Red Seas Under Red Skies (25 page)

“Thieves prosper,” muttered Locke under his breath. He tightened his neck-cloths and prepared to go summon his carriages, feeling sick to his stomach.

CHAPTER FIVE

ON A CLOCKWORK RIVER

1

THE GLASS-FRONTED TRANSPORT BOX
erupted out of the Mon Magisteria's waterfall once again and slid home with a lurch just inside the palace. Water hissed through iron pipes, the high gates behind the box slammed shut, and the attendants pushed the front doors open for Locke, Jean, and Merrain.

A dozen Eyes of the Archon were waiting for them in the entrance hall. They fell in wordlessly on either side of Locke and Jean as Merrain led them forward.

Though not to the same office as before, it seemed. Locke glanced around from time to time as they passed through dimly lit halls and up twisting staircases. The Mon Magisteria was truly more fortress than palace; the walls outside the grand hall were devoid of decoration, and the air smelled mainly of humidity, sweat, leather, and weapon oils. Water rumbled through unseen channels behind the walls. Occasionally they would troop past servants, who would stand with their backs to the wall and their heads bowed toward their feet until the Eyes were past.

Merrain led them to an iron-reinforced door in a nondescript corridor several floors up from the entrance. Faint silver moonlight could be seen rippling through an arched window at the far end of the hall…. Locke squinted and realized that a stream of water from the palace's circling aqueducts was falling down the glass.

Merrain pounded on the door three times. When it opened with a click, allowing a crack of soft yellow light into the hall, she dismissed the Eyes with a wave of her hand. As they marched away down the corridor, she pushed the door open slightly and pointed toward it with her other hand.

“At last. I might have hoped to see you sooner. You must have been away from your usual haunts when Merrain found you.” Stragos looked up from where he sat, on one of only two chairs in the small, bare room, and shuffled the papers he'd been examining. His bald attendant sat on the other with several files in hand, saying nothing.

“They were having a bit of trouble on the inner docks of the Great Gallery,” said Merrain as she closed the door behind Locke and Jean. “A pair of fairly motivated assassins.”

“Really?” Stragos seemed genuinely annoyed. “What business might that be in relation to?”

“I only wish we knew,” said Locke. “Our chance for an interrogation took a crossbow bolt in the chest when Merrain showed up.”

“The woman was about to stick one of these two with a poisoned knife, Protector. I thought you'd prefer to have them both intact for the time being.”

“Hmmm. A pair of assassins. Were you at the Sinspire tonight?”

“Yes,” said Jean.

“Well, it wouldn't be Requin, then. He'd simply have taken you while you were there. So it's some other business. Something you should have told me about before, Kosta?”

“Oh, begging your pardon, Archon. I thought that between your little friends the Bondsmagi and all the spies you must have slinking about at our backsides, you'd know more than you do.”

“This is serious, Kosta. I aim to make use of you; it doesn't suit my needs to have someone else's vendetta on my hands. You don't know who might have sent them?”

“Truthfully, we have no bloody clue.”

“You left the bodies of these assassins on the docks?”

“The constables have them by now, surely,” said Merrain.

“They'll throw the bodies in the Midden Deep, but first they'll inter them at the death-house for a day or two,” said Stragos. “I want someone down there to have a look at them. Note their descriptions, plus any tattoos or other markings that might be meaningful.”

“Of course,” said Merrain.

“Tell the officer of the watch to see to that now. You'll know where to find me when you're finished.”

“Your will…Archon.” Merrain looked as though she might say something else, then turned, opened the door, and hurried out.

“You called me Kosta,” said Locke when the door had slammed closed once again. “She doesn't know our real names, does she? Curious. Don't you trust your people, Stragos? Seems like it'd be easy enough to get your hooks into them the same way you got them into us.”

“I'll wager,” said Jean, “that you never take up your master's offer of a friendly drink when you're off duty, eh, baldy?” Stragos' attendant scowled but still said nothing.

“By all means,” said Stragos lightly, “taunt my personal alchemist, the very man responsible for me ‘getting my hooks into you,' not to mention the preparation of your antidotes.”

The bald man smiled thinly. Locke and Jean cleared their throats and shuffled their feet in unison, a habit they'd synchronized as boys.

“You seem a reasonable fellow,” said Locke. “And I for one have always found a hairless brow to be a noble thing, sensible in every climate….”

“Shut up, Lamora. Do we have the people we need, then?” Stragos passed his papers over to his attendant.

“Yes, Archon. Forty-four of them, all told. I'll see that they're moved by tomorrow evening.”

“Good. Leave us the vials and you may go.”

The man nodded and gathered his papers. He handed two small glass vials over to the archon, then left without another word, sliding the door respectfully closed behind him.

“Well, you two.” Stragos sighed. “You seem to attract attention, don't you? You're certain you've
no
idea who else might be trying to kill you? Some old score to settle from Camorr?”

“There are so
many
old scores to settle,” said Locke.

“There would be, wouldn't there? Well, my people will continue to protect you as best they can. You two, however, will have to be more…circumspect.”

“That sentiment is not exactly unprecedented,” said Locke.

“Confine your movements to the Golden Steps and the Savrola until further notice. I'll have extra people placed on the inner docks; use those when you must travel.”

“Gods damn it, we can
not
operate like that! For a few days, perhaps, but not for the rest of our stay in Tal Verrar, however long it might be.”

“In that, you're more right than you know, Locke. But if someone else is after you, I can't let it interfere with my needs. Curtail your movements or I'll have them curtailed for you.”

“You said there'd be no further complication of our game with Requin!”

“No, I said that the
poison
wouldn't further complicate your game with Requin.”

“You seem pretty confident of our good behavior for a man who's all alone with us in a little stone room,” said Jean, taking a step forward. “Your alchemist's not coming back, is he? Nor Merrain?”

“Should I be worried? You've absolutely nothing to gain by harming me.”

“Except immense personal satisfaction,” said Locke. “You
presume
that we're in our right minds. You
presume
that we give a shit about your precious poison, and that we wouldn't tear you limb from limb on general principle and take the consequences afterward.”

“Must we do this?” Stragos remained seated, one leg crossed over the other, a mildly bored expression on his face. “It occurred to me that the two of you might be stubborn enough to nurse a bit of mutiny in your hearts. So listen carefully—if you leave this room without me, the Eyes in the hall outside will kill you on sight. And if you otherwise harm me in any way, I repeat my earlier promise. I'll revisit the same harm on one of you, tenfold, while the other is forced to watch.”

“You,” said Locke, “are a goat-faced wad of slipskinner's shit.”

“Anything's possible,” said Stragos. “But if you're thoroughly in my power, pray tell me, what does that make
you
?”

“Downright embarrassed,” muttered Locke.

“Very likely. Can you, both of you, set aside this childish need to avenge your self-regard and accept the mission I have for you? Will you hear the plan and keep civil tongues?”

“Yes.” Locke closed his eyes and sighed. “I suppose we truly have no choice. Jean?”

“I wish I didn't have to agree.”

“Just so long as you do.” Stragos stood up, opened the door to the corridor, and beckoned for Locke and Jean to follow. “My Eyes will see you along to my gardens. I have something I want to show the two of you…while we speak more privately about your mission.”

“What exactly do you intend to do with us?” asked Jean.

“Simply put, I have a navy riding at anchor in the Sword Marina, accomplishing little. Inasmuch as I still depend on the Priori to help pay and provision it, I can't send it out in force without a proper excuse.” Stragos smiled. “So I'm going to send
you two
out onto the sea to find that excuse for me.”

“Out to
sea
?” said Locke. “Are you out of your fu—”

“Take them to my garden,” said Stragos, spinning on his heel.

2

IT WAS
less a garden than a forest, stretching for what must have been hundreds of yards on the northern side of the Mon Magisteria. Hedges entwined with softly glowing Silver Creeper vines marked the paths between the swaying blackness of the trees; by some natural alchemy the vines shed enough artificial moonlight for the two thieves and their guards to step easily along the gravel paths. The moons themselves were out, but had now fallen behind the looming fifteen-story darkness of the palace itself and could not be seen from Locke and Jean's position.

The perfumed air was humid and heavy; there was rain lurking in the creeping arc of clouds enclosing the eastern sky. There was a buzzing flutter of unseen wings from the darkness of the trees, and here and there pale gold and scarlet lights seemed to drift around the trunks like some fairy mischief.

“Lantern beetles,” said Jean, mesmerized despite himself.

“Think on how much dirt they must have had to haul up here, to cover the Elderglass deeply enough to let these trees grow…,” whispered Locke.

“It's good to be a duke,” said Jean. “Or an archon.”

At the center of the garden was a low structure like a boathouse, lit by hanging alchemical lanterns in the heraldic blue of Tal Verrar. Locke heard the faint lapping of water against stone, and soon enough saw that there was a dark channel perhaps twenty feet wide cut into the ground just beyond the little structure. It meandered into the darkness of the forest-garden like a miniature river. In fact, Locke realized, the lantern-lit structure
was
a boathouse.

More guards appeared out of the darkness, a team of four being half led and half dragged by two massive black dogs in armored harnesses. These creatures, waist-high at the shoulders and nearly as broad, bared their fangs and sniffed disdainfully at the two thieves, then snorted and pulled their handlers along into the archon's garden.

“Very good,” said Stragos, appearing out of the darkness a few strides behind the dog team. “Everything's prepared. You two, come with me. Sword-prefect, you and yours are dismissed.”

The Eyes turned as one and marched off toward the palace, their boots crunching faintly on the gravel underfoot. Stragos beckoned to Locke and Jean, then led them down to the water's edge. There, a boat floated on the still water, lashed to a little post behind the boathouse. The craft seemed to be built for four, with a leather-padded bench up front and another at the stern. Stragos gestured again, for Locke and Jean to climb down into the forward bench.

Locke had to admit it was pleasant enough, settling against the cushions and resting his arm against the gunwale of the sturdy little craft. Stragos rocked the boat slightly as he stepped down behind them, untied the lashing, and settled on his own bench. He took up an oar and dipped it over the left gunwale. “Tannen,” he said, “be so kind as to light our bow lantern.”

Jean glanced over his shoulder and spotted a fist-sized alchemical lantern in a faceted glass hanging off his side of the boat. He fiddled with a brass dial atop the lantern until the vapors inside mingled and sputtered to life, like a sky-blue diamond casting ghosts of the lantern's facets on the water below.

“This was here when the dukes of the Therin Throne built their palace,” said Stragos. “A channel cut down into the glass, eight yards deep, like a private river. These gardens were built around it. We archons inherited this place along with the Mon Magisteria. While my predecessor was content with still waters, I have made modifications.”

As he spoke, the sound of the water lapping against the sides of the channel became louder and more irregular. Locke realized that the rushing, gurgling noise slowly rising around them was the sound of a current flowing through the river. The bow lantern's reflected light bobbed and shifted as the water beneath it undulated like dark silk.

“Sorcery?” asked Locke.

“Artifice, Lamora.” The boat began to slide gently away from the side of the channel, and Stragos used the oar to align them in the center of the miniature river. “There's a strong breeze blowing from the east tonight, and windmills at the far side of my garden. They can be used to drive waterwheels beneath the surface of the channel. In still air, forty or fifty men can crank the mechanisms by hand. I can call the current up as I see fit.”

“Any man can fart in a closed room and say that he commands the wind,” said Locke. “Though I will admit, this whole garden is…more elegant than I would have given you credit for.”

“How pleasant, to have your good opinion of my aesthetic sense.” Stragos steered them in silence for a few minutes after that, around a wide turn, past hanging banks of silver creeper and the rustle of leaves on low-hanging branches. The smell of the artificial river rose up around them as the current strengthened—not unpleasant, but more stale and less
green
, somehow, than the scent of natural ponds and rivers Locke recalled.