The Gentleman Bastard Series (79 page)
Read The Gentleman Bastard Series Online
Authors: Scott Lynch
Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Epic, #Action & Adventure, #Science Fiction
“Locke,” said Jean at last, hesitantly.
“Yes?”
“If you don’t mind my asking … what
is
your real name?”
“Oh, gods.” Locke smiled weakly. “Can’t I have any secrets?”
“You know mine.”
“Yeah, but you’ve only got the one anyway.”
“Not a fair point.”
“Oh, fine,” said Locke. “Get over here.”
Jean stumbled over to the pile of crates on which Locke was lying, and bent down to put his ear near Locke’s mouth. Locke whispered five syllables, and Jean’s eyes widened.
“You know,” he said, “I’d have gone with Locke in preference to that, myself.”
“Tell me about it.”
The galleon rode south before the winds of the storm, and the last few glimmers of Falselight faded behind them. The lights drew down into the darkness, and then they were gone for good, and the rain swept in like a wall above the surface of the sea.
AFTERWORD
A chunk of incredible good fortune fell right out of the sky and landed on my head when this novel was picked up for publication. I owe many thanks to Simon Spanton, Gillian Redfearn, Krystyna Kujawinska, Hannah Whitaker, and Susan Howe at Orion Books, not to mention Anne Groell at Bantam.
It takes a village to keep a first-time author’s ego stoked (or in check, as necessary). I couldn’t have asked for more patient or generous supporters than my parents, Jill and Tom Lynch—nor would anything have been the same without a certain energetic crew of online miscreant-savants: Gabe Chouinard, Matthew Woodring Stover, Kage Baker, Bob Urell, Summer Brooks, M. Lynn Booker, Chris Billett, Gabriel Mesa, Alex Berman, Clucky, Mastadge, Shevchyk, Ariel, and all the rest—including the readers and players of the role-playing game Deeds Not Words.
Thanks also to friends near and far—Jason McCray, Darren Wieland, Cleo McAdams, Jayson Stevens, Peg Kerr, Philip Shill, Bradford Walker, J. H. Frank, Jason Sartin, Abra Staffin-Wiebe, Sammi and Lewis, Mike and Becky, Bridget and Joe, Annie and Josiah, Erik and Aman, Mike and Laura, Paul, Adrian, Ben and Jenny Rose, Aaron, Jesse, Chris and Ren, Andy Nelson, and last but not least Rose Miller, who’s not tall enough to ride the ride just yet, but we let her on anyway.
New Richmond, Wisconsin
September 16, 2005
RED SEAS UNDER RED SKIES
A Bantam Spectra Book / August 2007
Published by Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2007 by Scott Lynch
Maps by Robert Bull
Bantam Books, the rooster colophon, Spectra, and the portrayal of a boxed “s” are trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Lynch, Scott, 1978–
Red seas under red skies / Scott Lynch.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-553-80468-3 (hardcover)
eISBN: 978-0-553-90358-4
1. Swindlers and swindling—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3612.Y5427R43 2007
813’.6—dc22 2007018597
v3.1_r2
For Matthew Woodring Stover,
a friendly sail on the horizon
.
Non destiti, nunquam desistam.
Contents
Prologue: A Strained Conversation
Chapter One: Little Games
Reminiscence: The Capa of Vel Virazzo
Chapter Two: Requin
Reminiscence: Best-Laid Plans
Chapter Three: Warm Hospitality
Reminiscence: The Lady of the Glass Pylon
Chapter Four: Blind Alliances
Reminiscence: The Amusement War
Chapter Five: On a Clockwork River
Last Reminiscence: By Their Own Rope
Chapter Six: Balance of Trades
Chapter Seven: Casting Loose
Chapter Eight: Summer’s End
Chapter Nine: The Poison Orchid
Chapter Ten: All Souls in Peril
Chapter Eleven: All Else, Truth
Chapter Twelve: Port Prodigal
Chapter Thirteen: Points of Decision
Chapter Fourteen: Scourging the Sea of Brass
Chapter Fifteen: Between Brethren
Chapter Sixteen: Settling Accounts
Epilogue: Red Seas Under Red Skies
PROLOGUE
A Strained Conversation
1
Locke Lamora stood on the pier in Tal Verrar with the hot wind of a burning ship at his back and the cold bite of a loaded crossbow’s bolt at his neck.
He grinned and concentrated on holding his own crossbow level with the left eye of his opponent; they were close enough that they would catch most of each other’s blood, should they both twitch their fingers at the same time.
“Be reasonable,” said the man facing him. Beads of sweat left visible trails as they slid down his grime-covered cheeks and forehead. “Consider the disadvantages of your situation.”
Locke snorted. “Unless your eyeballs are made of iron, the disadvantage is mutual. Wouldn’t you say so, Jean?”
They were standing two-by-two on the pier, Locke beside Jean, their assailants beside one another. Jean and his foe were toe-to-toe with their crossbows similarly poised; four cold metal bolts were cranked and ready scant inches away from the heads of four understandably nervous men. Not one of them could miss at this range, not if all the gods above or below the heavens willed it otherwise.
“All four of us would seem to be up to our balls in quicksand,” said Jean.
On the water behind them, the old galleon groaned and creaked as the roaring flames consumed it from the inside out. Night was made day for hundreds of yards around; the hull was crisscrossed with the white-orange lines of seams coming apart. Smoke boiled out of those hellish cracks in little black eruptions, the last shuddering breaths of a vast wooden beast
dying in agony. The four men stood at the very end of their pier, strangely alone in the midst of light and noise that was drawing the attention of the entire city.
“Lower your piece, for the love of the gods,” said Locke’s opponent. “We’ve been instructed not to kill you, if we don’t have to.”
“And I’m sure you’d be honest if it were otherwise, of course,” said Locke. His smile grew. “I make it a point never to trust men with weapons at my windpipe. Sorry.”
“Your hand will start to shake long before mine does.”
“I’ll rest the tip of my quarrel against your nose when I get tired. Who sent you after us? What are they paying you? We’re not without funds; a happy arrangement could be reached.”
“Actually,” said Jean, “I know who sent them.”
“Really?” Locke flicked a glance at Jean before locking eyes with his adversary once again.
“And an arrangement has been reached, but I wouldn’t call it happy.”
“Ah … Jean, I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”
“No.” Jean raised one hand, palm out, to the man opposite him. He then slowly, carefully shifted his aim to his left—until his crossbow was pointing at Locke’s head. The man he’d previously been threatening blinked in surprise. “You’ve lost me, Locke.”
“Jean,” said Locke, the grin vanishing from his face, “this isn’t funny.”
“I agree. Hand your piece over to me.”
“Jean—”
“Hand it over now. Smartly. You there, are you some kind of moron? Get that thing out of my face and point it at him.”
Jean’s former opponent licked his lips nervously, but didn’t move. Jean ground his teeth together. “Look, you sponge-witted dock ape, I’m doing your job for you. Point your crossbow at my gods-damned partner so we can get off this pier!”
