Easterners, or anyone else, but some of them don’t like us.
This beating was peculiar. I’d been bashed around before; it was one of the prices I paid for living according to my own rules instead of the Empire’s. But why this time? The two dead men were Jhereg, and the usual attitude of Imperial Guards to such things is: let ’em kill each other off, for all we care. It could have been just another excuse to beat up an Easterner or a Jhereg, but they’d seemed genuinely angry about something.
These thoughts came to me through a thick haze of pain as I was lying on my office floor. I was concentrating as hard as I could on figuring out the reason behind the beating so that I could avoid thinking about how every inch of me hurt. I could tell there were people around me, but I couldn’t open my eyes to see who they were, and they were talking in whispers.
After a time, I heard Melestav say, “Here she is, move back,” followed by the sound of a long garment dragging across the floor. This was followed by a gasp. I decided I must be quite a sight.
The newcomer said, “Get away from him.” I recognized, with surprise and some relief, Aliera’s voice. I tried to force my eyes to open, but they wouldn’t.
I heard Kragar say, “How bad is he, Aliera?” but she chose not to answer him. That didn’t necessarily mean that I was in bad shape; Aliera so utterly despised Kragar that she preferred not to speak to him whenever possible.
“Kragar . . . ”
“Are you all right, Vlad?”
“No, but never mind that. They seemed mad about something in particular. Any idea what?”
“Yeah. While they were . . . while they were here, I got Daymar to do a mind-probe.”
“Kragar, you know I don’t like Daymar to know—never mind. What did he find out?”
We were interrupted by Aliera saying, “Sleep, Vlad.” I was going to argue, but I discovered that she wasn’t just making a suggestion. I saw a pale green light, and I slept.
Aliera was there when I woke up again, as was the picture of the dzur and the jhereg. This led to the realization that I could see again. I took stock of my various body parts, and found that, while I still hurt, it was mostly dull aches instead of flaming agony. Aliera is a very good healer.
“I might as well move in here,” I said.
“I heard what happened, Vlad,” said Aliera. “On behalf of the House of the Dragon, I apologize.”
I grunted.
“The one who beat you—his name is Menthar? He is off duty in four months.”
I felt my eyes trying to widen. I studied her. Her lips were pressed tightly together, and her eyes were gray. Her hands were in fists, at her sides. “Four months,” she repeated, “and then he’s fair game.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate the information.”
She nodded. Dragonlords were Dragonlords, and usually hated Jhereg and Easterners both—but they didn’t approve of attacking people who couldn’t defend themselves, and Aliera knew enough about how the Jhereg operated to know that if a representative of the Empire wanted to knock around a Jhereg, the Jhereg would just have to take it. But, I suppose, there’s something about being in the guard, and watching us get away with everything we get away with, that frustrates them. For my part, I didn’t feel any moral outrage at what had happened to me. I just wanted to tear that guy’s arms off . . . Four months.
“Thank you,” I said again. “I think I want to sleep now.”
“Good,” she said. “I’ll be back in a while.”