The Gentleman Bastard Series (28 page)

Locke took a deep breath. There was nothing else for it; the situation required absolute acquiescence, as surely as if the capa were holding a crossbow to his temple. Men died for refusing Barsavi far less; to refuse the capa’s own daughter would be a particularly messy sort of suicide. If Locke balked at the capa’s plan he wouldn’t live out the night.

“I … I’m honored, Capa Barsavi. So deeply honored. I hope not to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me? Certainly not. Now, I know that several of my other
garristas
have had their eyes on Nazca for some time. But if one of them was going to catch her eye, he’d have done it by now, eh? What a surprise, when they hear the news. They’ll never see this coming!”

And for a wedding present
, thought Locke,
the angry jealousy of an unknown number of jilted suitors!

“How, then … how and when should I begin, Your Honor?”

“Well,” said Barsavi, “why don’t I give you a few days to think it over? I’ll speak to her, in the interim. Of course, for the time being, she’s not to leave the Floating Grave. Once the Gray King is dealt with—well, I would expect you to begin courting her in a more colorful and public fashion.”

“You’re telling me,” Locke said, very carefully, “I should start stealing more, then.”

“Consider it my challenge to you, to go hand in hand with my blessing.” Barsavi smirked. “Let’s see if you can stay prudent while becoming more
productive
. I suspect you can—and I know that you wouldn’t want to disappoint me
or
my daughter.”

“Certainly not, Your Honor. I’ll … I’ll do my very best.”

Capa Barsavi beckoned Locke forward and held his left hand out, fingers outstretched, palm down. Locke knelt before Barsavi’s chair, took that hand with both of his own, and kissed the capa’s ring; that familiar black pearl with the bloodred heart. “Capa Barsavi,” he said with his eyes to the ground. The capa pulled him up again, by the shoulders.

“I give you my blessing, Locke Lamora. The blessing of an old man who worries for his children. I set you above many dangerous people by doing this for you. Surely, it has occurred to you that my sons will inherit a dangerous office. And if they’re not careful enough, or hard enough for the task … well, stranger things have happened. Someday this city could be ruled by Capa Lamora. Have you ever dreamed of this?”

“Truthfully,” whispered Locke, “I have never desired a capa’s power, because I would never want a capa’s problems.”

“Well, there’s that prudence again.” The capa smiled and gestured
toward the far doors, giving Locke permission to withdraw. “A capa’s problems are very real. But you’ve helped me put one of them to rest.”

Locke walked back toward the entrance hall, thoughts racing. The capa sat on his chair behind him, staring at nothing, saying no more. The only sounds after that were Locke’s own footsteps and the steady drip of blood from the gore-soaked bag around Federico’s head.

8

“WELL, NAZCA, if I were a thousand years old and had already seen everything there is to see six times over, that
still
would have been about the
last damn thing
I’d have ever expected!”

She was waiting for him in the little hall beyond the foyer; once the clockwork mechanisms had sealed the door to the main hall behind them, she gave him a wry and apologetic look.

“But don’t you see that it would have been even
stranger
if I’d explained it beforehand?”

“The whole mess would be hard-pressed to get any gods-damned weirder. Look, please, don’t take any of this the wrong way. I—”

“I don’t take any of it the wrong way, Locke.…”

“You’re a good friend, and—”

“I feel the same way, and yet—”

“It’s hard to put this right.…”

“No, it isn’t. Look.” She grabbed him by the shoulders and bent down slightly to look right into his eyes. “You are a good friend, Locke. Probably the best I have. My loyal
pezon
. I am extremely fond of you, but not … as a possible husband. And I know that you—”

“I … ah …”

“Locke,” said Nazca, “I know that the only woman with the key to that peculiar heart of yours is a thousand miles away. And I know you’d rather be miserable over her than happy with anyone else.”

“Really?” Locke balled his fists. “Seems like it’s pretty common fucking knowledge. I bet the duke gets regular reports. Seems as though your father is the only person who
doesn’t
know.”

“Or doesn’t care.” Nazca raised her eyebrows. “Locke, it’s capa to
pezon
. It’s not personal. He gives the orders and you carry them out. In most cases.”

“But not this one? I thought you’d be happy. At least he’s making plans for the future again.”

“I said
reasonable
plans.” Nazca smiled—a real smile this time. “Come on,
pezon
. Play along for a few days. We can go through the motions and put our heads together to come up with a way out of this. It’s you and me we’re talking about, right? The old man can’t win, and he won’t even know he’s lost.”

“Right. If you say so.”

“Yes, I say so. Come back the day after tomorrow. We’ll scheme. We’ll slip this noose. Now go tend to your boys. And be
careful
.”

Locke stepped back out into the entrance hall, and Nazca pushed the doors shut behind him; he stared back at her as the space between the black doors narrowed, gradually sealing her off from view until they slammed shut with the click of tumbling locks. He could have sworn she winked just before the heavy black doors closed between them.

“… and this is the card you picked. The six of spires,” said Calo, holding up a card and displaying it for the entrance-hall guards.

“Fuck me,” said one of them, “that’s sorcery.”

“Nah, it’s just the old Sanza touch.” Calo reshuffled his deck onehanded and held it out toward Locke. “Care to give it a go, boss?”

“No thanks, Calo. Pack up, lads. Our business here is finished for the day, so let’s quit bothering the folks with the crossbows.” He punctuated this with hand gestures:
Major complications
;
discuss elsewhere
.

“Damn, I’m hungry,” said Jean, picking up the cue. “Why don’t we get something at the Last Mistake and take it up to our rooms?”

“Yeah,” said Bug. “Beer and apricot tarts!”

“A combination so disgusting I feel oddly compelled to actually try it.” Jean swatted the smallest Gentleman Bastard on the back of his head, then led the way as the gang made for the slender wooden path that tied the Floating Grave to the rest of the world.

9

SAVE CAPA Barsavi (who imagined that Locke’s gang merely continued sitting the steps a few days of the week even with Chains in his grave), no Right People of Camorr knew that the Gentlemen Bastards still worked out of the House of Perelandro. Calo and Galdo and Bug let rooms at various points in and around the Snare, moving every few months. Locke and Jean had maintained the fiction of rooming together for several years. By a great stroke of luck (though whether it was good or ill had yet to be
determined, really) Jean had managed to get them the rooms on the seventh floor of the Broken Tower.

The night was dark and full of rain, and none of the gang were particularly eager to make their way back onto the creaking exterior stairs that staggered down the north side of the tower. Hissing rain rattled the window shutters, and the wind made an eerie rising-and-falling sigh as it passed over the gaps and crevices in the old tower. The Gentlemen Bastards sat on floor cushions in the light of paper lanterns and nursed the last of their beer, the pale sweet sort that most Camorr natives preferred to the bitter Verrari dark. The air was stuffy, but at least tolerably dry.

Locke had given them the whole story over dinner.

“Well,” said Galdo, “this is the damnedest damn thing that ever dammed things up for us.”

“I say again,” said Jean, “that we should pull an early blow-off on the Don Salvara game and get ready to ride out a storm. This Gray King business is getting scary, and we can’t have our attention diverted if Locke’s going to be mixed up at the middle of things.”

“Where do we cut ourselves off?” asked Calo.

“We cut ourselves off now,” said Jean. “Now, or after we get one more note out of the don. No later.”

“Mmmm.” Locke stared down at the dregs in the bottom of his tin cup. “We’ve worked hard for this one. I’m confident we can run it for another five or ten thousand crowns, at least. Maybe not the twenty-five thousand we were hoping to squeeze out of Salvara, but enough to make ourselves proud. I got the crap kicked out of me, and Bug jumped off a building for this money, you know.”

“And got rolled two miles inside a bloody barrel!”

“Now, Bug,” said Galdo, “it’s not as though the nasty old barrel jumped you in an alley and forced you to crawl inside it. And I concur with Jean. I said it this afternoon, Locke. Even if you won’t seriously consider using them, can we at least make some arrangements to get you under cover in a hurry? Maybe even out of town?”

“I still can’t believe I’m hearing a Sanza counsel caution,” Locke said with a grin. “I thought we were richer and cleverer than everyone else.”

“You’ll hear it again and again when there’s a chance you’ll get your throat slit, Locke.” Calo picked up his brother’s argument. “I’ve changed my mind about the Gray King, that’s for damn sure. Maybe the lone lunatic
does
have it over the three thousand of us. You might be one of his
targets. And if Barsavi wants you even tighter with his inner circle, it invites further trouble.”

“Can we set aside talk of slitting throats, just for a moment?” Locke rose and turned toward the shuttered seaward window. He pretended to stare out of it with his hands folded behind his back. “Who are we, after all? I admit I was almost ready to jump into the gods-damned bay when the capa sprang this on me. But I’ve had time to think, so get this straight—we’ve got the old fox dead to rights. We’ve got him in the
palms of our hands
. Honestly, boys. We’re so good at what we do that he’s asking the
Thorn
of fucking
Camorr
to
marry his daughter
. We’re so far in the clear it’s
comical
.”

“Nonetheless,” said Jean, “it’s a complication that could mess up our arrangements
forever
, not an accomplishment we can crow about.”

“Of course we can crow about it, Jean. I’m going to crow about it right now. Don’t you see? This is
nothing
we don’t do every day. It’s a plain old Gentlemen Bastards sort of job—only we’ll have Nazca working with me to pull it off as well. We can’t lose. I’m no more likely to marry her than I am to be named Duke Nicovante’s heir tomorrow morning.”

“Do you have a plan?” Jean’s eyes said he was curious but wary.

“Not even remotely. I don’t have the
first damned clue
what we’re going to do. But all my
best
plans start just like this.” Locke tipped the last of his beer down his throat and tossed the tin cup against the wall. “I’ve had my beer and I’ve had my apricot tarts, and I say the hell with them both, Gray King
and
Capa Barsavi. Nobody’s going to scare us out of our Don Salvara game, and nobody’s going to hitch me and Nazca against our will. We’ll do what we always do—wait for an opening, take it, and fucking well
win
.”

“Uh … well.” Jean sighed. “Will you at least let us take a few precautions? And will you watch yourself, coming and going?”

“Naturally, Jean, naturally. You grab us some places on likely ships; spend whatever you have to. I don’t care where they’re going as long as it’s not Jerem. We can lose ourselves anywhere for a few weeks and creep back when we please. Calo, Galdo, you get out to the Viscount’s Gate tomorrow. Leave some considerations for the boys in yellow so we can get out of the city at an awkward hour if we need to. Don’t be shy with the silver and gold.”

“What can I do?” asked Bug.

“You can watch our backs. Keep your eyes wide open. Skulk around the temple. Spot me anyone out of place, anyone who lingers too long. If anyone is trying to keep an eye on us, I
guarantee
we will go to ground and
vanish like piss into the ocean. Until then, trust me. I promise to do most of my moving around as Lukas Fehrwight for the next few days; I can swap in some cheaper disguises, too.”

“Then I suppose that’s that,” Jean said quietly.

“Jean, I can be your
garrista
or I can just be the fellow who buys beer and tarts when everyone else mysteriously misplaces their purses.” Locke eyed the gathering with an exaggerated scowl. “I can’t be both; it’s one or the other.”

“I’m nervous,” said Jean, “because I don’t like having as little information as I fear we do. I share Nazca’s suspicions. The Gray King has something up his sleeves, something we don’t understand. Our game is very delicate and our situation is very … fluid.”

“I know. But I follow my gut, and my gut says that we meet this one head-on with smiles on our faces. Look,” said Locke, “the more we do this, the more I learn about what I think Chains was really training us for. And
this
is it. He wasn’t training us for a calm and orderly world where we could pick and choose when we needed to be clever. He was training us for a situation that was
fucked up on all sides
. Well, we’re in it, and I say we’re equal to it. I don’t need to be reminded that we’re up to our heads in dark water. I just want you boys to remember that we’re the gods-damned
sharks
.”

“Right on,” cried Bug. “I knew there was a reason I let you lead this gang!”

“Well, I can’t argue with the manifest wisdom of the boy that jumps off temple roofs. But I trust my points are noted,” said Jean.

“Very noted,” said Locke. “Received, recognized, and duly considered with the utmost gravity. Sealed, notarized, and firmly imprinted upon my rational essence.”

“Gods, you really are cheerful about this, aren’t you? You only play vocabulary games when you feel genuinely sunny about the world.” Jean sighed, but couldn’t keep the slightest hint of a smile from tugging at the corners of his lips.