The Gentleman Bastard Series 3-Book Bundle: The Lies of Locke Lamora, Red Seas Under Red Skies, The Republic of Thieves (64 page)

Locke led the way back to the countinghouse, with Benjavier sobbing but quiescent.
Locke strolled into the receiving room, right past the startled service-door guard,
and bellowed, “Clear this room.
Now
.”

A few of the lounging waiters looked as though they might offer argument, but the
sight of Benjavier, half-dressed and firmly held by the two guards, seemed to convince
them that something was deeply amiss. They scuttled from the room, and Locke turned
to the guards.

“Hold him here,” said Locke. “I’m going to fetch Master Meraggio; we’ll return in
a few moments. This room is to stay clear until we return. Let the waiters take their
ease somewhere else.”

“Hey, what’s going on?” The service-door guard poked his head into the receiving room.

“If you value your job,” said Locke, “keep your eyes out there in that alley, and
don’t let anyone else in. Meraggio’s going to be down here soon, and he’s going to
be in a mood, so it’d be best not to catch his attention.”

“I think he’s right, Laval,” said one of the guards holding Benjavier.

“Uh … sure, sure.” The service-door guard vanished.

“As for you,” said Locke, stepping close to Benjavier, “like I said, it’s nothing
personal. Can I give you a bit of advice? Don’t play games. You can’t lie to Meraggio.
None of us could, on our best day. Just confess, straight out. Be totally honest.
Do you understand?”

“Yes,” sniffed Benjavier. “Yes, please, I’ll do anything.…”

“You don’t need to do
anything
. But if you hope for Master Meraggio to be at all lenient or sympathetic, then by
the gods, you fucking confess and you do it in a hurry. No games, remember?”

“O-okay, yes, anything …”

“I shall return very shortly,” said Locke, and he spun on his heel and made for the
door. As he left the receiving room, he allowed himself a brief smirk of pleasure;
the guards pinning Benjavier now looked almost as frightened of him as the waiter
did. It was strange, how readily authority could be conjured with nothing but a bit
of strutting jackassery. He made his way through the service passages and kitchens,
and back out onto the public floor.

“I say,” said Locke to the first guard he came across, “is Master Meraggio in the
members’ galleries?” Locke waved his blank rolled parchment as though it were pressing
business.

“Far as I know,” said the guard, “I think he’s up on the third level, taking reports.”

“Many thanks.”

Locke climbed the wide black iron stairs that led up to the first members’ gallery,
nodding at the pair of guards at its base. His uniform seemed to be a sufficient guarantee
of gallery privileges, but he kept the parchment clutched visibly in both hands, as
an added assurance. He scanned the first-floor galleries, found no sign of his quarry,
and continued upward.

He found Giancana Meraggio on the third floor, just as the guard had indicated. Meraggio
stood staring out at the public gallery, abstractly, as he listened to a pair of finnickers
behind him read from wax tablets figures that meant very little to Locke. Meraggio
didn’t seem to keep a bodyguard near his person; apparently he felt safe enough within
the bounds of his commercial kingdom. So much the better. Locke stepped right up beside
him, relishing the arrogance of the gesture, and stood waiting to be noticed.

The finnickers and several nearby gallery members started muttering to themselves;
after a few seconds Meraggio turned and let the full power of his storm-lantern glare
rest on Locke. It took only a moment for that glare to shift from irritation to suspicion.

“You,” said Meraggio, “do
not
work for me.”

“I bring greetings from Capa Raza of Camorr,” said Locke, in a quiet and respectful
voice. “I have a very serious matter to bring to your attention, Master Meraggio.”

The master of the countinghouse stared at him, then removed his optics and tucked
them in a coat pocket. “So it’s true, then. I’d heard Barsavi had gone the way of
all flesh.… And now your master sends a lackey. How kind of him. What’s his business?”

“His business is rather congruent with yours, Master Meraggio. I’m here to save your
life.”

Meraggio snorted. “My life is hardly in danger, my improperly dressed friend. This
is my house, and any guard here would cut your balls off with two words from me. If
I were you, I’d start explaining where you got that uniform.”

“I purchased it,” said Locke, “from one of your waiters, a man by the name of Benjavier.
I knew he was tractable, because he’s already in on the plot against your life.”

“Ben? Gods damn it—what proof have you?”

“I have several of your guards holding him down by your service entrance, rather half-dressed.”

“What do you mean
you
have several of
my
guards holding him? Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Capa Raza has given me the job of saving your life, Master Meraggio. I mean exactly
what I said. And as for who I am, I happen to be your
savior
.”

“My guards and my waiters—”

“
Are not reliable
,” hissed Locke. “Are you blind? I didn’t purchase this at a secondhand clothier;
I walked right in through your service entrance, offered a few crowns, and your man
Benjavier was out of his uniform like that.” Locke snapped his fingers. “Your guard
at the service door slipped me in for much less—just a solon. Your men are not made
of stone, Master Meraggio; you presume
much
concerning their fidelity.”

Meraggio stared at him, color rising in his cheeks; he looked as though he was about
to strike Locke. Instead, he coughed and held out his hands, palms up.

“Tell me what you came to tell me,” said Meraggio. “I’ll take my own counsel from
there.”

“Your finnickers are crowding me. Dismiss them and give us a bit of privacy.”

“Don’t tell me what to do in my own—”

“I
will
tell you what to do, gods damn it,” Locke spat. “I am your fucking
bodyguard
, Master Meraggio. You are in deadly danger; minutes count. You already know of at
least one compromised waiter and one lax guard; how much longer are you going to prevent
me from keeping you alive?”

“Why is Capa Raza so concerned for my safety?”

“Your personal comfort likely means nothing to him,” said Locke. “The safety of
the
Meraggio, however, is of paramount importance. An assassination contract has been
taken out against you, by Verrari commercial interests who wish to see Camorr’s fortunes
diminished. Raza has been in power for four days; your assassination would shake the
city to its foundations. The Spider and the city watch would tear Raza’s people apart
looking for answers. He simply
cannot
allow harm to come to you. He must keep this city stable, as surely as the duke must.”

“And how does your master know all of this?”

“A gift from the gods,” said Locke. “Letters were intercepted while my master’s agents
were pursuing an unrelated matter. Please dismiss your finnickers.”

Meraggio pondered for a few seconds, then grunted and waved his attendants away with
an irritated wrist-flick. They backed off, wide-eyed.

“Someone very nasty is after you,” said Locke. “It’s a crossbow job; the assassin
is Lashani. Supposedly, his weapons have been altered by a Karthani Bondsmage. He’s
slippery as all hell, and he almost always hits the mark. Be flattered; we believe
his fee is ten thousand crowns.”

“This is a great deal to swallow, Master …”

“My name isn’t important,” said Locke. “Come with me, down to the receiving room behind
the kitchens. You can talk to Benjavier yourself.”

“The receiving room, behind the kitchens?” Meraggio frowned deeply. “As yet, I have
no reason to believe that you yourself might not be trying to lure me there for mischief.”

“Master Meraggio,” said Locke, “you are wearing silk and cotton, not chain mail. I
have had you at dagger-reach for several minutes now. If my master wished you dead,
your entrails would be staining the carpet. You don’t have to thank me—you don’t even
have to
like
me—but for the love of the gods, please accept that I have been ordered to guard
you, and one does
not
refuse the orders of the Capa of Camorr.”

“Hmmm. A point. Is he as formidable a man as Barsavi was, this Capa Raza?”

“Barsavi died weeping at his feet,” said Locke. “Barsavi and all of his children.
Draw your own conclusions.”

Meraggio slipped his optics back onto his nose, adjusted his orchid, and put his hands
behind his back.

“We shall go to the receiving room,” he said. “You lead the way.”

BENJAVIER AND the guards alike looked terrified when Meraggio stormed into the receiving
room behind Locke; Locke guessed they were more attuned to the man’s moods than he
was, and what they saw on his face must have been something truly unpleasant.

“Benjavier,” said Meraggio, “Benjavier, I simply cannot believe it. After all I did
for you—after I took you in and cleared up that mess with your old ship’s captain … I
haven’t the words!”

“I’m sorry, Master Meraggio,” said the waiter, whose cheeks were wetter than the sloped
roof of a house in a storm. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.…”

“Didn’t
mean
anything by it? Is it
true
, what this man has been telling me?”

“Oh yes, gods forgive me, Master Meraggio, it’s
true
! It’s all true, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry … please believe me—”

“Be silent, gods damn your eyes!”

Meraggio stood, jaw agape, like a man who’d just been slapped. He looked around him
as though seeing the receiving room for the first time, as though the liveried guards
were alien beings. He seemed ready to stagger and fall backward; instead he whirled
on Locke with his fists clenched.

“Tell me everything you know,” he growled. “By the gods, everyone involved in this
affair is going to learn the length of my reach, I swear it.”

“First things first. You
must
live out the afternoon. You have private apartments above the fourth-floor gallery,
right?”

“Of course.”

“Let us go there immediately,” said Locke. “Have this poor bastard thrown into a storeroom;
surely you have one that would suffice. You can deal with him when this affair is
over. For the now, time is not our friend.”

Benjavier burst into loud sobs once again, and Meraggio nodded, looking disgusted.
“Put Benjavier in dry storage and bolt the door. You two, stand watch. And
you
—”

The service-door guard had been peeking his head around the corner again. He flushed
red.

“Let another unauthorized person, so much as a small
child
, in through that door this afternoon, and I’ll have your balls cut out and hot coals
put in their place. Is that clear?”

“P-perfectly clear, M-master Meraggio, sir.”

Meraggio turned and swept out of the room, and this time it was Locke at his heels,
hurrying to keep up.

GIANCANA MERAGGIO’S fortified private apartments were of a kind with the man’s clothing:
richly furnished in the most subtle fashion. The man clearly preferred to let materials
and craftsmanship serve as his primary ornaments.

The steel-reinforced door clicked shut behind them, and the Verrari lockbox rattled
as its teeth slid home within the wood. Meraggio and Locke were alone. The elegant
miniature water-clock on Meraggio’s lacquered desk was just filling the bowl that
marked the first hour of the afternoon.

“Now,” said Locke, “Master Meraggio, you cannot be out on the floor again until our
assassin is sewn up. It is
not
safe; we expected the attack to come between the first and fourth hour of the afternoon.”

“That will cause problems,” said Meraggio. “I have business to look after; my absence
on the floor will be noticed.”

“Not necessarily,” said Locke. “Has it not occurred to you that we are of a very similar
build? And that one man, in the shadows of one of the upper-level galleries, might
look very much like another?”

“You … you propose to masquerade as
me
?”

“In the letters we intercepted,” said Locke, “we received one piece of information
that is very much to our advantage. The assassin did not receive a detailed description
of your appearance. Rather, he was instructed to put his bolt into the
only
man in the countinghouse wearing a
rather large orchid
at the breast of his coat. If I were to be dressed as you, in your customary place
in the gallery, with an orchid pinned to my coat—well, that bolt would be coming at
me, rather than you.”

“I find it hard to believe that you’re saintly enough to be willing to put yourself
in my place, if this assassin is as deadly as you say.”

“Master Meraggio,” said Locke, “begging your pardon, but I plainly haven’t made myself
clear. If I
don’t
do this on your behalf, my master will kill me anyway. Furthermore, I am perhaps
more adept at ducking the embrace of the Lady of the Long Silence than you might imagine.
Lastly, the reward I have been promised for bringing this affair to a satisfactory
close … Well, if you were in my shoes,
you’d
be willing to face a bolt as well.”

“What would you have me do, in the meantime?”

“Take your ease in these apartments,” said Locke. “Keep the doors tightly shut. Amuse
yourself for a few hours; I suspect we won’t have long to wait.”

“And what happens when the assassin lets fly his bolt?”

“I am ashamed to have to admit,” said Locke, “that my master has at least a half dozen
other men out on the floor of your countinghouse today—please don’t be upset. Some
of your clients are not clients; they’re the sharpest, roughest lads Capa Raza has,
old hands at fast, quiet work. When our assassin takes his shot, they’ll move on him.
Between them and your own guards, he’ll never know what hit him.”