Текст книги "The Republic of Thieves"

Автор книги: Scott Lynch

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Текущая страница: 29 (всего у книги 44 страниц)

“It’s the Presence,” said Jean. “The Bondsmagi have these people tamed.”

Food and coffee were the first of the commanded resources to arrive. Locke scarfed down meat and bread; neither lingered long enough before his eyes or in his mouth for full identification. Jean sipped coffee and ate a roll, almost daintily, with obvious discomfort.

A few moments later, a dark-skinned woman with neat gray hair came up the stairs carrying a leather bag.

“I’m Scholar Triassa,” she said, frowning at Jean. “And that nose tells quite a story.”

While she began her examination, tactfully saying nothing about the fact that Locke and Jean smelled like goats, Nikoros and half a dozen scribes and assistants came up the stairs.

“Good,” said Locke, gulping a last bite of food. “It’s time to give those Black Iris gits a taste of some friendly piss-artistry. Whet your quills. Scribe everything down exactly. Give your notes to Nikoros when we’re finished, and he’ll handle the actual work assignments.

“I want a letter drafted immediately to the chief constable of Lashain, whoever that is. Tell them that four horses stolen from an armored carriage service bound for Lashain have been located in the stables at the Sign of the Black Iris in Karthain. Each horse has a clearly visible brand on its neck. These horses were received as stolen property and not reported to the Karthani authorities. Sign it ‘a friend’ and get it to the very next ship crossing the Amathel with mail.”

Jean chuckled, then grunted as Scholar Triassa continued her work. Locke paced back and forth as he spoke.

“Tomorrow I’ll secure an addition to party funds. I want a thousand ducats handed out to trustworthy Deep Roots members in increments of five to twenty ducats apiece. I want them all to go out this week and place bets, with anyone taking them, on the Deep Roots winning the election. I want a sudden surge of Deep Roots confidence, so the opposition can have a good hard worry about the possibility that we know something they don’t.

“I want another thousand spent on cakes and wine, rigged up in baskets with green ribbons. Complimentary baskets go to the houses of tradesfolk, merchants, alchemists, scribes, physikers—anyone respectable that isn’talready part of the Deep Roots family. Let’s go wooing new voters.”

“That might, uh, cause a problem with some of the, uh, senior party members,” said Nikoros. “Traditionally we’re very choosy about new members. We have private salons, by invitation. We don’t, uh, sweep the streets for recruits.”

Locke poured a mug of coffee and took a long sip. And for those refined tastes, you idiots have been crowded out hard in the last two elections, he thought.

“Am I in charge here, Nikoros?”

“Oh, uh, gods yes, absolutely sir. I didn’t mean to imply anything other—”

“We willsweep the streets for recruits if it comes to that. I’ll put a bag of gold in the hands of any brick-witted cross-eyed sheepfucker who can mark a parchment. Any time you want to question me, remind yourself that the opposition doesn’t share your delicate gods-damned traditions. All they care about is winning.”

“Er, of course.”

“The baskets go out. No demands, no obligations, not yet. We just want people thinking kindly of us. Arm-twisting comes later.

“More quietly,” he continued, “hunt down our party members with debts, troubles in court, that sort of thing. Give me a list of their little problems and we’ll send people out to fix them. In exchange, we’ll own their asses and set them toiling.

“Now, conversely. Black Iris party members with weaknesses. Debts, affairs, scandals, addictions, legal entanglements. I want that list! I want to scratch every wound, pour vinegar in every cut, pluck every low-hanging fruit. Constant, total harassment, seizing any opportunity they give us, starting before the sun rises again.”

“As you wish,” said Nikoros.

“To that end … I need a trustworthy alchemist. I need a wagon … a few dozen small animal cages … as many live snakes as we can get our hands on.”

“Live snakes?” said one of the scribes. “You mean—”

“Yeah,” said Locke. “They’ve got scales, they slither around—snakes. Keep up. We only want ’em if they’re not venomous! That means barn serpents, brown marshies, belt snakes. Anything else you have in these parts that fits the bill. Use mercenaries, boys, girls, anyone .… Offer a suitable bounty, but keep it gods-damned quiet. I don’t want word of this little project going too far. Drop the cages in the cellar and keep the snakes there until further notice. How’s Master Callas’ nose?”

“Badly set,” said the physiker. “I gather from your rather forthright aroma that you gentlemen have been unable to rest for several days.”

“Woefully correct,” said Locke.

“It’ll have to be rebroken. It’s plain this isn’t your first such injury, Master Callas, and you’re developing a breathing obstruction.”

“Then do it,” said Jean.

“I’ll need two cups of brandy, some assistants, and some rope.”

“No time for all that,” growled Jean, “and I want my head clear for work. Just do it here and now.”

“Your pardon, Master Callas, but I don’t relish the thought of a man your size lashing out at me—”

“Scholar,” said Locke, “this building is more likely to collapse than my friend is to lose control of himself.”

“I’m doubling my fee,” said the woman sternly.

“And I’m tripling it,” said Jean. “Go on, snap the damn thing to where it ought to be. I’ve had worse, and I’ve had it without warning.”

Triassa placed her hands carefully, as though Jean’s head were a clay sculpture and she meant to pinch the nose off and start over. She applied pressure with one smooth motion; Jean remained still but did indulge in a long, deep, appropriately theatrical groan. The sound of whatever was moving or breaking inside the nose itself made Locke shudder as though his privates had just been dipped in ice water, and a collective gasp arose from the scribes.

“Perhaps just one small brandy,” rasped Jean, barely moving his lips. Tears ran down his cheeks. Locke pointed at one of the scribes; the woman nodded and hurried out of the gallery.

Triassa deftly set Jean’s nose in cream-colored alchemical plasters and wrapped linen around his head. “Keep this in place,” she said. “You’ve danced this dance before, so don’t do anything foolish. Brace your head while you sleep. Come see me tomorrow—I’m across the street.”

“Thanks,” said Jean. A moment later the helpful scribe returned with a glass of caramel-brown liquor, which Jean poured carefully down his throat.

“Well then,” said Locke. “Now that we’ve all realized precisely how tough we’ll neverbe, let’s stand on what we have. Pass your lists to Nikoros and he’ll mind the details.”

“Sirs,” said Nikoros as his hands rapidly filled with papers, “I’m pleased to see you back and taking a more active role in our affairs, but, ah, this volume of work—”

“Don’t fret, Nikoros, there’s plenty of time, assuming none of us sleeps before dawn.” Locke gave Nikoros a reassuring squeeze on the arm, then lowered his voice to a private whisper. “Also, if I catch you stuffing another speck of black alchemy down your throat, your job situation is going to be vacant. Understand?”

“Master Lazari, sir, what can I say? I’m ashamed … but you were gone … everything was so confused—”

“Everything is now unconfused. We’re gonna have baths drawn and rejoin civilization. Get to work. Get me that list and get me that alchemist. There’s two ladies in particular waiting to see what we’ve got up our sleeves, and it’s time for things to get hectic.”

“Uh, of course, Master Lazari.”

“Nikoros!”

“Uh, yes, sir?”

“I just had a really exciting thought. Get me the list, the alchemist, and then get me a city constable! A well-bent one. Someone who thinks with their purse and isn’t shy about it.”

“Uh, certainly, but it may take—”

“Tonight, Nikoros, tonight!”

5

LOCKE AND Jean found steaming baths in their suite, along with more food and enough towels, body scrapers, and scented oil jars to supply a rather hygienic harem. Refreshed and repackaged in respectable outer layers, they returned to the Deep Roots private gallery to find Nikoros waiting, new papers in hand. Locke scanned them as rapidly as the crabbed handwriting would permit.

“Good, good,” he muttered. “Debts, lots of debts. Eager little gamblers, our Black Iris friends … Who’d be holding most of these?”

“Most of the debts that aren’t between gentlefolk would involve Fifthson Lucidus, over in the Vel Verda .… Well, he owns the chance houses in the Vel Verda, but he lives somewhere on Isas Merreau.”

“Lovely,” said Locke. “A little duke of the dice-dens. He’s not a big player in either political party, is he?”

“Doesn’t give a damn about the elections, as far as I know.”

“Better and better,” said Locke. “Exactly the sort of man Master Callas and I should see in the small hours of the night, like dutiful physikers paying a house call.”

“Physikers?”

“Absolutely. We want him firmly convinced that if he disregards our advice his health is apt to suffer. Now where’s my alchemist and my constable?”

“Coming, Master Lazari, coming .…”

6

THE MOONS were shy in just the way thieves prefer, hidden behind clouds like black wool, and the brisk south wind carried the scents of lake water and forge smoke. Banked-down furnaces were faint smudges of red and orange nestled among the shadows of the Isle of Hammers, and the view from the window of Fifthson Lucidus’ third-story bedroom captured it all nicely.

Locke took a moment to properly appreciate the tableau before he turned and woke Lucidus with a slap to the face.

“Mmmmmph,” said the heavyset Karthani. His exclamation was muffled by Jean, who, standing behind his bed, slapped one hand over his mouth and hauled him to a sitting position with the other.

“Shhhh,” said Locke, who sat down at Lucidus’ feet. He adjusted the aperture of his dark-lantern to throw a thin beam directly on the bearded and bleary-eyed fellow, whose face wore the sort of extra years that came out of a wine bottle. “Your first thought will be to struggle, so I’d like you to think about whereand how deepI can cut you while leaving you perfectly capable of conversation.”

He unsheathed a long, freshly polished steel blade, and was sure to catch the lantern light with it before he slapped Lucidus’ legs with the flat of the weapon.

“Your second thought,” said Locke, who wore an improvised gray linen mask, “will be to summon that big man who’s supposed to be watching your front door. I’m afraid we’ve put him to sleep for a bit. So now my associate will take his hand off your mouth, and you’ll mind your tone of voice.”

“Who the hell are you?” whispered Lucidus.

“ Whatwe are is the important thing. We’re better than you. There’s no defense you can dream up and no hole you can hide in that will keep us from doing this to you any time we please.”

“What … what do you want?”

“Take a good look at these names.” Locke sheathed the blade and pulled out a torn sheet of parchment with a short list on it. The names had been culled from the larger list provided by Nikoros. They weren’t merely opposition voters, but components of varying importance in the Black Iris political machine. “Some of these men and women owe you money, yes?”

“Yes,” said Lucidus, squinting at the parchment. “Yes … most of them, in fact.”

“Good,” said Locke. “Because you’re about to have some money problems, understand? You’re going to call in your markers on all of these fine citizens.”

“Wait just a—Hggggrrrrkkk—”

This last exclamation was a result of Jean reasserting his presence, without prompting from Locke, via the careful application of a forearm to Lucidus’ windpipe.

“I’m not soliciting opinions,” said Locke, gesturing for Jean to ease up. “I’m giving orders. Yank the leash on these people or bad luck follows. Chance houses burn down. Nice homes like this burn down. The tendons in your legs get slashed. Understood?”

“Yes … yes …”

“About those money issues.” Locke held up a purse, stuffed near bursting with about ten pounds of coins, and Lucidus’ eyes went wide. “A hidden floor panel? Seriously? I was learning how to spot that sort of thing when I was six. You squeeze these people hard, get it? Collect the debts. Do your best and you’ll get this purse back, plus a hundred ducats. That’s nothing to scoff at, is it?”

“N-no …”

“Fuck it up,” said Locke, lowering his voice to a growl, “and this money vanishes. Try to cross me, and I’ll carve you like a festival roast. Get to work tomorrow, and don’t worry about looking for us. When we want to talk again we’ll find you.”

7

“NOW TELL us,” said Jean, staring down at a detailed map of Karthain with all of its avenues and islands, “which districts are usually considered an absolute lock for either party?”

It was deepening evening, the day after their midnight visit to the house of Fifthson Lucidus. Locke and Jean were in the private gallery with Damned Superstition Dexa and Firstson Epitalus. Nikoros, who’d been worked like a clockwork automaton for longer than Locke had intended, had passed out in a high-backed chair. Whether it was honest fatigue or alchemically induced, Locke allowed him to snore on for the time being.

“We’ve got all the right places, dear boy,” said Dexa, pointing to the southeastern portion of the map. “Isas Mellia, Thedra, and Jonquin. The Three Sisters, the old money districts. The Silverchase and Vorhala routinely come back eight-tenths Deep Roots, as well.”

“As for the opposition,” said Epitalus, “they’ve got the Isle of Hammers and the surrounding neighborhoods. Barresta, Merreau, Lacor, Agarro—shop and trade districts, you see.” Epitalus exhaled twin streams of white pipe smoke from his nostrils, and brief-lived cloud formations drifted over the illustrated city. “New men and women. Ink still wet on the receipts for their voting privileges, eh?”

“So it’s five against five,” said Locke, “and the other nine districts are in play?”

“More or less,” said Dexa. “Sentiment across the city—”

“Can go hang itself,” said Locke. “Here’s the basic plan, as much as I can reveal now. We keep most of our money out of the settled districts. We don’t have time to turn the Black Iris strongholds, and we shouldn’t have to worry about them turning ours. We’ll run some misdirection and some nice childish pranks, but most of our leverage gets thrown against the nine in the balance. How busy are you two with Konseil duties?”

“Hardly busy,” said Dexa. “We partly recess during election season. Karthain all but runs itself, barring emergencies.”

Epitalus mouthed something under his breath, and Locke was sure it was Bless the Presence.

“Good,” said Locke. “I’d like you two to do me a favor. Go after some undecided voters in districts outside your own. Make personal calls. Important people, the cream of the middle bunch. I’m sure you can think of a hundred candidates. Charm us votes one by one in the districts where every one of those votes will count. Does that sound agreeable?”

“With all due respect, Master Lazari,” said Epitalus, “that’s simply not how it’s done here in Karthain.”

“I doubt your counterparts in the hierarchy of the Black Iris would quibble at such a task.”

“It’s simply not how things are done where folk of substanceare concerned,” said Dexa gently, as though explaining to a very small child that fire was hot.

“We have higher expectations than the Black Iris,” said Epitalus. “Firmer standards. We don’t scuttle about courting just anyone, Master Lazari. Surely you can see that it would make us look beggarly.”

“I doubt that any of the recipients of the solicitations I propose,” said Locke, “would be anything but deeply flattered to receive someone of your stature.”

“We don’t mean them,” said Dexa. “Rather, our fellow members of the Deep Roots. This sort of behavior could not be countenanced—”

“I see,” said Locke. “Never mind that these scruples have brought you embarrassing defeat in the last two elections. Never mind that you will apply your ‘firmer standards’ to a smaller and smaller circle of associates, with ever-shrinking influence, should you blithely allow the Black Iris to best you again.”

“Now, now, dear Master Lazari,” said Dexa. “Surely there’s no cause—”

“I am charged with winning this election,” said Locke. “To do so I will bend every custom that must be bent. If I lack your full confidence, you may have my resig—”

“Oh no,” said Epitalus, “no, please—”

Once again Locke saw the curious working of the arts of the Bondsmagi, as the ingrained prejudices of the Karthani warred with their conditioning to see him as some sort of cross between a spymaster and a prophet. It was something behind their eyes, and though it seemed to be going his way he thought it best to lay on some sweetness for added assurance.

“I would hardly ask this of you,” he said soothingly, “if I didn’t believe that I was sending you out to certain success. Your quality and grace will knock these individuals into our camp straightaway, and since you’ll be choosing them yourselves they’ll bring the Deep Roots nothing but credit. Get us a hundred or so. Winning will be worth it, I assure you.”

Dexa and Epitalus acquiesced. Not energetically, to be sure, but Locke was satisfied that their nods were sincere.

“Splendid,” he said. “Now, I’ve got a dinner eng—er, appointment. Business appointment. Something, ah, that could really work to our advantage. Master Callas will be here if you need anything.”

“I thought you were overdressed for a planning session,” said Dexa.

“What about poor Via Lupa?” said Epitalus.

“Hmm? Oh, Nikoros .… Let him sleep on for a bit. He’ll be up to his ass in baskets and green ribbons tomorrow.”

Locke made several pointless adjustments to his dark blue coat, and brushed imaginary dust from his black silk cravat.

“And if I don’t come back … ,” he muttered to Jean.

“I’ll knock the Sign of the Black Iris into its own foundation, and put Sabetha on a ship to Talisham.”

“Comforting,” Locke whispered. “Right. I’ve got to go wait for the carriage. Pin a note to Nikoros’ lapel, would you? I’m still waiting on that bloody alchemist and constable.”

8

THE CARRIAGE was on time and comfortable, but Locke rode alertly, with the compartment windows open and one hand in a coat pocket. He could have instantly conjured lockpicks, a dagger, a blackjack, or a small steel pry bar, as the situation required.

However, before any need arose for the tricks in his coat, the ride came to an end beneath a warmly lit stone tower somewhere in what Locke guessed was the Silverchase District. At least a dozen well-dressed gentlefolk were visible, seemingly at ease. A footman in a red silk coat opened the carriage door for him and bowed.

“Welcome to the Oversight, Master Lazari,” said the footman as Locke stepped onto the curb. “Your party’s already waiting, if you’ll follow me.”

Allowing himself to hope that there might be an actual dinner rather than an ambush forthcoming, Locke glanced up, and was startled. Spherical brass cages anointed with alchemical lanterns circled the highest level of the tower. These were suspended by some complex mechanical apparatus and formed a sort of gleaming halo perhaps seventy feet above the ground.

As the footman led him around the tower along a hedged path, Locke heard a muted rumbling from overhead. The cage on the side directly opposite the carriage park descended smoothly and settled into a circle of pavement about five yards across. The footman seized two levers and pulled open the cage’s door, revealing the luxurious interior … and Sabetha.

She wore a buttercream gown under a jacket the color of rich dark brandy, and her hair fell loose past her shoulders. She was seated on a cushion Jereshti-fashion, legs crossed, behind a knee-high table. Dazed by the sight of her and the strangeness of their surroundings, Locke meekly entered the cage and knelt on his own cushion. The footman resealed the door, and after a moment the cage crept upward, worked by some mechanism that was no doubt obsessively oiled in deference to the delicate ears of diners.

“If you’d wanted me to be ready earlier,” he said, “I’d have been happy—”

“Oh, tsk. How could I be properly mysterious and alluring if I wasn’t calmly waiting for you when the door opened?”

“ Youcould manage it, somehow.” Locke studied the cage more closely. Although the table was ringed by gauze curtains, these were presently pulled up to the ceiling and tied in place. The cage was composed of thin bars laid in a grid with spaces about an inch on a side, through which Locke had a view of northeastern Karthain under the gold-red lines of fading sunset. “They punish criminals back home with a contraption like this.”

“Well, in Karthain criminals pay for the privilege of being hoisted,” said Sabetha. “I was told that the Oversight was actually inspired by the Palace of Patience. Something about how the west gentles and perfects the ways of the east.”

“I’ve been out here for several years, and I don’t feel gentled or perfected,” said Locke.

“Indeed, you haven’t even offered to pour the wine yet,” said Sabetha with mock disdain.

“Oh, damn,” said Locke, stumbling back to his feet. There was a bottle of something airing on the table next to a trio of glasses. He did his duty gracefully, filling two glasses and offering one to her with an exaggerated bow.

“Better, but you forgot some of us,” she said, pointing to the empty glass.

“Hmmm?” Proximity to Sabetha was like sand in the gears of his mind. He imagined that he could literally feel them straining to turn as he stared at the empty glass, and then came a warm rush of shame. “Hell and castration,” he muttered as he poured again, and then: “A glass poured to air for absent friends. May the Crooked Warden bless his crooked servants. Chains, Calo, Galdo, and Bug—”

“May they laugh forever in better worlds than this,” said Sabetha, touching Locke’s glass. They both took small sips. It was a good vintage, mellow and strong, tasting of plums and bitter oranges. Locke sat on his cushion again, and they shared an awkward pause.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to give things a melancholy turn.”

“I know.” Locke sipped his wine again, reasoning that if it was drugged all of his hopes and assumptions were useless anyway. The miniature arsenal in his coat suddenly struck him as comical. “So, uh, do you like the flower I brought you?”

“The invisible flower? The hypothetical flower?”

Locke arched his eyebrows and tapped the right side of his coat. Sabetha looked down, hurriedly patted her own jacket, and pulled out an unfurled stemless rose, dark purple petals limned with crimson on their tips.

“Oh, you clever little weasel,” she said. “While you poured the wine.”

“And you were watching the bottle rather than the beau,” said Locke with a theatrical sigh. “It’s fine. My pride’s had all the stiffness trampled out of it already. I hope you like the color, though. Karthani hothouse. It had a stem, but that made it too awkward to carry or palm.”

“I don’t mind at all.” She set the rose carefully in the middle of the table. “Assuming it doesn’t explode or put me to sleep or anything.”

“I’ve foresworn vengeance on that score,” said Locke. “But we do need to talk about that, so we might as well get it over with.”

“What’s to talk about?”

“Kidnapping,” said Locke. “Assault. Exile. Alchemy. Dirty tricks of that nature, aimed at you or me or Jean.”

“We learned a dozen ways to incapacitate someone before we were ten,” said Sabetha. “It’s perfectly routine for us. I agreed to a truce tonight—”

“We should extend the truce permanently,” said Locke. “Mutual immunity from direct personal attack. If we’re going to have this fight, let’s have it mind to mind, plan to plan, and not need to sleep under our beds because we’re afraid of waking up on a ship the next day.”

“ I’mnot afraid of waking up on a ship.”

“Push your luck, gorgeous, and eventually luck pushes back. I might be dim enough to have dinner with you in a metal cage, but consider Jean. If he’s free to make his own moves he’ll squash your little army like boiled goose liver and you’ll be on your way to Talisham in a box.”

“Fearsome as that, is he?”

“Tell me again how many people you detailed to catch him while you were busy drugging me.”

“And if the Bondsmagi interpret this as collusion—”

“It’s nothing of the sort. Hell, this only increases our entertainment value for our jackass masters. They wantus to run this affair in our accustomed style. Skullduggery, not skull-crackery. And you can’t tell me it wouldn’t tickle your own pride.”

“Just to be clear, you’re suggesting that I should discard an approach which has already brought me one considerable success, and continue the fight at a level more suited to the restraints of your own, well, inadequacy, and I should do this because it’ll make me feel the warm glow of virtue?”

“I suppose if you discard the lovely emotional resonance of my suggestion and pin me down on cold hard meaning—”

“How strange. You sound rather like a confidence trickster. But I’ve no objection to ending a little game while I’m one-up on you,” she said with a thin smile. “Truce as discussed, strictlylimited to you and Jean and myself, so we can have more time to worry about the proper contest. Will you drink to it?”

“Full glass is an empty promise,” said Locke. Their glasses rang as they brought them together, and then they both gulped their wine to the last drop.

“Doubles or dishonor,” said Sabetha, speedily refilling the wine. Again they raced one another to the bottoms of their glasses, and when they finished her laugh seemed genuine enough to make Locke feel like a fresh wind had blown across whatever was smoldering in his heart.

“You have no idea,” he said, as the warm cloud of wine-haze steadily rose from his chest to his head, “how much aggravation I really am willing to put up with to hear that laugh again.”

“Oh, shit,” she said, rolling her eyes without banishing her smile. “Straight from business to skirt-chasing.”

“You’re the one plying me with wine!”

“Any woman of sense does prefer her men drunk and tractable.”

“And now you’re speaking of me possessively. Gods, keep doing that.”

“This is a far cry from the dusty mess that stormed my inn and accused me of cruelly tugging his heartstrings.”

“You try four days in the saddle without preparation and see what kind of mood it leaves you in.”

Their conversation was interrupted as an iron plank slid out from the tower and locked into place beside their cage. A waiter appeared and opened a door in the brass gridwork, through which he made several trips to deliver fresh wine and starter courses on gilded platters.

“I hope you don’t mind that I ordered for you,” said Sabetha.

“I’m at your mercy,” said Locke, whose stomach now grumbled achingly to life. Fortunately, Sabetha seemed sensitive to the awkwardness of his new appetite. She ravaged their dishes with indelicate gusto that matched his own.

There were the underwater mushrooms of the Amathel, translucent and steamed to the texture of gossamer, paired with coal-black truffles in malt and mustard sauce. There were cool buttercream cheeses and crackling, caustic golden peppers. Spicy fried bread with sweet onions was drizzled with tart yellow yogurt, a variation on a dish Locke recognized from the cuisine of Syrune. Each of these courses was bookended with wine and more wine. Though Locke felt his own wits softening, he was heartened to see the deepening blush on Sabetha’s cheeks and the way her smiles grew steadily wider and easier as the evening wore on.

Purple twilight became full dark of night, and Karthain a sea of half-shadowed shapes suspended between blackness and alchemical sparks.

The main course was a turtle crafted to life size from glazed parti-colored breads. The top of the starchy creature’s shell was paper-thin, and when punched through with a serving ladle it proved to contain a lake of turtle and oyster ragout. The turtle came under enthusiastic siege from both ends of the table.

“Have you ever had a chance to look out over the Isas Scholastica before?” said Sabetha, recovering some measure of ladylike delicacy by dabbing at her chin with a silk cloth. “That’s it down behind me, just across the canal. Isle of Scholars. Home of the magi, or so they claim.”

“Claim? No, I’ve never had a chance to see it. I can’t see much now, between the darkness and the wine.”

“They don’t seem to frown on people building towers around the edges of their little sanctuary. I’ve been sightseeing up a few. I say claimbecause I’m not sure I believe they all live happily together like Collegium students in rooms. I think they’re all over the place … I think the Isas Scholastica is just where they want everyone looking.”

“All those parks and buildings and so forth down there are just a sham?”

“No, I’m pretty sure they usethe place, just not as a sole residence.” She took a final long draught of wine and pushed her glass aside. “Though I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one down there. Not one.”

“What, would they wear signs or something? Funny hats? They’re easy enough to spot when you can see their wrists and their manners, but at a distance they must look like other people.”

“I’ve seen servants,” said Sabetha. “People driving carts, offloading things, but those wouldn’t be Bondsmagi, surely. I’ve never seen anyone strolling the Isas Scholastica at leisure, or giving orders, or simply talking to anyone else. No guards, no masters and mistresses, only servants. If they’re down there, they conceal themselves. Even from eyes that are hundreds of yards away.”

“They’re odd people,” said Locke, staring into the pale orange dregs of his own wine. “And I say that as a fully qualified professional odd person of the first degree. I wish they weren’t such arrogant pricks, but I suppose odd people will keep odd habits.”

“I wonder,” said Sabetha. “Do you … do you feel that your … handlers have been entirely candid with you concerning their motives for this contest of theirs?”

“Hells, no,” said Locke. “But that was an easy question. Perhaps you’ve not met my side of the magi family. Why, do you think that yours are—”