The Republic of Thieves #2

3

“SO WHAT did you get us?” said Jean.

“Uh, a dinner date,” said Locke. “I think I should be able to discuss drawing a few sensible lines so none of us have to worry about waking up halfway to sea again.”

They’d walked out nonchalantly and claimed the first waiting carriage-for-hire, which was now rattling toward more friendly territory through the slanting late-afternoon shadows of the city’s towers.

“I assume you mentioned my sisters?”

“She’ll give them back if I behave.”

“Fine, then.”

Jean’s voice still had an alarming nasal quality, and Locke made a mental note to have him examined by a physiker whether he liked it or not.

“You’re not mad?” said Locke.

“Of course not. I presume you two idiots hinted to one another about relighting old fires?”

“That was my distinct impression.”

“Well, assuming you don’t let her drug you again, I’m proud of you. I’m the last man on earth who’d discourage you from chasing the woman you adore. Believe me. See to business and then make it as personal as possible.”

“Thanks.” Locke grinned, and enjoyed a brief moment of actual relaxation, one that ended as soon as he blinked and realized that Patience was seated just across from him, lips folded into a scowl below her night-dark eyes.

“I’d say you’re placing an alarming emphasis on pleasure over responsibility, wouldn’t you?” she said.

“Gods above!” Locke edged away from her reflexively, and saw Jean flinch as well. “Why couldn’t you show up on the street like an ordinary person?”

“I’m no good at being an ordinary person. Your recent behavior has been darkly amusing, but I must confess that my colleagues and I are starting to worry about the effectiveness of your overall plan of resistance. If, indeed, such a plan exists.”

“It had to be set aside for a few days,” said Locke. “We did manage to escape total humiliation, no thanks to you.”

“How would you know where the thanks should fall?”

“I don’t remember you offering us a spare boat and a hot meal when we were trying not to drown,” said Jean.

“Unseasonal hard winds blew you off course for most of a week, leaving you within spitting distance of shore, and you didn’t stop to ponder the implications?”

“Wait,” said Locke. “I thought you were strictly forbidden from—”

“I won’t confirm or refute any conjecture,” said Patience, sounding satisfied as a cream-fed cat. “I’m merely pointing out that your vaunted imaginations seem to be flickering rather dimly. Of course it’s possible we aided you. It’s possible the other side had bent the rules as well, and earned a bit of a rebuke. You’ll never know for sure.”

“Damn it, Patience,” said Locke, “you were at pains to assure us that the rules of your stupid contest are ironclad!”

“And you were at pains to insist that you didn’t trust me any farther than you could throw this carriage.”

“Why the hell are you even here? Do you have some message?”

“The message is this: Mind your task, Locke Lamora. You’re here to win, not to woo.”

“I’m here to do both. Carte blanche was the deal. Are you reneging?”

“I’m just relaying—”

“My disinterest in your bullshit is so tangible you could make bricks out of it. Carte blanche, yes or no?”

“Yes,” she said. “But you should be very, very careful how long you test our forbearance. When dealing with a horse that won’t make speed, one tends to apply a whip to its flanks, doesn’t one?”

“You told me you people love to sit back and watch your agents run around entertaining you. So kindly sit back, shut up, and be entertained.”

“I intend to be,” she said. Between heartbeats she was gone, without so much as a rustle of fabric.

“Gods damn it,” said Locke. “Tell me I wouldn’t be such a tremendous pain in the ass if I had those powers.”

“You’d be worse,” sighed Jean. “I’d have killed you myself a long time ago. And you know what else?”

“Hrrrm?”

“Patience can lick scorpions in hell. You and Sabetha take your time and sort out whatever the last five years have done to you. I’m here to mind the shop whenever you’re out.”