Iorich by Steven Brust Read Free Book Online Page A

wait—”
    “Don’t.”
    Rocza gave a little shiver that I’m pretty sure was laughter.
    The door opened, and an elderly Dragaeran with severe eyebrows and thin lips was looking at us, with the smile of the diplomatist—that is, a smile that means nothing.
    “Well met, Delwick.”
    “And you, Harnwood.” He looked an inquiry at me.
    “This is Lord Taltos, of House Jhereg, and he wishes a few words with you.”
    “Of course,” he said. “Please come in and sit down.” If he’d ever heard of me, he concealed it well.
    Harnwood took his leave amid the usual polite noises and gestures all around, after which I accompanied Delwick into his room—or actually suite, because there were a couple of doors that presumably went to his private quarters or something. It was nice enough: a thick purple carpet of the sort that comes from Keresh or thereabouts, with complex interlocking patterns that took longer to make than a human usually lives. There was no desk, which somehow struck me as significant; there were just several stuffed chairs with tables next to them, as if to say, “We’re only having a little chat here, nothing to worry about.”
    Heh.
    He pointed to a chair, excused himself, and went throughone of the doors, returning in a moment with a plate of biscuits and cheese. I could have kissed him.
    I said, “I hope you don’t mind if I feed a bit to my friends here.”
    “Of course not, my lord.”
    I fed them, and myself, trying not to appear greedy, but also not worrying about it too much; there are times when the Dragaeran prejudices about humans can work for us. I didn’t eat enough to be satisfied, but a few biscuits with even an excessively subtle (read: bland) cheese helped. He ate a few as well to keep company with me, as it were, while he waited for me to state my business.
    I found the coin Perisil had given me, and showed it.
    “Hmmm,” he said. “All right.” He looked up at me and nodded. “Very well.” He sat back. “Tell me about it.”
    “Why is the prosecution of Aliera e’Kieron happening so quickly?”
    He nodded a little. “I’ve wondered myself. So then, you have an advocate for her?”
    “Perisil,” I said.
    “Hmmm. I’m afraid I don’t recognize the name.”
    “He has a basement office.”
    “Where?”
    “In the House.”
    “Ah, I see.”
    It seemed that the best advocates had quarters outside of the House. Maybe that should have shaken my confidence in Perisil, but I trusted his advice, and I’d liked him, and Loiosh hadn’t made any especially nasty comments on him.
    “I asked Her Majesty, and—”
    “Pardon?”
    “I asked Her Majesty about it, and she wouldn’t answer.”
    Delwick caught himself and stopped staring. “I see.”
    “I hope my effort doesn’t make your task more difficult.”
    He smiled politely. “We shall see,” he said.
    “So, you’ll look into it?”
    “Of course.” He seemed genuinely startled that I’d even ask. Those little coins must have some serious authority. In which case, why did an advocate with offices in the basement of the House have one to throw around, or choose to use it on me?
    Later. Note it, and set it aside.
    “How shall I reach you?”
    “Either through Perisil, or at Castle Black.”
    “Castle Black? Lord Mordran?”
    “Morrolan.”
    “Of course. All right. You’ll be hearing from me.”
    “Thank you,” I said, standing. “Ah . . .”
    “Yes?”
    “Is there anywhere to eat here, in the Palace? I mean, for those of us who don’t work here?”
    He smiled. “Scores. The nearest is just out my door to the right, follow the jog to the right, down the stairs, first left.”
    “Thank you,” I said, meaning it.
    He nodded as if he couldn’t tell the difference. I suppose if you hang around the Court long enough, you lose your ability to detect sincerity.
    There was, indeed, food after a fashion; a room with space enough for a battalion held about four people, like a lonely jisweed on a rocky hill,