“Something like that.”
“It’s more like we’re both secondary. He’s dominant unless I’m triggered-but I get all his memories, and he doesn’t have a clue I exist.”
“Huh. Creepy.”
“It’s not so bad. They say they can reintegrate me when I rotate out. Besides, I’m used to it by now.”
“Seems a little extreme.”
“You think it’s easy running an Eyes of God post where the unfriendlies have truthsense?” He pulled a mournful face. “The Knights of Khryl don’t do diplomatic immunity, and they are not to be fucked with.”
“I’ve heard rumors.”
“Rumors. Right.” He grimaced and shook his head. “Our last undoubled station chief got his arms pulled off.”
He finished laying out the items from the hutch: a flat leather pack the size of his palm, four matte-black knives-two guardless diamond-blade throwers and two of the Cold Steel Peacekeeper XXs that had been brought to Home by the Social Police Expeditionary Force that had invaded Ankhana three years before-a spring-loaded telescopic baton, a garrotte of thin black cable wrapped around grip-molded steel skeleton handles fixed to either end, and a huge stainless 12mm Automag with a custom barrel screw-fitted to receive the large black silencer beside it.
I checked the edge of each knife and scanned the garrotte’s cable for any signs of raveling. I picked up the Automag, popped the clip to eyeball the case-less tristack shatter slug rounds, then dropped the two spare clips into my purse before I tucked the gun into the leather holster patch sewn inside the rear waistband of my pants.
Tourann picked up the silencer. “What about this?”
“Keep it. Then when I miss, at least they duck.”
“We can blue the finish for you-”
“I like it bright. Nobody has to squint to figure out I’ve got a handful of Big Fucking Gun. Who else knows I was coming here?”
“I’m sorry?”
I picked up the throwing knives, rechecked the edges briefly, and slipped them into their holsters in my boots. “How do you make reports? Artan Mirror to Ankhana, right?”
“That’s need-to-know information-”
“So on this end, there’s you and the Mirror Speaker, at least; anybody else?”
“No-no, no, of course not-”
“Then there’s the Speaker on the other end. Reports with my name on them go straight to the Duke of Public Safety, right?”
“I, ah, I’m not allowed-”
“Don’t worry about it. So at least somebody’s told Deliann by now, I’m guessing.”
Tourann licked sweat off his upper lip. “I-what the Emperor may or may not know is beyond my-”
“Look, it’s all right. It’s not exactly a secret. Except from the Khryllians.”
“Purthin Khlaylock. Sure.” The bishop nodded wisely. “Want to bet he still remembers you?”
“Only when he looks in the mirror.”
“Um, yeah. Um. No wonder you’re incognito.” He coughed. “What about that non recognition magick of yours? It worked on me, and I am far from undefended-”
“It’s called the Eternal Forgetting, and it’s-complicated. It doesn’t erase personal experience. He’ll remember me, and what I did to him. And maybe to the Black Knives. He just won’t be able to put that Caine together with, say, the hero of Ceraeno-”
Tourann nodded. “Or the Prince of Chaos, or the Hand of Ma’elKoth-”
“Yeah, yeah. Drop it.”
“Nice.”
“Mostly useful in places where I don’t run into old friends.”
“Friends?”
“Or whatever.”
“What’d you get on Orbek?”
“Not a lot.” He looked like his stomach hurt. “Uh, I have some bad news about that-”
“I heard.”
“You did?”
“I guess it was some size of deal.”
“You could say that.” Tourann pulled some pages of handwritten notes from a hutch drawer, and passed them over. “Orbek Black Knife: Taykarget. Hit town three months ago, give or take. Maybe two or two and a half.”
“You’re not sure?”
“He came in illegally. No customs records, no employment documents, nothing. Nothing official until the, uh, incident.”
“You let these cock-knockers detain an Ankhanan freeman? What the fuck are you doing?”
“My job. Gathering information. Filing reports.”
“Shit.”
Tourann spread his hands. “No diplomatic relations, Caine.”
“Shade.”
“Yes. The Knights recognize no government beyond the Laws of Khryl. Break their Law and nobody cares if you’re the queen of Lipke. They were going to question him on another matter, but he refused submission. Then he just berserked and opened up.”
“Another matter?”
“A murder. A grill, up in Hell. Shot.”
I only grunted, reading ahead.
“You don’t look surprised.”
“You’re not my only source,” I muttered, still reading. “The Knight Accusor-Angvasse Khlaylock-”
“Niece.”
“I heard. What do you have on her?”
Tourann lowered himself back into the swivel chair. “I’d stay clear if I were you.”
“It’s not up to me.”
“No?”
I didn’t explain.
The bishop shrugged. “She’s the old man all over again. Doubled. Only twenty-seven, and Khryl’s Champion for three years now.”
“First since Pintelle, right?”
“Odds-on to be the first female Justiciar since Pintelle, too, when the old man cashes out. The grills call her Vasse Khrylget, and it’s only half a joke.”
“Any leverage?”
“Leverage. Sure.” The bishop snorted. “She’s so clean you have to brush your teeth before you kiss her ass. Incorruptible. Which I know because we’ve been trying for about ten years.”
“Yeah?”
“Each new chief takes a swing at her. It’s like a rite of passage. I wouldn’t mind landing one on her myself.”
“You better have long fucking arms. What’s Orbek doing up here in the first place?”
Tourann shrugged again. “At a guess? He might have been in with Freedom’s Face-they smuggle the worst kinds of Ankhanan thugs over the mountains-”
“Thug, shit. He’s just a kid.”
“A kid who managed to compost two Knights of Khryl. You have any idea how hard it is to kill a Knight of Khryl?”
I looked up from the page. Just looked.
