The Gentleman Bastard Series (252 page)

“Your life is not your own, my prince, but something held in trust for the million souls you must rule. You as heir secure their peace. You slain or lost to dalliance condemns them to mutiny and civil war. You who claim the throne are claimed by it as tightly.”

“Amadine!” said Locke.

“She must die, Aurin, and you must rule. You will find the strength
to raise your sword, or I will slay her with a spell. Either way, my tale shall flatter you to your father’s court, and none live to contradict me.”

Locke picked up his sword, stared at Sabetha, and cast it back down to the stage.

“You cannot ask me to do this.”

“I do not ask, but instruct,” said Jasmer with a bow. “And if you cannot, then, the spell.”

“Hold, sorcerer!” Sabetha brushed past Jasmer and took Locke’s hands. “I see the powers that sent you before me conspired as much against your will as my realm. Take heart, my love, for you are my love and never shall I know another. Let it be a final and fatal honesty between us now. My kingdom is gone and yours remains to be inherited. Show it much kindness.”

“I shall rule without joy,” said Locke. “All my joy lives in you, and that but shortly. After comes only duty.”

“I shall teach you something of duty, love. Here is duty to myself.” Sabetha pulled a dagger from her sleeve and held it high. “I am Amadine, Queen of Shadows, and my fate is my own. I am no man’s to damn or deliver!”

She plunged the dagger between her left arm and breast and fell forward gently, giving Locke ample time to catch her and lower her across his knees. Sobbing was easy; even the sight of Sabetha pretending to stab herself was enough to put rivers behind his eyes, and he wondered if this touch would be admired as acting. He held her tight, rocking and crying, under Jasmer’s stern, still countenance.

At last, Locke released her. Sabetha rose and walked with languorous grace to the waiting line of
phantasma
, who received her like courtiers and concealed her in the most elaborate cloak and mask of all.

Locke stood and faced Jasmer, composing himself.

“When I am crowned,” he said, “you shall be turned out of all my father’s gifts, your name and issue disinherited. You shall be exiled from Therim Pel, and from my sight, wherever that sight should fall.”

“So be it, my prince.” Jasmer reached forth and lowered a gold chain of office onto Locke’s shoulders, followed by his crown. “So long as you return with me.”

“The way to the throne is straight with never a turning,” said Locke. “Save this which I had, to my sorrow. I shall return.”

The
phantasma
parted, forming two neat ranks, revealing Sylvanus seated, unmoving, on his throne. Locke walked slowly toward him, between the rows of ghosts, with Jasmer three paces behind. Finally, Locke knelt before Sylvanus and lowered his head.

7

UNCANNY SILENCE ruled for the span of a few heartbeats. While Locke knelt in submissive tableau, the nearest two
phantasma
swept off their robes and masks to reveal themselves as Calo and Galdo of the Chorus.

They strolled to the end of the stage and spoke in unison: “The
Republic of Thieves
, a true and tragical history by Caellius Lucarno. Gods rest his soul, and let us all part as friends.”

The crowd responded with cheers and applause. Sylvanus cracked a smile and beckoned for Locke to stand. Small objects flew through the air, but they were all being thrown against the walls and galleries to either side of the stage. Gods, they’d done it! Only a satisfied audience expended their hoarded vegetables and debris away from the stage; it was the ultimate mark of respect from Therin groundlings.

Alondo and Sabetha took off their death-masks and moved to stand abreast with Locke. Together they bowed, then made way for Bert and Chantal to do the same. Next came Sylvanus and the bit players. Only Donker remained dressed as a ghost.

Moncraine threw back his hood and took the center of the stage. “My gracious lords and ladies of Espara,” he proclaimed, stifling the cheering, “gentlefolk and friends. We, the Moncraine-Boulidazi Company, have obtained much benefit from the generosity of our noble patron. In fact, so passionate is my lord Boulidazi’s attachment to our venture that he insisted on rendering the most direct assistance possible. It is my great honor to give you my lord and patron, the Baron Boulidazi!”

Moncraine had done his part with excellent pretense of enthusiasm. Locke licked his lips and prayed Djunkhar Kurlin had the nerve to do the same.

Donker allowed the
phantasma
cloak to fall back, revealing an expensive suit of Boulidazi’s clothing, requested the previous night in one of Sabetha’s forged notes. They fit Donker as though tailored to the hostler’s frame. In accordance with Locke’s strict instructions, Donker swaggered into Jasmer’s place on the stage. Jasmer and the other members of the company bent their heads to him in unison; the bit players were taken by surprise but rapidly made their obeisance as well, and then the first dozen or so ranks of the crowd. Shouts of disbelief echoed down from the balconies where Boulidazi’s friends and associates sat, followed by appreciative laughter and clapping.

Donker pointed to them and pumped his fist in the air triumphantly. Then he faced the box of Baroness Ezrintaim, extended both arms toward her, and bowed from the waist, all without removing his
phantasma
mask.

Then, just as Locke had directed, he turned and trotted back to the attiring room. As the rest of the company took a final bow together, most of the crowd seemed amused or at least bemused by what had just transpired, and then the noisy jostling for the exits began in earnest. Musicians started playing again. The company left the stage, hounded only by a few lingering drunks and those loudly begging kisses, particularly from Chantal, Sabetha, and Alondo.

Locke pushed past the bit players within the attiring chamber and cast off his wire crown. Jean held up a hand and nodded again, and a wave of relief made Locke’s knees nearly turn to water. Sabetha saw it too, and clutched Locke’s arm.

Donker’s instructions had been to hurry into the attiring chamber and, during the brief moments the bit players remained onstage, take a running leap into the prop wagon and be concealed under a sheet by Jean. Locke knew it was tempting fate to expect Donker to lie quietly in sweltering darkness just above a corpse, but there was nothing else for it. “Boulidazi” had to vanish like a passing breeze, as Donker couldn’t unmask or even utter a single syllable without breaking the fragile illusion. Jean had been fully prepared to bash him on the head if he balked.

“Where has the baron gone?” said one of the bit players.

“My lord’s friends were waiting to collect him,” said Jean. “You can imagine how busy the baron must be tonight.”

“Now for the envoy of ceremonies,” whispered Locke to Sabetha. “Quickly, before the wait annoys her.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“I think it’s our best chance.” He outlined his plan, and she smiled.

“It’s no dumber than anything else we’ve done today!”

The attiring chamber was thick with relieved and sweaty bit players, all collecting robes and masks and props under Jenora’s demanding direction. There was no time for leisure; the bit players had to be paid off for their work and sent away without the usual camaraderie and drinking. The company’s goods had to be packed and rolling toward the rendezvous with Nerissa Malloria before Malloria herself decamped from the Old Pearl. That was everyone else’s business, though. Locke and Sabetha swiftly shed their costume weapons (it was unlawful for them to display such things offstage) and dashed for the courtyard.

Out into the sunlight again, past the dregs of the escaping groundlings, through the detritus of fruit peels and spilled beer, they ran up the stairs to the balcony sections and nearly collided with a pair of guards outside the Baroness Ezrintaim’s box.

“We request an audience with the lady Ezrintaim,” said Locke, holding up the signet ring they’d taken from Boulidazi the night before. “We come urgently, on behalf of the Baron Boulidazi.”

“The lady will not receive players in her private box,” said one of the guards. “You must—”

“None of that,” came the voice of the envoy of ceremonies. “Admit them, and see that we have privacy.”

Locke and Sabetha were allowed onto the balcony, where they found Ezrintaim at the rail, looking down at the stage and the drudges (paid for by Moncraine) sweeping the courtyard. The baroness turned, and the two Camorri bowed more deeply than required.

“Well,” said Ezrintaim, “your noble patron does come and go rather as he pleases, doesn’t he? This is the second time I’ve expected him and met part of his troupe instead.”

“My lord Boulidazi sends his most earnest and abject apologies, my lady, that he cannot visit you as you required,” said Locke. “Leaving the stage just now, he stumbled and injured his ankle. Very badly. He cannot stand at the moment, let alone climb stairs. He placed his
signet in our hands as his messengers, and bid us offer it if you wished to verify—”

“My, my. The Baron Boulidazi is less than careful in his habits. Do put that down, boy, I’ve no need to bite the baron’s ring. I’ve seen it before. Is your lord still here?”

“Some of his friends insisted he be taken to a physiker immediately, my lady, and without causing a scene,” said Sabetha. “My lord was in considerable pain and may not have adequately resisted their blandishments.”

“Refusing temptation isn’t Lord Boulidazi’s particular strength,” said Ezrintaim, staring at Sabetha more intently than Locke would have liked. “But if he’s done himself an injury I won’t begrudge his friends using their brains for once.”

“He, ah, that is,
my lord
hopes that you will consent to be his guest at any convenient time following tomorrow’s performance,” said Locke. This was a risky ploy if Lady Ezrintaim had any reason to find the offer insulting, but if it helped strengthen the impression that Boulidazi was presently alive and planning an active social calendar, it meant everything to their deception.

“I see.” Ezrintaim steepled her fingers before her chest. “Well, it would be convenient, and the sooner the better. I expect you two will also be in attendance.”

“My lady,” said Locke, “we would appear if so commanded, but we are only players in my lord Boulidazi’s company, and I don’t see—”

“Lucaza,” said the baroness, “I should perhaps disabuse you of the notion that I am unaware of Lord Boulidazi’s intentions toward your cousin Verena.”

“I, uh—” Locke felt much as he would have if Ezrintaim had adopted a
chausson
fighting stance and kicked him in the head.

“You know what we really are!” said Sabetha in smooth Throne Therin, saving Locke from another useless sputter.

“Countess Antonia relies on me to be something of a social arbiter as well as her envoy of ceremonies,” said Ezrintaim in the same tongue. “Gennaro is an eligible young peer of Espara who has lost the close guidance of his elders. I prevailed upon several members of his household staff to report on his behavior. Gennaro is, let us say, rather forthright with them concerning his desires.”

“Does our presence in Espara cause you difficulty, my lady?” said Locke, trying to force himself to be as collected as Sabetha was.

“You’ve been reasonably discreet, though I will say that none of you have considered the needs of the larger world around you.” She fixed her gaze on Sabetha. “I don’t necessarily believe it would do any harm to Espara to strengthen its ties with Camorr through a marriage. If, of course, that ever was your genuine intention.”

“I haven’t misled Gennaro,” said Sabetha forcefully. “He is … overbearing and presumptuous, but in all other respects he is quite acceptable. And we share a significant interest in several arts.”

“Did your family instruct you to freely choose a future husband during your sojourn in Espara, Verena? I’d find it very strange if they did. I think you’ve allowed yourself to forget that you are your family’s to dispose of. My sources haven’t reported which family that is, but I require this much honesty: Are you a member of a Five Towers clan?”

Sabetha nodded.

“Then you know very well that you serve a duke who may require your marriage elsewhere for political reasons! Even if he doesn’t, you will still require Nicovante’s permission to wed, much as Gennaro will need Countess Antonia’s.” Ezrintaim rubbed her forehead and sighed. “Should you ever feel any resentment that I have looked into the affairs of Lord Boulidazi’s household, please do remember that I am
specifically
empowered to avoid thoughtless entanglements like the one you two and Gennaro would have concocted for all of us.”

“We didn’t mean to leap into it instantly,” said Sabetha. “We meant to take several years.”

“There, at least, you show a grain of wisdom,” said Ezrintaim. “But patient arrangements are quickly set aside when a woman’s stomach swells.”

“I can make tea with Poorwife’s Solace, the same as any woman,” said Sabetha. “I have been thoroughly instructed in avoiding the … imposition of a child.”

“Rest assured it
would
be an imposition,” said Ezrintaim. “I will assume that any such occurrence, no matter what sort of accident you plead, is a deliberate attempt to secure a hasty marriage to Lord Boulidazi. I will never threaten your personal safety, but I will certainly threaten your happiness. Is that clear?”

“Absolutely, my lady,” said Sabetha.

“Good. Let us speak no more of this until we are under Lord Boulidazi’s roof. Now, your company did tolerably well today. A brisk staging despite your winnowed numbers. I’ll deliver a favorable report, and I expect that attendance tomorrow will benefit. Dare I assume that Lord Boulidazi has now satisfied his urge to flounce about onstage as a bit player?”

“I fear Gennaro won’t be flouncing anywhere for some time,” said Sabetha. “His attendance tomorrow will be far more conventional.”

“Also good. I suppose you’re eager to return to his side.”

Sabetha nodded vigorously.