The Gentleman Bastard Series (214 page)

“Ah, don’t be misled. I’m afraid he opened me up like a physiker. I had to trick him into letting me sheath a dagger in his back.”

“Hmmm,” she said. “I’m pleased you killed him. Still a pity you never amended your clumsiness with long steel.”

“Well, Sabetha, unlike some, I’m afraid I’ve just never had it in me to instantly presume a flawless expertise in
every last sphere
of human endeavor.”

“There was nothing instant about it. You
might
have thrown yourself into training as vigorously as I did, if you hadn’t lived with the expectation of having Jean Tannen at your back for the rest of your life.”

“No. Gods damn it, I would gladly listen to you berate me until the sun comes up,
but not on this subject
. Jean isn’t some dog I tricked into a leash. He’s my true and particular friend. He’s still
your
true and particular friend, though both of you may need some time to recall it.”

“Forgive me,” she said. “I had your best interests at heart.”

“For someone whose primary insistence in life has
always
been that she must be taken true and unalloyed, unbending to the whims of those around her, you have a curious interest in the correction of
my
condition!”

“Ouch,” she said softly.

“Fuck.” Locke slammed his fists down on his legs. “Forgive me. I know you mean well—”

“No, you’re right,” she said. “I’m an extraordinarily accomplished hypocrite. Anything that displeased you is unsaid. Please go on with your story.”

“Ahhh … all right. Well. Not much more to say about Camorr. We took ship for Vel Virazzo the night the Gray King died. Oh! I met the Spider.”

“What? How did that happen?”

“When the Gray King business reached its conclusion, the duke’s people had no choice but to get involved. After an initial misunderstanding, the Spider and I worked together. Very briefly.”

“Sweet gods, were you
pardoned
for your crimes?”

“Oh, hells, no. Once the Gray King was dead, Jean and I bolted like rabbits.”

“And did you learn the actual identity of the Spider?”

“Yes, she and I had words on several occasions.”

“So it was a woman! As I’d always thought.”

“How did you know?”

“All those years of rumors,” said Sabetha, “and the one detail that emerged with absolute clarity from the fog was that the Spider was a man. Everyone was certain. Now, if this person could maintain total control over every other shred of their identity, why was such a fundamental truth allowed to slip? It had to be misdirection.”

“Heh. So it was.”

“And who was she, then?”

“Ahhh,” said Locke. “I see I’ve got something that genuinely intrigues you. I think I’ll hold on to it for a while.”

“Oh? I’ll remember this, Master Lamora. On that you have my word. So you took ship. What next?”

Warmed to the subject, Locke spent about ten minutes summarizing the two years spent in and around Tal Verrar—the nature of the scheme for Requin’s Sinspire, the interference of Maxilan Stragos, the time in the Ghostwinds, the battles at sea, the loss of Ezri, the loss of nearly everything.

“Incredible,” Sabetha said when he drew his story to a close. “I’d heard about the trouble in Tal Verrar. You
caused
all that. You brought the gods-damned Archon down! You silly, stupid, lucky little wretches!”

“And for our genius, we left Tal Verrar without Jean’s love, without a fortune, and without an antidote.”

“I’m sorry for all of that. Especially for Jean.”

“I’d say something comforting, like how he’ll get over it in time, but I know he won’t.” Locke paused, and lowered his voice. “I know I didn’t.”

“Ah,” said Sabetha. It was a completely noncommittal noise. “And here we are, then.”

“Here we are,” said Locke. “Stories told.”

“I have … instructions from my principals,” she said. “We’re not forbidden from talking to one another, but in the matter of the election … Look, we’ve got to fight it out to the last. Sincerely. All of our tricks, all of our skills. The consequences for holding back would be severe. So severe, I could never—”

“I understand,” he said. “I have similar directions from my … uh, principals.”

“Gods, I wish we could talk all night.”

“Then why don’t we?”

“Because I didn’t expect to get this much honesty out of you.” She rose. “And if I don’t do what I really brought you here for, I might lose my nerve.”

“Wait, what do you mean—”

She answered him by pulling him out of the chair and into her arms. Reflexively, he fought back for a moment, but the intensity of the embrace subdued him.

“I am glad you’re alive,” she whispered. “Please believe me, whatever else happens, I’m so glad to see you.”

“I can’t believe I have two reasons to be grateful to the Bondsmagi,” said Locke. Gods, she was warm and strong, and her scent so instantly familiar beneath the slightest sweet-apple scent of perfume. He ran a hand through the gentle curls of her hair and sighed. “Assholes. I’d work for free for any chance to be near you. They’re offering a fortune, and I’d throw it in the Amathel for this. I—”

“Locke,” she whispered. “Indulge me.”

“Oh?”

“Kiss me.”

“With every—”

“No, not like that. My preferred way. You know what I mean. From back when we were—”

“Ahhh,” he said, laughing. “Your servant, madam.”

Sabetha had always had a peculiar ticklish weakness, something he’d discovered by accident when they’d first become lovers so many years before. He gently placed his left hand beneath her chin and tilted her head back, then planted his lips high up the side of her neck, beneath her ear.

The way she moved in his arms instantly folded his better judgment up and hid it away in a deep, dark place.

“So this is what you really brought me here for?”

“Keep going,” she said breathlessly, “and we’ll find out.”

He kissed her several more times, and when he felt he’d teased her enough, ran his tongue up and down those same few inches of warm skin. She actually gasped, and clutched him more tightly still.

“Oh, dear,” he said, laughing and smacking his lips. He swallowed several times to clear a curious dry taste from his tongue. “Your perfume. I seem to have removed some of it. I hope it wasn’t expensive.”

“A special formulation, just for you,” she whispered. She continued to cling to him, digging her hands into his shoulders, and for one more moment Locke was at peace with the entire world.

The numbness began at the edge of his tongue, and in a few seconds
it spread, tingling, around his mouth and up to the tip of his nose.

“No,” he whispered, hit as hard by shock as he was by whatever he’d just swallowed. He tried to pull away, but she was too strong for him; his limbs were already taking on a curious foggy dissociation. “No, no … Jnnnn …
Jnnnn!
”

“Shhhhhh,” Sabetha whispered, no longer shuddering, no longer breathless with shared anticipation. “A special formulation. Throat and voice go first. Just relax. Jean can’t hear you.”

“Whhhh … whhhhy?”

“Forgive me,” she said. She cradled him as his legs turned to jelly. She knelt slowly, bringing him down with her, laying him across her knees. “I wasn’t sure whether I’d really do it or not. If it’s any consolation, your story about Tal Verrar was the convincer. You’re not as good as I am, Locke, but you’re too damn good to let you run around fighting fairly. I have to beat you, for both our sakes.”

“Nnngh—”

“Don’t talk. Just listen; you don’t have much time left. There’s a second reason. I can see now how ill you’ve been, and how you’ll have to push yourself to keep up with me. I can’t let you do it, Locke. I can’t watch you do it. You’ll
kill
yourself trying to best me, and you can’t ask me to permit that. Not when I could stop it. I once cared for you a great deal. I care for you now. Remember that.”

She kissed him gently on the forehead, and he barely felt it.

“Remember that, and forgive me.”

9

“NNNNGH,” SAID Locke, coming up from layers of blackness that seemed draped over him like burial shrouds. “Nnngh—Sab … no, please!”

He gasped, with the disbelieving gratitude of someone finally fighting back to wakefulness after an interminable nightmare of suffocation. He smelled his own sweat, and the familiar odors of wet wood and fresh lake air.

His eyes slid grudgingly open. He was lying on his back in yet another ship’s great cabin, this one more luxuriously appointed than any
he’d ever seen, even Zamira Drakasha’s. Soft orange alchemical globes cast the fixtures and finery in an inviting light. Gulls cried somewhere nearby, and the world creaked gently around him.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” muttered Locke, reveling in the full recovery of his powers of speech. He sat up, and instantly became aware of the fierce gnawing hunger in his belly. “Oh,
stupid, stupid, stupid—
”

“You can’t blame yourself,” said Jean.

Locke turned to see him sitting against the opposite wall on a hanging bed furnished with embroidered sheets. Jean had fresh bruises on his bare forearms and around his eyes.

“Gods,” said Locke. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Remember how she joked about twenty armed people in the next room?” said Jean with a sigh. He set down the book he’d been reading. “There were twenty armed men in the next room.”

“Fuck me sideways with hot peppers and a pinch of salt,” said Locke. “How long have I been out?”

“Half a day.”

“Where are we?”

“On the Amathel, headed west. Bound for the sea.”

“Are you kidding?”

Jean pointed at something behind Locke, and Locke turned. The rear windows of the cabin, which were open to let in a view of a gray morning over blue water, were girded with a network of thick iron bars on their outer surface. The gaps in the bars were too small for even Locke to contemplate wiggling through.

“She’s put us on quite a luxurious prison ship,” said Jean. “We’re the only passengers. And we’re chartered for a nice, slow voyage out to sea and around the continent.”

“Are you
fucking kidding
?”

“If all goes as she planned, we’ll get back to Karthain a week or two after all the votes have been counted.”

INTERSECT (II)

TINDER

I HAVE TO tell you, we’re not terribly impressed with your boys so far
.

We thought they did very well, up to their meeting with your exemplar
.

It’s that meeting with our exemplar that inspires a certain lack of foreboding on our part
.

They’ll be back soon enough
.

They’re headed out to sea in irons
.

You know who else thought lightly of them, once? The Falconer
.

Very amusing
.

Interesting things are going to be happening around Lamora, my friend. Just keep your attention focused very closely on him at all times
.

INTERLUDE

THE MONCRAINE COMPANY

1

“HE’S BEEN ARRESTED for punching a nobleman?” said Locke.

“Hauled off in irons,” said Jenora.

“Of all the gods-damned … how bad is that here? They’re not going to hang him, are they?”

“Dungeon for a year and a day,” said Alondo. “Then he loses the offending hand.”

“I suppose Moncraine’s lucky he didn’t kick the fellow,” said Jean.

“Certainly, he’s lucky,” said Sylvanus, looking up from his bottle. “He’s in the one place in the city where his creditors can’t skin his balls and salt them! They should let us keep the hand when they chop it off … embalm it with tar … make a damn fine prop, especially when I play a thaumata … thaumur … magic person.”

“How do we get him back?” said Sabetha.

“Back?” said a woman who appeared out of the shadows behind Alondo and Jenora. Approaching middle age, she was well muscled and stout, with mahogany skin and hair gray as wood ash. “Why would anyone want Jasmer Moncraine
back
, having so easily gotten rid of him? And why are there strangers in my inn-yard?”

“I imagine they’re called
customers
, Auntie,” said Jenora. “You do remember when they used to come voluntarily?”

“Yes, I’m an attentive student of ancient history,” said the older woman. “Alizana Gloriano, proprietor and semiprofessional martyr, at your service. Are you really looking for Jasmer Moncraine?”

“He’s our employer,” said Sabetha. “Or at least he’s meant to be.”

“My gods above,” said Mistress Gloriano, putting her arms around the shoulders of Alondo and Jenora. “The
Camorri
. They’re
real
!”

“We’re as shocked as you, Auntie,” said Jenora.

“It’s pleasant to be thought of as such freakish wonders,” said Locke, “but we need to reach Moncraine.”

“Well, then,” said Mistress Gloriano, “all you need to do is wait for his conviction, the day after tomorrow. Then wait another year and a day, and then stand outside the Weeping Tower. He’ll be the one coming out with his right hand missing.”

“What about a solicitor?”

“We don’t exactly retain one,” said Alondo.

“Tell us what we
can
do, then,” said Locke. “Can we see him?”

“Oh yes, dear boy,” said Sylvanus. “Enquire after the nearest gentleman or lady of high birth and smash ’em across the teeth. You could end up sharing Jasmer’s cell.”

“Damn it,” said Locke. “No offense, but the four of you sound like you’d just as soon slit Moncraine’s throat as give him the time of day.…
Is
there a Moncraine Company at all? Are you putting on a play this summer? Our situation requires that we be employed, so for Perelandro’s sake be clear.”

“We’re still a company,” said Jenora, “though we’ve had some defections. Alondo, Sylvanus, and Jasmer are the remaining full players. One or two more might come back if Jasmer could show his face in public.”

“You’re not an actress?” said Jean.