The Gentleman Bastard Series (229 page)

“As you wish,” said Nikoros.

“To that end … I need a trustworthy alchemist. I need a wagon … a few dozen small animal cages … as many live snakes as we can get our hands on.”

“Live
snakes
?” said one of the scribes. “You mean—”

“Yeah,” said Locke. “They’ve got scales, they slither around—snakes. Keep up. We only want ’em if they’re not venomous! That means barn serpents, brown marshies, belt snakes. Anything else you have in these parts that fits the bill. Use mercenaries, boys, girls, anyone.… Offer a suitable bounty, but keep it gods-damned quiet. I don’t want word of this little project going too far. Drop the cages in the cellar and keep the snakes there until further notice. How’s Master Callas’ nose?”

“Badly set,” said the physiker. “I gather from your rather forthright aroma that you gentlemen have been unable to rest for several days.”

“Woefully correct,” said Locke.

“It’ll have to be rebroken. It’s plain this isn’t your first such injury, Master Callas, and you’re developing a breathing obstruction.”

“Then do it,” said Jean.

“I’ll need two cups of brandy, some assistants, and some rope.”

“No time for all that,” growled Jean, “and I want my head clear for work. Just do it here and now.”

“Your pardon, Master Callas, but I don’t relish the thought of a man your size lashing out at me—”

“Scholar,” said Locke, “this building is more likely to collapse than my friend is to lose control of himself.”

“I’m doubling my fee,” said the woman sternly.

“And I’m tripling it,” said Jean. “Go on, snap the damn thing to where it ought to be. I’ve had worse, and I’ve had it without warning.”

Triassa placed her hands carefully, as though Jean’s head were a clay sculpture and she meant to pinch the nose off and start over. She applied pressure with one smooth motion; Jean remained still but did indulge in a long, deep, appropriately theatrical groan. The sound of whatever was moving or breaking inside the nose itself made Locke shudder as though his privates had just been dipped in ice water, and a collective gasp arose from the scribes.

“Perhaps just one small brandy,” rasped Jean, barely moving his lips. Tears ran down his cheeks. Locke pointed at one of the scribes; the woman nodded and hurried out of the gallery.

Triassa deftly set Jean’s nose in cream-colored alchemical plasters and wrapped linen around his head. “Keep this in place,” she said. “You’ve danced this dance before, so don’t do anything foolish. Brace your head while you sleep. Come see me tomorrow—I’m across the street.”

“Thanks,” said Jean. A moment later the helpful scribe returned with a glass of caramel-brown liquor, which Jean poured carefully down his throat.

“Well, then,” said Locke. “Now that we’ve all realized precisely how tough we’ll
never
be, let’s stand on what we have. Pass your lists to Nikoros and he’ll mind the details.”

“Sirs,” said Nikoros as his hands rapidly filled with papers, “I’m pleased to see you back and taking a more active role in our affairs, but, ah, this volume of work—”

“Don’t fret, Nikoros, there’s plenty of time, assuming none of us sleeps before dawn.” Locke gave Nikoros a reassuring squeeze on the arm, then lowered his voice to a private whisper. “Also, if I catch you stuffing another speck of black alchemy down your throat, your job situation is going to be
vacant
. Understand?”

“Master Lazari, sir, what can I say? I’m ashamed … but you were gone … everything was so confused—”

“Everything is now unconfused. We’re gonna have baths drawn and rejoin civilization. Get to work. Get me that list and get me that alchemist. There’s two ladies in particular waiting to see what we’ve got up our sleeves, and it’s time for things to get hectic.”

“Uh, of course, Master Lazari.”

“Nikoros!”

“Uh, yes, sir?”

“I just had a really exciting thought. Get me the list, the alchemist, and then
get me a city constable
! A well-bent one. Someone who thinks with their purse and isn’t shy about it.”

“Uh, certainly, but it may take—”

“Tonight, Nikoros, tonight!”

5

LOCKE AND Jean found steaming baths in their suite, along with more food and enough towels, body scrapers, and scented oil jars to supply a rather hygienic harem. Refreshed and repackaged in respectable outer layers, they returned to the Deep Roots private gallery to find Nikoros waiting, new papers in hand. Locke scanned them as rapidly as the crabbed handwriting would permit.

“Good, good,” he muttered. “Debts, lots of debts. Eager little gamblers, our Black Iris friends … Who’d be holding most of these?”

“Most of the debts that aren’t between gentlefolk would involve Fifthson Lucidus, over in the Vel Verda.… Well, he owns the chance houses in the Vel Verda, but he lives somewhere on Isas Merreau.”

“Lovely,” said Locke. “A little duke of the dice-dens. He’s not a big player in either political party, is he?”

“Doesn’t give a damn about the elections, as far as I know.”

“Better and better,” said Locke. “Exactly the sort of man Master Callas and I should see in the small hours of the night, like dutiful physikers paying a house call.”

“Physikers?”

“Absolutely. We want him firmly convinced that if he disregards our advice his health is apt to suffer. Now, where’s my alchemist and my constable?”

“Coming, Master Lazari, coming.…”

6

THE MOONS were shy in just the way thieves prefer, hidden behind clouds like black wool, and the brisk south wind carried the scents of lake water and forge smoke. Banked-down furnaces were faint smudges of red and orange nestled among the shadows of the Isle of Hammers, and the view from the window of Fifthson Lucidus’ third-story bedroom captured it all nicely.

Locke took a moment to properly appreciate the tableau before he turned and woke Lucidus with a slap to the face.

“Mmmmmph,” said the heavyset Karthani. His exclamation was muffled by Jean, who, standing behind his bed, slapped one hand over his mouth and hauled him to a sitting position with the other.

“Shhhh,” said Locke, who sat down at Lucidus’ feet. He adjusted the aperture of his dark-lantern to throw a thin beam directly on the bearded and bleary-eyed fellow, whose face wore the sort of extra years that came out of a wine bottle. “Your first thought will be to struggle, so I’d like you to think about
where
and
how deep
I can cut you while leaving you perfectly capable of conversation.”

He unsheathed a long, freshly polished steel blade, and was sure to catch the lantern light with it before he slapped Lucidus’ legs with the flat of the weapon.

“Your second thought,” said Locke, who wore an improvised gray linen mask, “will be to summon that big man who’s supposed to be watching your front door. I’m afraid we’ve put him to sleep for a bit. So now my associate will take his hand off your mouth, and you’ll mind your tone of voice.”

“Who the hell are you?” whispered Lucidus.

“
What
we are is the important thing. We’re
better than you
. There’s no defense you can dream up and no hole you can hide in that will keep us from doing this to you anytime we please.”

“What … what do you want?”

“Take a good look at these names.” Locke sheathed the blade and pulled out a torn sheet of parchment with a short list on it. The names had been culled from the larger list provided by Nikoros. They weren’t merely opposition voters, but components of varying importance in the Black Iris political machine. “Some of these men and women owe you money, yes?”

“Yes,” said Lucidus, squinting at the parchment. “Yes … most of them, in fact.”

“Good,” said Locke. “Because you’re about to have some money problems, understand? You’re going to call in your markers on all of these fine citizens.”

“Wait just a— Hggggrrrrkkk—”

This last exclamation was a result of Jean reasserting his presence, without prompting from Locke, via the careful application of a forearm to Lucidus’ windpipe.

“I’m not soliciting
opinions
,” said Locke, gesturing for Jean to ease up. “I’m giving orders. Yank the leash on these people or bad luck follows. Chance houses
burn down
. Nice homes like this
burn down
. The tendons in your legs get slashed. Understood?”

“Yes … yes …”

“About those money issues.” Locke held up a purse, stuffed near bursting with about ten pounds of coins, and Lucidus’ eyes went wide. “A hidden floor panel? Seriously? I was learning how to spot that sort of thing when I was six. You squeeze these people hard, get it? Collect the debts. Do your best and you’ll get this purse back, plus a hundred ducats. That’s nothing to scoff at, is it?”

“N-no …”

“Fuck it up,” said Locke, lowering his voice to a growl, “and this money vanishes. Try to cross me, and I’ll carve you like a festival roast. Get to work tomorrow, and don’t worry about looking for us. When we want to talk again we’ll find you.”

7

“NOW TELL us,” said Jean, staring down at a detailed map of Karthain with all of its avenues and islands, “which districts are usually considered an absolute lock for either party?”

It was deepening evening, the day after their midnight visit to the house of Fifthson Lucidus. Locke and Jean were in the private gallery with Damned Superstition Dexa and Firstson Epitalus. Nikoros, who’d been worked like a clockwork automaton for longer than Locke had intended, had passed out in a high-backed chair. Whether it was honest fatigue or alchemically induced, Locke allowed him to snore on for the time being.

“We’ve got all the right places, dear boy,” said Dexa, pointing to the southeastern portion of the map. “Isas Mellia, Thedra, and Jonquin. The Three Sisters, the old money districts. The Silverchase and Vorhala routinely come back eight-tenths Deep Roots, as well.”

“As for the opposition,” said Epitalus, “they’ve got the Isle of Hammers and the surrounding neighborhoods. Barresta, Merreau, Lacor, Agarro—shop and trade districts, you see.” Epitalus exhaled twin streams of white pipe smoke from his nostrils, and brief-lived cloud formations drifted over the illustrated city. “New men and women. Ink still wet on the receipts for their voting privileges, eh?”

“So it’s five against five,” said Locke, “and the other nine districts are in play?”

“More or less,” said Dexa. “Sentiment across the city—”

“Can go hang itself,” said Locke. “Here’s the basic plan, as much as I can reveal now. We keep most of our money out of the settled districts. We don’t have time to turn the Black Iris strongholds, and we shouldn’t have to worry about them turning ours. We’ll run some misdirection and some nice childish pranks, but most of our leverage gets thrown against the nine in the balance. How busy are you two with Konseil duties?”

“Hardly busy,” said Dexa. “We partly recess during election season. Karthain all but runs itself, barring emergencies.”

Epitalus mouthed something under his breath, and Locke was sure it was
Bless the Presence
.

“Good,” said Locke. “I’d like you two to do me a favor. Go after some undecided voters in districts outside your own. Make personal calls. Important people, the cream of the middle bunch. I’m sure you can think of a hundred candidates. Charm us votes one by one in the districts where every one of those votes will count. Does that sound agreeable?”

“With all due respect, Master Lazari,” said Epitalus, “that’s simply not how it’s done here in Karthain.”

“I doubt your counterparts in the hierarchy of the Black Iris would quibble at such a task.”

“It’s simply not how things are done where folk of
substance
are concerned,” said Dexa gently, as though explaining to a very small child that fire was hot.

“We have higher expectations than the Black Iris,” said Epitalus. “Firmer standards. We don’t scuttle about courting just anyone, Master Lazari. Surely you can see that it would make us look beggarly.”

“I doubt that any of the recipients of the solicitations I propose,” said Locke, “would be anything but deeply flattered to receive someone of your stature.”

“We don’t mean them,” said Dexa. “Rather, our fellow members of the Deep Roots. This sort of behavior could not be countenanced—”

“I see,” said Locke. “Never mind that these scruples have brought you embarrassing defeat in the last two elections. Never mind that you will apply your ‘firmer standards’ to a smaller and smaller circle of associates, with ever-shrinking influence, should you blithely allow the Black Iris to best you again.”

“Now, now, dear Master Lazari,” said Dexa. “Surely there’s no cause—”

“I am charged with winning this election,” said Locke. “To do so I will bend every custom that must be bent. If I lack your full confidence, you may have my resig—”

“Oh no,” said Epitalus, “no, please—”

Once again Locke saw the curious working of the arts of the Bondsmagi, as the ingrained prejudices of the Karthani warred with their conditioning to see him as some sort of cross between a spymaster and a prophet. It was something behind their eyes, and though it seemed to be going his way he thought it best to lay on some sweetness for added assurance.

“I would hardly ask this of you,” he said soothingly, “if I didn’t believe that I was sending you out to certain success. Your quality and grace will knock these individuals into our camp straightaway, and since you’ll be choosing them yourselves they’ll bring the Deep Roots nothing but credit. Get us a hundred or so. Winning will be worth it, I assure you.”

Dexa and Epitalus acquiesced. Not energetically, to be sure, but Locke was satisfied that their nods were sincere.

“Splendid,” he said. “Now, I’ve got a dinner eng—er, appointment. Business appointment. Something, ah, that could really work to our advantage. Master Callas will be here if you need anything.”

“I thought you were overdressed for a planning session,” said Dexa.

“What about poor Via Lupa?” said Epitalus.

“Hmm? Oh, Nikoros.… Let him sleep on for a bit. He’ll be up to his ass in baskets and green ribbons tomorrow.”