Dzur by Steven Brust Page B

of them asking if I was all right.
    "Boss? Say something, dammit!"
    "Uh..."
    "That's a start."
    I was on my back, and the people around me were standing, looking down.
    "What happened, Loiosh?"
    "I have no idea."
    Someone else asked if I was all right. I nodded, because I wasn't sure if I could speak.
    "What happened?" said someone.
    I closed my eyes.
    "He's been touched by the Demon Goddess," said someone else, a touch of awe in his voice.
    "Drunk, more likely."
    "Are you drunk?"
    "He doesn't look drunk."
    "Who is he?"
    "Who are you?"
    I opened my eyes again, looking up at the circle of half a dozen faces staring down at me with expressions ranging from worry to suspicion. Who was I? Okay, that was a good place to start. I was Vlad, only I was calling myself Sandor right now, while involved in a tricky business to get Cawti out of trouble. The Left Hand of the Jhereg. Lady Teldra. I'd had a meal at Valabar's yesterday. All right, my memory still worked.
    "Sandor," I said. "My name is Sandor." My voice still worked too.
    "And I'm not drunk," I added.
    "What happened?" said one of the faces.
    "I don't know."
    I struggled to my feet, receiving kindly assistance I didn't want, but at least learning that, yes, my legs were working. I smiled as pleasantly as I could, and slipped away, moving back toward Six Corners. Someone yelled for me to wait a minute. I chose not to. "Is anyone following me?"
    "No, they're just staring."
    "Good. They can stare."
    I made it back to my room without incident, though my head was spinning to the point where it was a bit tricky to keep my eyes focused, and to remember where to go. When I finally made it, I threw off my coat and flopped on the bed as Loiosh and Rocza came through the window.
    "You okay, Boss?"
    "I'm not sure."
    "What is it? What happened?"
    "I'm not sure. Something. My head. In my head?'
    "I know," said Loiosh. "Me, too."
    There was an edge of panic to Loiosh's voice. I tried to think of something reassuring to say, but I was having trouble focusing my thoughts. Loiosh perched on the chair, and either there was something in the way he held himself that made him appear pensive, or else I was just picking it up from him. Rocza perched next to him, rubbing her neck against his.
    "What happened, Boss?"
    "I don't know. I'm trying to make sense of it." Sethra once told me that, when overwhelmed by the mystical, start with the physical and mundane, and work both inward and outward from there. I never did understand the "inward and outward" part, but the advice still made sense.
    "Okay, the last thing I did was touch an altar of the Demon Goddess."
    "You've done that before, Boss."
    "Yeah?'
    "This didn't happen before?'
    "Yeah?'
    "What was different?"
    "I didn't have Lady Teldra?"
    "Yes, but were you touching her when you touched the altar?"
    "No, but-wait. Yes, I was."
    "You were?"
    "Yes. I'm sure of it?"
    "Oh. Well. Isn't it nice when we can solve mysteries so easily, Boss?"
    "Yeah. It's great?"
    I relaxed onto the bed and closed my eyes. The bed was both lumpy and too soft; they must have paid extra for it.
    "Okay, I know some of what just happened: I just got some memories back."
    "Boss, that's . . . I don't know what that is?"
    "Yeah?'
    I tried to concentrate; to work it out.
    Verra, the Demon Goddess, patron of my ancestors, had arranged for my perceptions to be altered, and for some of my memories to be suppressed. The best way to control someone's actions is to control the information upon which he makes his decisions. Some methods of controlling someone's information are nastier than others.
    None of which addressed the questions of what she wanted me to do, or to not do, and I wanted to know so that I could cross her, just out of spite.
    I realized that I was shying away from considering exactly which memories had been taken and were now restored, I guess for the same reason that, on a long-ago occasion when I'd been stabbed, I had tried not to picture the piece of steel that was