perhaps I could undercut the probability of the Giggler’s predictions by having Marla killed, but it’s all gone wrong.”
“Zealand is supposed to be the best. Maybe he’ll kill her tonight, or tomorrow.”
“If Marla thinks she’s being followed, she’ll change her patterns.” He put his elbows on the desk and held his head in his hands. “I was perfectly happy with my position. What do I care if Marla runs the city? I don’t want to be a kingslayer.”
“Fate leads him who will, and him who won’t it drags. You were always destined for greater things.” She smacked her gum, and Gregor shuddered. He liked Nicolette. He’d guided her from her days as a street child, and helped nurture her great talent. He just wished she hadn’t shown such an aptitude for chaos magic. It was so
messy
.
Gregor sighed. “There’s no such thing as fate. Just likelihoods, and situations where there’s no right move, only moves of varying degrees of wrongness. It’s a case of zugzwang.”
“Zugzwang? Is that a dirty word for something interesting?”
“It’s a term from game theory,” Gregor said. Most games involved matters of probability, and scrying probability was the closest you could come to telling the future, which was Gregor’s specialty. “‘Zugzwang’ means being put in a position where you have to make a bad move. It would be better to stay still, because any move exposes some weakness or creates disadvantage, but staying still is made impossible by the rules of the game.”
“That about sums it up,” Nicolette said. “But, hey, boss—there are paths out of this that don’t wind up…you know…”
“With me dead in the snow? Oh, I know. But walking those paths will not be pleasant. Sometimes I think it would be better
not
to know what’s coming.”
Nicolette was silent for a moment. Then she said, “No you don’t. I know you. You’d
always
rather know.”
“Hmm. I suppose you’re right. Let’s go see the Giggler.”
Nicolette groaned. “You’re not gonna get all pissed off again, are you?”
“No promises.”
After a short walk down a broad, climate-controlled hallway, Gregor and Nicolette boarded the elevator and descended wordlessly to the basement. On the seldom-visited bottom floor, after the doors had whuffed open and then closed again without either of them getting out, Gregor fitted his penthouse key into the appropriate slot. He turned it and pressed the “B” button again, twice.
Nicolette took a handkerchief from a pocket of her paint-spattered cargo pants and handed it to Gregor on the way down. Gregor nodded thanks and pressed the cloth to his nose before the doors opened.
Nicolette had tried scenting the cloth with different things—expensive colognes, rubbing alcohol, juniper extract—but nothing worked as well as industrial antiseptic. It didn’t disguise the odor as well as some of the other substances did, but it soothed Gregor in the same way his clean building did, even if the fumes did make his head spin a little.
Nicolette showed no reaction to the stink when the doors opened, except perhaps a slight flaring around the nostrils. Nicolette didn’t get bothered by the same things Gregor did. That’s why it was good to have an assistant, to be strong where you were weak.
“He’s broken the lights again,” Gregor said. The dim concrete hallway before them should have been lit by halogen bulbs in cages on the ceiling, but the Giggler didn’t like such brightness.
Nicolette took a penlight from her pocket and shined it into the darkness, sweeping it across the floor. The Giggler wouldn’t attack them, but sometimes he left things before the doors, like a worshipper offering sacrifices at a temple gate, or a pet bringing kills to the door. Gregor had stepped in a dead cat once, and been forced to return upstairs in his stocking feet. He couldn’t bear to wear the shoes after that, and Nicolette had burned them.
“All clear,” Nicolette said,
“Zealand is supposed to be the best. Maybe he’ll kill her tonight, or tomorrow.”
“If Marla thinks she’s being followed, she’ll change her patterns.” He put his elbows on the desk and held his head in his hands. “I was perfectly happy with my position. What do I care if Marla runs the city? I don’t want to be a kingslayer.”
“Fate leads him who will, and him who won’t it drags. You were always destined for greater things.” She smacked her gum, and Gregor shuddered. He liked Nicolette. He’d guided her from her days as a street child, and helped nurture her great talent. He just wished she hadn’t shown such an aptitude for chaos magic. It was so
messy
.
Gregor sighed. “There’s no such thing as fate. Just likelihoods, and situations where there’s no right move, only moves of varying degrees of wrongness. It’s a case of zugzwang.”
“Zugzwang? Is that a dirty word for something interesting?”
“It’s a term from game theory,” Gregor said. Most games involved matters of probability, and scrying probability was the closest you could come to telling the future, which was Gregor’s specialty. “‘Zugzwang’ means being put in a position where you have to make a bad move. It would be better to stay still, because any move exposes some weakness or creates disadvantage, but staying still is made impossible by the rules of the game.”
“That about sums it up,” Nicolette said. “But, hey, boss—there are paths out of this that don’t wind up…you know…”
“With me dead in the snow? Oh, I know. But walking those paths will not be pleasant. Sometimes I think it would be better
not
to know what’s coming.”
Nicolette was silent for a moment. Then she said, “No you don’t. I know you. You’d
always
rather know.”
“Hmm. I suppose you’re right. Let’s go see the Giggler.”
Nicolette groaned. “You’re not gonna get all pissed off again, are you?”
“No promises.”
After a short walk down a broad, climate-controlled hallway, Gregor and Nicolette boarded the elevator and descended wordlessly to the basement. On the seldom-visited bottom floor, after the doors had whuffed open and then closed again without either of them getting out, Gregor fitted his penthouse key into the appropriate slot. He turned it and pressed the “B” button again, twice.
Nicolette took a handkerchief from a pocket of her paint-spattered cargo pants and handed it to Gregor on the way down. Gregor nodded thanks and pressed the cloth to his nose before the doors opened.
Nicolette had tried scenting the cloth with different things—expensive colognes, rubbing alcohol, juniper extract—but nothing worked as well as industrial antiseptic. It didn’t disguise the odor as well as some of the other substances did, but it soothed Gregor in the same way his clean building did, even if the fumes did make his head spin a little.
Nicolette showed no reaction to the stink when the doors opened, except perhaps a slight flaring around the nostrils. Nicolette didn’t get bothered by the same things Gregor did. That’s why it was good to have an assistant, to be strong where you were weak.
“He’s broken the lights again,” Gregor said. The dim concrete hallway before them should have been lit by halogen bulbs in cages on the ceiling, but the Giggler didn’t like such brightness.
Nicolette took a penlight from her pocket and shined it into the darkness, sweeping it across the floor. The Giggler wouldn’t attack them, but sometimes he left things before the doors, like a worshipper offering sacrifices at a temple gate, or a pet bringing kills to the door. Gregor had stepped in a dead cat once, and been forced to return upstairs in his stocking feet. He couldn’t bear to wear the shoes after that, and Nicolette had burned them.
“All clear,” Nicolette said,
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