The Gentleman Bastard Series 3-Book Bundle: The Lies of Locke Lamora, Red Seas Under Red Skies, The Republic of Thieves (216 page)

“It’s not meant to,” said Locke. “It’s a simple obstacle for the witless and unlucky.
The less time we have to waste on idiots, the more we can devote to everything else
Sabetha does.”

IT WAS
a cool, mist-haunted morning. Water trickled down every window, and the pavements
were slick. A few minutes before eight, Locke and Jean hustled Nikoros, who looked
as though sleep had been scarce, into a carriage. Locke gnawed indelicately at half
a loaf of bread stuffed with cold meat from the party. This breakfast was disposed
of by the time they made their first stop of the morning, at Tivoli’s, to reinforce
the coins in their purses with a few hundred comrades.

Next, they rattled north to the Casta Gravina, the old citadel of Karthain, whose
interior walls and gates had been knocked down years before to make more room for
a government that didn’t have to fear anything so mundane as a hostile army at its
doorstep. The plazas and gardens were so beautifully laid out that the fog might have
been just one more decoration, artfully conjured and shaped by crews of overambitious
groundskeepers.

“Magistrates’ Court,” said Nikoros, leading the way out of the carriage. “I know the
place. If you want to make any money in my business, you’ll end up party or witness
in your share of lawsuits.”

Locke and Jean followed him across a circular plaza, into the clammy silver mist that
opened a few paces ahead of them and swallowed their carriage an equal distance behind.
The fog echoed faintly
with the sounds of the city coming to life—doors opening, horses and wheels clattering,
people shouting to one another.

“Clerks’ office is just over here,” said Nikoros.

“OOF!” A woman came out of the fog to Locke’s left before he could react. She collided
with Locke, steadied herself against him, and was then snatched away rather ignominiously
by Jean.

“Gods above!” she cried. The voice was creaky, middle-aged, Karthani.

“It’s fine, Master Callas, it’s fine,” said Locke. He patted his purse and papers,
verifying their undisturbed state. The collision might or might not be innocent, but
the woman seemed to be no pickpocket.

“A thousand apologies. You startled us, madam,” said Jean, releasing the woman. She
was a few inches shorter than Locke, broad and heavy, dressed in a dull but expensive
fashion. Her gray-dusted brown hair was pinned up under an elegant four-cornered cap,
and her face was lined with whatever cares had chased her through life. Locke prayed
silently that they hadn’t just upset one of the very clerks they might want to suborn.

“It’s you who startled me, looming out of the fog like a pack of highwaymen!”

“I wouldn’t call it looming, madam. Some of us simply aren’t built for looming,” said
Locke.

“You, perhaps not, but I could plant your big friend in the street to shade the roof
of my house.” She readjusted her coat with a sharp tug and went on her way, scowling.
“Good day, oafs.”

“Nikoros,” said Jean, “was that anyone important?”

“Never seen her before.”

“Well, let’s get inside before we trip over someone we can’t afford to offend,” said
Locke.

The office of the clerks wasn’t particularly large, but it was comfortably appointed.
The purgatory of quiet halls and empty chairs outside the clerical chambers looked
like a decent place to fall asleep in. Capability Peralis, a round and attractive
woman on the kinder side of forty, was scratching away at papers behind her desk when
Locke, Jean, and Nikoros entered her chamber.

“I’m sorry,” she said, irritably tossing thick dark ringlets out of her
eyes as she looked up. “No appointments before half ten. Where’s the hall secretary?”

“The secretary has been taken advantage of by my excessive natural and financial charms,”
said Locke, who’d been charming to the tune of a month’s salary. “I’m sure you can
sympathize.”

Locke settled smoothly into one of the chairs before Peralis’ desk, and Jean casually
drew the door shut. Nikoros stood off to one side and pretended to admire the walls.

“I’ve no idea who you think you are, sir—”

“Last night,” said Locke, “a warrant was signed and sent out from this office, a warrant
concerning Josten’s Comprehensive Accommodations.”

“If you’re Josten’s counsel, you know bloody well when Public Proceedings are held!”

“What I know,” said Locke, “is that some miracle caused the records for the payment
of Josten’s ardent spirits license, which is perfectly sound, to be misplaced. I’d
like that miracle reversed. I do understand that miracles are expensive.”

Sighing inwardly at the artlessness of this approach (there was no time to waste on
subtlety), Locke swept a hand across the desktop, leaving a comet-like trail of gold
coins.

“Is that meant to impress me?” said Peralis softly, fiercely. Oh, her version of Offended
Honest Public Functionary deserved applause! “Attempted bribery of a civic official.
You’ll shed your boldness when you’re chained to an interrogation cell wall.”

“Good
gods
, that’s lovely,” said Locke. “I’m really sorry that I simply don’t have time to play
this game with you. That’s your annual salary right there on the desktop. I propose
to give you six more payments just like it, one per week until this election is over.
All I ask is that no further complications to Deep Roots party business be specially
conjured by you or your staff. Nothing more.”

“Well,” she said, dropping her façade of outrage, “what if another benefactor is willing
to provide additional funds in a contrary direction?”

“Notify us,” said Locke. “We’ll match anything you’re offered. I don’t even want you
to take action against that other benefactor;
merely refrain from taking action against us. Make up excuses. Imply that you’re under
scrutiny, that further accommodations are temporarily impossible. Surely you can see
it’s a sweet arrangement where you’re concerned.”

“It’s not without its temptations,” she mused.

“Quit being coy. Just say yes and earn a fortune.”

“Well, then—yes.”

“I have your word this warrant concerning Josten is a misunderstanding, and the record
in question is going to be found, by the happiest happenstance, as soon as I leave
this office?”

“You may safely consider the matter settled.”

“Good. If it remains settled next week, I’ll call again with more decorations for
your desk. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a tight schedule of pushing boulders
up hills.”

“You know,” said Nikoros quietly as they left the Second Clerk’s office, “not to criticize,
but if no particular tact is required in these matters, I’ve a hundred Deep Roots
men and women who can make these calls in their official capacities—”

“No,” said Locke. “When it comes to just laying out money, leave our official friends
out of it. Save them for areas in which their authority is needed. There’s no point
in blunting our tools in the wrong applications.”

“Well,” said Nikoros, “you’re damned impossible to argue with, Master Lazari.”

“Not impossible,” said Jean placidly. “About as intractable as a tortoise with its
ass on fire, though.”

“If we’re going to catch up to the opposition,” said Locke, “we’ve got to step boldly
at every—”

“There he is!
There’s the man who stole my purse!
” cried a familiar voice as Locke emerged once again onto the fog-shrouded plaza.

The middle-aged woman stood there, flanked by two men in pale blue coats reminiscent
of the one worn by Vidalos. These men wore studded leather vests beneath them, however,
and had clubs hanging from their belts.

Gods. So it hadn’t been an innocent collision after all.

“Your pardon, sir,” said one of the guards, stepping forward, “but I must ask to see
your pockets.”

“A black silk purse,” said the woman, “with the initials ‘G.B.’ in red in one of the
corners. Seven ducats in it. Or at least there were!”

Locke patted himself down hurriedly. Yes, there
was
a slender new weight in the lower left inside pocket of his rather excellent new
coat. He hadn’t noticed the addition; he’d been so satisfied with verifying that nothing
had been removed. Stupid, clumsy, amateurish—

“I say,” he sputtered, “this is an intolerable accusation! How dare you, madam, how
dare you! And how dare you, sir, suggest that a gentleman might be turned upside-down
and shaken like a common cutpurse!”

“Be reasonable, sir,” said the guard. “The lady has a precise description of what
was taken, and surely proving that you don’t have it is worth a moment of your time—”

“It is a liberty beyond comprehension! This is Karthain, not the lawless wilds!” Into
his furious gesticulations, Locke worked a number of quick hand signals for Jean’s
benefit. “I take great … I take the most … I take take take … arrrrr​ggggg​gggh!”

Locke spasmed and sputtered. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he stumbled forward
moaning, clutching at the approaching guard. Alarmed, the man reached for his club.
While Nikoros watched in mute bewilderment, Jean sprang between Locke and the guard.

“For pity’s sake!” Jean hissed. “Don’t pull that cudgel, he’s having a fit!”

“Nnnnn​ggggg​ggggh​hhhh,” said Locke, spraying flecks of spittle and waving his head
about furiously.

“He’s cursed,” said the other guard, making a gesture against evil with both of his
hands. “He’s got a spirit influence on him!”

“He’s not cursed, you damned simpleton, it’s an illness,” said Jean. “Whenever his
emotions run high, there’s a chance he’ll have a fit, and I dare say
you
, madam, have brought him to this state!”

In a manner that seemed perfectly accidental and natural (Jean’s interference was
nothing less than expert), Locke broke away from Jean and the guard. Lurching like
a marionette whose puppeteer was dying of some convulsive poison, he tumbled sobbing
against the woman, who shrieked and pushed him away. Locke wound up on his back with
Jean crouching protectively over him as he babbled, twitched, and kicked at the air.

“Stand back,” said Jean. “Give him some air. The fit will pass. In a moment he’ll
be calm.”

Locke, taking the hint, gradually reduced the severity of his symptoms until he was
only gently shuddering and mumbling.

“If you really must render such low treatment to a gentleman,” said Jean, “I suggest
you examine his pockets now, while he’s not entirely himself.”

The guard Locke had initially stumbled against knelt down beside him and, carefully,
as though Locke might leap back up at any moment, went through Locke’s coat.

“Private papers and a purse not matching your description,” he said, standing up.
“Madam, I’m afraid it’s just not there.”

“He must have discarded it inside,” she cried. “Search the building!”

“Now, this is
beyond
all propriety,” said Jean. “My friend is a gentleman and a solicitor, and you insult
him with these ridiculous accusations!”

“He’s a pickpocket,” said the woman. “He ran into me to steal my purse!”

“This man is a
convulsive
,” Jean bellowed. “He has fits half a dozen times a day! What the hell kind of pickpocket
do you think he’d make? Twitching and trembling and falling over? Gods!”

“Madam,” said the guard standing over Locke, “he doesn’t have your purse, and you
must admit a gentleman with, ah, twitching fever hardly seems a likely cutpurse.”

“Check his friend,” she said. “Check the big one.”

“I’ll gladly hand my coat over,” said Jean, slowly and coldly, pretending to come
to a realization. “Yet I must insist that
you
do the same, madam.”

“Me?”

“Yes,” said Jean. “I understand what’s going on now. I marvel that I didn’t grasp
it before. There is a pickpocket at work, sirs, but one wearing a lady’s dress rather
than a gentleman’s breeches.”

“You foreign slime!” shouted the woman.

“Constables, no doubt you’ve been in the company of this woman since she approached
you with her complaint. I’d check, if I were you, to make sure of your own purses.”

The guards patted themselves down, and the one standing over Locke gasped.

“My coin bag!” he said. “It was right here in my belt!”

“You may examine me at length,” said Jean, extending his arms with his empty palms
up. “But I must insist that your more fruitful course of action would be to examine
my accuser.”

The guard nearest the woman put a hand on her shoulder, mumbled apologies, and gingerly
sifted her coat pockets while she screeched and struggled. After a moment, he held
up a small leather coin bag and a black silk purse.

“Stitched with the initials ‘G.B.’!” he said.

“But it was missing!” she cried. “It was nowhere to be found!”

“What about my coin bag, eh?” The first guard snatched the leather purse from his
partner and shook it at her. “What’s this doing in your pocket?”

“I’m bloody confused,” muttered the other guard.

“You’re meant to be,” said Jean. “Forgive me for saying so. I’ve seen this act before.
Our harmless-looking friend here has been plucking purses. Clearly she meant to frame
my
friend for her deeds, even while plying her trade on you, sirs. Thus, when you and
any other victims discovered your light pockets, you’d have a culprit already in hand,
ready to soak up all the blame. I can only imagine she tried and failed to plant her
purse on my friend. Perhaps age is catching up with you, madam?”

“Lying bastard,” she shouted, trying and failing to fight off the firm grip of a guard.
“Lying, thieving, pocket-picking foreigner!”

“Right, you,” said the first guard, taking her other arm. “I don’t like being taken
advantage of. Gentlemen, would you like to come inside with us and register your complaint
as well?”

“Actually,” said Jean, “I’d like to get my friend home, if not to a physiker. I daresay
this woman’s in enough trouble for having lifted your purse. I can be content with
that.”