Dzur by Steven Brust

satchel, then came out, and I followed him, and got another place.
    By the end of the day, I had reacquainted myself with much of South Adrilankha: Potter's Gate, the Drumhead, Donner's Court, the Round. I had also identified six runners, and six locations they lived in, worked out of, or at least visited. I had no idea if this information would be useful, but it at least gave me some vague idea of the amount of money involved in the operation. That's one nice thing about the Jhereg: Almost all the time, you can measure the importance of any activity by its weight in gold and be pretty sure you're right.
    How big was this operation?
    I'd seen six runners, all carrying satchels that were moderately heavy, no doubt with silver. Six a day, five days a week . . . yes, that was a big enough operation to be worth a life here and there.
    And, yes, the Left Hand was now very definitely involved in an operation that had, until now, been reserved for the male side of the Jhereg. I picked up different bread and different sausages from a different street vendor, returned to my room, and shared the meal with my familiars while I considered matters. The sausage was greasy, but I kind of like it that way.
    Loiosh and Rocza daintily picked up the last of the bread-crumbs with their feet, balanced on the other foot, and brought them to their mouths. It's the least reptilian thing they do. I love watching them eat.
    "We done for the night, Boss?"
    "Not quite. I want to get an idea of how much action is going down in Donner's Court. There didn't used to be any at all:' I felt something like a psychic sigh.
    "Yeah, I know. You're worked to death. Shut up." I put Sandor back on and walked through the doorway as they flew out the window. Donner's Court was a fair walk from my place, and most of it mildly uphill. The streets twisted here, but were generally wider than in much of Adrilankha, and it had a more prosperous look. This was where Sandor, were he really a clerk for a slaughterhouse, would be dreaming of living, in his own house purchased with his own money, with a tiny garden. He'd grow carrots, peas, and onions, and he'd find a fat little wife and raise children whom he would teach to respect the Empire above all. If rebellion should happen to break out, he would hide under his bed and he would never exactly tell his children that the poverty all around them was the fault of the poor, but he would talk a great deal about personal responsibility. Not, you under-stand, that I particularly give a damn about the poor; but at least I can be a bastard without hypocrisy. Sandor, though, would be extremely proud of his peas, terrified of everything beyond the confines of his yard, and I'd hang myself within six weeks.
    These, at any rate, were Sandor's thoughts as he made his way up the gentle inclines of South Adrilankha to the Donner's Court district. There was little street traffic, and most of that by footcabs, because footcabs are seen as a sign of almost-wealth, lying somewhere between walking and owning a coach. The almost-wealthy are always more concerned with appearances than either of the extremes.
    The Donner's Court area takes its name from a fairly small courtyard which is all that is left of what was once a sizable temple to Barlen, built, oddly enough, by an Easterner named Donner. A street named Harvoth leads into the court, and various shrines and altars to different deities line the quarter of a mile between the court and Donner's Circle, where the local market is. This evening, there were a few people praying or making small offerings at these altars, and that seemed to be almost the only activity in the area. If the Left Hand was making money from this district, which they must be because I'd seen the delivery, then I had no idea where it was coming from.
    I walked along near the shrines, trying to look respectful, and trying to figure out what big moneymaking operations for the Jhereg could be. There was a sudden movement