The Gentleman Bastard Series (100 page)

He stepped out of the climbing closet, unsure if he was any more convinced by himself than Selendri was.

3

“MASTER KOSTA! My mysterious new associate. What a busy man you’ve been.”

Requin’s office was as cluttered as it had been on Locke’s last visit. Locke was gratified to see his decks of cards stacked haphazardly at various points on and near Requin’s desk. The climbing closet opened out of a wall niche between two paintings, a niche Locke certainly hadn’t noticed on his previous visit.

Requin was standing gazing out through the mesh screen that covered the door to his balcony, wearing a heavy maroon frock coat with black lapels. He scratched at his chin with one gloved hand and glanced sideways at Locke.

“Actually,” said Locke, “Jerome and I have had a quiet few days. As I believe I promised you.”

“I don’t mean just these past few days. I’ve been making those inquiries into your past two years in Tal Verrar.”

“As I’d hoped. Enlightening?”

“Most educational. Let’s be direct. Your associate tried to shake down Azura Gallardine for information concerning my vault. Something more than a year ago. You know who she is?”

Selendri was pacing the room to Locke’s left, slowly, watching him over her right shoulder.

“Of course. One of the high muck-a-shits of the Artificers’ Guild. I told Jerome where to find her.”

“And how did you know that she’d had a hand in the design of my vault?”

“It’s amazing, how much you can learn by buying drinks in artificer bars and pretending that every story you hear is incredibly fascinating.”

“I see.”

“The old bitch didn’t tell him anything, though.”

“She wouldn’t have. And she would have been content at that; she didn’t even tell me about the inquiry he’d made. But I put out the question a few nights ago, and it turns out that a beer-seller on my list of reliable eyes once saw someone answering your associate’s description fall out of the sky.”

“Yes. Jerome said the guildmistress had a unique method of interrupting conversations.”

“Well, Selendri had an uninterrupted conversation with her yesterday evening. She was enticed to remember everything she could about Jerome’s visit.”

“Enticed?”

“Financially, Master Kosta.”

“Ah.”

“I have also come to understand that you made inquiries with some of my gangs over in the Silver Marina. Starting around the time Jerome visited Guildmistress Gallardine.”

“Yes. I spoke to an older fellow named Drava, and a woman named … what was it …”

“Armania Cantazzi.”

“Yes, that was her. Thank you. Gorgeous woman; I tried to get past business and get a bit friendlier with her, but she didn’t seem to appreciate my charms.”

“Armania wouldn’t have; she prefers the company of other women.”

“Now there’s a relief. I thought I was losing my touch.”

“You were curious about shipping, the sort customs officials never get to hear about. You discussed a few terms with my people and never followed up. Why?”

“Jerome and I agreed, upon reflection, that securing shipping from outside Tal Verrar would be wisest. We could then simply hire a few small barges to move whatever we stole from you, and avoid the more complicated dealings involved in getting a lighter.”

“If I were planning to rob myself, I suppose I would agree. Now, the matter of alchemists. I have reliable information placing you at several over the past year. Reputable and otherwise.”

“Of course. I conducted a few experiments with fire oils and acids, on secondhand clockwork mechanisms. I thought it might save some tedious lock-picking.”

“Did these experiments bear fruit?”

“I’d share that information with an employer,” said Locke, grinning.

“Mmmm. Leave that for now. But it does indeed appear that you’ve been up to something. So many disparate activities that do add up to support your story. There’s just one thing more.”

“Which is?”

“I’m curious. How
was
old Maxilan doing when you saw him three nights ago?”

Locke was suddenly aware that Selendri was no longer pacing. She had placed herself just a few steps directly behind him, unmoving. Crooked Warden, give me a golden line of bullshit and the wisdom to know when to stop spinning it, he thought.

“Uh, well, he’s a prick.”

“That’s no secret. Any child on the street could tell me that. But you admit you were at the Mon Magisteria?”

“I was. I had a private audience with Stragos. Incidentally, he’s under the impression that his agents among your gangs are undetected.”

“As per my intentions. But you do get around, Leocanto. Just what
would
the archon of Tal Verrar want with you and Jerome? In the middle of the night, no less? On the very night we had such an
interesting
conversation ourselves?”

Locke sighed to buy himself a few seconds to think. “I can tell you,” he said when he’d hesitated as long as was prudent, “but I doubt you’re going to like it.”

“Of course I won’t like it. Let’s have it anyway.”

Locke sighed. Headfirst into a lie, or headfirst out the window.

“Stragos is the one who’s been paying Jerome and myself. The fronts we’ve been dealing with are his agents.
He’s
the man who’s so keen to see your vault looking like a larder after a banquet. He thought it was time to crack the whip on us.”

Faint lines appeared on Requin’s face as he ground his teeth together, and he put his hands behind his back. “You heard that from his own mouth?”

“Yes.”

“What an astonishing regard he must feel for you, to give you a personal briefing on his affairs. And your proof?”

“Well, you know, I did ask for a signed affidavit concerning his intentions to rake you over the coals, and he was happy to provide me with one, but clumsy me … I lost it on my way over here tonight!” Locke turned to his left and scowled. He could see that Selendri was watching him keenly, with her flesh hand resting on something under her jacket. “For fuck’s sake, if you don’t believe me I can jump out the window right now and save us all a great deal of time.”

“No … no need to paint the cobblestones with your brains just yet.” Requin held up one hand. “It is, however, unusual for someone in Stragos’ position to deal directly with agents that must be, ah, somewhat lowly placed within his hierarchy, and in his regard. No offense.”

“None taken. If I might hazard a guess, I think Stragos is impatient for some reason. I suspect he wants faster results. And … I’m fairly sure that Jerome and myself are no longer intended to outlive any success we achieve on his behalf. It’s the only reasonable presumption.”

“And it would save him a fair bit of money, I’d guess. Stragos’ sort are ever more parsimonious with gold than they are with lives.” Requin
cracked his knuckles beneath his thin leather gloves. “The damnable thing is, this all makes a great deal of sense. I have a rule of thumb—if you have a puzzle and the answers are elegant and simple, it means someone is trying to fuck you over.”

“My only remaining question,” said Selendri, “is why Stragos would deal with you
personally
, knowing full well you could now implicate him if put to … persuasion.”

“There is one thing I hadn’t thought to mention,” said Locke, looking abashed. “It is … a matter of great embarrassment to Jerome and myself. Stragos gave us cider to drink during our audience. Not daring to be inhospitable, we drank quite a bit of it. He claims to have laced it with a poison, something subtle and latent. Something that will require Jerome and I to take an antidote from his hand at regular intervals, or else die unpleasantly. So now he has us by the hip, and if we want the antidote, we must be his good little creatures.”

“An old trick,” said Requin. “Old and reliable.”

“I said we were duly embarrassed. And so you see,” said Locke, “he already has a means to dispose of us when we’ve served his purpose. I’m sure he feels very confident of our loyalty for the time being.”

“And yet you still wish to turn against him?”

“Be honest, Requin. If you were Stragos, would you give us the antidote and send us on our merry way? We’re already dead to him. So now I have the burden of two revenges to carry out before I die. Even if I do succumb to Stragos’ damn cider, I want my last moment with Jerome. And I want the archon to suffer.
You
are still the best means I have to either end.”

“A reasonable presumption,” purred Requin, growing slightly warmer in his manner.

“I’m glad you think so, because apparently I know less about the politics of this city than I thought I did. What the hell is going on, Requin?”

“The archon and the Priori are gnashing their teeth at one another again. Now, half the Priori store large portions of their personal fortunes in my vault, making it impossible for the archon’s spies to know the true extent of their resources. Emptying my vault would not only strip them of funds, but put me in their bad graces. Right now, Stragos could
never
put me out of business without major provocation, for fear of initiating a civil war. But sponsoring an apparent third party to hit my vault … oh yes, that’d do the trick nicely. I’d be busy hunting you and Jerome, the Priori would be busy trying to have me drawn and quartered, and
then
Stragos could simply …”

Requin illustrated what the archon could do by placing a balled fist inside an open palm and squeezing hard.

“I was under the impression,” said Locke, “that the archon was subordinate to the Priori council.”

“Technically, he is. The Priori have a lovely piece of parchment that says so. Stragos has an army and a navy that afford him a dissenting opinion.”

“Great. So now what do we do?”

“Good question. No more suggestions from you, no more schemes, no more card tricks, Master Kosta?”

Locke decided it was a good time to make Leocanto Kosta a bit more human. “Look,” he said. “When my employer was just an anonymous someone who sent a bag of coins every month, I knew exactly what I was doing. But now something else is happening, knives are coming out, and you can see all the angles that I don’t. So tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

“Hmmmm. Stragos. Did he ask about the conversation you and I had?”

“He didn’t even mention it. I don’t think he knew about it. I think Jerome and I were scheduled to get picked up and brought in that night regardless.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m as sure as I can be.”

“Tell me something, Leocanto. If Stragos had revealed himself to you before you’d had a chance to perform your card tricks for me … if you’d known it was him you were betraying, would you still have done it?”

“Well …” Locke pretended to think. “I can’t say what I might think if I actually liked him, or trusted him. Maybe I’d just give Jerome a knife in the back and work for him if I did. But … we’re rats to Stragos, aren’t we? We’re fucking insects. Stragos is one presumptuous son of a bitch. He thinks he knows Jerome and me. I just … don’t like him, not a bit, even without the poison to consider.”

“He must have spoken to you at length, to inspire such distaste,” said Requin with a smile. “So be it. If you want to buy your way into my organization, there will be a price. That price is Stragos.”

“Oh, gods. What the hell does
that
mean?”

“When Stragos is either verifiably dead or in my custody, you may have what you ask. A place at the Sinspire assisting with my games. A salary. All the assistance I can offer you with his poison. And Jerome de Ferra crying under your knife. Is that agreeable?”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“I don’t want you to do it all yourself. But Maxilan has clearly ruled
long enough. Assist me in enabling his retirement by any means you can, or any means I order. Then I suppose I’ll have a new floor boss.”

“Best thing I’ve heard in a long while. And the, ah, money in my account, locked away by your command?”

“Will remain locked away, lost by your own actions. I am not a man of charity, Leocanto. Remember that, if you would serve me.”

“Of course. Of course. But now indulge me, please, in a question of my own. Why aren’t you worried that I might be double-timing you for Stragos? That I might run back and tell him all this?”

“Why do you presume that
I’m
not playing
you
falsely on that very presumption?” Requin smiled, broadly, in genuine amusement.

“All these possibilities make my head hurt,” said Locke. “I prefer cardsharping to intrigue. If you’re not on the up-and-up, logically, I might as well go home and hang myself tonight.”

“Yes. But I’ll give you a better answer. What could you possibly tell Stragos? That I dislike him, bank for his enemies, and wish him dead? So he’d have confirmation of my hostility? No point. He
knows
I’m hostile. He knows the underworld of Tal Verrar is an impediment to him if he wants to assert his power. My
felantozzi
prefer the rule of the guilds to the possibility of rule by uniforms and spears; there’s less money in dictatorship by arms.”

Felantozzi
was a Throne Therin term for foot soldiers; Locke had heard it used to refer to criminals a few times before, but he’d never heard them using it among themselves.

“All that remains,” said Requin, “is for your other judge to concur that you are still a risk worth taking.”

“Other judge?”

Requin gestured toward Selendri. “You’ve heard everything, my dear. Do we put Leocanto out the window, or do we send him back down to where you fetched him from?”

Locke met her gaze, folded his arms, and smiled in what he hoped was his most agreeable harmless-puppy fashion. She scowled inscrutably for a few moments, then sighed.

“There’s so much to distrust here. But if there’s a chance to place a turncoat relatively close to the archon … I suppose it costs us little enough. We may as well take it.”

“There, Master Kosta.” Requin stepped over and placed a hand on Locke’s shoulder. “How’s that for a ringing endorsement of your character?”

“I’ll take what I can get.” Locke tried not to let too much of his genuine relief show.