Brust, Steven - Vlad Taltos 04 - Taltos

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Taltos
Vlad Taltos, Book 4
Steven Brust.
ISBN: 0-441-18200-3 copyright 1988 by Steven K. Z. Brust
THE PROBLEM WITH RUNNING YOUR OWN BUSINESS ...
“Why didn’t you follow him?”
“He teleported straight to Dzur Mountain.”
“Dzur Mountain,” I repeated a long moment later. “Well, I’ll be dragon fodder.
How could he have known the teleport coordinates? How could he have known he’d
be safe from what’s-her-name? How-?”
“Her name is Sethra Lavode, and I don’t know.”
“We’ll have to send someone after him.”
“No chance, Vlad.”
“Why not? We’ve got money.”
“Vlad, it’s Dzur Mountain. Forget it.”
“What’s so special about Dzur Mountain?”
“Sethra Lavode,” said Kragar. “She’s a vampire, a shape-shifter, holds a Great
Weapon, is probably the most dangerous wizard living, and has the habit of killing
people who get near her, unless she decides to turn them into norska or jhereg
instead.”
“There are worse fates than being a jhereg boss.”
“Shut up, Loiosh.”
I said, “How much of this is fact and how much is just rumor?”
“What’s the difference if everyone believes the rumors? I know I won’t go near
the place.” I shrugged. “Then I’ll have to go myself.”
Acknowledgments
My thanks to Nate, Emma, Kara, Pam, and Will.
Special thanks are due Gail Bucich for help in keeping my history straight, and
thanks, as always, to Adrian Morgan.
Chapter 1
The Cycle: Dragon, dzur, and chreotha; athyra, hawk, and phoenix; teckla and
jhereg.
They danced before my eyes. The Dragaeran Empire, its population divided into
seventeen Great Houses, each with its animal representation, seemed to unfold in my
hands. Here was the Empire of Dragaerans, and here was I, the Easterner, the
outsider.
It wouldn’t get any easier.
The eyes of no gods upon me, I began.
Some two hundred miles to the north and east of Adrilankha there lies a mountain,
shaped as if by the hand of a megalomaniacal sculptor into the form of a crouching
grey dzur.
You’ve seen it, I’m sure, in thousands of paintings and psiprints from hundreds of
angles, so you know as well as I that the illusion of the great cat is as perfect as
artifice or nature could make it. What is most interesting is the left ear. It is fully as
feline as the other, but is known to have been fabricated. We have our suspicions
about the whole place, but never mind that; we’re sure about the left ear.
It is here, say the legends, that Sethra Lavode, the Enchantress, the Dark Lady of
Dzur Mountain, sits like a great spider in the center of an evil web, hoping to snare
the true-hearted hero. Exactly why she would wish to do this the legends don’t make
clear; as is their right, of course.
I sat in the center of my own evil web, jiggled a strand, and caused it to bring
forth more particulars about mountain, tower, and lady. It seemed likely that I was
going to have to visit the place, webs being the fragile things that they are.
Of such things are legends made.
I was going over a couple of letters I’d received. One was from a human girl
named Szandi, thanking me for a wonderful evening. On reflection, I decided it had
been pretty nice at that. I made a mental note to write back and ask if she’d be free
sometime next week. The other was from one of my employees, asking if a certain
customer could have an extension on a loan he’d taken out to cover gambling losses
to another of my employees. I was thinking about this and drumming my fingertips
when I heard Kragar clear his throat. Loiosh, my familiar, flew off his coat rack and
landed on my shoulder, hissing at Kragar.
“I wish he’d stop doing that, boss,” said Loiosh psionically.
“Me, too, Loiosh.”
I said to Kragar, “How long have you been sitting there?”
“Not long.”
His lean, seven-foot-tall Dragaeran frame was slouched in the chair opposite me.
For once, he was not looking smug. I wondered what was bothering him, but didn’t
ask. If it was any of my business, he’d tell me. I said, “Do you remember a Chreotha
named Fyhnov? He wants to extend his loan from Machan, and I don’t know-”
“There’s a problem, Vlad.”
I blinked. “Tell me about it.”
“You sent Quion to collect the receipts from Nielar, Macham, Tor-”
“Right. What happened?”
“He scooped them up and ran.”
I didn’t say anything for a while, I just sat and thought about what this implied.
I’d only been running this area for a few months, since the unfortunate death of my
previous boss, and this was the first time I’d had this sort of problem.
Quion was what I call a button-man; an ambiguous term which in this case meant
he was responsible for whatever I wanted him responsible for from one day to the
next. He was old, even for a Dragaeran-I guess close to three thousand years-and had
promised when I hired him that he’d stopped gambling. He was quiet, as polite as
Dragaerans ever are to humans, and very experienced at the sorts of operations I was
running-untaxed gambling, unlicensed brothels, making loans at illegal rates, dealing
in stolen goods ... that sort of thing. And he’d seemed really earnest when I’d hired
him, too.
Shit. You’d think, after all these years, I’d know better than to trust Dragaerans,
but I keep doing it anyway.
I said, “What happened?”
“Temek and I were protecting him. We were walking by a shop and he told us to
wait a minute, went over to the window like he wanted to look at something, and
teleported out.”
“He couldn’t have been snatched, could he?”
“I don’t know of any way to teleport someone who doesn’t want to be teleported.
Do you?”
“No, I guess not. Wait a minute. Temek’s a sorcerer. Didn’t he trace the teleport?”
“Yeah,” said Kragar.
“Well? Why didn’t you follow him?”
“Ummm, Vlad, neither of us has any interest in following him where he went.”
“Yeah? Well?”
“He teleported straight to Dzur Mountain.”
“Dzur Mountain,” I repeated a long moment later. “Well, I’ll be dragon fodder.
How could he have known the teleport coordinates? How could he have known he’d
be safe from what’s-her-name? How-?”
“Her name is Sethra Lavode, and I don’t know.”
“We’ll have to send someone after him.”
“No chance, Vlad. You won’t convince anyone to go there.”
“Why not? We’ve got money.”
“Vlad, it’s Dzur Mountain. Forget it.”
“What’s so special about Dzur Mountain?”
“Sethra Lavode,” said Kragar.
“All right, what’s so special about-”
“She’s a vampire, a shape-shifter, holds a Great Weapon, is probably the most
dangerous wizard living, and has the habit of killing people who get near her, unless
she decides to turn them into norska or jhereg instead.”
“There are worse fates than being a jhereg, boss.”
“Shut up, Loiosh.”
I said, “How much of this is fact and how much is just rumor?”
“What’s the difference if everyone believes the rumors? I know I won’t go near
the place.”
I shrugged. Maybe if I were Dragaeran I’d have understood. I said, “Then I’ll
have to go myself.”
“You want to die?”
“I don’t want to let him get away with-how much did he take?”
“More than two thousand imperials.”
“Shit. I want him. See what you can learn about Dzur Mountain that we can count
on, all right?”
“Huh? Oh, sure. How many years do you want me to put in on this?”
“Three days. And see what you can find out about Quion, while you’re at it.”
“Vlad-”
“Go.”
He went.
I settled back to contemplate legends, decided it was pointless, and began
composing a letter to Szandi. Loiosh returned to his perch on the coat rack and made
helpful suggestions for the letter. If I thought Szandi liked dead teckla, I might have
even used some of them.
Sometimes I almost think I can remember my mother.
My father kept changing his story, so I don’t know if she died or if she left him,
and I don’t know if I was two, four, or five at the time. But every once in a while I get
these images of her, or of someone I think is her. The images aren’t clear enough to
describe, but I’m sort of happy I have them.
They aren’t necessarily my earliest memories. No, if I push my mind back, I can
recall endless piles of dirty dishes, and dreams of being made to wash them forever,
which I suppose comes from living above a restaurant. Don’t get me wrong; I wasn’t
really worked all that hard, it’s just that the dishes made an impression that has stayed
with me. I sometimes wonder if my entire adult life has been spent in an effort to
avoid dirty dishes.
One could, I suppose, have worse goals.
My office is located in back of a psychedelic herb shop. There’s a room between
the shop and the office that houses an almost continuous shereba game, which would
be legal if we paid taxes, and would be shut down if we didn’t bribe the Phoenix
Guards. The bribes are less than the taxes would be, and our customers don’t have to
pay taxes on their winnings. The office portion consists of a set of several small
rooms, one of which is mine, another of which is Kragar’s. I have a window that will
give me a wonderful view of an alley if I ever decide to unboard it.
It was about an hour after noon three days later when Kragar came in, and a few
minutes after that, I suppose, when I noticed him sitting there.
I said, “What did you find out about Dzur Mountain?”
He said, “It’s big.”
I said, “Thank you. Now, what did you find out?”
He pulled out a notebook, flipped through it, and said, “What do you want to
know?”
“Many things. To start with, what made Quion think he’d be safe going to Dzur
Mountain? Was he just getting old and desperate and figured what the hell?”
Kragar said, “I’ve reconstructed his movements for the past year or so, and-”
“In three days?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s fast work for a Dragaeran.”
“Thanks too much, boss.”
Loiosh, perching on his coat rack, sniggered into my mind.
“So, what were you saying about his movements?”
“The only really interesting thing I found was that about a month before he started
working for you he was sent on an errand to a certain Morrolan.”
I chewed this over, then said, “I’ve heard of Morrolan, but I can’t remember
how.”
“Big-shot wizard of the House of the Dragon and a friend of the Empress. Lives
about a hundred and fifty miles inland, in a floating castle.”
“Floating castle,” I repeated. “That’s it. The only one since the Interregnum. Bit
of a show-off, then.”
Kragar snorted. ‘To say the least. He calls the place ‘Castle Black.’ “
I shook my head. Black is, to a Dragaeran, the color of sorcery. “Okay. What does
Morrolan have to do with-”
“Technically, Dzur Mountain is part of his fief. It’s about fifty miles from where
his castle usually is.”
“Interesting,” I said.
“I wonder how he collects taxes,” said Loiosh.
“It’s the only thing that stands out,” said Kragar.
I nodded. “Mountains have a way of doing that. But all right, Kragar. It’s a
connection, anyway. What else do you know about Morrolan?”
“Not much. He spent a good portion of the Interregnum out East, so he’s supposed
to be tolerant of Easterners.” Easterner means human, like me. But Dragaerans call
themselves human, which is plainly ridiculous, so it can get confusing.
I said, “Well, I could start with visiting Morrolan, if he’ll consent to see me. What
did you find out about Dzur Mountain?”
“Bits and pieces. What do you want to know?”
“Mostly, does Sethra Lavode really exist?”
“She certainly did before the Interregnum. There are still accounts of when she
was a regular at court. Deathgate, boss, she was Warlord more than once.”
“When?”
“About fifteen thousand years ago.”
“Fifteen thousand years. I see. And you think she might still be alive? That’s,
what, five or six times a normal life span?”
“Well, if you believe the rumors, fledgling heroes from the House of the Dzur like
to chase up the mountain every so often to fight the evil enchantress, and they’re
never heard from again.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But the question is, do we believe the rumors?”
He blinked. “I don’t know about you, Vlad, but I do.”
I ruminated on moldy legends, enchantresses, dishonest button-men, and
mountains.
“You just can’t trust anyone anymore,” said Loiosh who flew down onto my right
shoulder.
“I know. It’s a sad state of affairs.” Loiosh snorted psion-ically. ‘Wo, I mean it, “
I said. “I trusted the son of a bitch.”
I took out a dagger and started flipping it. After a while I put it away and said,
“All right, Kragar. Send a message to the Lord Morrolan, asking him if he’d deign to
receive me. Whenever he wishes, of course; I’m not-say! How do you get there,
anyway? I mean, if it’s a floating castle-”
“You teleport,” said Kragar.
I groaned. “Okay. Try to set it up, all right? And get the coordinates to Narvane. I
don’t feel like spending the money on the Bitch Patrol, so I’ll just live with a rough
ride.”
“Why don’t you do it yourself, then?”
“Not that rough.”
“You getting cheap, boss?”
“What do you mean, getting?”
“Will do, Vlad.”
Kragar left the room.
Now that I have a few years’ perspective, I have to say that I don’t think my father
was cruel to me. The two of us were alone, which made everything difficult, but he
did as well as he could for who he was. And I do mean we were alone. We lived
among Dragaerans, rather than in the Eastern ghetto, so our neighbors didn’t associate
with us, and our only other family was my father’s father, who didn’t come to our
side of town, and my father didn’t like bringing me to Noish-pa’s when I was an
infant.
You’d think I’d have gotten used to being alone, but it hasn’t worked that way.
I’ve always hated it. I still do. Maybe it’s an instinctive thing among Easterners. The
best times were what I now think must have been slow days at the restaurant, when
the waiters had time to play with me. There was one I remember: a big fat guy with a
mustache and almost no teeth. I’d pull his mustache and he’d threaten to cook me up
for a meal and serve me with an orange in my mouth. I can’t think why I thought that
was funny. I wish I could remember his name.
On reflection, my father probably found me more a burden than a pleasure. If he
ever had any female companionship, he did a good job of keeping it hidden, and I
can’t imagine why he would. It wasn’t my fault, but I guess it wasn’t his, either.
I never really liked him, though.
I suppose I was four years old before my father began taking me regularly to visit
my grandfather. That was the first big change in my life that I remember, and I was
pleased about it.
My grandfather did his job, which was to spoil me, and it is only now that I’m
beginning to realize how much more he did. I must have been five or six when I
began to realize that my father didn’t approve of all the things Noish-pa was showing
me-like how to make a leaf blow slightly askew of the wind just by willing it to. And,
even more, the little slap-games we’d play that I now know to be the first introduction
to Eastern-style fencing.
I was puzzled by my father’s displeasure but, being a contrary little cuss, this
made me pay all the more attention to Noish-pa. This may be the root of the problems
between my father and me, although I doubt it. Maybe I look like my mother, I don’t
know. I’ve asked Noish-pa who I resemble, and all he ever says is, “You look like
yourself, Vladimir.”
I do know of one thing that must have hurt my father. One day when I was about
five I received my first real beating, which was delivered by, I think, four or five
punks from the House of the Orca. I remember that I was at the market running an
errand of some sort, and they surrounded me, called me names I can’t remember, and
made fun of my boots, which were of an Eastern style. They slapped me a few times
and one of them hit me in the stomach hard enough to knock the wind out of me; then
they kicked me once or twice and took the money I had been given to make the
purchases. They were about my own size, which I guess means they were in their late
teens, but there were several of them, and I was pretty banged up, as well as terrified
of telling my father.
When they were finished with me, I got up, crying, and ran all the way to South
Adrilankha, to my grandfather’s house. He put things on the cuts that made me feel
better, fed me tea (which I suspect he spiked with brandy), brought me home, and
spoke to my father so I didn’t have to explain where the money had gone.
It was only years later that I actually got around to wondering why I’d gone all the
way to Noish-pa’s, instead of going home, which was closer. And it was years after
that when I got to wondering if that had hurt my father’s feelings.
About twenty-two hours after Kragar left to set things up, I was leaning back in
my chair, which has a strange mechanism that allows it to tilt, swivel, and do other
things. My feet were up on the desk, crossed at the ankles. The toes of my boots
pointed to opposite corners of the room, and in the gap between them Kragar’s thin
face was framed. His chin is one that a human would call weak, but Kragar isn’t-
that’s just another one of his innate illusions. He is built of illusions. Some natural,
others, I think, cultivated. For example, when anyone else would be angry, he never
seems to be; he usually just appears disgusted.
The face that was framed in the V of my boots looked disgusted. He said, “You’re
right. You don’t have to take anyone with you. What interest could a Dragonlord
possibly have in hurting a poor, innocent Jhereg, just because he’s an Easterner? Or
should I say, a poor, innocent Easterner, just because he’s a Jhereg? Come on, Vlad,
wake up. You have to have protection. And I’m your best bet for avoiding trouble.”
Loiosh, who had been swooping down on stray lint, landed on my right shoulder
and said, “Just point out that I’ll be there, boss. That should keep him from
worrying.”
“You think so? What if it doesn’t?”
“I’ll bite his nose off. “
I said aloud, “Kragar, I could bring every enforcer who works for me, and it
wouldn’t make any difference at all if Morrolan decides to shine me. And this is a
social call. If I show up with protection-”
“That’s why I think I should come. He’ll never notice I’m there.”
“No,” I said. “He’s permitted me to visit. He said nothing about bringing a
shadow. If he did notice you-”
“He’d understand that it’s policy in the Jhereg. He must know something about
how we operate.”
“I repeat: no.”
“But-”
“Subject closed, Kragar.”
He closed his eyes and emitted a sigh that hung in the air like an athyra’s mating
call. He opened his eyes again. “Okay. You want Narvane to do the teleport, right?”
“Yeah. Can he handle the coordinates?”
“Morrolan said one of his people would put them straight into the mind of
whoever we want to do the spell.”
I blinked. “How can he do that? How can one of his people achieve that close a
psionic link with someone he doesn’t know?”
Kragar yawned. “Magic,” he said.
“What kind of magic, Kragar?”
He shrugged. “How should I know?”
“Sounds like witchcraft, boss.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking, Loiosh.”
“You think he might be employing a witch?”
“Remember, he spent a lot of time out East, during the Interregnum? “
“Yeah. That’s right.”
I flexed my fingers. “In any case,” I said, “I do want Narvane to do the teleport.
I’ll want him here tomorrow an hour ahead of time.”
Kragar nodded and looked bored, which meant he was unhappy. Loiosh was
going to be unhappy, too, pretty soon.
Them’s the breaks.
Chapter 2
I began laying out what I would need for the spell. I concentrated only on my goal
and tried not to think about how silly it was to arrange tools, objects, and artifacts
before I had any idea how I intended to use any of them. I let my hands pull from the
pack various and sundry items and arrange them as they would.
I couldn’t know what I’d need, because the spell I was about to attempt had never
been performed before; didn’t even exist-except that I had to do it now.
I arrived at the office too early the next day. I’m good at waiting patiently when I
have to, but I don’t like it. It would be hours before I was due at Castle Black, and
there was nothing at the office that required my attention. I puttered around for a
while, pretending to be busy, then said, “Screw it,” and walked out.
The orange-red sky was low today, mixed with grey, threatening rain, and the
wind was in from the sea. I walked, or actually strolled, through my area. These few
blocks of Adrilankha were mine, and a certain satisfaction came with that knowledge.
I stopped in to see a guy named Nielar, my first boss and then one of my first
employees.
I said, “What’s new?”
He gave me kind of a warm smile and said, “Business as usual, Vlad.”
I never know how to take Nielar. I mean, he could have had the position I hold if
he’d been willing to fight a bit, but he decided he’d rather stay small and healthy. I
can respect that, I guess, but, well, I’d respect him more if he’d decided to take the
chance. What the hell. Who can figure out Dragaerans, anyway?
I said, “What have you heard?”
“About what?”
“Don’t give me that.”
If he’d played dumb a little longer I’d have bought it, but he said, “Just that you
got burned by one of your button-men. Who was it?”
“It doesn’t matter, Nielar. And it’ll matter even less in a little while.”
“Right.”
“See you.”
I walked out of Nielar’s shop and headed toward South Adrilankha, the
Easterner’s ghetto.
Loiosh, sitting on my left shoulder, said, “Word is getting around, boss.”
“I know. I’m going to have to do something about it. If everyone thinks I can be
taken, I will be.”
I kept walking, thinking things over. With any luck at all, Morrolan would be able
to steer me toward Quion. Would he be willing to? I didn’t know.
“Going to visit your grandfather, boss?”
“No, I don’t think so. Not today.”
“Then where? No, don’t tell me. A brothel or an inn.”
“Good guess. An inn.”
“Who’s going to carry you home?”
“I’m only going to have one or two.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Shut up, Loiosh.”
“Boss, you are going to Castle Black, aren’t you?”
“If I can work up the nerve. Now let me think.”
It started drizzling about then. I drew on my link to the Imperial Orb and created
an invisible shield, setting it up over my head. It was an easy spell. Most passersby I
saw had done the same. The few exceptions, mostly of the House of the Teckla,
headed for doorways to wait it out or else got wet. The streets became very muddy,
and I made a mental note to allow time to clean my boots. There must be sorcery that
can do that. I’ll have to learn it one of these days.
By the time I had crossed Twovine and entered South Adrilankha the rain had
stopped, which was just as well. Very few Easterners are sorcerers, and I didn’t want
to call that kind of attention to myself. Of course, I was wearing the grey and black of
House Jhereg, and Loiosh riding on my shoulder was enough to proclaim, “Here is a
witch!” but there was no need to make matters worse.
About then, Loiosh caught something of my thoughts and said, “Wait a minute,
boss. Just who do you think you’re leaving behind?”
“You, chum. Sorry.”
“Crap. You can’t-”
“Yes I can. One does not bring a jhereg to visit a Dragonlord. At least not on a
first visit.”
“But-”
“You’re not expendable, you’re not stupid, and you’re not going.”
This gave us something to argue about until I reached the place I was looking for,
which helped distract me. The thing is, I was really terrified. I very badly wanted not
to go, but I couldn’t think of any way out of it. I tried to picture myself showing up
there and I couldn’t. Yet, if I didn’t follow up on Quion, my reputation would suffer,
and, in the Jhereg, reputation means money and safety.
I found Ferenk’s, which was right where I’d been told it would be, and I stepped
inside, pausing to let my eyes adjust to the relative darkness. I’d never been there
before, but my grandfather had recommended it as the place to find good Fenarian
brandy.
One thing that shed a great deal of light on how Dragaerans think was when I
realized that they had no term for brandy, even though they had the drink. They called
it wine, and, I guess, just had to know the bottler to decide how strong it was and
what it tasted like. To me, brandy and wine aren’t even close in taste, and maybe they
aren’t to Dragaerans, either. The thing is, Dragaerans don’t care if they taste different,
or that the process of making one has almost nothing to do with the process of making
the other; the point is, they are alcoholic drinks made from fruit, so they must be the
same thing. Interesting, no?
Easterners don’t have that problem. Ferenk’s especially didn’t have that problem.
One entire wall behind the long, dark, hardwood bar was filled with different
Fenarian brandies, about half of them peach. I was very impressed. I hadn’t known
there were that many in existence. I was very glad that the Empire wasn’t currently at
war with Fenario.
The place was pretty much empty. I licked my lips and sat down at a tall, high-
backed chair right at the bar. The host glanced at Loiosh, then wiped the counter in
front of me and looked an inquiry.
I glanced at the peach brandies and said, “A glass of Oregigeret.”
He nodded. “Dead bodies and seaweed, eh?”
I said, “Is that what you call it?”
He shrugged. “Well, it isn’t what I’d call gentle.”
I said, “What do you recommend?”
He glanced at the wall and picked out a short, round bottle and showed it to me.
The label was faded, but I could see the lettering, which read “Barackaranybol.”
I said, “Okay. I’ll try a glass of that.”
He pulled out a glass, reached under his counter, and put some ice into it. My first
reaction was to be impressed that he could afford to buy the ice, not to mention the
spells to keep it cold. Such things aren’t cheap around here. But then I realized what
he was doing and I said, “No, no. I don’t want ice in it.”
He looked disgusted. He pulled out a pitcher, filled the glass with water, and
pushed it in front of me. Then he poured some brandy into another glass and set that
next to the water. He said, “I’m just giving you some water to clear your mouth out
before you drink the brandy. You know how to drink ‘em; I know how to pour ‘em,
okay?”
I said, “Right,” to the host, and started to sip the brandy.
I heard Loiosh giggling. “Shut up,” I told him. I put the brandy down, took a sip
of water, then drank some of the brandy. The brandy was very good.
“I’ll have the same,” came from right behind me. The voice was low in pitch,
velvety, and very familiar. I turned and felt a smile growing on my face.
“Kiera!”
“Hello, Vlad.”
Kiera the Thief sat down next to me.
I said, “What are you doing around here?”
“Tasting Fenarian brandies.”
The host was staring at her, half hostile and half fearful. I was a Jhereg but at least
I was human. Kiera was a Dragaeran. I took a look around and saw that the three
other customers in the place were staring at Kiera with expressions that held different
mixtures of fear and hatred. I turned back to the host and said, “The lady asked for a
摘要：

TaltosVladTaltos,Book4StevenBrust.ISBN:0-441-18200-3copyright1988byStevenK.Z.BrustTHEPROBLEMWITHRUNNINGYOUROWNBUSINESS...“Whydidn’tyoufollowhim?”“HeteleportedstraighttoDzurMountain.”“DzurMountain,”Irepeatedalongmomentlater.“Well,I’llbedragonfodder.Howcouldhehaveknowntheteleportcoordinates?Howcouldhe...

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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：101 页 大小：329.26KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-14

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