Текст книги "The Republic of Thieves"

Автор книги: Scott Lynch

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Текущая страница: 28 (всего у книги 44 страниц)

“Why should it?” Locke reached out, and his heart threatened to start breaking ribs when she slipped his hand into hers. “Why aren’t you entitled to your feelings? Why can’t you like whoever you want to like? Why can’t you love—”

“I wish I knew.” Suddenly they were on their knees facing one another, hands clasped, and Sabetha’s face was a map of mingled sorrow and relief. “I wish I was like you.”

“No you don’t,” he said. “You’re beautiful. And you’re better at just about everything than I am.”

“I know that, stupid,” she said with a widening smile. “But what youknow is how to tell the whole world to fuck off. Youwould piss in Aza Guilla’s eye even if it got you a million years in hell, and after a million years you’d do it again. That’s why Calo and Galdo and Jean love you. That’s why … that’s why I … well, that’s what I wish I knew how to do.”

“Sabetha,” said Locke. “ Not everything that’s inevitable is regrettable.It’s inevitable that we breathe air, you know? I like shark meat better than squid. You like citrus wine better than red. Isn’t thatinevitable? Why the hell does it matter? We like what we like, we want what we want, and nobody needs to give us permission to feel that way!”

“See how easy it is for you to say that?”

“Sabetha, let me tell you something. You called it silly, but I doremember the first glimpses I ever had of you, when we both lived in Shades’ Hill. I remember how you lost your hat, and I remember how your red was coming out at the roots. It struck me witless, understand? I didn’t even know why, but I was delighted.”

“What?”

“I have been fixated on you for as long as I’ve had memories. I’ve never chased another girl, I’ve never even gone with the Sanzas … you know, to see the Guilded Lilies. I dream about you, and only you, and I’ve always dreamt about you as you really are … you know, red. Not the disguise—”

“What?”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“You’ve seen the real color of my hair once.” She pulled her hands out of his. “Once, when you were the next thing to a gods-damned baby, and you can’t get over it, and that’s supposed to flatter me?”

“Hold on, please—”

“ ‘As I really am?’ I’ve kept my hair dyed brown for ten years! THAT’S how I really am! Gods, I am so stupid .… You’re not fixated on me … you want to fuck a red-haired girl, just like every leering pervert this side of Jerem!”

“Absolutely not! I mean—”

“You know why I’ve been dodging slavers all my life? You know whyChains trusted me with a poisoned dagger when Calo and Galdo were barely allowed to carry orphan’s twists? You ever hear the things they say about Therin redheads that haven’t had their petals plucked?”

“Wait, wait, wait, honest, I didn’t—”

“I am so, so stupid!” She shoved him backward, and he crushed his empty wine cup, painfully, by sitting on it.

“I should have known. I just should have known. You admire me? You respect me? Like hell. I can’t believe I was going to … I just– Get out. Get the hell out of here.”

“Wait, please.” Locke tried to wipe away the haze suddenly stinging his eyes. “I didn’t mean—”

“Your meaning was quite plain. Go away!”

She threw her own empty cup at him, missing, but speeding his stumbling escape into the little passage down to the second floor. As he tried to roll awkwardly back to his feet, a pair of strong hands grabbed him from behind and hauled him up.

“Jean,” he muttered. “Thanks, but I—”

The same hands grabbed him, spun him around, and pressed him hard against the passage wall. Locke found himself eye to eye with the new patron of the Moncraine-Boulidazi company.

“Lord Boulidazi,” Locke sputtered. “Gennaro!”

The well-built Esparan held Locke in place with one iron forearm, and reached beneath his plain, dusty clothing with the other hand. He pulled out ten inches of steel, gleaming in the light from the open balcony door, the sort of knife crafted for arguments rather than display cases. In an instant the tip was against Locke’s left cheek.

“ Cousin,” spat Boulidazi. “I thought I’d dress down and come see how my investment was faring. The idiots in the taproom said you might be up here. That’s a fascinatingconversation you’ve been having, Cousin, but it leaves me feeling like there’s a few things you haven’t exactly been telling me.”

The knife-tip pressed deeper into Locke’s skin, and he groaned.

“Like everything,” said Boulidazi. “Why don’t we start with everything?”

III

FATAL HONESTY

“I never knew any more beautiful than you:

I have hunted you under my thoughts,

I have broken down under the wind

And into the roses looking for you.

I shall never find any

greater than you.”

—Carl Sandburg

from “The Great Hunt”

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE FIVE-YEAR GAME: INFINITE VARIATION

1

“SOMEONE’S GONNA RECOGNIZE us,” said Locke.

“We look like hell,” said Jean, practicing understatement at the master level. “Just two more travelers covered in dust and shit.”

“Volantyne must have returned by now. Sabetha’s got to have people watching the gates.” Locke tapped the side of his head. “You and I would.”

“That’s a generous appraisal of our foresight.”

It had been a hard four days back to Karthain. They’d looted the wagon and shoved it into a ravine on the second day, needing every scrap of speed they could coax out of their unyoked team. Lashain’s constables were no threat, but the previous occupant of the wagon could always hire mercenaries. There was no law on the long, ancient road between city-states; a column of dust rising rapidly in the sky behind them would probably have meant someone was going to die.

Now the city, finally in sight, had taunted them for half a day with the prospect of relative safety. They’d come up the coast road from the east, through hills and terraced farming villages, their bodies thoroughly punished by the seedy emergency saddles they’d filched from the wagon.

“Maybe you’re right, though,” said Jean. “If we’ve got no chance of hiding ourselves, we’ve got to rely on speed. We get one move, maybe, before she can respond.”

“Let’s go straight for her,” said Locke. His scowl shook little puffs of dust out of the creases of his road-grimed face.

“To do what?”

“Finish a conversation.”

“You in a hurry to get back to sea? I can handle a couple of her people at a time. She’s got more than a couple.”

“Taken care of,” said Locke. “I know a fellow who’ll be eager to help us past the guards.”

“You do?”

“Didn’t you notice that Vordratha favors tight breeches?”

“What the hell’s that got to do with anything?”

“Every little detail matters,” said Locke. “Just wait. It’ll be a fun surprise.”

“Well, shit,” said Jean. “It’s not like I’ve done anything especially smart in months. Why start now?”

2

THEY SLIPPED into traffic and the usual milling semi-confusion of customs inspectors, guards, teamsters, travelers, and horse manure. The Court of Dust, despite the general cleanliness of Karthain, could have been peeled up beneath its paving stones and set down in place of its counterpart in nearly any Therin city without arousing much notice.

Locke scanned the crowds as he and Jean were poked and prodded by bored constables. Sabetha’s spotters would most likely be working in teams, one person on watch while the other was always plausibly absorbed in some trivial business. After counting five possible pairs of watchers, Locke shook his head. What was the point?

Locke felt something else unusual going on, though. A buzz of activity around the Court, beyond mundane business. He’d spent too many hours picking pockets in crowds like this not to sense that something was awry.

Jean was alert, too. “What’s the excitement?” he asked of a passing constable.

“It’s the Marrows. You ain’t heard?” The woman gestured toward a crowd forming around a battered statue of a Therin Throne noblewoman. “Crier’s just about to start up again.”

Locke saw that a young woman, a finger’s width over four feet tall, had climbed the statue pedestal. She wore the blue coat of Karthain, and standing below her was a man in the regalia worn by herald Vidalos, tipstaff and all.

“KIND ATTENTION, citizens and friends of Karthain,” bellowed the woman. Locke was impressed; there had to be more leather lining her lungs than his saddle. “Hear this report of the FACTS as provided and authorized by the KONSEIL! Mendacity will NOT be tolerated! Rumormongers will be subject to INCARCERATION on the PENANCE BARGES!

“Vencezla Valgasha, king of the Seven Marrows, is DEAD! He is KNOWN to have died in the city of Vintila, SIX DAYS AGO. He died WITHOUT ISSUE and without lawful heir! A war of secession is now underway!

“The Canton of EMBERLAIN, easternmost of the Seven Marrows, has EXILED its ruling graf and declared itself to be a SOVEREIGN REPUBLIC! The Konseil of Karthain DECLINES to formally recognize Emberlain at this time, and strongly advises citizens of Karthain to AVOID all travel in the north until the situation stabilizes!”

“Holy hells,” said Locke. “Sabetha was right! The Marrows finally busted up. Gods, what a mess that’s going to be.”

“We won’t be able to pull the Austershalin brandy scam again,” said Jean. “Not for a good long while.”

“There’ll be other opportunities,” said Locke wistfully. “If it’s war, desperate people are going to be moving a lot of valuable things. But come on, we’ve got to move ourselves.”

They spurred their tired mounts down a broad avenue to the west, over a shaking and sighing glass bridge, through the Court of the Divines with its incense haze, and onto the Evening Terrace. It seemed surreal to be back on clean streets, among lush gardens and bubbling fountains, as though Karthain were more of a recurring dream than a real place.

Outside the Sign of the Black Iris, they aroused immediate interest. At least two watchers, unmistakably real, flashed hand signs to dark shapes on roofs. A fleet-footed child darted into the alley beside Sabetha’s headquarters. Locke led their bedraggled horses to a curbside spot more commonly used for carriages, and when he hopped down a cloud of road dust floated off his boots. He wobbled and nearly pitched over before seizing control of himself. His legs felt like prickly jelly. His horse, less than endeared to him, flicked its ears and snapped its teeth.

“These animals are the personal property of Verena Gallante,” Locke said to the anxious-looking footman. “She wants them well looked after.”

“But sir, if you please—”

“I don’t. Get them stabled.” Locke shoved past the man and reached for the door to the foyer, but Jean pushed his hand aside and went first.

Inside were the two alley-hounds Locke had seen last time.

“Oh, hell,” said the closest one. Jean was already inside his guard. A variety of fast, noisy, and painful things happened, none of them to Locke or Jean. As one guard hit the floor, Jean pitched his comrade facefirst through the lobby doors like a battering ram. Then the Gentlemen Bastards followed.

Here was Vordratha, impeccably dressed and with a fresh black iris pinned to his jacket, backed by four guards with truncheons in hand. Better-dressed people scattered for the doors and staircases behind them.

“Gentlemen,” said the majordomo, peering at the guard who’d just landed at his feet, “this is a members-only establishment with firm rules against rendering the help unconscious.”

“Your game now, Lazari,” said Jean.

“Thanks.” Locke put his hands up to show they were empty. “Please take us to Mistress Gallante immediately.”

“Now how can I do that, gentlemen, when you’ll be headed out the alley door presently with bruises on your skulls?”

“We’d really like to see her.” Before the guards could crowd in, Locke moved up to Vordratha, reached down to the man’s breeches, grabbed his balls through the silk, and gave them a considerable twist. “ Orwe’d like to see your physiker’s face when he gets a look at the bruises from this.”

Vordratha moaned, and his face turned shades of a color rarely seen outside of vineyards at harvest time. The guards edged forward, but Locke held up his free hand.

“Call your friends off,” said Locke. “I’m not a strong man, but I don’t have to be, do I? I’ll twist this thing so tight you’ll piss corkscrews for the next twenty years!”

“Do as he says, gods damn you,” gasped Vordratha.

“Simply take us to Verena,” said Locke, watching as the guards slowly backed away, “and I’ll return your valuable property to you without lasting damage.”

It was an awkward shuffle, with Vordratha stumbling backward and Locke maintaining his tight, twisted grip on the majordomo’s hopes of procreation, but it did the job of keeping the guards at bay.

“Well, how now, asshole?” said Locke. “No little quips for us? I’ve never steered a fellow along by his loot sack before. Sort of like steering a boat by the tiller.”

“Camorri dog … your mother … sucked—”

“If you finish that thought,” said Locke, “I’ll wind your precious bits tighter than a bowstring.”

Vordratha led Locke and Jean up a flight of stairs to the private dining hall where they’d met Sabetha before. The guards maintained a respectful distance, but followed en masse. Vordratha bumped the door to the hall open with his backside, and Locke saw that Sabetha was already waiting for them.

She was dressed sensibly for anything from signing papers to diving out windows, in black breeches, a short brown jacket, and riding boots. Her hair was wound around lacquered pins; doubtless they contained tricks or weapons or both. Behind her were three more guards, armed with coshes and bucklers.

“Hello again, Verena,” said Locke. “We were in the neighborhood and thought we’d investigate persistent rumors that Master Vordratha has no balls.”

“Isn’t this a bit crude, even by your relaxed standards?” said Sabetha.

“I suppose having your boot-print embedded in my ass makes me cranky,” said Locke. “Tell your friends to go away.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely! Shall I tie myself up for you as well?”

“We just want to talk.”

“Release Vordratha and we’ll talk as long as you like.”

“The instant I release Vordratha, all hell’s going to break loose. I’m not stupid. For a change.”

“I promise—”

“HA,” shouted Locke. “Please.”

“We have no basis for trust, then.”

“ You’vegiven us no basis for trust. I wasn’t the one—”

“This is getting personal.” Sabetha glared at him with real irritation. She was always less in control of herself when pushed, a hot anger in direct contrast to Jean’s cold fury. Locke had spent years desperately straining to read her, and he saw now that she had no clever plan for ending this standoff. His own position—his safety assured only so long as he could keep a grip on another man’s privates—suddenly struck him as painfully ridiculous.

“I want to speak to you,” he said, slowly. “Nothing more. I won’t harm you or try to take you from this place. I swear it absolutely on the souls of two men we both loved.”

“What could you—”

With his free hand, Locke made two of the old private signals.

Calo. Galdo.

Sabetha stared at him; then something broke behind her eyes. Relief? At any rate, she nodded.

“Everyone out,” she said. “Nobody lays a hand on these men without my orders. Release Vordratha.”

Locke did. The majordomo slumped to the ground and curled up in a half-moon of misery. Sabetha’s guards slowly backed out of the room behind her, and Jean crouched over Vordratha.

“I’ll get him out of here,” he said. “I think you two want some privacy.”

In a moment, Jean had carried the slender Vadran out the way they’d come, and Locke was once again facing Sabetha in an empty room.

“We can’t just use those names as magic words every time we find ourselves at cross-purposes,” she said.

“I know. But it’s not my fault I even had to—”

“Spare me.”

“NO!” Locke trembled with hunger, adrenaline, and emotion. “I will not be shrugged off! I will not have my feelings pushed aside for the convenience of whatever pose you think you’re adopting here.”

“Your feelings?We’re in Karthain working for the Bondsmagi, damn it, we’re not children fumbling around in the back of a wagon!”

“You used me.”

“And that’s what we do,” she said. “Both of us, professionally. I tricked you, and I meant to trick you, and I’m sorry that hurts, but this is our trade.”

“Not this. You didn’t just trick me. You used the deepest feelings I have everhad for anyone, and you know it! You exploited a weakness that only exists when I’m around you!”

“Woman convinces man to impale himself on his own hard-on. There’s a very old story! The world didn’t stop just because it happened again.”

“I’m not an infant, Sabetha. I’m not talking about sex; I’m talking about trust.”

“I put you on that ship for your own gods-damned good, Locke. I knew this would happen! I didn’t just need you out of the way and I wasn’t just minding your health. I knew you’d beat your brains out against your stupid obsession.”

“Oh, marvelous. Lovelyfucking plan, because I certainly didn’t think about you onceduring the nine days it took to get back to Karthain.”

She had the good grace to glance away.

“What the hell is this, anyway? First you don’t need to justify yourself at all, and now it was for my own good?” Locke, feeling hot, angrily unbuttoned the stained, oversized riding jacket he’d taken from the stolen carriage. “And youare NOT a stupid obsession!”

“I’m a grown woman who’s telling you we cannot wind the clock back five years just because you can’t work up the courage to make a pass at someone else.”

“Courage? Who the hell do you think you are, telling me about my courage? Courageis what it takes to come after you! Courage is what it takes to put up with your self-righteous gods-damned martyr act!”

“You cocksure, self-entitled, swaggering little ass!”

“Tell me you never liked me,” said Locke, advancing step by step. “Tell me you never found me worthwhile. Tell me we didn’t have good years together. That’s all it would take!”

“Stubborn, fixated—”

“Tell me you weren’t pleased to see me!”

“ … presumptuous—”

“Quit telling me things I already know!” They were suddenly less than a foot apart. “Quit making excuses. Tell me you can’t stand me. Otherwise—”

“You … you … whew, Locke, in faith, you reek.”

“Is that a surprise? What was I supposed to do, swim back to Karthain?”

“You were supposed to stay on the damned ship! I gave very specific directions about the availability of baths, for one thing.”

“If you wanted me to stay on the ship,” he said, “ youshould have been on it.”

“You look ridiculous.” Locke fought for self-control as Sabetha slowly ran two fingers down his left cheek. “You look bow-legged. Gods above, did you leave anydust on the road after you passed?”

“You can’t, can you?”

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t tell me to get lost. Not to my face, not now that I’ve called you out. You don’t really want me to go away.”

“I do nothave to explain myself by your terms!”

“Better cinch up that jacket, Sabetha, I think your conscience is showing.”

“We are servants of the Bondsmagi,” she whispered angrily. “We came here of our own free will, and we both screwed things up badly enough that we needthis. Our position is precarious. And if we get too friendly, at least one of us gets killed.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m not saying we don’t need to be careful. I’m just pointing out that there’s nothing forbidding us from having a personal life.”

“Everything personal is business with us.” She brushed the dust from his cheek against her coat. “And all of our damned business is personal.”

“Have dinner with me.”

“What?”

“Dinner. It’s a meal. Men and women often have it together. Ask around if you don’t believe me.”

“For this you twisted my majordomo’s balls off?”

“You said we’re not kids fumbling around in the back of a wagon, and you’re right. We’re in charge of our own gods-damned lives no matter how hard we’ve been kicked around. We can set the clock back however many years we like. It’s ours to set!”

“This is crazy.”

“No. Two weeks ago I was begging to die. That’scrazy. Two weeks ago I came this close, thisclose.” He held up a thumb and forefinger with no space at all between them. “I hit the black wall between this life and the next, believe me. I am throughfucking around. Maybe this is going to complicate the hell out of things. So what? You’re the complication I want more than anything else. You’re my favoritecomplication. No matter what sort of holes you poke in my trust.”

“You know, self-pity is the only thing that smells worse than four days of road sweat.”

“Self-pity is about the only straw left to cling to after YOU happen to a fellow,” said Locke. “We can have this if we both want it. But youhave to want it, too. This isn’t me trying to convince you of anything, unless …”

“Unless?”

“Unless some part of you is already convinced.”

“Dinner,” she said softly.

“And a contractual option for … subsequent complications. At your discretion.”

She couldn’t or wouldn’t meet his gaze during the silence that filled the next few seconds. Locke’s blood seemed to turn to gel in his veins.

“Where are we going?” she said at last.

“How the hell should I know?” Relief hit so hard he wobbled on his feet.

Sabetha’s right arm darted out and caught him around the waist. They both stood staring at the point of contact for a long, frozen moment, and then she drew back again.

“Are you all right?” she said softly.

“I, uh, guess I really liked your answer. But come now, how much time have you left me to figure out where anything is in this damned city? You’re morally obligated to pick the place. Tomorrow night.”

“Let it be sunset,” she said. “Do you trust me to send a carriage?”

“Jean and I won’t be together,” said Locke. “We’ll make sure of it. If I don’t come back in a reasonable amount of time, you can face him, pissed off and unrestrained. How’s that for a safeguard?”

“Not trouble I’d invite if I could help it.” She put her hands behind her back and regarded him appraisingly. “What now?”

“Depends. Do I still have an inn to go home to?”

“I’ve left Josten alone. Mostly.”

“Well, then, I’ve got to go soothe my children and, uh, figure out just how the hell I’m going to beat you.”

“Cocksure, infuriating little shit,” she said, without malice.

“Arrogant bitch,” he said, grinning as he backed toward the door. “Arrogant, stubborn, gorgeous bitch. And hey, if I catch one whiff of that perfume you were wearing last time—”

“If I catch one whiff of horses and road sweat, you’re going back to sea.”

“I’ll take a bath.”

“Take two. And … I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“You will,” said Locke.

He reached the door, crediting himself with enough wits to not turn his back on her, at least not yet. He was about to leave when another thought struck him.

“Oh, you know, we did borrow some horses to get here. We put them in a bad way. Would you mind stabling the poor things?”

“I’ll clean up after you, sure. And …”

“Yes?”

“Is Jean all right? His face—”

“He broke his nose getting off your ship. He’ll be fine. You know what it takes to really slow him down. It occurs to me, though, that you still have his Wicked Sisters.”

“I’ll give them back … soon.” She smiled thinly. “They can be my hostages for yourgood behavior.”

“If you need hostages, you could always try a gentler version of what I just did to Vord—”

“Get the fuck out of here,” she said, fighting back a laugh.

3

“SO WHAT did you get us?” said Jean.

“Uh, a dinner date,” said Locke. “I think I should be able to discuss drawing a few sensible lines so none of us have to worry about waking up halfway to sea again.”

They’d walked out nonchalantly and claimed the first waiting carriage-for-hire, which was now rattling toward more friendly territory through the slanting late-afternoon shadows of the city’s towers.

“I assume you mentioned my sisters?”

“She’ll give them back if I behave.”

“Fine, then.”

Jean’s voice still had an alarming nasal quality, and Locke made a mental note to have him examined by a physiker whether he liked it or not.

“You’re not mad?” said Locke.

“Of course not. I presume you two idiots hinted to one another about relighting old fires?”

“That was my distinct impression.”

“Well, assuming you don’t let her drug you again, I’m proud of you. I’m the last man on earth who’d discourage you from chasing the woman you adore. Believe me. See to business and then make it as personal as possible.”

“Thanks.” Locke grinned, and enjoyed a brief moment of actual relaxation, one that ended as soon as he blinked and realized that Patience was seated just across from him, lips folded into a scowl below her night-dark eyes.

“I’d say you’re placing an alarming emphasis on pleasure over responsibility, wouldn’t you?” she said.

“Gods above!” Locke edged away from her reflexively, and saw Jean flinch as well. “Why couldn’t you show up on the street like an ordinary person?”

“I’m no good at being an ordinary person. Your recent behavior has been darkly amusing, but I must confess that my colleagues and I are starting to worry about the effectiveness of your overall plan of resistance. If, indeed, such a plan exists.”

“It had to be set aside for a few days,” said Locke. “We did manage to escape totalhumiliation, no thanks to you.”

“How would you know where the thanks should fall?”

“I don’t remember you offering us a spare boat and a hot meal when we were trying not to drown,” said Jean.

“Unseasonal hard winds blew you off course for most of a week, leaving you within spitting distance of shore, and you didn’t stop to ponder the implications?”

“Wait,” said Locke. “I thought you were strictly forbidden from—”

“I won’t confirm or refute any conjecture,” said Patience, sounding satisfied as a cream-fed cat. “I’m merely pointing out that your vaunted imaginations seem to be flickering rather dimly. Of course it’s possible we aided you. It’s possible the other side had bent the rules as well, and earned a bit of a rebuke. You’ll never know for sure.”

“Damn it, Patience,” said Locke, “you were at pains to assure us that the rules of your stupid contest are ironclad!”

“And you were at pains to insist that you didn’t trust me any farther than you could throw this carriage.”

“Why the hell are you even here? Do you have some message?”

“The message is this: Mind your task, Locke Lamora. You’re here to win, not to woo.”

“I’m here to do both. Carte blanchewas the deal. Are you reneging?”

“I’m just relaying—”

“My disinterest in your bullshit is so tangible you could make bricks out of it. Carte blanche, yes or no?”

“Yes,” she said. “But you should be very, very careful how long you test our forbearance. When dealing with a horse that won’t make speed, one tends to apply a whip to its flanks, doesn’t one?”

“You told me you people love to sit back and watch your agents run around entertaining you. So kindly sit back, shut up, and be entertained.”

“I intend to be,” she said. Between heartbeats she was gone, without so much as a rustle of fabric.

“Gods damnit,” said Locke. “Tell me I wouldn’t be such a tremendous pain in the ass if I had those powers.”

“You’d be worse,” sighed Jean. “I’d have killed you myself a long time ago. And you know what else?”

“Hrrrm?”

“Patience can lick scorpions in hell. You and Sabetha take your time and sort out whatever the last five years have done to you. I’m here to mind the shop whenever you’re out.”

4

“OH, GODS,” said Nikoros, who was sitting at Josten’s bar behind a half-finished drink that was a bit too large and a bit too early in the day. “Oh, thank the gods! Where have you two been?”

“On the road, dear fellow,” said Locke, seizing Nikoros around the shoulders and pulling him to his feet. Locke ground his teeth as he noticed the sharp smell of something alchemical on Nikoros’ breath, and his dilated pupils, but there was no time to berate him just now. “Engaged in terribly important secret affairs! Where do we stand?”

“We’re, uh, beset by unexpected complications,” said Nikoros, bewildered. “We’re getting our asseskicked. The bookmakers are projecting a fourteen-seat Konseil majority for the Black—”

“That’s great,” said Locke, flush with the heady exhilaration that comes from absolute freedom to bullshit absolutely. “That’s excellent. That’s the whole point of the exercise! Master Callas and I have been making careful arrangements to create the false impression of a total state of disarrayon our side. Get it? We’ve got the Black Iris right where we want them.”

“Uh … really?” Hope brought new color to Nikoros’ face with startling speed, and Locke sighed. Between whatever he’d been drinking and the “adjustments” of the Bondsmagi, Nikoros probably had the free will of a sponge. “That sounds great!”

“Doesn’t it?” said Locke. “Now summon a physiker. Then grab every trustworthy dogsbody and scribe you can lay hands on and bring them up to me in the Deep Roots private gallery in five minutes. Go, go, go! Josten”?”

“At your service, Master Lazari.”

“Food for five hungry fat men, in the private gallery, as soon as possible.”

“I gave some orders when I saw you walk in.”

“Bless you. Master Callas will want coffee, too. Hot enough to strip paint. Did you have any problems while we were away? Security trouble?”

“Your people caught half a dozen folks trying to break in. Sent them off with bad headaches. They also tell me we’re being watched from several points around the neighborhood.”

“We’ll tend to that soon enough.” Locke beckoned for Jean to follow, and the two of them passed through the crowd of afternoon businessfolk and traders, exchanging friendly nods with Deep Roots supporters barely remembered from the night of Nikoros’ party. In moments they were up in the party’s private gallery, temporarily alone.

“ Isthere an actual plan running around in your head?” wheezed Jean.

“Crap sparks until something catches fire.” Locke settled into a high-backed chair and brushed dust from his filthy tunic. “Noise and action to keep Sabetha guessing while we cook up a real scheme. We start with childish pranks and escalate steadily. Gods, I wish we had some proper urchins, some Right People that knew what they were doing.”

Camorri outlaws had never thought very highly of their fraternal associates in other cities, but Karthain was the least-regarded of all. Locke hadn’t once heard of a Karthani gang that had any reach, any of the savage pride or inventiveness that Camorri, Verrari, or even Lashani crews took for granted.