The Gentleman Bastard Series (75 page)

“Well, this isn’t so bad with eight of us,” said Reynart, “but it’s going to be awkward as all hell. We’ve got quite a few steps to go up.”

Stumbling along together, they hauled the sculpture up one flight of stairs. More blackjackets were waiting on that gallery floor. “Find all of these sculptures,” Reynart yelled. “Eight men to each of them! Find them and carry them up to the Sky Garden. In the duke’s name, give a good shove to anyone who gets in your way—and by the gods, don’t drop them!”

Soon multiple parties of struggling, swearing soldiers were hauling sculptures up in the wake of Reynart’s party. Locke was panting and sweating; the others around him weren’t much better off.

“What if this thing goes off in our arms?” muttered one of the blackjackets.

“First, we’d burn our hands,” said Sofia, red-faced with exertion. “Then we’d all fall over senseless before we could take six steps, and then we’d be Gentled. And then we’d feel very silly, wouldn’t we?”

Up to the last gallery and beyond; they left the feast in their wake. Guards and servants leapt aside as they stumbled along service passages. At the very top of Raven’s Reach, a wide marble staircase wound its way up to the Sky Garden, spiraling along the inside of the smoky-transparent exterior walls. All of Camorr whirled around them as they went up spiral after spiral; the sun was just half a pale medallion, sinking below the curved western horizon. Strange dark shapes hung down from above; Locke had to stare at them for several seconds before he realized they were the dangling vines of the Sky Garden, swaying in the wind outside.

Dozens of children were running down past them, shouting, chased by blackjackets and scolded by servants. The staircase opened onto the rooftop garden, which really was a forest in miniature. Olive trees and orange trees and alchemical hybrids with rustling emerald leaves rippled in the warm wind beneath the cloudless purple sky.

“Where’s the damn cistern?” asked Locke. “I’ve never been up here.”

“On the eastern edge of the garden,” said Lorenzo. “I used to play up here.”

Beneath the dangling tendrils of a weeping willow they found the cistern—a circular pond ten feet across, as Doña Vorchenza had promised. Without preamble, they heaved the sculpture into the water; a great splash sprang up in its wake, dousing two of the blackjackets. It sank rapidly, trailing a milky white cloud in the water, and struck the bottom of the cistern with a heavy clank.

One by one the other three sculptures were tossed in on top of it, until all four were beneath the surface of the now-milky water and the Sky Garden was crowded with blackjackets.

“Now what?” Locke panted.

“Now we should clear the roof,” said Doña Sofia. “That’s still a great deal of Wraithstone; I wouldn’t want anyone near it, even with it underwater. Not until a few hours have passed.”

Everyone else on the roof was only too happy to comply with her suggestion.

6

FALSELIGHT WAS just beginning to rise when Doña Vorchenza met them on the top gallery of Raven’s Reach. The scintillating streamers of ghostly color from the Elderglass towers could just be seen through the tall door to the embarkation platform. The gathering was in an uproar around them; blackjackets were running to and fro, uttering apologies to dons and doñas as they stumbled against them.

“It’s as good as war,” she said when the Salvaras, Locke, Conté, and Reynart gathered around her. “To try something like this! Gods! Nicovante’s calling up the Nightglass, Stephen; you’re going to have a busy night.”

“Midnighters?” he asked.

“Get them all out of here,” said Vorchenza, “quickly and quietly. Assemble at the Palace of Patience; have them ready for a scrap. I’ll throw them in wherever Nicovante decides they can do the most good.

“Master Thorn,” she said, “we are grateful to you for what you’ve done; it will earn you a great deal of consideration. But now your part in this affair is over. I’ll have you taken over to Amberglass under guard. You’re a prisoner, but you’ve earned some comforts.”

“Bullshit,” said Locke. “You owe me more than that. Raza’s mine.”

“Raza,” said Doña Vorchenza, “is now the most wanted man in all Camorr; the duke intends to crush him like an insect. His domains will be invaded and the Floating Grave thrown open.”

“You
idiots
,” cried Locke. “Raza isn’t commanding the Right People, he’s fucking using them! The Floating Grave is empty; Raza’s escaping as we speak. He didn’t want to be Capa of Camorr; he just wanted to use the position to get Barsavi and wipe out the peerage of Camorr.”

“How
do
you know so much about the affairs of Raza, Master Thorn?”

“Raza forced me to help him fox Capa Barsavi, back when Raza was still calling himself the Gray King. The deal was that he’d let me go after that, but it was a double cross. He killed three of my friends and he took my money.”

“
Your
money?” said Don Lorenzo, curling one hand into a fist. “I daresay you mean our money!”

“Yes,” said Locke. “And everything I took from Doña de Marre, and Don Javarriz, and the Feluccias. More than forty thousand crowns—a fortune. Raza stole it from me. I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t have it anymore.”

“Then you’ve nothing of further value to bargain with,” said Doña Vorchenza.

“I said I didn’t have it anymore, not that I didn’t know where it was,” said Locke. “Raza’s got it mingled with Barsavi’s fortune, ready to smuggle out of the city. It was meant to be used to pay for his Bondsmage.”

“Then tell us where it is,” said Doña Vorchenza.

“Raza’s mine,” said Locke. “I get sent back down to the ground and I go free. Raza killed three of my friends, and I mean to cut out his fucking heart; I’d trade all the white iron in Camorr for the chance.”

“Men are hanged in this city for stealing a few pieces of silver,” said Doña Vorchenza, “and you propose to go free after stealing tens of thousands of full crowns? I think not.”

“It’s a moment of truth, Doña Vorchenza,” said Locke. “Do you want the money back? I can tell you where it is; I’ll tell you right where to find it, along with Barsavi’s fortune, which has to be considerable. In exchange, all I want is Raza. I go free and I kill the man who tried to wipe out you and all your peers. Be reasonable! Now that you all know my face and my voice, I can hardly return to my old career, at least here in Camorr.”

“You presume
too much
.”

“Did the Spider of Camorr prevent Capa Raza from filling Raven’s Reach with enough Wraithstone to Gentle the whole fucking city? No, that was the
Thorn
of Camorr, thanks very much. Every man and woman and child here tonight is only alive because
I
have a soft fucking heart, not because you were doing your job. You owe me, Vorchenza. You owe me, on your honor. Give me Raza and you can have the money, too.”

She gave him a stare that could have turned water to ice. “On my honor, Master Thorn,” she said at last, “for services rendered to the duke and to my peers. You may go free, and if you beat us to Raza, you may have him, though if you do not, I shall not apologize. And should you resume your activities, and our paths cross again, I will have you executed without trial.”

“Seems fair. I’m going to need a sword,” said Locke. “I nearly forgot.”

To his surprise, Captain Reynart unbuckled his rapier belt and tossed it to Locke. “Get it wet,” he said. “With my compliments.”

“Well,” said Doña Vorchenza as Locke strapped the belt around his waist, over Meraggio’s excellent blue breeches. “Now the money. Where is it?”

“North of the Teeth of Camorr, there are three shit-barges at the private docks. You know the ones; they haul all the drek and excrement out of the city and take it north to the fields.”

“Of course,” said Doña Vorchenza.

“Raza’s been having his fortune hidden on one of them,” said Locke. “In wooden chests, sealed in layers of oilcloth, for obvious reasons. After he slips out of Camorr, his plan is to meet the barge up north and offload the treasure. It’s all there, underneath those heaps of shit—begging your pardon.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Doña Vorchenza.

“I didn’t say my answer was going to be pleasant,” said Locke. “Think about it. What’s the last place anyone would
want
to look for a cache of coins?”

“Hmmm. Which barge?”

“I don’t know,” said Locke. “I just know that it’s one of the three.”

Vorchenza looked over at Reynart.

“Well,” said the captain, “there are reasons the gods saw fit to invent the enlisted man.”

“Oh,
shit
,” said Locke, swallowing a lump in his throat.
Make this good
, he thought.
Make this very good
. “Doña Vorchenza, this isn’t over.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Boats, barges, escape. I’ve been thinking. The Falconer made all sorts of strange jokes when he was under my knife. He was taunting me with something; I didn’t have a chance to figure it out until now. That plague ship.
The Satisfaction
. You have to sink it.”

“And why would that be?”

“It belongs to Anatolius,” said Locke. “According to the Falconer, Anatolius was a pirate on the White Iron Sea, building up his fortunes so he could hire a Bondsmage and return to Camorr for his revenge. The
Satisfaction
is his ship. But Anatolius isn’t planning to escape on it—he’s leaving the city to the north, going up the Angevine.”

“Meaning what?”

“The Falconer was dropping hints about a backup plan,” said Locke. “That plague ship
is
the backup plan. It’s not full of corpses, Doña Vorchenza. It has a token crew—men who’ve survived exposure to Black
Whisper, like the duke’s Ghouls. A token crew and holds full of animals—goats, sheep, donkeys. I thought the Falconer was just trying to be irreverent … but think about it.”

“Animals can carry the Whisper,” said Reynart.

“Yes,” said Locke. “It doesn’t kill them, but they can sure as hell give it to us. Sink that fucking ship, Doña Vorchenza. It’s Raza’s other stroke. If he finds out he failed to wipe out the peers, he may attempt to take his revenge on the entire city. His last chance.”

“Madness,” Doña Vorchenza whispered, but she looked half-convinced.

“Anatolius already tried to wipe out every last peer of Camorr, down to the children. He
is
mad, Countess Amberglass. How well do you think he’ll react to frustration? All his men have to do is beach that ship against the quay and let those animals out. If they get under way, you might not be able to stop them in time. Or maybe they’ll just toss a few sheep into the city with a catapult.
Sink that fucking ship
.”

“Master Thorn,” said Doña Vorchenza, “you have a curiously tender heart, for a thief of your appetites.”

“I’m a sworn brother of the Nameless Thirteenth, the Crooked Warden, the Benefactor,” said Locke. “I’m a
priest
. I didn’t save the people in this tower just to see my entire city die. For propriety’s sake, Doña Vorchenza,
for propriety’s sake
—sink that gods-damned ship. I beg you.”

She stared at him over the edges of her half-moon optics, then turned to Reynart. “Captain,” she said slowly, “go to the lantern station on the embarkation platform. Flash messages to the Arsenal and the Dregs.”

She folded her hands over her stomach and sighed. “On my authority, in the name of Duke Nicovante, sink the
Satisfaction
and shoot down any survivor who tries to reach shore.”

Locke sighed with relief. “Thank you, Doña Vorchenza. Now—my elevator?”

“Your elevator, Master Thorn.” She actually ground her teeth together for a second. “As promised. I’ll have one made ready for you without delay. If the gods should give you Capa Raza before my men find him … may they give you strength.”

“I’m going to miss you, Doña Vorchenza,” said Locke. “And you as well, my lord and lady Salvara—all apologies for getting most of your fortune buried under shit. I hope we can still be friends.”

“Set foot in our house again,” said Sofia, “and you’ll become a permanent fixture in my laboratory.”

7

BLUE LIGHT flashed from the embarkation platform of Raven’s Reach; even against the shifting glimmer of Falselight, it stood out well enough to be seen at the relay station atop the Palace of Patience. In moments, shutters were falling rapidly open and closed over signal lanterns; the message passed through the air over the heads of thousands of revelers and arrived at its destinations—the Arsenal, the South Needle, the Dregs.

“Holy mother of shit,” said the watch-sergeant in the tower at the very tip of the South Needle, blinking to clear his eyes, wondering if he’d counted the signal flashes right. He slipped his illicit Day of Changes wineskin beneath his chair with pangs of guilt.

“Watch-sergeant,” said his younger companion, “that ship’s up to something awful funny.”

Out on the water of Old Harbor, the
Satisfaction
was slowly turning to larboard; sailors could just barely be seen atop the yards of the main and foremasts, preparing to unfurl topsails. Dozens of small dark shapes were moving on deck, doubly lit by the glow of yellow lamps and the glare of Falselight.

“She’s casting, sir. She’s going to make for sea—where’d all those people come from?” said the younger watchman.

“I don’t know,” said the sergeant, “but the signal’s just gone up. Merciful gods, they’re going to sink that yellow-lit bitch.”

Pinpoints of bright orange light began to erupt around the periphery of the Dregs; each little engine-tower had emergency oil lamps that served to signal when they were both manned and ready for action. Drums beat within the Arsenal, and whistles sounded from across the city, above the low echoing murmur of the Day of Changes crowds.

One of the engines on the Dregs’ shore loosed with an echoing crash. The stone was a blurred shadow in the air; it missed by yards and raised a white fountain on the frigate’s starboard side.

The next engine to let fly hurled an arc of orange-white fire that seemed to hang in the sky, a hypnotic banner of burning light. The South Needle watchmen stared in awe as it crashed down onto the
Satisfaction
‘s deck, spraying hot tendrils in every direction. Men ran frantically about on the deck, some of them obviously on fire. One leapt from the vessel’s side, plunging into the water like a burning cinder thrown into a puddle.