Iorich by Steven Brust Page B

then he went over and sat on the box and set about turning it into a turtle again. Cawti and I watched him.
    “He’s very bright,” I said.
    She smiled.
    We watched Vlad Norathar a little longer. With no warning, he turned to me and said, “I have a hawk.”
    “I’d like to see it,” I said.
    He dug in the box and came out with a porcelain figure about a foot high, and very lifelike. He walked over and handed it to me without hesitation. I studied it carefully. At last I said, “This is the bird that is called a vahndoor in the language of our ancestors.”
    He studied me. “Are you being silly?”
    “Not this time,” I said. “There are lots of languages. People speak different.”
    “Why?”
    “Now that is a fine question. Maybe because they invented talking in different places, or else moved away from each other so far that they started talking differently. In this language, the one we’re speaking, there is only one word for all sorts of birds of prey. In Fenarian, each sort of bird has its own name.”
    “Does each bird have its own name too?”
    “If someone names it.”
    “Don’t they name themselves?”
    “No, they don’t. Well, maybe they do, come to think of it. I’m not sure.”
    “What sort of bird is that?”
    “Okay, now I’m insulted.”
    “It isn’t a bird, it’s a jhereg. A sort of flying reptile that eats dead things and makes sarcastic comments.”
    “What does that mean?”
    Me and my big mouth.
    “It means sometimes he says things he doesn’t mean because he thinks they’re funny.”
    “He talks?”
    “Into my mind.”
    “What’s he saying now?”
    “He isn’t saying anything just this minute.”
    “Does he like me?”
    “How would I know? I haven’t tasted him.”
    “Don’t.”
    “Sorry, Boss.”
    “You can touch him if you wish.”
    “What is that, punishment?”
    “Yes.”
    He shook his head furiously, his eyes wide. I smiled. “It’s all right.” I went back to studying his hawk. I handed it back to him. He took it and brought it over to Cawti, and spent some time studying Rocza, perched on her shoulder. After a moment, Rocza stretched her neck out toward him and lowered her head. He hesitated, then reached out a finger and touched her head as if it were a hot stove. When she didn’t move, he stroked the top of her head once.
    “I’m trying to figure out if I should be jealous,”
said Loiosh.
    “Let me know when you’ve decided.”
    “I want one of my own,” announced Vlad Norathar.
    I looked at Cawti, who looked back at me and shrugged. “These are very special animals,” she said. “You have to study a long time to be able to have one.”
    He looked stubborn.
    “If you want one,” she continued, “we’ll start you on the training.”
    He looked at her and nodded once, then went back to his box of toys. Was he too young to start training as a witch? Maybe. It wasn’t my decision.
    “You’re looking good,” I said.
    “Thank you.”
    Vlad Norathar turned around from the box and said, “Why aren’t you living with us?”
    I met his eyes, which was more difficult than a lot of other eyes I’ve had to meet. “There are people who want to kill me. If I stay here, they’ll find me.”
    “Oh,” he said. He considered it carefully. “Why don’t you kill them instead?”
    I stroked the hilt of Lady Teldra inside my cloak and said, “You know, I’ve asked myself that same question.”
    Cawti said, “You can’t always solve problems by killing someone. In fact, as your father can testify, most of the time killing someone just makes things worse.”
    “That,” I said, “is unfortunately true. But, hey, it’s a living.”
    “Your father is teasing,” said Cawti.
    I nodded. “I do that sometimes.”
    “Why?” said Vlad Norathar.
    “Another good question,” I said.
    “I could answer it,” said Cawti. “But I shan’t.”
    “Probably best.”
    He looked puzzled for a moment, but let it go—a trait that he’d certainly