Текст книги "The Republic of Thieves"

Автор книги: Scott Lynch

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 44 страниц)

Oh, Mother. I hardly know whether your game is too deep or too shallow for me. Is this your legendary prescience again? Curious how you seem to cite it whenever you have an obvious reason to slow me down.

The Falconer stretches forth a hand, and the Five Towers sink. In seconds the liquid-sculpture buildings dissolve back into their primordial silver ooze. The dreamsteel quivers, then becomes mirror-smooth once again. The Falconer grins.

Someday, Speaker, you may have cause to regret the intensity of your self-regard.

Yes, well, perhaps we can continue to explore your rather thorough catalog of my faults when I return from Camorr. Until then—

I doubt we’ll ever have the opportunity. Farewell, Falconer.

Farewell, Mother. Rest assured I do look forward to enjoying the last word, whenever it comes.

He turns toward the door. As he walks away, Vestris cocks her head slightly, stares with cold hunter’s eyes, and makes the slightest squawk. The bird’s equivalent of a disdainful laugh.

The Falconer departs on his mission to Camorr two days later. When he returns, months will have passed, and he will be in no condition to enjoy any words at all.

5

“GODS ABOVE,” whispered Jean as the deck of the Sky-Reacherbecame real beneath his feet again. His eyes felt as though he’d been staring into a bitter wind. It was a deep relief to find himself back in the familiar shape and mass of his own body. “That was insane.”

“The first time isn’t easy. You bore it well enough.”

“You people do that often?” asked Jean.

“I wouldn’t go so far as ‘often.’ ”

“You can just pass your memories back and forth,” said Locke, shaking his head. “Like an old jacket.”

“Not quite. The technique requires preparation and conscious guidance. I couldn’t simply give you the sum total of my memories. Or teach you to speak Vadran with a touch.”

“ Ka spras Vadrani anhalt.”

“Yes, I know you do.”

“Falconer,” muttered Jean, rubbing his eyes. “Falconer! Patience, you could have stopped him. You were inclinedto stop him!”

“I was,” said Patience. She stared out at the Amathel, the cooling dregs of her tea forgotten.

“But the Falconer was one of your exceptionalists, right?” said Locke. “Along with what’s-her-name, Foresight. And here you had a contract, a mission, to go and really fuck things up, Therim Pel style. If he’d actually pulled it off—and he came gods-damned close, let me tell you—isn’t that just the sort of thing that would have given more prestige to his faction?”

“Absolutely.”

“And you let him go anyway.”

“I thought of abstaining, until he announced his willingness to take the contract. No, his intentionof taking the contract. Once he’d done so, I realized that he wouldn’t be coming back safely from Camorr.”

“What, you had some sort of premonition?”

“After a fashion. It’s one of my talents.”

“Patience,” said Locke, “I wouldlike to ask you something deeply personal. Not to antagonize you. I ask because your son helped kill four close friends of mine, and I want to know … I guess …”

“You want to know why we don’t get along.”

“Yes.”

“He hated me.” Patience wrung her hands together. “Still does, behind the fog of his madness. He hates me as much as he did when we parted that day in the Sky Chamber.”

“Why?”

“It’s simple. And yet … rather hard to explain. The first thing you should understand is how we choose our names.”

“Falconer, Navigator, Coldmarrow, etcetera,” said Jean.

“Yes. We call them gray names, because they’re mist. They’re insubstantial. Every mage chooses a gray name when their first ring is tattooed on their wrist. Coldmarrow, for example, chose his in memory of his northern heritage.”

“What were you, before you were Patience?” said Jean.

“I called myself Seamstress.” She smiled faintly. “Not all gray names are grandiose. Now, there’s another sort of name. We call it the red name, the name that lives in the blood, the true name which can never be shed.”

“Like mine,” muttered Jean.

“Just so. The second thing you need to understand is that magical talent has no relation to heredity. It doesn’t breed true. Many decades of regrettable interference in the private lives of magi made this abundantly clear.”

“What do you do,” said Jean, “with, ah, ‘ungifted’ children when you have them?”

“Cherish them and raise them, you imbecile. Most of them end up working for us, in Karthain and elsewhere. What did you think we’d do, burn them on a pyre?”

“Forget I asked.”

“And gifted children?” said Locke. “Where do they come from, if they’re not home-grown?”

“A trained mage can sense an unschooled talent,” said Patience. “We usually catch them very young. They’re brought to Karthain and raised in our unique community. Sometimes their original memories are suppressed for their own comfort.”

“But not Falconer,” said Locke. “You said he was your flesh-and-blood son.”

“Yes.”

“And for him to have the power … how rare is that?”

“He was the fifth in four hundred years.”

“Was his father a mage?”

“A master gardener,” said Patience softly. “He drowned on the Amathel six months after our son was born.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Of course you’re not.” Patience moved her fingers slightly and her tea mug disappeared. “I suppose I might have gone mad, if not for the Falconer. He was my solace. We became so close, that little boy and I. We explored his talents together. Ultimately, though, for magi to be born of magi is more curse than blessing.”

“Why?” said Jean.

“You’ve been Jean Tannen all your life. It’s what your mother and father called you when you were learning how to speak. It’s engraved on your soul. Your friend here also has a red name, but, to his great good fortune, he stumbled into a gray name for himself at an early age. He calls himself Locke Lamora, but deep down inside, when he thinks of himself, he thinks something else.”

Locke smiled thinly and nibbled a biscuit.

“The very first identity that we accept and recognize as us,that’s what becomes the red name. When we grow from the raw instincts of infancy and discover that we exist, conscious and separate from the things around us. Most of us acquire red names from what our parents whisper to us, over and over, until we learn to repeat it in our own thoughts.”

“Huh,” said Locke. An instant later, he spat crumbs. “Holy shit. You know the Falconer’s true name because you gave it to him!”

“I tried to avoid it,” said Patience. “Oh, I tried. But I was lying to myself. You can’t love a baby and not give him a name. If my husband had lived, he would have given Falconer a secret name. That was the procedure … other magi might have intervened, would have if I hadn’t deceived them. I wasn’t thinking straight. I needed that private bond with my boy so desperately … and, inevitably, I named him.”

“He resented you for it,” said Jean.

“A mage’s deepest secret,” said Patience. “Never shared, not between masters and students, closest friends, even husbands and wives. A mage who learns another mage’s true name wields absolute power over them. My son has bitterly resented me since the moment he realized what I held over him, whether or not I ever chose to use it.”

“Crooked Warden,” said Locke. “I guess I should be able to find it in my heart to have some sympathy for the poor bastard. But I can’t. I sure as hell wish you’d had a normal son.”

“I think I’ve said enough for the time being.” Patience moved away from the taffrail and turned her back to Locke and Jean. “You two rest. We can dispose of any further questions when you awake.”

“I could sleep,” admitted Locke. “For seven or eight years, I think. Have someone kick the door in at the end of the month if I’m not out yet. And Patience … I guess … I am sorry for—”

“You’re a curious man, Master Lamora. You bite on reflex, and then your conscience bites you. Have you ever wondered where you might have acquired such contradictory strains of character?”

“I don’t repent anything I said, Patience, but I do occasionally remember to try and be civil after the fact.”

“As you said, I’m not dragging you to Karthain to be anyone’s friend. Least of all mine. Go take some rest. We’ll talk after.”

6

JEAN HADN’T realized just how exhausted the long night had left him, and after settling into his hammock he tumbled into the sort of sleep that squashed awareness as thoroughly as a few hundred pounds of bricks dropped on the head.

He woke, groggy and disoriented, to the smell of baked meat and crisp lake air. Locke was sitting at a smaller version of the makeshift table on which he’d been subjected to the cleansing ritual, hard at work on another small mountain of ship’s fare.

“Nnngh.” Jean rolled to his feet and heard his joints creak and pop. His bruises from the encounter with Cortessa would smart for a few days, but bruises were bruises. He’d had them before. “What’s the time?”

“Fifth hour of the afternoon,” said Locke around a mouthful of food. “We should be in Karthain just before dawn, they say.”

Jean yawned, rubbed his eyes, and considered the scene. Locke was dressed in loose clean slops, evidently chosen from an open chest of clothing set against the bulkhead behind him.

“How do you feel, Locke?”

“Bloody hungry.” He wiped his lips against the back of his hand and took a swig of water. “This is worse than Vel Virazzo. Wherever we go, I seem to get thinner and thinner.”

“I’d have thought you’d still be sleeping.”

“I had a will for it, but my stomach wouldn’t be put off. You, if you’ll forgive me, look like a man desperately in search of coffee.”

“I don’t smell any. Suppose you drank it all?”

“Come now, even I’m not that much of a scoundrel. Never was any aboard. Seems Patience is big on tea.”

“Damn. Tea’s no good for waking up civilized.”

“What’s boiling in that muddled brain of yours?”

“I suppose I’m bemused.” Jean took one of the two empty chairs at the table, picked up a knife, and used it to slide some ham onto a slab of bread. “And dizzy. Our Lady of the Five Rings has spun our situation well beyond anything I expected.”

“That she has. You think it’s odd from where you’re sitting?”

“It is.” Jean ate, and studied Locke. He’d cleaned up, shaved, and pulled the lengthening mass of his hair into a short tail. The removal of his beard made the marks of his convalescence plain. He was pale, looking far more Vadran than Therin for a change, and the creases at the edges of his mouth were graven a bit deeper, the lines beneath his eyes more pronounced. Some invisible sculptor had been at work the past few weeks, carving the first real hints of age into the face Jean had known for nearly twenty years. “Where on the gods’ fair earth are you putting all that food, Locke?”

“If I knew that I’d be a physiker.”

Jean took another look around the cabin. A copper tub had been set near the stern windows, and beside it a pile of towels and oil bottles.

“Wondering about the tub?” said Locke. “Water’s fresh—they replaced it after I was done. They don’t expect us to go diving in the lake to make ourselves presentable.”

There was a knock at the cabin door. Jean glanced at Locke, and Locke nodded.

“Come,” yelled Jean.

“I knew you were awake,” said Patience. She came down the steps, made a casual gesture, and the door shut itself behind her. She settled into the third chair and folded her hands in her lap. “Are we proving ourselves adequate hosts?”

“We seem to be well-kept,” said Jean with a yawn, “excepting a barbaric absence of coffee.”

“Endure for another day, Master Tannen, and you’ll have all the foul black misuse of water you can drink.”

“What happened to the last person you hired to rig this little game of yours, Patience?” said Jean.

“Straight to business, eh?” said Locke.

“I don’t mind,” said Patience. “It’s why I’m here. But what do you mean?”

“You do this every five years,” said Jean. “You choose to work through agents that can’t be Bondsmagi. So what happened to the last set you hired? Where are they? Can we speak to them?”

“Ah. You’re wondering whether we tied weights around their ankles and threw them into the lake when it was over.”

“Something like that.”

“In some cases, we traded services. In others we offered payments. All of our former exemplars, regardless of compensation, left our service freely and in good health.”

“So, you ruthlessly protect every aspect of your privacy for centuries, but every few years you pick a special friend, answer any questions they might have, show them your fuckin’ memories, begging your pardon, and then you just send them off when you’re finished, with a cheerful wave?”

“None of our previous exemplars ever crippled a Bondsmage, Jean. None of them were ever shown what you were. But you needn’t flatter yourself that you’ve been made privy to some shattering secret that can only be preserved by the most extreme measures. When this is over, we expect confidentiality for the rest of your lives. And if that courtesy isn’t granted, you both know that we’ll never have anydifficulty tracking at least one of you down.”

“I guess that works,” said Jean sourly. “So who took the ribbon, last time you did this?”

“You’re being entrusted with a winning tradition,” said Patience. “Though two victories in a row doesn’t quite make a dynasty, it’s a good basis from which to expect a third. Now, we will discuss your work in Karthain, but I made an unusual promise to get you both here. I would have it fulfilled for good and all. Have you any further questions about my people, about our arts?”

“Ask now or forever bite our tongues?” said Locke.

“I offered a brief opportunity, not a scholarly treatise.”

“As it happens,” said Locke, “I do have one last thing I want a real answer to. Jean asked about the contracts you take. He asked why, and you gave us why not?But I don’t think that cuts to the heart of things. I can’t imagine that you people actually need the money after four hundred years. Am I wrong?”

“No. I could touch sums, at an hour’s notice, that would buy a city-state,” said Patience.

“So why are you still mercenaries? Why build your world around it? Why do you call yourselves Bondsmagi without flinching? Why ‘ Incipa veila armatos de’?

“Ahhh,” said Patience. “This is a deeper draught than you might wish to take.”

“Let me be the judge.”

“As you will. When did the Vadrans start raiding the northern coasts, where the Kingdom of the Marrows is now?”

“What the hell does thathave to do with anything?”

“Indulge me. When did they first come down from that miserable waste of theirs, whatever their word for it—”

“ Krystalvasen,” said Jean. “The Glass Land.”

“About eight hundred years ago,” said Locke. “So I was taught.”

“And how long since the Therin people moved onto this continent, from across the Iron Sea?”

“Two thousand years, maybe,” said Locke.

“Eight hundred years of Vadran history,” said Patience. “Two thousand for the Therin. The Syresti and the Golden Brethren are older still. Let’s generously give them three thousand years. Now … what if I told you that we had reason to believe that some of the Eldren ruins on this continent were built more than twenty thousand years ago? Perhaps even thirty thousand?”

“That’s pretty damned wild,” said Locke. “How can you—”

“We have means,” said Patience with a dismissive wave. “They’re not important. What’s important is this—no one in recorded history has ever made credible claim of meeting the Eldren. Whatever they were, they vanished so long agothat our ancestors didn’t leave us any stories about meeting them in the flesh. By the time we took their empty cities, only the gods could know how long they’d been deserted.

“Now, one glance at these cities tells us they were masters of a sorcery that makes ours look like an idiot’s card tricks by comparison. They built miracles, and built them to last for hundreds of centuries. The Eldren meantto tend their garden here for a very, very long time.”

“What made them leave?” said Locke.

“I used to scare myself as a kid by thinking about this,” said Jean.

“You can scare yourself now by thinking about it,” said Patience. “Indeed, Locke, what made them leave? There are two possibilities. Either something wiped them out, or something frightened them so badly that they abandoned all their cities and treasures in their haste to be gone.”

“Leave the world?” said Locke. “Where would they go?”

“We don’t have the faintest speck of an idea,” said Patience. “But regardless of how their marvelous cities were emptied in advance of our tenancy, it happened. Something out there madeit happen. We have to assume that somethingcould return.”

“Gah,” said Locke, putting his head in his hands. “Patience, you’re a regular bundle of smiles, you know that?”

“I warned you this might not be cheering.”

“This world and all its souls are the sovereign estate of the Thirteen,” said Locke. “They rule it, protect it, and tend the mechanisms of nature. Hell, maybe they were the ones that kicked the Eldren out.”

“Strange, then, that they wouldn’t mention it to us explicitly,” said Patience.

“Patience, let me reveal something from personal experience,” said Locke. “The gods tell us what we needto know, but when you start asking about things you really just wantto know, you’d best expect long pauses in the conversation.”

“Inconvenient,” said Patience. “Of course it’s possible that the gods are keeping mum about what happened to the Eldren. Or they couldn’t act to stop it … or wouldn’t. We’ve spent centuries arguing these possibilities. The only sensible assumption is that we’ve got to take care on our own behalf.”

“How?” said Locke.

“The use of sorcery in a long-term fashion, in a grand and concerted manner, with many magi working together, leaves an indelible imprint upon the world. Persons and forces sensitive to magic can detect this phenomenon, just as you can look at a river and tell which direction it’s flowing, and put your hand in the water to tell how fast and warm it is. Great workings are like burning beacons on a clear dark night. Somewhere out in the darkness, we must assume, are things it would be in our best interest not to signal.

“That’s why we maintain only a handful of places like the Sky Chamber, and prefer not to spend our time building fifty-story towers out of glass. We suspect the Eldren paid for their lack of subtlety. They made themselves obvious to some power they didn’t necessarily need to cross paths with.”

“Did my … did the ritual you used to get rid of that poison—”

“Oh, hardly. It wasa significant piece of work. Any mage within twenty miles would have felt it, but what I’m talking about requires a great deal more time and trouble. And that, at last, is why we’ve made our contracts such a focus of our lives. Working toward the diverging goals of thousands upon thousands of others over the years dissipates the magical consequences of concentrating our power.

“Think of us as a few hundred tiny flames, crackling in the night. By sparking randomly, at different times, in different directions, we avoid the danger of flaring together into one vast and visible conflagration.”

“I congratulate you,” said Locke. “My mind has been thoroughly bent. But I think I sort of understand. Your little guild … if what you’re saying is true, you didn’t band together just to keep the peace or any bullshit like that. This Eldren thing really spooks you.”

“Yes,” she said. “The court magicians of the last few years of the Therin Throne were out of control. Circles of pure ambition, working to undermine one another. They wouldn’t heed reason. The founders of our order brought their concerns to Emperor Talathri and were laughed off. But we knew the truth of the matter. If human sorcery is to exist at all, it must be quiet and disciplined, or we risk firsthand knowledge of the fate of the Eldren.”

“Pardon my limited understanding of your powers,” said Jean, “but what you did to Therim Pel was anything but quiet.”

“Or disciplined,” said Patience. “Yes, it was precisely the sort of focused, grand-scale will-working we can’t afford. But on that one occasion, it was a necessary risk. The imperial seat, its infrastructure, its archives—all the heritable trappings of power hadto be obliterated. Without Therim Pel, any would-be restorer of the empire found the easy path to legitimacy swept away. We needed that security in our early years.”

“While you hunted down any magician that wouldn’t join you,” said Locke.

“Without mercy,” said Patience. “You’re right not to think of us as altruists. Certainly we can be hard. But perhaps you’ll grant now that our motivations are, if not philanthropic, at least … complicated.”

Locke merely grunted and spooned porridge into his mouth.

“Have I satisfied you on this matter?”

Locke nodded and swallowed. “I’m afraid that if you tell me any more I’ll never be able to sleep in a dark room again.”

“Shall we talk about our business in Karthain?” said Jean, sensing that he and Locke were both in the mood for a less disquieting subject.

“The five-year game,” said Patience. “Are the two of you ready for details?”

“My fighting spirit’s back in residence,” said Locke. “I’ve been stuck in bed for weeks. Turn me loose with a list of laws you want broken.”

“Are you sure you don’t want any tea, Jean?” said Patience.

“No,” said Jean. “Not for breaking fast. I wouldn’t say no to red wine, though. Good rugged paint-stripping stuff. Plonk with sand in it. That’s a good planning wine.”

“I’ll see to it.”

“So,” said Locke, “we work for your faction. I presume that’s you, Coldmarrow, Navigator, all you high-minded types who only slaughter people when they’ve been naughty little children. What about your fellow five-ringers? Where do they stand?”

“Providence and Temperance will be cheering for you. Foresight, as I’m sure will be no surprise, will be hoping for you to slip and break your neck.”

“Foresight and Falconer’s lot, that’s the other team? Just two sides, no splinter factions, no lurking surprises?” said Locke.

“We only have enough major disagreements to supply two factions, I’m afraid.”

The door slipped open, and Coldmarrow entered with a tray. He set down an open bottle of red wine, several glasses, and Patience’s mug from the previous night. He then handed Patience two scrolls and withdrew as soundlessly as he’d come.

Patience took her tea mug in hand. There was a sizzling noise, and a cloud of steam wafted from the cup. Jean poured two glasses of wine and set one in front of Locke. He took a swig from his own. It tasted like something out of a tanning vat.

“Ah,” he said, “demonic ass-wash. Just the thing.”

“I’m not sure we meant that for drinking,” said Patience. “Possibly for repelling boarders.”

“Smells adequate to the task,” said Locke, adding water to his glass.

“Now, these,” said Patience, pushing the scrolls toward Locke and Jean with her free hand, “would be you.”

Jean picked up his scroll, snapped the seal, and found that it was actually several tightly rolled documents. He scanned them and saw Lashani letters of transit.

“For … Tavrin Callas!” He scowled.

“An old and comfortable piece of clothing, I should think,” said Patience with a smirk.

Beneath the letters of transit, which were a reasonably common means for travelers to prove themselves something less than total vagabonds, there was a letter of credit at one Tivoli’s counting house, for the sum of three thousand Karthani ducats. If he wanted to lay claim to that money, of course, he’d have to accept his old alias one more time.

“Cheer up, Jean,” said Locke. “I’m Sebastian Lazari, it seems. Never heard of the fellow.”

“I apologize if the selection of your own false faces is part of the savor for you,” said Patience. “We needed to set up those accounts and put other things into motion before we fetched you out of Lashain.”

“This is swell,” said Locke. “Don’t think we can’t start working with this, now that my nerves are more settled, but I hope this isn’t the fullness of our suckle on the golden teat.”

“Those are merely your setting-up funds, to get you through your first few days. Tivoli will put you in control of your working treasury. One hundred thousand ducats, same as your opposition. A goodly sum for graft and other needs, but not so much that you can simply drench Karthain in money and win without being clever.”

“And, uh, if we set aside a little for afterward?” said Locke.

“We encourage you to spend these funds down to the last copper on the election itself,” said Patience, “since anything left over when the results are confirmed will disappear, as though by magic. Clear?”

“Frustratingly damn clear,” said Locke.

“How does this election work, at the most basic level?” said Jean.

“There are fourteen districts in the city, and five representing the rural manors. Nineteen seats on the ruling Konseil. Each political party stands one candidate per seat, and designates a line of seconds in case the primary candidate is embroiled in scandal or otherwise distracted. That tends to happen with curious frequency.”

“No shit,” said Locke. “What are these political parties?”

“Two major interests dominate Karthain. On one hand there’s the Deep Roots party, old aristocracy. They’ve all been legally debased out of their titles, but the money and connections are still there. On the other side you’ve got the Black Iris party—artisans, younger merchants. Old money versus new, let’s say.”

“Who are we taking care of?” said Jean.

“You’ve got the Deep Roots.”

“How? I mean, what are we to these people?”

“Lashani consultants, hired to direct the campaign behind the scenes. Your power will be more or less absolute.”

“Who’s told these people to listen to us?”

“They’ve been adjusted, Jean. They’ll defer enthusiastically to you, at least where the election is concerned. We’ve prepared them for your arrival.”

“Gods.”

“It’s nothing you don’t try to do with raw charm and fancy stories. We just work faster.”

“We’ve got six weeks, is that right?” said Locke.

“Yes.” Patience sipped at her tea. “The formal commencement of electoral hostilities is the night after tomorrow.”

“And this Deep Roots party,” said Locke, “you said they’ve won the last two elections?”

“Oh, no,” said Patience.

“You did,” said Jean. “You said we were being entrusted with a winning tradition!”

“Ah. Pardon. I meant that myfaction of magi has backed the winning party of ungifted twice in a row. It’s a matter of chance, you see, which party either side gets. The Deep Roots have been rather lackluster these past ten years, but during those years fortune gave us the Black Iris. Now, alas—”

“Gods’ immaculate piss,” muttered Locke.

“What are the limits on our behavior?” said Jean.

“As far as the ungifted are concerned, not many. You’ll be working with people eager to help you break every election law ever scribed, so long as you don’t do anything bloody or vulgar.”

“No violence?” said Locke.

“Brawls are a natural consequence of enthusiasm,” said Patience. “Everyone loves to hear about a good fistfight. But keep it at fists. No weapons, no corpses. You can knock a few Karthani about, and make whatever threats you like, but you cannotkill anyone. Nor can you kidnap any citizen of Karthain, or physically remove them from the city. Those rules are enforced by my people. I should think the reasons are obvious.”

“Right. You’re not paying us to assassinate the entire Black Iris bunch and ride off into the sunset.”

“Your own situation is more ambiguous,” said Patience. “You two, and your counterpart controlling the Black Iris, should expect anything, including kidnapping. Guard your own backs. Only outright murder is forbidden in your respect.”

“Well, that’s cheery,” said Locke. “About this counterpart, what do we get to know?”

“You know quite a bit already.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s uncomfortable news,” said Patience, “but we’ve learned that at least one person within the ranks of my faction is passing information to Archedama Foresight.”

“Well, that’s bloody careless of you!”

“We’re working on the situation. At any rate, Foresight and her associates learned of my intention to hire you several weeks ago. They acquired a direct countermeasure.”

“Meaning what?”

“You and Jean have a unique background in deception, disguise, and manipulation. You’re a rare breed. In fact, there’s only one other person left in the world with intimate knowledge of your methods and training—”

Locke shot to his feet as though his chair were a crossbow and the trigger had been pulled. His glass flew, spilling watered wine across the tabletop.

“No,” he said. “No. You’re fucking kidding. No.”

“Yes,” said Patience. “My rivals have hired your old friend Sabetha Belacoros to be their exemplar. She’s been in Karthain for several days now, making her preparations. It’s a fair bet that she’s laying surprises for the two of you as we speak.”