The Lies of Locke Lamora (14 page)

There was a brief pause. “That’s…a very attractive offer,” Don Salvara said at last. “And to think all this was going to fall into Jacobo’s lap simply by default. By the gods, Lukas, if we ever cross paths with those thieves again, I’m going to thank them for arranging our introduction.”

“Well,” Locke chuckled, “I for my part can let bygones be bygones. Graumann might feel somewhat differently. And the fact remains that while I sense we may be shaking hands very soon, we still have to assemble our ships, sail north to Emberlain, and snatch up our prize. The situation is like a damaged cargo rope, unraveling down to a single thread.” He saluted the Salvaras with his brandy snifter. “It
will
snap.”

Out on the water, the devilfish was victorious, and the guards rewarded it for its service by filling it with poisoned crossbow bolts. Boat hooks and chains were used to haul the carcass out of the center of the Shifting Revel; there was just no putting a creature like that back into the box once it had served its purpose. The monster’s red blood mixed with that of its victims and slowly settled in a broad, dark cloud; even this had a deliberate part to play in what was to come next.

SCHOLARS OF the Therin Collegium, from their comfortable position well inland, could tell you that the wolf sharks of the Iron Sea are beautiful and fascinating creatures, their bodies more packed with muscle than any bull, their abrasive hide streaked with every color from old-copper green to stormcloud black. Anyone actually working the waterfront in Camorr and on the nearby coast could tell you that wolf sharks are big aggressive bastards that like to
jump
.

Carefully caged, starved, and maddened by blood, wolf sharks are the key to the customary highlight of the Shifting Revel. Other cities have gladiatorial games; other cities pit men against animals. But only in Camorr can you see a specially armed gladiator (a
contrarequialla
) battle a live, leaping shark, and in Camorr only women are allowed by tradition to be
contrarequialla
.

This is the Teeth Show.

LOCKE COULDN’T tell if the four women were truly beautiful, but they were undeniably striking. They were all dark-skinned Camorri with muscles like farm girls, imposing even at a distance, and they wore next to nothing—tight black cotton shifts across their chests, wrestler’s loincloths, and thin leather gloves. Their black hair was pulled back under the traditional red bandannas and threaded with brass and silver bangles that caught the sunlight in chains of white flashes. The purpose of these bangles was a matter of argument; some claimed that they confused the poor eyesight of the sharks, while just as many claimed that their glare helped the monsters better sight their prey.

Each
contrarequialla
carried two weapons; a short javelin in one hand and a special axe in the other. These axes had grips enclosed by full handguards, making them difficult to lose; they were double-headed, with the expected curved blade on one side and a long, sturdy pick-head on the other. A skilled fighter usually tried to slash a shark’s fins and tail to nothing before making a kill; few but the very best could kill with anything but the spike. Wolf shark skin could be like tree bark.

Locke stared at the grim women and felt his usual melancholy admiration. They were, to his eyes, as mad as they were courageous.

“I know that’s Cicilia de Ricura there, on the far left.” Don Lorenzo was pointing the women out for Lukas Fehrwight’s benefit, taking a break from more than an hour of rapid negotiations. “She’s decent. And beside her is Aganesse, who carries her javelin but never, ever uses it. The other two, well, they must be new. At least new to the Revel.”

“It’s so unfortunate,” said the Doña, “that the Berangias sisters aren’t out there today, Master Fehrwight. They’re the best.”

“Probably the best there ever has been.” Don Salvara squinted to cut some of the glare rising off the water and tried to estimate the size of the sharks, barely visible as shadows within their cages. “Or ever will be. But they haven’t been at the Revel for the past few months.”

Locke nodded and chewed on the inside of one of his cheeks. As Locke Lamora,
garrista
of the Gentlemen Bastards and respectable sneak thief, he knew the Berangias twins personally. He also knew
exactly
where they’d been for those past few months.

Out on the water, the first fighter was taking her position.
Contrarequialla
fought across a series of stepping-stone platforms, each about two feet wide and raised half a foot off the water. These platforms were set out in a square grid, four or five feet apart, leaving plenty of room for the opposition to swim between them. The women would have to hop between these platforms at a rapid pace to strike out at the sharks while dodging leaps in return; a slip into the water was usually the end of the contest.

Beyond the line of shark cages (opened by chain pulleys connected to a barge well beyond the periphery of any possible shark activity) there was a little boat, crewed by (extremely well-paid) volunteer rowers and carrying the three traditional observers of any Teeth Show. First, there was a priest of Iono in his sea-green robes fringed with silver. Beside him there was a black-robed, silver-masked priestess of Aza Guilla, Lady of the Long Silence, Goddess of Death. Lastly, there was a physiker, whose presence had always struck Locke as an extremely optimistic gesture.

“Camorr!” The young woman—apparently Cicilia de Ricura—raised her weapons into the air over her head. The heavy murmur of the crowd subsided, leaving only the noise of water lapping against boats and breakwaters. Fifteen thousand watchers held their collective breath. “I dedicate this death to Duke Nicovante, our lord and patron!” Such was the traditional phrasing of the
contrarequialla
’s salute; “this death” could conveniently refer to either participant in the battle.

With a great flourish of trumpets and the cheer of the crowd, the boatmen outside the circle of cages loosed the afternoon’s first shark. The ten-foot fish, already blood-mad, shot forth from imprisonment and began to circle the stepping platforms, its ominous gray fin slicing a rippling line in the water. Cicilia balanced on one foot and bent down to slap the water with the heel of the other, screaming oaths and challenges. The shark took the bait; in a few seconds it was in amongst the platforms, stocky body whipping back and forth like a toothy pendulum.

“This one doesn’t like to waste time!” Don Salvara actually wrung his hands together. “I bet it’s an early leaper.”

Barely had these words escaped his mouth than the shark rocketed up out of the water in a fountain of silver spray, hurling itself at the crouching fighter. The shark’s leap was not a high one; Cicilia avoided it by jumping right, to the next platform over. In midair she let her javelin go with a backhanded cast; the shaft sunk into the shark’s flank and quivered there for a split second before the streamlined mass of hungry muscle splashed back down into the water. Crowd reaction was mixed; the cast had displayed remarkable agility but minimal power. Cicilia’s shark was likely only further angered, and her javelin wasted.

“Oh, poor decision.” The doña clicked her tongue. “This girl needs to learn some patience. We’ll see if her new friend gives her the chance.”

Thrashing, spraying pink-foamed water, the shark maneuvered for another attack, chasing Cicilia’s shadow on the water. She hopped from platform to platform, axe reversed so the spike was facing outward.

“Master Fehrwight.” Don Lorenzo removed his optics and played with them while he watched the fight; apparently, they weren’t necessary for use at long distances. “I can accept your terms, but you have to appreciate that my portion of the initial risk is quite heavy, especially relative to my total available funds. My request, therefore, is that the split of revenues from our Austershalin sales be adjusted to fifty-five, forty-five, in my favor.”

Locke pretended to ponder while Cicilia pumped her arms and leaped for dear life, the eager gray fin slashing through the water just behind her feet. “I’m authorized to make such a concession on behalf of my masters. In return…I would fix your family’s ownership interest in the resecured Austershalin vineyards at five percent.”

“Done!” The don smiled. “I will fund two large galleons, crew and officers, necessary bribes and arrangements, and a cargo to take north with us. I’ll oversee one galleon; you the other. Mercenary crews of my choosing to be placed aboard each vessel for added security. Conté will travel with you; your Graumann can stay at my side. Any expenditures that bring our budget over twenty-five thousand Camorri crowns are to be made solely at my discretion.”

The shark leaped and missed again; Cicilia performed a brief one-armed handstand on her platform, waving her axe. The audience roared while the shark rolled over gracelessly in the water and came back for another pass.

“Agreed,” said Locke. “Signed identical copies of our contract to be kept by each of us; one additional copy in Therin to be kept with a mutually agreeable neutral solicitor, to be opened and examined by them within the month should one of us have…an accident while fetching the casks. One additional copy in Vadran to be signed and placed into the care of an agent known to me, for eventual delivery to my masters. I shall require a bonded scribe at the Tumblehome this evening, and a promissory note for five thousand crowns, to be drawn at Meraggio’s tomorrow so I can get to work immediately.”

“And that is all that remains?”

“Quite everything,” said Locke.

The don was silent for several seconds. “The hell with it; I agree. Let’s clasp hands and take our chances.”

Out on the water, Cicilia paused and hefted her axe, timing a blow as the shark approached her platform on her right, undulating, moving too slow for a high leap. Just as Cicilia shifted her weight to bring the spike down, the shark jackknifed in the water beside her, squeezing its body into a U shape, and drove itself straight downward. This maneuver flicked its tail into the air, catching the
contrarequialla
just under her knees. Screaming more in shock than in pain, Cicilia de Ricura fell backward into the water.

It was all over a few seconds after that; the shark came up biting and must have taken her by one or both legs. They turned over and over in the water a few times—Locke caught glimpses of the frantic woman’s form alternating with the dark rough hide of the shark; white then gray, white then gray. In moments the pink foam was dark red once more, and the two struggling shadows were sinking into the depths beneath the platforms. Half the crowd roared lusty approval; the rest bowed their heads in a respectful silence that would last just until the next young woman entered the ring of red water.

“Gods!” Doña Sofia stared at the spreading stain on the water; the surviving fighters stood with their heads lowered, and the priests were gesturing some sort of mutual blessing. “Unbelievable! Taken in so fast, by such a simple trick. Well, my father used to say that one moment of misjudgment at the Revel is worth ten at any other time.”

Locke bowed deeply to her, taking one hand and kissing it. “I doubt him not at all, Doña Sofia. Not at all.”

Smiling amiably, he bowed to her once more, then turned to shake hands with her husband.

Locke Stays for Dinner

“WHAT?” LOCKE NEARLY jumped to his feet. “What are you talking about?”

“My boy,” said Chains, “my intermittently brilliant little boy, your world has such small horizons. You can see clearly enough to pull a fast one on someone, but you
can’t
see past the immediate consequences. Until you learn to think ahead of the repercussions, you are putting yourself and everyone around you in danger. You can’t help being young, but it’s past time that you stopped being stupid. So listen carefully.

“Your first mistake was that taking coin from the watch isn’t a beating offense. It’s a
killing
offense. Are we clear on that? Here in Camorr, the watch takes
our
coin, and never the other way around. This rule is set in stone and there are no exceptions, no matter what kind of thief you are. It’s death. It’s a throat-slashing, shark-feeding, off-to-meet-the-gods offense, clear?”

Locke nodded.

“So when you set Veslin up, you
really
set him up. But you compounded this mistake when you used a white iron coin. You know how much a full crown is worth, exactly?”

“Lots.”

“Ha. ‘Lots’ isn’t ‘exactly.’ You don’t speak Therin, or you don’t really know?”

“I guess I don’t really know.”

“Well, if everything’s butter and nobody’s been shaving the damn things, that little piece of shiny white iron was worth forty silver solons. You see? Two
hundred
and forty coppers. Your eyes are wide. That means you can think that big, that you understand?”

“Yes. Wow.”

“Yes,
wow
. Let me put it in perspective. A yellowjacket—one of our selfless and infinitely dutiful city watchmen—might make that much for two months of daily duty. And watchmen are decently paid, for common folk, and they sure as blessed shit do
not
get paid in white iron.”

“Oh.”

“So not only was Veslin taking money, he was taking too much money. A full crown! You can buy a death for much less, yours included.”

“Um…how much did you pay for my…” Locke tapped his chest, where the death-mark still hung beneath his shirt.

“I don’t mean to prick your rather substantial opinion of yourself, but I’m still not sure if it was two coppers wisely spent.” At the boy’s expression, Chains barked out a rich, genuine laugh, but then his voice grew serious once again. “Keep guessing, boy. But the point remains. You can get good, hard men to do serious work for less. You could buy five or six major pieces of business, if you know what I mean. So, when you stuck a white iron coin in Veslin’s things—”

“It was too much money for anything…simple?”

“Dead on.
Far
too much money for information or errands. Nobody in their right mind gives a fucking graveyard urchin a full crown. Unless that urchin is being paid to do something big. Kill your old master, for example. Smoke out all of Shades’ Hill and everyone in it. So if the poor Thiefmaker was upset to discover that Veslin was on the take, you can
imagine
how he felt when he saw how much money was involved.”