The Republic of Thieves (42 page)

“And if she won’t roll over for us?” said Jean, who’d been hovering nearby.

“We get someone else. First Clerk, maybe, or an actual magistrate. We’re buying ourselves a little corner of the Magistrates’ Court tomorrow, come hell or Eldren-fire. When do the courts open?”

“Ninth hour of the morning.”

“Be outside our door at eight.”

“Oh, uh—”

“At
eight
,” said Locke, reducing his voice to a cold whisper. “So don’t stuff any more of that shit down your throat tonight.”

“Oh, I, uh, I don’t have any idea what you—”

“Yes.
You do
. I don’t care if you’re totally out of your head on Akkadris, I’ll put a damn leash around your neck and drag you by it. We’re all going together to put this fire out before it spreads.”

“
NIKOROS
,”
MUTTERED
Locke, bleary-eyed and fog-brained, as he swung the apartment door open in response to a frenzied pounding. “What the hell are you about, man? It can’t be anywhere near eight yet.”

“It’s just after five.” Nikoros looked as though he’d been boot-stomped by a gang of hangover fairies. His hair was undone, his clothes haphazard, and the bags under his eyes could have been used for coin pouches. “They’ve got my office, Lazari. Just like you said.”

“What?” Locke blinked the glue from his eyes and ushered Nikoros inside. “Someone burned your office down?”

“No, it’s not arson.” Nikoros nodded to Jean, who’d come in through the connecting door from his side of the suite. Jean wore a black silk dressing gown and was carrying his hatchets casually in his right hand. “The Master Ratfinder’s office cordoned off my whole bloody building for a suckle-spider infestation. Sheer luck I wasn’t there when they showed up, otherwise I’d be getting an alchemical bath in quarantine.”

“Your scribe?”

“He dodged them too. Almost everything was copied or removed in time, but now they’ll be fumigating with brimstone for three days. Can’t use the place until they’re done.”

“I don’t suppose you’d ever seen so much as one hair on a suckle-spider’s ass?”

“The building’s two years old! Clean as an infant’s soul.”

“Another how-do-you-do from our friends across town. How many people work for this ratfinder?”

“A dozen or so. Alchemists, sewer-stalkers, corpse-hunters. They handle all things pestilent and sanitary.”

“How are they regarded?”

“Master Bilezzo’s a hero! Hells, I mostly think so, too. Keeps the city damned clean, compared to a lot of other places. Forty years without
a plague in Karthain, not even cholera. People notice that sort of thing.”

“This is touchy, then,” said Jean. “We can’t be heavy-handed dealing with this or it’ll snap right back at us. Sa … someone in the opposition keeps choosing delicate instruments to poke us with.”

“We need some delicate instruments of our own,” said Locke. “We’re not going to have any time to deal with the election if we have to run around pissing on these distractions.”

“Do you think you can get my office back?”

“Hmmm.” Locke scratched his stubble. “No. Look, Nikoros, no offense, but if we’ve got you and your files, we don’t need your office. Let them smoke it out. Our job as far as this Master Bilezzo is concerned is to make sure Josten’s isn’t closed down for similar treatment.”

“Very well,” said Nikoros. “But I, uh, my rooms—I suppose I’ll have to board here for a few days.”

“That might not be a bad thing. This place is our castle, and the siege has started. Speaking of which, after we deal with the Magistrates’ Court, get me some actual solicitors. Trustworthy sorts. I presume the party has a few?”

“Of course.”

“Have them join the menagerie here, in the best suites Josten has left. Next time someone walks in with writs or warrants or gods know what, I want real paper-pushers on hand to spin authentic nonsense.”

“We seem to be off to a bad start,” said Nikoros.

“We are.”

“And I must apologize … for my, uh, you know. It’s just an occasional thing, you understand. Keeps me working through the long nights. I can … stop, if you—”

“Do. Throw that shit away. We need you steady and reliable. Dustheads are neither.”

“I’m not a dusthead—”

“Save it. I’ve seen more dustheads, gazers, pissers, burners, and stonelickers than you can imagine. I’ve even crawled into a bottle myself, once or twice. Don’t try to placate me; just do us all a favor and stay off it. Get pickled on booze like an ordinary Deep Roots man.”

“I can … as you say. I can do it.”

“And don’t sweat our situation. By tonight, we’ll be walled in with brutes and solicitors, most of the locks will be changed, Josten will secure his staff.… You’ll feel better once our basic defenses are in place. Now get a room, get what sleep you can. Master Callas and I will fetch you at eight. And hey. Tell whoever’s on duty we want enough coffee to kill a horse.”

When the coffee came a few minutes later, the maid delivering it wore a gleaming brass chain around her neck.

“That was quick work on Josten’s part,” said Jean, pouring two steaming cups. “The chains, I mean. You don’t believe it’ll keep out real mischief, though? Wouldn’t stop either of us, I should think.”

“It’s not meant to,” said Locke. “It’s a simple obstacle for the witless and unlucky. The less time we have to waste on idiots, the more we can devote to everything else Sabetha does.”

IT WAS
a cool, mist-haunted morning. Water trickled down every window, and the pavements were slick. A few minutes before eight, Locke and Jean hustled Nikoros, who looked as though sleep had been scarce, into a carriage. Locke gnawed indelicately at half a loaf of bread stuffed with cold meat from the party. This breakfast was disposed of by the time they made their first stop of the morning, at Tivoli’s, to reinforce the coins in their purses with a few hundred comrades.

Next, they rattled north to the Casta Gravina, the old citadel of Karthain, whose interior walls and gates had been knocked down years before to make more room for a government that didn’t have to fear anything so mundane as a hostile army at its doorstep. The plazas and gardens were so beautifully laid out that the fog might have been just one more decoration, artfully conjured and shaped by crews of overambitious groundskeepers.

“Magistrates’ Court,” said Nikoros, leading the way out of the carriage. “I know the place. If you want to make any money in my business, you’ll end up party or witness in your share of lawsuits.”

Locke and Jean followed him across a circular plaza, into the clammy silver mist that opened a few paces ahead of them and swallowed their carriage an equal distance behind. The fog echoed faintly
with the sounds of the city coming to life—doors opening, horses and wheels clattering, people shouting to one another.

“Clerks’ office is just over here,” said Nikoros.

“OOF!” A woman came out of the fog to Locke’s left before he could react. She collided with Locke, steadied herself against him, and was then snatched away rather ignominiously by Jean.

“Gods above!” she cried. The voice was creaky, middle-aged, Karthani.

“It’s fine, Master Callas, it’s fine,” said Locke. He patted his purse and papers, verifying their undisturbed state. The collision might or might not be innocent, but the woman seemed to be no pickpocket.

“A thousand apologies. You startled us, madam,” said Jean, releasing the woman. She was a few inches shorter than Locke, broad and heavy, dressed in a dull but expensive fashion. Her gray-dusted brown hair was pinned up under an elegant four-cornered cap, and her face was lined with whatever cares had chased her through life. Locke prayed silently that they hadn’t just upset one of the very clerks they might want to suborn.

“It’s you who startled me, looming out of the fog like a pack of highwaymen!”

“I wouldn’t call it looming, madam. Some of us simply aren’t built for looming,” said Locke.

“You, perhaps not, but I could plant your big friend in the street to shade the roof of my house.” She readjusted her coat with a sharp tug and went on her way, scowling. “Good day, oafs.”

“Nikoros,” said Jean, “was that anyone important?”

“Never seen her before.”

“Well, let’s get inside before we trip over someone we can’t afford to offend,” said Locke.

The office of the clerks wasn’t particularly large, but it was comfortably appointed. The purgatory of quiet halls and empty chairs outside the clerical chambers looked like a decent place to fall asleep in. Capability Peralis, a round and attractive woman on the kinder side of forty, was scratching away at papers behind her desk when Locke, Jean, and Nikoros entered her chamber.

“I’m sorry,” she said, irritably tossing thick dark ringlets out of her
eyes as she looked up. “No appointments before half ten. Where’s the hall secretary?”

“The secretary has been taken advantage of by my excessive natural and financial charms,” said Locke, who’d been charming to the tune of a month’s salary. “I’m sure you can sympathize.”

Locke settled smoothly into one of the chairs before Peralis’ desk, and Jean casually drew the door shut. Nikoros stood off to one side and pretended to admire the walls.

“I’ve no idea who you think you are, sir—”

“Last night,” said Locke, “a warrant was signed and sent out from this office, a warrant concerning Josten’s Comprehensive Accommodations.”

“If you’re Josten’s counsel, you know bloody well when Public Proceedings are held!”

“What I know,” said Locke, “is that some miracle caused the records for the payment of Josten’s ardent spirits license, which is perfectly sound, to be misplaced. I’d like that miracle reversed. I do understand that miracles are expensive.”

Sighing inwardly at the artlessness of this approach (there was no time to waste on subtlety), Locke swept a hand across the desktop, leaving a comet-like trail of gold coins.

“Is that meant to impress me?” said Peralis softly, fiercely. Oh, her version of Offended Honest Public Functionary deserved applause! “Attempted bribery of a civic official. You’ll shed your boldness when you’re chained to an interrogation cell wall.”

“Good
gods
, that’s lovely,” said Locke. “I’m really sorry that I simply don’t have time to play this game with you. That’s your annual salary right there on the desktop. I propose to give you six more payments just like it, one per week until this election is over. All I ask is that no further complications to Deep Roots party business be specially conjured by you or your staff. Nothing more.”

“Well,” she said, dropping her façade of outrage, “what if another benefactor is willing to provide additional funds in a contrary direction?”

“Notify us,” said Locke. “We’ll match anything you’re offered. I don’t even want you to take action against that other benefactor;
merely refrain from taking action against us. Make up excuses. Imply that you’re under scrutiny, that further accommodations are temporarily impossible. Surely you can see it’s a sweet arrangement where you’re concerned.”

“It’s not without its temptations,” she mused.

“Quit being coy. Just say yes and earn a fortune.”

“Well, then—yes.”

“I have your word this warrant concerning Josten is a misunderstanding, and the record in question is going to be found, by the happiest happenstance, as soon as I leave this office?”

“You may safely consider the matter settled.”

“Good. If it remains settled next week, I’ll call again with more decorations for your desk. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a tight schedule of pushing boulders up hills.”

“You know,” said Nikoros quietly as they left the Second Clerk’s office, “not to criticize, but if no particular tact is required in these matters, I’ve a hundred Deep Roots men and women who can make these calls in their official capacities—”

“No,” said Locke. “When it comes to just laying out money, leave our official friends out of it. Save them for areas in which their authority is needed. There’s no point in blunting our tools in the wrong applications.”

“Well,” said Nikoros, “you’re damned impossible to argue with, Master Lazari.”

“Not impossible,” said Jean placidly. “About as intractable as a tortoise with its ass on fire, though.”

“If we’re going to catch up to the opposition,” said Locke, “we’ve got to step boldly at every—”

“There he is!
There’s the man who stole my purse!
” cried a familiar voice as Locke emerged once again onto the fog-shrouded plaza.

The middle-aged woman stood there, flanked by two men in pale blue coats reminiscent of the one worn by Vidalos. These men wore studded leather vests beneath them, however, and had clubs hanging from their belts.

Gods. So it hadn’t been an innocent collision after all.

“Your pardon, sir,” said one of the guards, stepping forward, “but I must ask to see your pockets.”

“A black silk purse,” said the woman, “with the initials ‘G.B.’ in red in one of the corners. Seven ducats in it. Or at least there were!”

Locke patted himself down hurriedly. Yes, there
was
a slender new weight in the lower left inside pocket of his rather excellent new coat. He hadn’t noticed the addition; he’d been so satisfied with verifying that nothing had been removed. Stupid, clumsy, amateurish—

“I say,” he sputtered, “this is an intolerable accusation! How dare you, madam, how dare you! And how dare you, sir, suggest that a gentleman might be turned upside-down and shaken like a common cutpurse!”

“Be reasonable, sir,” said the guard. “The lady has a precise description of what was taken, and surely proving that you don’t have it is worth a moment of your time—”

“It is a liberty beyond comprehension! This is Karthain, not the lawless wilds!” Into his furious gesticulations, Locke worked a number of quick hand signals for Jean’s benefit. “I take great … I take the most … I take take take … arrrrrggggggggh!”

Locke spasmed and sputtered. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he stumbled forward moaning, clutching at the approaching guard. Alarmed, the man reached for his club. While Nikoros watched in mute bewilderment, Jean sprang between Locke and the guard.