11 - Jhegaala by Steven Brust

Author:Steven Brust [Brust, Steven]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780765301475
Publisher: Tor
Published: 2008-07-08T04:00:00+00:00

10

First Student (whispering): I believe our hosts are drunk.

Second Student (whispering): What should we do?

Nurse: In the first place, stop whispering. It annoys them when they’re passed out.

—Miersen, Six Parts Water Day One, Act III, Scene 2

I have to give this one to Loiosh: Even if no one was going to hit me in the head if I’d stayed at the Hat, I must have been worried about it, because I relaxed that night and I slept hard and long and until nearly noon. The same drab little guy in almost the same clothing brought me hot water and coffee klava and made no comments about the hours I kept.

Having a kettle of coffee brought up to me was so pleasant it almost made up for it being coffee. I drank it all, staring out at the street watching a couple of dogs chase each other. Eventually I dressed, then went down, and the hostess was there, chatting with a couple of middle-aged gentlemen who had that indefinable something that told you they were from somewhere else. She gave me a gap-toothed smile and said, “Good morning, Lord Merss.”

“Good morning,” I said. I sniffed. Hickory. “Something smells good. Lunch?”

She nodded. “Pig eatin’s. We make ‘em like nowhere else.”

“I’ll be back to try them, then.” I touched my forehead with the tips of four fingers and went out and into the day. First thing was to visit the Hat and see if any messages had come in. No, no messages, unless the speculative look from the host was a message about the propriety of spending the night away. If so, I chose to disregard it. The lamb stew smelled good, but my loyalty had shifted. I’m just fickle, I guess.

I went back to the Mouse and had lunch. It was good, though I wouldn’t have used quite so much hickory, myself. But I took my time with it, letting what I’d learned the night before bounce around in my head, trying to decide how much of whom I should believe. I actually felt pretty good. The anger was still there, but I knew that sooner or later—probably sooner—I was going to track down whoever it was that had caused that anger. Things hadn’t come together, but I had enough pieces that eventually I’d see how they fit.

I got another glass of wine—it was a particularly harsh and acidic red that tasted better than it should have—and nursed it while I considered things.

An hour or so of that got me nowhere, so I went back to the Hat, and as I walked through the door, the host looked at me, frowning.

“Message for you,” he said. Obviously, to him there was something very suspicious about me having asked if there were any messages this morning, and then had one delivered in the afternoon. Obviously, I was up to something.

I returned to the Mouse, found an ugly brown chair, and sat. Then I broke the seal, unfolded the heavy pink parchment, and read. It was, unlike the last missive, very simple and straightforward, with no excess words.

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