Kitiara Club

Vlad Taltos Series · House Jhereg · Easterners

Double Contract

Archive Guest · 6 pages

Comic

Adrilankha after midnight. The rain covers a lot of sharp things.

Vlad, short and sharp in black, strides down rain-wet cobbles under gaslamps, Loiosh perched on his shoulder, the tall silhouettes of Dragaerans and the glow of jewel-like House sigils in windows. Evening, drizzle, the Easterners’ quarter.
You could’ve picked a drier job.Loiosh
Establishing—Adrilankha by rain, Vlad on the hunt1 / 6
Close on Vlad’s wary face as he sees an ajar door in a shadowy alley, rain dripping from his hair. Loiosh’s head just visible, alert. Night, lamplight, exterior.
He’s not getting wetter than I am.Vlad Taltos
Interior bakery: Vlad and Loiosh step through the door, rapier ready, shadows long over floury wood. Night, low lamp, empty room.
Company upstairs, bored.Loiosh
Human beat—Vlad finds the open door; Loiosh warns2 / 6
Upstairs, Vlad kneels by Daren’s corpse, slit throat, blood pooling on wood, a green-sealed note on chest. Rain taps the window.
Someone beat me to my own contract.Vlad Taltos
Vlad holds the green-sealed note, Loiosh tense, both frowning. Tight shot, wood grain visible. Night, interior.
Someone else sold the contract. Twice.Loiosh
Stairs shadow: Cawti appears, black-clad, serious, hand near belt, Vlad tenses. Dim window light.
You’re late, Vlad. Or early, depending on who paid.Cawti
Escalate—Daren dead, a rival’s note, footsteps upstairs3 / 6
Cawti and Vlad face each other over Daren’s body, tension high, Loiosh between. Cawti gestures to the Morganti wound. Night, interior.
This isn’t my work.Vlad Taltos
Nor mine. Someone wants a Jhereg war here.Cawti
Close: Cawti and Vlad study the note, their faces suspicious and worried. Night, low light.
How many blades before it’s a message?Vlad Taltos
Turn—shared suspicion, a Morganti wound4 / 6
Outside the bakery, Vlad, Cawti, and Loiosh slip into a rain-soaked alley, palace lights reflecting in puddles, faces tense. Overcast sky, night, city in the background.
I want out. Too many blades tonight.Loiosh
Only when the joke’s on me, Loiosh.Vlad Taltos
Climax—Vlad, Cawti, and Loiosh escape into the rainy night5 / 6
Vlad looks up at looming palace towers through rain, Loiosh’s tail curled around his neck, Cawti glancing sidelong. Night, streetlamps, cold verticals.
Which House wants a message in our blood, Vlad?Cawti
Upward shot of a palace window: a tall Dragaeran silhouette (hinting Dragonlord), no features, watching the street through rain. Night, sinister.
Dragons above. The story isn’t finished, boss.Loiosh
Aftermath—rain, reflection, threat of more trouble6 / 6
Chapter prose
Night in Adrilankha has a taste, and tonight it’s rain and lamp-oil. That’s not poetry; that’s keeping track of what might let you see the knife coming. My boots left little pools behind me as I made my way through the Easterners’ quarter, shoulders hunched against the drizzle and the weight of work. Loiosh was a familiar pressure on my left shoulder, claws just shy of drawing blood. "You could’ve picked a drier job," he muttered in my head, wings flicking. I gave him the smile I usually reserve for the recently deceased. “He’s not getting wetter than I am.” The target’s house was a converted bakery, all faded brick and the smell of old yeast. I checked the note: Daren the Knife, reputed fence, possible traitor, definite corpse as of tonight if things went clean. The contract was a Jhereg classic – in, out, no witnesses, keep the neighbors guessing. Cawti would have called it an honest night’s work, had she not hated this sort of job. The door was ajar. That’s never a good sign, but it’s better than a locked one with a bolt being thrown from the inside. I slipped in, rapier ready, Loiosh tensing, the two of us a study in nerves. The bakery was dark, but I could smell blood and hear the faint hiss of somewhere a Morganti blade had done its work. Someone had beaten me to my own contract. “Loiosh?” I whispered. "Company. Upstairs, bored," he replied. I moved, silent as a rumor, up the creaking stairs. Daren was on the floor, eyes wide, throat a sliced memory. But what caught my attention was the note on his chest, sealed with Jhereg green. I peeled it open. "TO THE NEXT IN LINE. SORRY, BUSINESS IS BUSINESS." I felt Loiosh’s claws dig in. “Someone else sold the same contract. Twice.” I heard a step behind me, the kind that means you’re not the only killer with a deadline. Cawti’s voice, low and cold: “You’re late, Vlad. Or early, depending on who paid.” I turned, relief and worry fighting for space. She was in black, hair tied back, brown eyes unreadable. "This isn’t my work," I said. "Nor mine. But someone wants a Jhereg war in the Easterners’ quarter." Loiosh spat in my head: “I want out of this one. Too many blades.” But the scent on the note was wrong: not just Jhereg, but Dragon. The contract had been passed around. I looked at Cawti. “How many blades before it’s not a job, but a message?” She glanced at the Morganti wound. “As many as it takes. But which House needs a message written in Easterner blood?” We left fast, taking nothing, leaving only questions and the rain to wash up the rest. Outside, I waited under the eaves, watching the palace lights reflected in puddles. Loiosh, in my head: “Vlad, you ever get tired of being the punchline?” "Only when the joke’s on me," I answered. And somewhere high above, a Dragonlord was already sharpening the next part of the story.
Original idea

House Jhereg path: Vlad takes a neat assassination in the Easterners’ quarter, then learns the target already sold the contract to a second Jhereg. Loiosh wants out; Cawti wants the truth before the Morganti blade arrives.

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