The Gentleman Bastard Series 3-Book Bundle: The Lies of Locke Lamora, Red Seas Under Red Skies, The Republic of Thieves (14 page)

“Plus,” said Locke, “something to stick in the hold for the trip north. Cheap grain,
dried cheese, low-grade fresh fruit. Nothing special. But Emberlain will shortly be
under siege; the Black Table will be happy to have a cache of extra supplies offloaded.
Emberlain’s position is too tenuous to fail to respect the sovereign neutrality of
Camorr; that’s what my masters are counting on to get the ships in and out. But added
insurance cannot hurt.”

“Yes,” said Don Lorenzo, tugging on his lower lip. “Two galleons, crews, officers,
cheap cargo. A small crew of mercenaries, ten or twelve a ship. There are always some
hanging around the Viscount’s Gate this time of year. I’d want a hard corps of armed
men on each ship to discourage … complications.”

Locke nodded.

“So, how exactly would we go about removing the casks from your aging-houses and transporting
them to the docks?”

“A very simple ruse,” said Locke. “We maintain several breweries and storehouses for
small beer; it’s a sideline, a sort of hobby for some of our Blending Masters. Our
beer is stored in casks, and the location of these warehouses is public knowledge.
Slowly, carefully, while Grau and I sailed south, my masters have been moving casks
of Austershalin brandy to the beer warehouses and relabeling them. They will continue
to do so while we prepare here, and until our ships appear in the harbor of Emberlain.”

“So you won’t be loading brandy in secret.” Doña Sofia clapped her hands together.
“As far as anyone knows, you’ll be loading beer in the open!”

“Exactly, my lady. Even a large export of beer won’t be anywhere near as suspicious
as a movement of the unaged brandy. It’ll be looked on as a commercial coup; we’ll
be the first to dodge the interdict on Emberlain-flagged vessels. We’ll bring in a
pile of supplies for the coming siege and a fine apparent profit for ourselves. Then,
once we’ve got all the brandy
loaded, we’ll put out to sea, bringing sixty or seventy bel Auster family and employees
to form the nucleus of our new business operations in Camorr. Discovery after that
will be immaterial.”

“All of this to be thrown together on short notice.” Don Lorenzo was deep in thought.
“Fifteen thousand crowns, I’d say. Perhaps twenty.”

“I concur, my lord. Count on an additional five thousand or so, for bribes and other
arrangements.” Locke shrugged. “Certain men are going to have to look the other way
for us to do our job when we reach Emberlain, warehouse ruse or no.”

“Twenty-five thousand crowns, then. Damn.” Lorenzo downed the last of the brandy in
his glass, set it down, and folded his hands together on the table before him. “You’re
asking me for more than half of my fortune. I like you, Lukas, but now it’s time to
discuss the other side of the proposal.”

“Of course.” Lukas stopped to offer the don another dash of the counterfeit “unaged”;
the don began to wave him off, but his taste buds prevailed over his better judgment,
and he held out his glass. Doña Sofia did so as well, and Jean hurried over to pass
her glass between her and Locke. When he’d served the Salvaras, Locke poured a companionably
large amount into his own snifter. “First, you have to understand what the House of
bel Auster is and is not offering.

“You will never have the Austershalin Process. It will continue to be passed down,
verbally, and strictly within the House. We can offer you no properties as collateral
or in payment; we expect to forfeit them upon fleeing Emberlain. Resecuring the vineyards
at a future date is our own problem.

“Any effort on your part to pry into the Austershalin Process, to suborn any bel Auster
men or women, will be regarded as an absolute breach of trust.” Locke sipped brandy.
“I have no idea what specific penalties we could levy to express our displeasure,
but it
would
be fully expressed. I am instructed to be entirely clear on this point.”

“And so you are.” Doña Sofia placed one hand on her husband’s left shoulder. “But
these limitations are not yet an offer.”

“Forgive me, gracious Doña Sofia, for speaking to you like this. But you must understand—this
is the most important thing the House of bel Auster has ever contemplated. Grau and
I hold the future of our combine in our rather vulnerable hands. At this moment, I
can’t
speak to you just as your luncheon guest Lukas Fehrwight. I am the House of bel Auster.
You have to understand that some things are not on the table, not even by the most
remote implication.”

The Salvaras nodded as one, Sofia just a bit more slowly than Lorenzo.

“Now. Consider the situation. War is coming to Emberlain. Our vineyards and our properties
are as good as lost. And without those vineyards, there will be no Austershalin actually
produced for only the Marrows know how long. Ten years? A generation? Even when we
have the vineyards back, the soil will need years to recover. This is the way it has
been, three times before. For many, many years to come, the only new Austershalin
available is going to come from whatever portion of those six thousand casks we can
move out of Emberlain, like thieves in the night. Imagine the
demand
. The price escalation.”

The don’s lips moved unconsciously as he calculated; Doña Sofia stared off into the
distance, her brow furrowed. Austershalin brandy was the finest and most sought-after
liquor known; even the alchemical wines of Tal Verrar, in a hundred bewitching varieties,
were not as expensive. A single half-gallon bottle of the youngest available Austershalin
was thirty full crowns at retail; the price went up sharply with age. With a surprise
shortage, a fixed supply, and no new crop of Austershalin grapes in sight?

“Fuck
damn
,” said Conté, totally unable to help himself when the sums involved vanished over
his mental horizon. “Beg pardon, Doña Sofia.”

“You should.” She drained her snifter in one quick unladylike gulp. “Your calculations
are off. This merits a triple fuckdamn at
least
.”

“The House of bel Auster,” Locke continued, “wishes to establish a partnership with
you, based in Camorr, to store and market Austershalin brandy during our … interregnum.
In exchange for your assistance in transporting it from Emberlain in our moment of
extreme need, we are prepared to offer you fifty percent of the proceeds from the
sale of anything you transport for us. Again, consider the situation, and the price
of Austershalin during a shortage. You could recoup your initial investment ten times
over in the first year. Give us five years, or ten …”

“Yes.” Don Lorenzo fiddled with his optics. “But Lukas, somehow, sitting here discussing
the possible destruction of your House and a move to a city half a thousand miles
to the south, you don’t sound … entirely displeased.”

Locke used a particularly endearing wry smile he’d once practiced before a mirror-glass
for weeks. “When my masters grasped the essence of their current situation, some of
them suggested we should have engineered an artificial shortage years ago. As it is,
we are determined that we can turn a painful setback into a glorious return. Those
six thousand
casks, sold at shortage prices over a number of years … We could return to Emberlain
with a fortune that eclipses everything we’d be leaving behind. And as for your own
situation …”

“We’re not talking about hundreds of thousands of crowns.” Doña Sofia returned from
her thoughtful trance. “We’re talking about
millions
. Even split between us.”

“It would be foolish to presume too much, but yes—there is the possibility that the
sums involved could reach such figures. My masters are also prepared to grant one
final compensation, upon our successful return to Emberlain and the restoration of
the Austershalin vineyards. We offer your family a permanent stake in all bel Auster
operations thereafter; certainly nothing close to a controlling interest, but something
respectable. A ten to fifteen percent share. You would be the first and, we hope,
the only foreigners ever offered such an interest.”

There was a brief pause. “That’s … a very attractive offer,” Don Salvara said at last.
“And to think all this was going to fall into Jacobo’s lap simply by default. By the
gods, Lukas, if we ever cross paths with those thieves again, I’m going to thank them
for arranging our introduction.”

“Well,” Locke chuckled, “I for my part can let bygones be bygones. Graumann might
feel somewhat differently. And the fact remains that while I sense we may be shaking
hands very soon, we still have to assemble our ships, sail north to Emberlain, and
snatch up our prize. The situation is like a damaged cargo rope, unraveling down to
a single thread.” He saluted the Salvaras with his brandy snifter. “It
will
snap.”

Out on the water, the devilfish was victorious, and the guards rewarded it for its
service by filling it with poisoned crossbow bolts. Boat hooks and chains were used
to haul the carcass out of the center of the Shifting Revel; there was just no putting
a creature like that back into the box once it had served its purpose. The monster’s
red blood mixed with that of its victims and slowly settled in a broad, dark cloud;
even this had a deliberate part to play in what was to come next.

SCHOLARS OF the Therin Collegium, from their comfortable position well inland, could
tell you that the wolf sharks of the Iron Sea are beautiful and fascinating creatures,
their bodies more packed with muscle than any bull, their abrasive hide streaked with
every color from old-copper green
to stormcloud black. Anyone actually working the waterfront in Camorr and on the nearby
coast could tell you that wolf sharks are big aggressive bastards that like to
jump
.

Carefully caged, starved, and maddened by blood, wolf sharks are the key to the customary
highlight of the Shifting Revel. Other cities have gladiatorial games; other cities
pit men against animals. But only in Camorr can you see a specially armed gladiator
(a
contrarequialla
) battle a live, leaping shark, and in Camorr only women are allowed by tradition
to be
contrarequialla
.

This is the Teeth Show.

LOCKE COULDN’T tell if the four women were truly beautiful, but they were undeniably
striking. They were all dark-skinned Camorri with muscles like farm girls, imposing
even at a distance, and they wore next to nothing—tight black cotton shifts across
their chests, wrestler’s loincloths, and thin leather gloves. Their black hair was
pulled back under the traditional red bandannas and threaded with brass and silver
bangles that caught the sunlight in chains of white flashes. The purpose of these
bangles was a matter of argument; some claimed that they confused the poor eyesight
of the sharks, while just as many claimed that their glare helped the monsters better
sight their prey.

Each
contrarequialla
carried two weapons; a short javelin in one hand and a special axe in the other.
These axes had grips enclosed by full handguards, making them difficult to lose; they
were double-headed, with the expected curved blade on one side and a long, sturdy
pick-head on the other. A skilled fighter usually tried to slash a shark’s fins and
tail to nothing before making a kill; few but the very best could kill with anything
but the spike. Wolf shark skin could be like tree bark.

Locke stared at the grim women and felt his usual melancholy admiration. They were,
to his eyes, as mad as they were courageous.

“I know that’s Cicilia de Ricura there, on the far left.” Don Lorenzo was pointing
the women out for Lukas Fehrwight’s benefit, taking a break from more than an hour
of rapid negotiations. “She’s decent. And beside her is Aganesse, who carries her
javelin but never, ever uses it. The other two, well, they must be new. At least new
to the Revel.”

“It’s so unfortunate,” said the Doña, “that the Berangias sisters aren’t out there
today, Master Fehrwight. They’re the best.”

“Probably the best there ever has been.” Don Salvara squinted to cut some of the glare
rising off the water and tried to estimate the size of the sharks, barely visible
as shadows within their cages. “Or ever will be. But they haven’t been at the Revel
for the past few months.”

Locke nodded and chewed on the inside of one of his cheeks. As Locke Lamora,
garrista
of the Gentlemen Bastards and respectable sneak thief, he knew the Berangias twins
personally. He also knew
exactly
where they’d been for those past few months.

Out on the water, the first fighter was taking her position.
Contrarequialla
fought across a series of stepping-stone platforms, each about two feet wide and
raised half a foot off the water. These platforms were set out in a square grid, four
or five feet apart, leaving plenty of room for the opposition to swim between them.
The women would have to hop between these platforms at a rapid pace to strike out
at the sharks while dodging leaps in return; a slip into the water was usually the
end of the contest.

Beyond the line of shark cages (opened by chain pulleys connected to a barge well
beyond the periphery of any possible shark activity) there was a little boat, crewed
by (extremely well-paid) volunteer rowers and carrying the three traditional observers
of any Teeth Show. First, there was a priest of Iono in his sea-green robes fringed
with silver. Beside him there was a black-robed, silver-masked priestess of Aza Guilla,
Lady of the Long Silence, Goddess of Death. Lastly, there was a physiker, whose presence
had always struck Locke as an extremely optimistic gesture.

“Camorr!” The young woman—apparently Cicilia de Ricura—raised her weapons into the
air over her head. The heavy murmur of the crowd subsided, leaving only the noise
of water lapping against boats and breakwaters. Fifteen thousand watchers held their
collective breath. “I dedicate this death to Duke Nicovante, our lord and patron!”
Such was the traditional phrasing of the
contrarequialla
’s salute; “this death” could conveniently refer to either participant in the battle.