it.”
“I think he can,” said Kragar.
“All right,” I said, “I’m sold. Quiet a minute while I figure out what I’m going to need.”
I ran through, in my mind, what I was going to have to do to locate Mellar, and what I’d have to do so that Daymar could trace him afterwards. I wished I knew more about how Daymar did things like that, but I could make a reasonable guess. It seemed that it would be a pretty straightforward spell, which really should work if Mellar had no blocks against witchcraft.
I built up a mental list of what I’d need. Nothing out of the ordinary; I already had everything except for one small matter.
“Kragar, put word out on the street that I’d like to arrange to see Kiera. At her convenience, of course.”
“Okay. Any preference on where you meet?”
“No, just some—wait!” I interrupted myself, and thought for a minute. In my office, I had witchcraft protections and alarms. I knew these were hard to beat, and I wasn’t happy about taking any chances at all of this information leaking out. The Demon would be upset, anyway, if he knew that I was dealing with Kiera. I didn’t really like the idea of having one of his people see me talking with her in some public place. On the other hand, Kiera was . . . well, Kiera. Hmmm. Tough question.
Hell with it, I decided. I’d just shock the staff a little. It’d be good for them. “I’d like to meet her here, in my office, if that’s all right with her.”
Kragar looked startled and seemed about to say something, but changed his mind, I guess, when he realized that I’d just gone over all of the objections myself. “All right,” he said. “Now about Daymar. You know what kind of problems we have reaching him; do you want me to figure out a way?”
“No, thanks. I’ll take care of it.”
“All by yourself? My goodness!”
“No, I’m going to get Loiosh to help. There, feel better?”
He snickered and left. I got up and opened the window. “
Loiosh
,” I thought to my familiar, “
find Daymar
.”
“
As Your Majesty requests
,” he answered.
“
Feel free to save the sarcasm
.”
A telepathic giggle is an odd thing to experience. Loiosh flew out the window.
I sat down again and stared off blankly for a while. How many times had I been in this position? Just at the beginning of a job, with no idea of where it was going, or how it would get there. Nothing, really, except an image of how it should end; as always, with a corpse. How many times? It isn’t really a rhetorical question. This would be the forty-second assassination I’d done. My first thought was that it was going to be somewhat different than the others, at some level, in some way, to some degree. I have clear memories of each one. The process I go through before I do the job is such that I can’t forget any of them—I have to get to know them too well. This would certainly be a problem if I were given to nightmares.
The fourth one? He was the button man who would always order a fine liqueur after dinner and leave half the bottle instead of a tip. The twelfth was a small-time muscle who liked to keep his cash in the largest denominations he could. The nineteenth was a sorcerer who carried a cloth around with him to polish his staff with—which he did constantly. There is always something distinct about them. Sometimes it is something I can use; more often it is just something that sticks out in my memory. When you know someone well enough, he becomes an individual no matter how hard you try to think of him as just a face—or a body.
But if you take it back a level, you once more wind up with the similarities being important. Because when they come to me as names mentioned in a conversation, over a quiet meal, with a purse handed over which will containsomewhere between fifteen hundred and four thousand gold Imperials, they
are
all the same, and I treat them the same: plan the job, do it.
I usually worked backward: after finding out
“I think he can,” said Kragar.
“All right,” I said, “I’m sold. Quiet a minute while I figure out what I’m going to need.”
I ran through, in my mind, what I was going to have to do to locate Mellar, and what I’d have to do so that Daymar could trace him afterwards. I wished I knew more about how Daymar did things like that, but I could make a reasonable guess. It seemed that it would be a pretty straightforward spell, which really should work if Mellar had no blocks against witchcraft.
I built up a mental list of what I’d need. Nothing out of the ordinary; I already had everything except for one small matter.
“Kragar, put word out on the street that I’d like to arrange to see Kiera. At her convenience, of course.”
“Okay. Any preference on where you meet?”
“No, just some—wait!” I interrupted myself, and thought for a minute. In my office, I had witchcraft protections and alarms. I knew these were hard to beat, and I wasn’t happy about taking any chances at all of this information leaking out. The Demon would be upset, anyway, if he knew that I was dealing with Kiera. I didn’t really like the idea of having one of his people see me talking with her in some public place. On the other hand, Kiera was . . . well, Kiera. Hmmm. Tough question.
Hell with it, I decided. I’d just shock the staff a little. It’d be good for them. “I’d like to meet her here, in my office, if that’s all right with her.”
Kragar looked startled and seemed about to say something, but changed his mind, I guess, when he realized that I’d just gone over all of the objections myself. “All right,” he said. “Now about Daymar. You know what kind of problems we have reaching him; do you want me to figure out a way?”
“No, thanks. I’ll take care of it.”
“All by yourself? My goodness!”
“No, I’m going to get Loiosh to help. There, feel better?”
He snickered and left. I got up and opened the window. “
Loiosh
,” I thought to my familiar, “
find Daymar
.”
“
As Your Majesty requests
,” he answered.
“
Feel free to save the sarcasm
.”
A telepathic giggle is an odd thing to experience. Loiosh flew out the window.
I sat down again and stared off blankly for a while. How many times had I been in this position? Just at the beginning of a job, with no idea of where it was going, or how it would get there. Nothing, really, except an image of how it should end; as always, with a corpse. How many times? It isn’t really a rhetorical question. This would be the forty-second assassination I’d done. My first thought was that it was going to be somewhat different than the others, at some level, in some way, to some degree. I have clear memories of each one. The process I go through before I do the job is such that I can’t forget any of them—I have to get to know them too well. This would certainly be a problem if I were given to nightmares.
The fourth one? He was the button man who would always order a fine liqueur after dinner and leave half the bottle instead of a tip. The twelfth was a small-time muscle who liked to keep his cash in the largest denominations he could. The nineteenth was a sorcerer who carried a cloth around with him to polish his staff with—which he did constantly. There is always something distinct about them. Sometimes it is something I can use; more often it is just something that sticks out in my memory. When you know someone well enough, he becomes an individual no matter how hard you try to think of him as just a face—or a body.
But if you take it back a level, you once more wind up with the similarities being important. Because when they come to me as names mentioned in a conversation, over a quiet meal, with a purse handed over which will containsomewhere between fifteen hundred and four thousand gold Imperials, they
are
all the same, and I treat them the same: plan the job, do it.
I usually worked backward: after finding out
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