Текст книги "The Republic of Thieves"

Автор книги: Scott Lynch

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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 44 страниц)

“Oh,” said Sabetha.

“If I were to become an advocate for the very rival my future brother-by-bonding loathes so famously, well, surely you can see that the effect upon my marital relations could only be … chilling.”

“Can you recommend someone who wouldn’t be at cross-purposes?” said Locke.

“There are five other solicitors-at-law in Espara,” said Salvard, “and none of them will touch the case. You must understand, if I weren’t taking a bride I’d argue it for pleasure. I enjoyannoying magistrates, and I handle even the lowest and most difficult clients. No offense. My peers, however, prefer to win their cases, and this one cannot be won.”

“But those excuses you just came up with—”

“Could mitigatethe situation, perhaps. Surely you understand that those of elevated blood don’t keep laws on the books that would require them to take abuse from their inferiors. I wouldn’t cite law; I’d beg for mercy! I’d spin yarns about destitute friends and children. But since I’m not going to do those things, Moncraine’s trial will last about as long as this conversation.”

“Do we have any other options?” said Locke.

“Apply to Basanti’s troupe,” said Salvard gently. “At the Columbine’s Petal, up in Grayside. That’s where they drink. I could mention you to Amilyn. They’d find work for you, even if it’s just carrying spears. Don’t tie yourselves to Moncraine.”

“That’s kind of you,” said Sabetha, “but if we’d wanted to be part of the scenery we could have stayed at home. In Moncraine’s company we can have our pick of roles. In a settled troupe we’ll be at the end of a long line.”

Salvard again smoked his pipes in alternating fashion, then rubbed his eyes. “I suppose I can’t fault ambition, even if it’s bound to end in tears. But there’s no way Moncraine’s slipping the hook, children. Not unless one of two miracles occurs.”

“Miracles,” said Locke. “We’re in the market for those. What are they?”

“First, Countess Antonia could issue a pardon. She can do anything she pleases. But she won’t save him. Moncraine’s far from her good graces. Anyway, she’s more interested in the advice of her wine steward than her privy council these days.”

“What else?” said Locke.

“The noble that Moncraine attacked could grant a personal pardon by declining to make a complaint before a magistrate. The case would be dismissed. However, I’m sure you can imagine how keen bluebloods are to show weakness in front of their peers.”

“Yeah,” said Locke. “Hells. Can we even talkto Moncraine?”

“There I can offer some cheer,” said Salvard. “Anyone with a blood or trade connection to a prisoner can have one audience before a trial. Claim it whenever you like, just don’t try to give him anything. You’ll share his sentence if you’re caught.”

“An audience,” said Locke. “Good. Uh … where?”

“At the heart of Espara, atop the Legion Steps, look for the black stone tower with the moat and the hundred terribly serious guards. Can’t miss it, even in the rain.”

3

A THOUSAND dead soldiers loomed out of the mist beneath the gathering night as Locke and Sabetha climbed the heights of the Legion Steps.

The marble marchers, cracked and weathered from their vigil of six hundred years, wore the armor of Therin Throne legionnaires. Locke recognized the costume from paintings and manuscripts he’d seen in Camorr. He even recalled a bit of their story—that some emperor or another, dissatisfied with Espara’s lack of prominent Elderglass monuments, had commissioned a work of human art to grace the center of the city.

Each statue was said to be a likeness of an actual soldier from a then-living legion, and it was part of their melancholy fascination that they were not posed in martial triumph, but with heads down and shields slung, as they might have been seen trudging along the roads that had once knit the fallen empire together. Now they marched in place, rank on rank forever, in columns evenly spread across the two-hundred-yard arc of the stairs.

“We’ve got to find his accuser and arrange to have him forgiven,” said Locke.

“It’s the only chance we seem to have left,” said Sabetha.

“Gods, I wish we had more money,” said Locke. “Going visiting in society on scraps of a pittance won’t be easy.”

“Tempted to go back on your plan to avoid thieving?”

“Yes,” said Locke. “I won’t do it, though.”

“Just so long as you’re tempted,” she said, smiling.

“Honesty doesn’t suit any of us,” said Locke.

“I know. Isn’t it strange? I keep asking myself how people can stand to livelike this.”

What Salvard had called a “moat” around the tower of dark stone was actually more of a gaping jagged-sided pit, at least thirty feet deep, into which drainage channels were directing streams of gray water. The only way across was a covered, elevated bridge with a well-lit guardhouse for a mouth. As Locke and Sabetha approached, a quartet of guards fanned out across the entrance.

Locke picked up immediately on the importance of what these guards weren’t carrying. They had no batons, no polearms. Those were weapons that could be used gently if the wielder wished. These guards carried only swords, which had a more straightforward employment.

“Stand fast,” said a weathered woman, just shy of middle age, her neck and face thick with scars. All the guards had the look of hard service. The Weeping Tower was no joke, Locke realized. Trying to bribe or suborn one of these old hounds would be suicide. “Name your business.”

“Good evening,” said Sabetha, instantly adopting a poise that was assertive but not imperious. Locke had seen her use it before. “We’re here to speak with Jasmer Moncraine.”

“Moncraine’s not going to be entertaining for a long time,” said the guard. “What does a Camorri have to say to him?”

“We’re members of the Moncraine Company, and we need to make business arrangements now that he’s indisposed. Our solicitor advised us that we’re entitled to one audience before his trial.”

Gods, as far as Locke was concerned, watching Sabetha handle people was as good as watching any other girl in the world take off her clothes. The way she chose her words—“ entitled,” not something meeker like “ allowed.” And the specific mention of oneaudience—a signal to the guard that the rules had been researched, would be obeyed. Sabetha had asserted all their wants while giving the firmest support to the notion that she and Locke were completely enfolded in the power of the law and these guards that served it.

It turned out the woman was quite pleased to let them in. Not, of course, without an embarrassing full-body search, or their marks on parchment, or an inventory of their purses, or a forty-minute wait. But that was all for the best, Locke thought. Only prisoners were ever granted easy passage into a prison.

4

FOR THE second time that day Locke and Sabetha found themselves in a chamber cut in half by a physical barrier, but now it was bars of black iron. The audience room of the Weeping Tower had smooth stone walls and a rough stone floor, with no windows, no decorations, no furniture. The guards locked the door behind them and remained at attention in front of it.

They were made to wait another few minutes before the door on the opposite side of the room slid open. Two more guards brought in a man, manacled at hands and feet, and clipped a chain to a bolt in the floor. They attached this to the prisoner’s leg irons, giving him a range of movement that ended about two feet from the iron bars. The prisoner’s guards withdrew to a position mirroring that of the ones on Locke and Sabetha’s side of the room.

The man in chains was tall, with skin like polished boot leather and hair scraped down to a gray shadow. He was heavyset but not ponderous. The weight of his years and appetites seemed to have spread evenly, settled in all his joints and crevices, and there was still a hint of dangerous vitality to him. His eyes were wide and bright against the darkness of his face, and he fixed them hard on Locke and Sabetha as though blinking were somehow beneath his interest.

“An opportunity to walk down two flights of stairs and be chained up again,” he said. “Hooray. Who the hell are you?”

“Your new actors,” said Locke. “Your very surprisednew actors.”

“Ahhhhhhh.” Moncraine’s seamed jowls moved as though he’d tasted something unpleasant. “Weren’t there supposed to be five of you?”

“Weren’t you supposed to be at liberty?” said Sabetha. “The other three are trying to hold your troupe together at Gloriano’s.”

“Too bad you didn’t come sooner,” said Moncraine. “I’m afraid there’s nothing to look forward to but packing for your return. Tell your master I appreciate the gesture.”

“That’s not good enough,” said Locke. “We were sent here to go on stage. We were sent here to learn from you!”

“You want a lesson, boy? If you find yourself being born, climb back in as quick as you can, because life’s a bottomless feast of shit.”

“We can get you out of here,” said Sabetha.

“If you cooperate,” said Locke.

“Oh, you can spring me, can you?” Moncraine knelt and ran one manacled hand across the floor. “You have an army of about a thousand men hidden outside the city? Let me know when they’re storming the tower, so I can be sure to have my breeches on.”

“You know our master,” said Locke, lowering his voice. “You can surely guess the nature of his students.”

“I knewyour master,” said Moncraine. “Years ago. And I thought he was sending me actors. Is that what you are? Is that where the gods have reached down and touched your little Camorri souls, eh? Given you the gift of silver tongues?”

“We can act,” said Sabetha.

“Can you? But are you lions?There’s no room for any but lionsin my company!” He turned his head to the guards at his door. “Lions, aren’t we boys?

“Only if you don’t lower your fucking voice,” said one of them.

“You see? Lions! Can you roar, children?”

“On stage and off,” said Sabetha coolly.

“Hmmm. That’s fascinating, because from where I’m sitting, you look about what, sixteen? Seventeen? You’ve certainly never been wet for anything but dreams in the night, have you? Well, you might pass onstage, love … let your hair down and fly your tits like flags—you could certainly keep the groundlings awake. But you,” he said, turning to Locke. “Who are you fooling? Small-boned sparrow of a lad. Got fig seeds in your sack where men should have the full fruit, eh? Do you even shave? What the hell do you mean by coming in here and trying to shove good cheer up my ass?”

“We’re your only chance to go free,” said Locke, fuming, considering saying a number of less productive things.

“Go free? Why? I like it here. I’m fed, and my creditors can’t reach me for at least the next year. The state of Espara will stop at one hand. Hells, that’s a bargain compared to what I might get when my markers are called in on the street.”

“What’s the name of the noble you struck?” said Sabetha.

“Why do you care?” said Moncraine. “How can it possibly be of aid to you as you SCURRY BACK WHERE YOU FUCKING CAME FROM?”

“Keep your voice down,” said one of the guards. “Or you’ll have to be carried into court tomorrow.”

“You know, that might be pleasant,” said Moncraine. “Can we give that a try?”

“Jasmer,” said Sabetha sharply. “Look at me, you stupid ass.”

Jasmer did indeed look at her.

“I don’t care what you think of us,” she whispered. “You know what kind of person our master is. What kind of organization we come from. And if you don’t stop braying like a jackass, this is what’s going to happen. We’ll leave.”

“I love this plan,” said Moncraine. “Take this plan all the way!”

“You’ll spend your year and a day inside this tower. Then they’ll cut your gods-damned hand off and throw you out the door. And do you know who’ll be standing there? More Camorri than you’ve ever seen in your fucking life. Not just us, or the other three currently toiling on your behalfon the other side of this pimple of a city. I mean big, unreasonable, cross-eyed motherfuckers straight out of the wombs of hell, and they’ll take you for a ride. Locked in a box, ten days, all the way to Camorr sloshing in your own piss.”

“Now wait a minute,” said Moncraine.

“You don’t have any other fucking creditors, get it? We’re the front of the line now. We’re all you need to worry about. You made a deal with our garrista. You know what that word means?”

“Of course—”

“Obviously you don’t! Our master sent you five of us, free and clear, ready to get your troupe back on its feet. All you had to do was teach us about your trade. You’d rather break the deal and insult a garrista. So, you have a comfortable year, you stupid clown. As soon as it’s over you’ll see us again. Come on, Lucaza.”

She turned sharply, and Locke, supporting her act wholeheartedly, favored Moncraine with a sour smirk before he did the same.

“Wait,” Jasmer hissed.

“What’s the name of the noble you struck?” Sabetha didn’t give him any more time to think or plead or stew; she whirled on him just as quickly as she’d pretended to leave.

“Boulidazi,” said Moncraine. “Baron Boulidazi of Palazzo Corsala.”

“Why did you do it?”

“I was drinking,” said Moncraine. “He wanted … he came down to Gloriano’s. He wanted to buy out my debts, install himself as the company’s patron.”

“For this you punched him in the teeth?” said Locke. “What are you going to do if we get you out of here, try to cut our hearts out?”

“Boulidazi’s an ass! A stuck-up little ass! He’s barely older than you, and he thinks he can buy and sell me like gods-damned furniture. A theatrical company with his name on everything, wouldn’t that be sweet! It took me twenty years to build my own troupe. I won’t be anyone’s hired man again. I’ll take the Weeping Tower to that, any day, any year.”

“How was assaultinghim preferable to letting him save your troupe?” said Sabetha. She sounded as incredulous as Locke felt.

“He doesn’t careabout the troupe,” said Moncraine. “He wants it mounted on his wall like a fucking hunting trophy! He wants some charity project he can dangle at whatever gilded cunt he’s chasing to show what a sensitive and artistic fellow he is. I refuse to sell my good name to help rich puppies dip their wicks!”

“What good name?” said Locke. “Even the members of your own company want to see you get eaten by a bear.”

“And I’d be glad to supply one,” said Sabetha. “Unfortunately for everyone, we’re still going to rescue you. So I want you to sit quietly in your cell and bite your tongue.”

“Tomorrow,” said Locke, “this Baron Boulidazi will forgive your insult and decline to make charges.”

“ What?” said Moncraine. “Boy, listen to me. Even if Boulidazi had a thousand cocks in his breeches and you blew every last one like a flute from sunrise to sunset—”

“He’ll forgive your insult,” said Sabetha through gritted teeth, “because that is the only possible salvationwe can arrange for you. Understand? We have no other cards to play. So this is how it’ll be. Once you’re out, we’ll discuss what you need to get your Republic of Thievesback into production.”

“The trouble with this fantasy, girl, is that it requires both of us to not be mad,” said Moncraine softly.

“All it requires is that you shut up and behave,” said Sabetha. “And my name isn’t girl. Most times you can call me Verena Gallante. But when I’m onstage, you’ll call me Amadine.”

“Will I?” Moncraine laughed. “That’s a presumption a few steps ahead of my grasp. You show me your mythical thread of kindness in Boulidazi. Then we’ll chat on the matter of plays.”

“Go back to your cell,” said Sabetha. “I guarantee we’ll speak again tomorrow.”

5

“EVEN IF we get him out,” said Locke, “we’ll need to put that man on a leash.”

“He’s a menace to himself and the rest of us,” said Sabetha. “When we spring him, we should crowd him. Make it clear that he’s being watched and judged at all times.”

“By the way, who’s Amadine?”

“The best role in The Republic of Thieves,” said Sabetha, grinning.

“I haven’t read any of it yet.”

“You should, before all the good parts get snapped up.”

“Someone kept it to herself all the way here!”

“Moncraine’s got to have more copies of it somewhere in his troupe’s mess. Jenora might know. But first, we’ve got our miracle to deliver on.”

“Miracle indeed,” said Locke. They were moving back down the Legion Steps, through the still ranks of the marble soldiers. The drizzle had let up, but there were soft rumbles of thunder from above. “We need to reach this Boulidazi, more or less as we are, and convince him to forgive one of the craziest assholes I’ve ever met for a completely unjustified drunken assault.”

“Any ideas?”

“Uh … maybe.”

“Spit them out. I managed to shut Jasmer up long enough to make our point; I’ve earned my day’s pay.”

“And you were a pleasure to watch, too,” said Locke. “But then, you’re always—”

“ Youdo not have the time to be charming,” said Sabetha, giving him a mild punch to the shoulder. “And I certainly don’t have time to be charmed.”

“Right. Sure,” said Locke. “We need an angle of approach. Why should he open his door for us? Hey, what if we were Camorri nobles going incognito?”

“Hiding in Espara,” she said, clearly liking the notion. “Trouble at home?”

“Hmmm. No. No, if we’re not in favor at home we can’t offer him anything. We might actually be a risk to him.”

“You’re right. Okay. You and I … are cousins,” said Sabetha. “First cousins.”

“Cousins,” said Locke. “So many gods-damned imaginary cousins. You and I are cousins .… If we have to show Jean and the Sanzas, they’re family retainers. We are, uh, grandchildren of … an old count that doesn’t get out much.”

“Blackspear,” said Sabetha. “Enrico Botallio, Count Blackspear. I was a scullery maid in his house a few years ago, that summer you spent on the farm.”

“A Five Towers family,” said Locke. “Would we live in the tower ourselves?”

“Yeah, most of his family does. And he hasn’t been out of the city in twenty years; he’s as old as Duke Nicovante. I’ll be the daughter of his oldest son … and you’re the son of his youngest. He has no other children. Oh, your father’s dead, by the way. Fell off a horse two years ago.”

“Good to know. If we need any real details of the household, I’ll pass the game to you whenever I can.” Locke snapped his fingers. “We’re in Espara because you want to indulge your wish to be onstage—”

“—which could never be allowed under my real name in Camorr!”

Sabetha had never finished one of his thoughts before, in the way that Jean did all the time. Locke felt a flush of warmth.

“That’s great,” she went on, heedless. “So we’re incognito, but with our family’s permission.”

“Thus whoever helps us makes himself a powerful and wealthy friend in Camorr.” Locke couldn’t help smiling at the improbable thought that they might have found a way out after all. “Sabetha, this is great. It’s also the thinnest line of bullshit we’ve ever hung ourselves on.”

“And we haven’t even been here a full day yet.”

“We need given names.”

“There we can be lazy. I’m Verena Botallio, you’re Lucaza Botallio.”

“Hells, yes.” Locke glanced around, affirming that they were still within the limited corridor of Espara he’d managed to half familiarize himself with. “We should head back to Gloriano’s and see how they did with the horses. Then we can go visit this Boulidazi and beg him not to think too hard about where we’ve come from.”

6

“ALONDO’S COUSIN was as good as promised,” said Jean. He waved at a young man, a bearded and heavier version of Alondo, who was sitting against the wall at the back of Gloriano’s common room, accompanied by Alondo, Sylvanus, the Sanzas, and several half-empty bottles. Nobody else new or unknown was in the room. “He got us just over a royal apiece for the horses. All it cost us was a couple bottles of wine. And, ah, I promised we’d give him a part in the play.”

“What?”

“No lines. He just wants to dress up and get stabbed, he says.”

“Just as long as he doesn’t expect to get paid,” said Sabetha.

“Not in anything except hangovers,” said Jean. “I do notice you haven’t dragged a large Syresti impresario back with you.”

“That game’s afoot,” said Locke. “Come spill your purse. Asino brothers! On your feet a moment, we’d have a word concerning finance.”

“Oh let them stay,” said Sylvanus. “This is the fun side of the room, and our young hostler was about to take hoof for more wine.”

“You’re not finished with the three bottles you have,” said Locke.

“They’re writing farewell notes to their families,” said Sylvanus. “Their holes are already dug in the ground. Oh, I suppose I really must get up before I piss, mustn’t I?” He rolled sideways in the vague direction of the door that led back to the soaked inn-yard. “Give us a hand, hostler, give us a hand. I shall go on all fours to make use of your expertise.”

“Marvelous,” said Locke, pulling Calo and Galdo to their feet. “Lovely. Are you two following Sylvanus down the vomit-strewn path?”

“We may be sociably fuzzed,” said Calo.

“A little blurry at the edges,” said Galdo.

“That’s probably for the best. I need you to come over here and dump out your purses.”

“You need us to what now?”

“We need a flash bag,” said Sabetha.

“What the hell’s a flash bag?” said Jenora, wandering by at a moment precisely calculated to overhear what the huddled Gentlemen Bastards were up to.

“Since you ask,” said Jean, “it’s a purse of coins you throw together to make it look like you’re used to carrying around big fat sums.”

“Oh,” she said. “That must be a nice thing to have.”

Using a spare table, the five Camorri dumped out their personal funds, to which Jean added the take from the horses and Locke mixed in the remnants of the purse Chains had given them. Camorri barons, tyrins, and solons clattered against Esparan fifths and coppins.

“Get all the coppers out of the pile,” said Locke. “They’re as useless as an Asino brother.”

“Suck vinegar from my ass-crack,” said Calo.

Five pairs of hands sifted through the coins, pulling coppers aside, leaving a diminished but gleaming mass in the center.

“Copper gets split five ways so everyone’s got something,” said Locke. “Gold and silver goes in the purse.”

“Do you want Auntie to change any of that Camorri stuff for you?” said Jenora, peering over Jean’s right shoulder.

“No,” said Locke. “For the moment, it’s actually a point in our favor. What’s the flash count?”

“Five crowns, two tyrins,” said Sabetha. “And two royals, one fifth.”

“That’s more money than any of Auntie’s customers have seen in a longtime,” said Jenora.

“It’s shy of what I want,” said Locke. “But it might be convincing. No journeyman actor carries around a year and a half’s pay.”

“Unless they’re not getting paid a damn thing,” said Jenora.

“We’ll deal with that tomorrow,” said Locke as he cinched the flash bag tightly closed. “Hopefully with Moncraine listening very attentively.”

“Where are you going now?” said Jean.

“To see Moncraine’s punching bag,” said Sabetha. “And if that Syresti son of a bitch can teach us better acting than what we’ll need to pull thisoff, he’ll actually deserve this rescue.”

“Want an escort?” said Jean.

“Based on what you’ve seen tonight,” muttered Locke, “who needs it more, Sabetha and me or the twins?”

“Good point.” Jean polished his optics against the collar of his tunic and readjusted them on his nose. “I’ll keep them out of trouble, and see if I can trick Sylvanus into sleeping indoors.”

“Where’s Palazzo Corsala?” said Sabetha to Jenora.

“That’s on the north side, the swell district. Can’t miss it. Clean streets, beautiful houses, people like Sylvanus and Jasmer beaten on sight.”

“We’ll spring for a hired coach,” said Locke. “We won’t look respectable enough without one.”

“Shall we go call on Baron Boulidazi, then?” said Sabetha.

“Yes,” said Locke. “ No.Wait. We’ve forgotten one terribly important thing. Let’s run back up to Stay-Awake Salvard and hope he’s still feeling sympathetic.”

7

“TRADESFOLK ENTRANCE is around back,” growled the tree trunk of a man who opened Boulidazi’s front door. “Tradesfolk hours are—”

“What kind of tradesman hires a coach-and-four to make his rounds?” said Locke, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. Their hired carriage was waiting beyond the rows of alchemically miniaturized olive trees that screened Boulidazi’s manor from the street. The driver hadn’t liked their clothes, but their silver had vouched for them quite adequately.

“Pray give your master this,” said Sabetha, holding out a small white card. This had been scrounged from the office of Stay-Awake Salvard, who had bemusedly agreed to charge them a few coppins for it and some ink.

The servant glanced at the card, glared at them, then glanced at the card again. “Wait here,” he said, and closed the door.

Several minutes went by. The slow drip of water from the canvas awning above their head became a soft, steady drumbeat as the rain picked up again. At last, the door creaked open and a rectangle of golden light from inside the house fell over them.

“Come,” said the bulky servant. Two more men waited behind him, and for an instant Locke feared an ambush. However, these servants wielded nothing more threatening than towels, which they used to wipe Locke and Sabetha’s shoes dry.

Baron Boulidazi’s house was unexceptional, among those of its type that Locke had seen. It was comfortable enough, furnished to show off disposable wealth, but there was no grand and special something, no “hall-piece” as they were often called, to evoke wonder from freshly arrived guests.

The servant took them out of the foyer, through a sitting hall, and into a warmly lit room with felt-padded walls. A blandly handsome man of about twenty, with neck-length black hair and close-set dark eyes, was leaning against a billiards table with a stick in his hands. The white card was on the table.

“The Honorable Verena Botallio and companion,” said the servant without enthusiasm. He left the room immediately.

“Of the Isla Zantara?” said Boulidazi, more warmly. “I’ve just read your card. Isn’t that part of the Alcegrante?”

“It is, Lord Boulidazi,” said Sabetha, giving the slight nod and half-curtsey that was usual in Camorr for an informal noble reception. “Have you ever been there?”

“To Camorr? No, no. I’ve always wanted to visit, but I’ve never had the privilege.”

“Lord Boulidazi,” said Sabetha, “may I present my cousin, the Honorable Lucaza Botallio?”

“Your cousin, eh?” said Boulidazi, nodding as Locke bowed his head. The Esparan lord offered his hand. As they shook, Locke noted that Boulidazi was solidly built, much the same size as Alondo’s hostler cousin, and he didn’t hold back the strength in his grip.

“Thank you for receiving us,” said Locke. “We would have both sent our cards, but only Verena is carrying one, I’m afraid.”

“Oh? You weren’t robbed or anything, I suppose? Is that why you’ve come dressed as you are? Forgive my mentioning it.”

“No, we haven’t been mistreated,” said Sabetha. “And there’s nothing to forgive; we’re not traveling in our usual capacity. We’re incognito, with just a bodyguard and a pair of servants, though we’ve left them behind for the moment.”

“Incognito,” said Boulidazi. “Are you in some sort of danger?”

“Not in the slightest,” said Sabetha with a laugh. She then turned and feigned surprise (Locke was confident that only long familiarity allowed him to spot the fact that it was a willful change) at the sight of a saber resting in its scabbard on a witchwood display shelf. “Is that what I think it is?”

“What, exactly, do you think it is?” said Boulidazi, and it seemed to Locke that he was a touch more curt than before.

“Surely it’s a DiVorus? The seal on the hilt—”

“It is,” said Boulidazi, instantly losing his tone of impatience. “One of his later blades, but still—”

“I trained with a DiVorus,” said Sabetha, poising one hand above the hilt of the saber. “The Voillantebonarapier. Don’t get me wrong; it wasn’t mine. My instructor’s. I still remember the balance, and the patterns in the steel … your hilt looks honorably stained. I assume you practice with it?”

“Often,” said Boulidazi. “This one’s called Drakovelus. It’s been in my family for three generations. It suits my style—not the fastest on the floor, but when I do move I can put a bit of strength behind it.”

“The saber rewards a sturdy handler,” said Sabetha.

“We’re neglecting your cousin,” said Boulidazi. “Forgive me, Lucaza, please don’t allow my enthusiasms to shove you aside from the conversation.”

“Not at all, Lord Boulidazi. I’ve had my years with the fencing masters, of course, but Verena’s the connoisseur in the family.”

Boulidazi’s heavy servant returned and whispered into the baron’s ear. Locke silently counted to ten before the servant finished. The big man withdrew again, and the baron stared at Locke.

“You know, I just now recall,” he said. “Botallio … isn’t that one of the Five Towers clans?”

“Of course,” said Sabetha.

“And yet you give your address as the Isla Zantara,” said Boulidazi.

“I’m fond of Grandfather,” said Sabetha. “But surely you can understand how someone my age might prefer a little manor of her own.”

“And your grandfather … ,” said Boulidazi expectantly.

“Don Enrico Botallio.”

“Better known as Count Blackspear?” said Boulidazi, still cautiously.

“Verena’s father is Blackspear’s eldest son,” said Locke. “I’m the son of his youngest.”

“Oh? I believe I might have heard something of your father, Lucaza,” said the baron. “I do hope that he’s well?”

Locke felt a surge of relief that they’d pretended to be from a family Sabetha had knowledge of. Boulidazi obviously had access to some sort of directory of Camorri peers. Locke allowed himself to look crestfallen for just an instant, and then put on an obviously forced smile.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I must inform you that my father died several years ago.”

“Oh,” said Boulidazi, visibly relaxing. “Forgive me. I must have been thinking of someone else. But why didn’t the pair of you simply give the name of the count when you—”

“Noble cousin,” said Sabetha, shifting instantly into her excellent Throne Therin, “the name of Blackspear commands instant attention in Camorr, but surely you wouldn’t think us so vulgar as to try and awe you with it in Espara, as the freshest of acquaintances, as guests in your house?”