Orca by Steven Brust

worked for the Phoenix Guards, or for the Empire; yet he was dressed in plain black pants and shirt with only the least bit of silver; his hair was very short, his complexion just a bit dark, his nose just a bit aquiline; he rather looked like Morrolan, now that I think of it. But I’ve never seen Morrolan’s eyes look quite that cold and that calculating; I’ve never seen anyone look like that except for an assassin named Ishtvan, who I used a couple of times and killed not long ago. It took me about a quarter of a second to decide that I didn’t want to go up against this guy if I could avoid it. I said, “My lord, you are looking into the death of Lord Fyres?”
    “That’s right. Who called you in?”
    “No one, my lord,” I said, trying to sound humble.
    “No one?”
    “I came on my own, when I heard about it.”
    “Heard about what?”
    “The investigation.”
    “How did you hear?”
    I had no idea how to answer that one, so I shrugged helplessly. He was starting to look very hard at me. “What’s your name?” he said. I was no longer his lord.
    “Kaldor,” I said.
    “Where do you live, Kaldor?”
    “Number six Coattail Bend, my lord.”
    “That’s here in Northport?”
    “Yes, my lord, in the city.”
    He wrote something down on a piece of paper and said, “My name is Loftis. Wait in the hall; we’ll call you.”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    I gave him a very humble bow and stepped back into the hall, feeling nervous. I’m a good actor, and I’m okay with disguises, but that guy scared me. I guess I’d been working on the assumption that the Imperial investigators were on the take, and I’d gone from there to the assumption that they must be pretty lousy investigators. Actually, that was stupid; I know from my own dealings with the Guard that just because one of them is on the take doesn’t mean he can’t do his job, but I hadn’t thought it through, and now I was worried; Loftis didn’t seem to be someone I could put much over on, at least not without a lot more work than I’d put in. So, of course, I listened. I assumed that they’d be able to detect sorcery, but I doubted they’d be looking for witchcraft, so I took the black Phoenix Stone off and slipped it into my pouch—hoping, of course, that the Jhereg wouldn’t pick that moment to attempt a psychic location spell. I leaned my head back against the wall, closed my eyes, and concentrated on sending my hearing through the wall. It took some work, and it took some time, but soon I could hear voices, and after a bit I could distinguish words.
    “Who do you think sent him?” I wasn’t sure if that was Loftis.
    “Don’t be stupid.” That was Loftis.
    “What, you’re saying it was the Candlestick?”
    “In the first place, Domm, when you’re around me, you’ll be respectful when speaking of Her Majesty.”
    “Oh, well pardon my feet for touching the ground.”
    “And in the second place, no. I mean we have no way of knowing who sent him, and if we’re going to do this—”
    “We’re going to do this.”
    “—we should at least be careful about it. And being careful means finding out.”
    “He could have given us his right address.”
    “Sure. And he could be the King of Elde Island, too. You follow him, Domm. And don’t let him pick up on you.”
    “You want to put those orders in writing, Lieutenant?”
    “Would you like to eat nine inches of steel, Lieutenant?”
    “Don’t push me, Loftis.”
    “Or we could just dump the whole thing on Papa-cat’s lap and let him decide our next step. Want to do that? How do you think he’d feel about it?”
    “I could tell him it was your idea.”
    “Sure. Do it. I’m sure he’ll believe you, too. You know as sure as Verra’s tits I’ll roll on this as soon as I have a good excuse. Go ahead. My protests are down in writing, Domm. How about you? Did you just shrug and say, ‘Hey, sure, sounds like fun’? Probably. So go ahead.”
    “Lieutenant, sir, with all