The Republic of Thieves (66 page)

“Oh, you bastard.” She punched him, but it was the sort of punch delivered with a warm smile. “So, has it … well, how long has it been, for you? Since, you know—”

“You already know the answer,” said Locke. “Very precisely. Think about the day you left. Go back two nights from that, and there you have it.”

“Not even once?”

“I guess it’s fucking ridiculous, isn’t it? But no. I tried. I tried to enlist some help. One of the resident cherry tops at the Guilded Lilies.

Turns out a redhead’s just not a redhead if she’s not, you know, twice as smart as I am and three times as infuriating.”

“Three times as smart,” said Sabetha. “Half as infuriating. And … I am sorry.”

“Don’t be. It wasn’t too bad.” Locke rolled an onion across the table and bounced it off a decanter of olive oil. “She was a friend, close to Chains and me. She knew what my problem was, and that pushing it wasn’t the answer. I got a massage that was worth the price of admission.”

“I suppose I should tell you … it hasn’t been the same way with me these past few years. For several reasons.”

“I see.” He felt cold knots forming in his guts, but fought the sensation down. “I won’t lie. My feelings about you are selfish as hell. I don’t like to think about you with anyone else, but … I wasn’t there. You’re a grown woman and you didn’t owe me anything. Did you expect me to be angry?”

“Yes.”

“I might have been, once. Maybe the one real advantage to getting older is that you have the time to pull your head a little bit farther out of your ass. I don’t
want
to care, understand? You’re here now. With luck … I really hope you’ll be here later. Besides, it seems safe to assume you weren’t swept off your feet by a handsome young Vadran lord with a castle or two to spare—”

“I had some comfort from it, once or twice.” She reached out and touched his arm, not softly, as though she were afraid he might suddenly decide to be elsewhere. “And the rest of the time, it was to empty some pockets. Or a vault. You know.”

“I do indeed.” He reached out, half-consciously, and started fiddling with another onion, spinning it like a top. “In fact, I’m steadily emptying a bank vault because of you with every passing day.”

“Good. Because I’ve never been what anyone would call easy, and I’m
certainly
not cheap.” She reached up and took his other arm.

“Sabetha, what—”

“I’m making a decision. Now, are you going to quit playing with that fucking onion and see what happens if you kiss me, or do I have to put a sword to your neck?”

“Promise I won’t wake up on a ship?”

“Disappoint me, Lamora, and I make
no
promises as to where and when you’ll wake up.”

He put his hands beneath her arms, swung her off her feet, and lifted her onto the table. Laughing, she hooked her legs behind his waist and pulled him close. Her lips were warm and still carried the faint taste of ginger and oranges; he had no idea how long they kissed, arms around each other’s necks, but while they did Locke completely lost track of the fact that he was even standing up.

“Whew,” Sabetha said when they grudgingly broke apart at last. She put a finger against his lips. “And look at that, you’re still conscious. You’re one and one when it comes to kissing in Karthain.”

“That’s a tally I mean to improve … Sabetha? Sabetha, what is it?”

She’d gone rigid in his arms. With his head still spinning from the one-two punch of wine and woman, he slowly turned to look over his shoulder.

Patience was standing beside the little round table, dressed in a carnelian-colored robe with a wide hood.

“Oh, come on,” Locke growled. “Not now. Surely you have better things to do than bother us
now
.”

“Which one are you?” said Sabetha, calmly and respectfully.

“Archedama Patience. You work for my rival.”

“Patience,” said Locke, “if this isn’t important, I swear to the Crooked Warden, I’ll—”

“It is important. In fact, it’s critical. It’s time we spoke. Since neither of you could be dissuaded from this foolishness, both of you have a right to know.”

“Both of us?” said Sabetha. “What do we have a right to know?”

“Where Locke really comes from.” Patience gestured for the two of them to move away from the food table. “And what Locke really is.”

“
HONORED
 …
COUSIN
,”
LOCKE
hissed, “I need …”

“Do
regale
me with your needs,” said Boulidazi.

“Air!”

“Ah.” The iron pressure against Locke’s neck eased just enough to permit a breath.

“It’s not what you think,” he gasped.

“Perhaps I’ve been an idiot,” whispered Boulidazi, “but you’ll not find me eager to resume the role.”

“Gennaro!”

Sabetha stood in the balcony door, and her tone of voice was sufficient to check a rampant horse. Boulidazi actually lowered his blade.

“Verena, I … I’m sorry, but your behavior—”

“It’s
your
behavior that requires explanation, Cousin!”

“I’ve been listening to both of you—”

“You’ve been skulking like a thief!”

“You proclaimed love for one another! I heard your quarrel!”

Too late, Boulidazi seemed to remember that he hadn’t yet professed his interest in Verena to Verena herself. Dismay spilled across
his face like paint splashed across a blank canvas, and Sabetha didn’t neglect the opening.

“It was an acting exercise, you lout! An improvisation! And why should it concern you, were it otherwise?”

“An … improvisation?”

“I asked Lucaza to follow my lead and improvise a scene!” She pushed Boulidazi’s arm firmly away from Locke’s throat. “A scene you interrupted! We might be the ones dressed as commoners, Baron Boulidazi, but you’ve bested us for coarse behavior!”

“But …”

Locke admired the ingenuity of Sabetha’s ploy, but perhaps she was pushing it too far. They needed Boulidazi controlled, not crushed. It was time to resume his role as advocate. He rubbed his aching throat.

“Cousin Verena,” he coughed, “what Gennaro means is that I told him about my own betrothal. So, when he overheard our exercise, why, he had good cause to suspect some deceit.”

“He had no cause to lay hands on your person!”

“Cousin, be sensible. We discussed this before we set out. We knew that living incognito would require us to surrender some of the dignities of our true station.”

“Yes, but—”

“Furthermore, there are no other witnesses, so I feel no need to require satisfaction.”

Locke tried to sound as natural and confident as possible, though he suspected Boulidazi would rate the prospect of a duel with him as a physical threat on par with a difficult bowel movement. The thought of alienating Verena, however …

“I seem to have made a mistake.” Boulidazi sheathed his knife. The cold anger of moments before was put away just as thoroughly. “Verena, I apologize for the misunderstanding. Tell me, please, how can I recover your good opinion?”

Locke blinked at the solitary direction of the apology and the rapid shift to a smooth, wheedling manner. He’d pegged Boulidazi as sincere and straightforward, even a bit of a yokel, but the Esparan had obviously relegated the “noble” Lucaza to the role of a tool in his designs on Sabetha. That and his ease with violence hinted at dangerous depths.

“For one thing,” said Sabetha, “you can cease this unseemly scuttling in shadows. You’re a lord of Espara and the patron of this company. I’d prefer to see you come and go openly in a manner befitting your blood.”

“Of … of course.”

“And if you want to make yourself genuinely useful, you could secure us a more appropriate rehearsal space. I’m growing tired of Mistress Gloriano’s inn-yard.”

“Where would you prefer—”

“I’m told we’re to use a theater called the Old Pearl.”

“Oh. Naturally. Well, that’s just a matter of a gratuity for the countess’ envoy of ceremonies—”

“See to that gratuity, Baron Boulidazi,” said Sabetha, subtly softening her posture and tone of voice. “Surely it’s a matter of little consequence for you. It will be a boon to the company to be practicing on our real stage as soon as possible. Do this, and I’ll be pleased to call you Gennaro again.”

“Then consider it done.” Boulidazi bowed to her with gallant over-formality, gave Locke a perfunctory clap on the shoulder, and went away in haste. His footsteps receded down the passage, and the door to the inn’s second floor banged shut.

“That was close,” whispered Locke.

“Our patron is starting to assume possessive feelings toward his noble cousins,” said Sabetha. “He’s more shifty than I realized.”

“My neck agrees.” With the threat of Boulidazi temporarily quelled, Locke’s thoughts returned to the conversation the baron had interrupted. “And, uh, look, you and I have had—”

“Nothing,” hissed Sabetha. “Evidently I was wrong to say what I did, and wrong to feel those things in the first place.”

“That’s bullshit!” Barely feeling the ache across his throat for the new sting of her words, Locke shocked himself by grabbing her arm and pulling her back out onto the balcony. “I tripped over something. I don’t know what it is, but you
owe
me an explanation. After everything we just said to one another, I will
not
let you push me aside just because you’re pitching a fit!”

“I am not pitching a fit!”

“You make the Sanzas look like bloody diplomats when you do
this. I’ll run after Boulidazi and pick another fight with him before I’ll let this rest. What set you off?”

“You cannot be so wholly ignorant … Do you know what they pay for red-haired girls in Jerem? Do you know what they do to us if we’re pristine? The Thiefmaker did—and it’s so awful it was
too much for his conscience
. Understand? That ghoul would tongue-fuck a dead rat if there was silver in it for him, but selling
redheads
was too vile. He’s the one that taught me to keep my hair dyed and wrapped.”

“I’ve heard about these things, but I never, I never thought of you—”

“First they cut,” said Sabetha. “Right out of a girl’s sex. What they call the sweetness, the little hill. You’ve been around Calo and Galdo long enough, you must have heard a dozen names for it. Then, while the wound is gushing, they bring in the old bastard with the rotting cock or the festering sores or whatever he wants miraculously cured, and he does his business. ‘Blood of the blood-haired child,’ is what they call it.”

“Sabetha—”

“And then, even though
most
of the miracle is already used up, they bring in the next hundred men that want a go at the bloody hole, because it still brings good luck. In fact, it’s
especially
good luck if you’re the one riding her when she finally dies!”

“Gods.”

“Yes. May they all spend ten thousand years drinking salted shit in the deepest hell there is.” Sabetha slumped against the rear wall of the balcony and stared at their discarded wine cups and scripts. “Damn. I
am
pitching a fit.”

“You have some cause!”

She gave a sharp, self-disgusted sort of laugh.

“How was
I
supposed to know all this the first time I ever laid eyes on you?” said Locke. “I remember that first glimpse as though it happened yesterday. But that’s not the only thing I think about … if it really bothers you that much—”

“My
hair
doesn’t bother me,” she said forcefully. “It’s the stupid bastards who’d put me in chains on account of that nonsense about it. I’ve had to mind this every day of my life since I went to Shades’ Hill. Every day! All the hours I’ve wasted peering at my hair in a glass, slopping
it with alchemy … someday I’ll be old enough that it won’t matter anymore. Someday not soon enough.”

“What about before Shades’ Hill?”

“Nothing before the Hill matters,” she said quietly. “I was protected. Then I was an orphan. Leave it at that.”

“As you prefer.” Slowly, hesitantly, he leaned against the wall beside her. Stars were just beginning to pierce the bruise-colored sky above them, and the faint, familiar whispers of evening were rising—the hum of insects, the clatter of wagons, the din of eating and laughter and argument.

“I’m sorry, Locke,” she said after a few moments had passed. “It’s stupid and unfair to be so upset with you. I’ve insulted you.”

“Absolutely not.” He put one hand on her arm and was encouraged to find her resuming the habit of not flinching away. “I’m
glad
you told me. Your problems should be our problems, and your worries should be
our
worries. You realize how rarely you bother to explain yourself?”

“Now, that’s a load—”

“A load of straight truth! You could give inscrutability lessons to the gods-damned Eldren. You know, it’s sort of frightening how you’re actually starting to make sense.”

“Is that meant to be complimentary?”

“Maybe toward both of us,” said Locke. Her weather-like mood swings, the brief seasons of warmth followed by withdrawal and frustration, her urge to control everything in her life with such precision and forethought; behavior that had mystified Locke for years suddenly had a context. “I honestly don’t care what color your hair is as long as you’re under it somewhere.”

“You forgive me for being … unreasonable?”

“Haven’t you forgiven me for the same thing?”

“We may find ourselves once again in serious danger of a happy understanding,” she said, and the way her smile reached her eyes made Locke’s pulse race. Suddenly they seemed to be competing to see who could bring their lips closer to the other’s without appearing to do so—

The sound of a rapid, careless tread echoed from within the passage, and they sprang apart in instinctive unison. The passage door slammed open, and Alondo Razi stumbled out, red-cheeked and sweaty.

“Alondo,” said Sabetha with plainly exaggerated sweetness, “would you consider yourself at peace with the gods?”

“I’m sorry,” he panted, his voice slurred. “I don’t mean to barge in on you, but I can’t find Jovanno. It’s the Asino brothers. Need help—”