The Republic of Thieves #2

6

THREE DAYS later, a lean and scruffy man in a paint-spattered tunic emerged from the misty greenways of the Mara Karthani, where hanging lanterns swayed in the rain and Therin Throne statues in crumbling alcoves gave themselves up slowly to the elements.

Abutting the centuries-old park on its eastern side was the manse of Perspicacity Lovaris, Black Iris Konseil representative for the Bursadi District. The scruffy man knocked at the tradesfolk entrance and was let in by a dark-skinned hillock of a woman, gray-haired but dangerously light on her feet. The scuffed witchwood baton swinging from the woman’s belt looked as though it had met some skulls in its time.

She led the newcomer, still dripping wet, through the richly furnished passages of the house to a small, high-ceilinged chamber where warm yellow light fell like a benediction. This illumination had nothing to do with the natural sky, of course—it was an arc of alchemical lamps above stained glass engraved with common symbols of the Twelve.

The woman shoved the lean man up against one wall of the chamber, and for an instant he feared treachery. Then her strong, capable hands were sliding down his sides in a familiar fashion. Her search for weapons was thorough, but she was obviously unacquainted with the old Camorri trick of the hiltless stiletto dangled at the small of the back from a necklace chain.

Locke had no illusions of kicking down doors and leaving a swath of dead foes in his wake if complications arose, but even a nail-scraping of an arsenal was a reassuring thing to have on hand.

“He’s not armed,” said the woman, smiling for the first time. “Nor any threat if he were.”

A middle-aged Therin man with pale hair and a seamy pink face entered the room. He and the woman traded places as smoothly as stage actors, and she eased the door shut on her way out.

“You can remove that nonsense on your head,” said the man. “At least, I presume it’s nonsense, if you’re who you ought to be.”

Locke pulled off his sopping wig of black curls and his ornamental optics, thick as the bottoms of alchemists’ jars. He set them down on the room’s only table, which had but one chair, on Lovaris’ side.

“Sebastian Lazari,” said Lovaris as he sat down with a soft grunt. “Lashani prodigy with no genuine history in Lashain. Doctor without accreditation. Solicitor without offices or former clients.”

“The backtrail’s not up to my usual standards,” said Locke. “No loss to admit it, since I didn’t do the work myself.”

“You and your bigger friend are interesting counterparts to the lovely Mistress Gallante,” said Lovaris. “Though obviously not from the same place.”

“Obviously,” said Locke.

“I think you’ve come north from your usual habitations, Master Lazari. I heard rumors a few months ago, when the archon of Tal Verrar took that long fall off a narrow pedestal. Word was a few captains of intelligence managed to duck the noose and get misplaced in the shuffle.”

“My compliments,” said Locke. “But, ah, you might as well know I didn’t leave anyone behind me interested enough to chase me down, even if your … entertaining theory were to reach the proper ears.”

“Nor shall I waste my time contacting them. The election will be past before a letter could even reach Tal Verrar. No, nothing we say here will be heard by anyone else, save my forebears.” Lovaris gestured at the ornately carved nooks and drawers decorating the walls of the chamber. “This is my family’s memorial vault. Seven hundred years in Karthain. We predate the Presence. As for you, well, I’ve brought you here in answer to your interesting note because I wish to inconvenience you.”

“I’m sure your line hasn’t survived for seven centuries by refusing to carefully examine fresh opportunities,” said Locke. “My note asked for nothing but this meeting. You have no idea what I’m about to offer you.”

“Oh, but I do.” Lovaris smiled without showing teeth. “You want me to consider a turn of the coat. Specifically, you want me to wait until all the votes are safely counted and I’m back in for the Black Iris. Then and only then would I announce that my conscience had forced me to join ranks with the Deep Roots. I understand you’ve promised to invent a convincing story, but you haven’t told anyone else what it is yet.”

Locke wanted to scream. Instead he pretended to study the nails of his right hand and disguised his next deep, calming breath as a bored sigh.

“I’ll have a passable excuse for you,” he said. “And you would find the experience personally enriching.”

“So I hear,” said Lovaris. “Ten thousand ducats in gleaming gold. I supply a chest; you fill it before my eyes. On election night, the chest is to be kept at an allegedly neutral countinghouse by an equal number of my people and yours, until I undertake my public metamorphosis. Once I do so, your people walk away and leave mine the gold.”

“Elegant, don’t you think?” Locke wanted to punch the wall. This was too much. Lovaris had information from confidential conversations with Locke’s half-dozen most trusted associates, information just a day or two old. Still, Locke had stayed calm through worse. “Come now, Lovaris, we both know you’re no ideologue. The whole city knows it. Nobody’s going to be particularly surprised or hurt, and ten thousand ducats will buy an awful lot of anything.”

“Do I look like a stranger to money?” said Lovaris.

“You look like a man of a certain age,” said Locke. “How many more pleasant and healthy years will the gods give you? How much more pleasant and healthy could they be with that extra ten thousand to ease your way?”

“There is a more practical concern,” said Lovaris. “Accepting a bribe is technically an amputation offense, perhaps even a capital one if state interest can be invoked. Nobody pays attention to routine little exchanges, but ten thousand ducats is a very awkward mass of coin, and it doesn’t fit any of the usual patterns. If I did this, I would be hounded by the Black Iris. I’d be the one man in Karthain to whom the bribery laws would be applied! The only place that money could vanish to is my cellars. I wouldn’t be able to join it legally with my countinghouse funds for years, and that’s damned inconvenient. Nor can I simply take a letter of credit, for even more obvious reasons.”

“If you can assume that I’m good for ten thousand in cold metal,” said Locke, “why don’t I leave it to you to dictate how I can best conceal the transfer of funds to you?”

“I think not.” Lovaris rose and stretched. “The most important point to consider is that your little scheme is only worth the trouble if we Black Iris win the election by exactly one Konseil seat. If you win, you’ve no need to buy me at all, and if we win by two seats or more, my turning can’t shift the majority. Frankly, it’s all immaterial, because I don’t believe you’re going to win. I don’t believe you’re going to lose by so little as one seat. You’re correct that I’m no slave to ideology, but it would be tedious and stupid to suddenly find myself on the side of the minority.”

“Many interesting things could happen between now and the election,” said Locke.

“A hazy platitude. You might as well be conducting your business in public squares, Lazari. I’ve revealed how extensive our intelligence is because I want you to understand that you’re over the barrel.”

“Fair enough,” said Locke. “This, then, is the point in the conversation where I say ‘twenty thousand.’ ”

“Ten thousand would be awkward enough. You expect me to be enthusiastic about trying to hide twice as much? The money’s only an enticement if it can reach my pockets invisibly, and if I’m still relevant to Karthani politics after I’ve earned it. No, Master Lazari, I won’t pretend I’m not ultimately for sale in some fashion, but you are not offering any sort of price I’m looking for. Now, before I have you escorted out, do you want a moment to put your wet disguise back on? For formality’s sake, if nothing else?”

7

A LEAN, scruffy man in a paint-stained tunic left the tradesman’s entrance of the manse of Perspicacity Lovaris and hurried west, back into the cool green maze of the Mara Karthani. Subtle signs had been laid since his last passage, knots of brown cloth tied around hedge branches at knee level, and the man followed them rapidly through twistings and turnings, through brick arches hung with yellowing vines, to the statuary niche where Jean Tannen waited.

Jean, clad in a sensible hooded oilcloak, was sitting on a bench beside the likeness of some forgotten scholar-soldier of the old empire, a stern woman carved in the traditional mode, carrying the raised lantern of learning in one hand and a clutch of barbed javelins on the opposite shoulder. Jean pulled out a second oilcloak and swept it over Locke’s shoulders.

“Thank you,” said Locke, pulling off his wig and optics. “We’ve got a serious hole in our security. Lovaris knew I was coming.”

“Damn,” said Jean. “Do you want me to roust those grandmothers Sabetha’s got up on the rooftops after all?”

“Gods, they’re harmless. Just there to taunt us. Our problem is someone inside Josten’s. Lovaris had full details of my plan and my offer, things I’ve only mentioned to a handful of people, in privacy, in the past couple of days! Is there any place an eavesdropper could have their way with the Deep Roots private gallery?”

“I spent hours going over all the cellars, all the bolt-holes,” said Jean. “There’s nowhere close enough, not above or below. And the noise of the place … no, I’d stake my life on it. It’d take— Well, it’d take magic.”

“Then I’m off to hunt the rat,” said Locke. “And since my first approach bounced right off the fatuous f*cker’s self-satisfaction, you’ll have to visit Lovaris and try our second approach.”

“Second approach, right.” Jean rose from the bench. “You sure our budget can bear the strain?”

“It’ll take us down to the dregs, and an emergency few thousand, and those donations from our Vadran refugees,” said Locke. “But there’s not much else to spend it on at this point, is there?”

“So be it,” said Jean. “If he bites, I’ll start visiting jewelers tonight. I’ve picked some discreet ones.”

“Good. I’d say diamonds and emeralds, mostly, but you’ve got a sharp eye. Trust your own discretion.”

“And we’ll need a boat,” said Jean.

“Already thinking on it!” Locke tapped his own forehead. “But let’s cover first, second, third, and fourth things before we go chasing down fifths or sixths, eh?”

“Gods keep you,” said Jean. “Don’t trip over your feet on the way home. What are you going to do about our rat?”

“Well, since someone we trust is feeding my confidential instructions to Sabetha,” said Locke, “I reckon I might feed some confidential instructions to all the people we trust.”

8

THAT NIGHT, as a hard rain beat down outside, Locke put his arm around Firstson Epitalus and drew the old man into a whispered conversation in the Deep Roots private gallery.

“You know more about the Isas Thedra than I do,” said Locke. “I need a quiet, out-of-the-way place in your district to store some barrels of fire-oil. A shack, a cellar. Somewhere nobody will disturb, at least not before the election.”

“Fire-oil? What’s this for, Master Lazari?”

“I’m going to see to it that our Black Iris friends have a fairly damaging fire a few nights before the election at one of their Bursadi District properties. I’ll take pains to see that nobody gets hurt. I just want them to lose some papers and some comforts.”

“Capital!” Epitalus thumped his cane on the floor approvingly. “Well, in that case, there’s an outbuilding on my own estate. The old boathouse. I’m not using it at all.”

“Good. One more thing, Epitalus. This is absolutely, vitally secret. Speak of this to no one. Am I clear?”

“As an empty glass, Master Lazari.”

The reference left them both thirsty. They toasted the frustration of the Black Iris with small glasses of cinnamon lemon cordial, and then Jean reappeared from his errand, shrugging himself out of his rain-slick oilcloak. Locke waved Epitalus off, then conversed in whispers with Jean.

“We’re on,” said Jean. “I think Lovaris was perversely pleased by the idea of us doing our part tonight, in the rain.”

“Of course. He’s a miserable sack of smugness. When?”

“Hour before midnight.”

“Not much time if we’re going to be careful.”

“Time enough for me to arm myself with dinner and coffee,” said Jean.

“Then I’ll get the things we need from our rooms,” said Locke. “You plant yourself in front of a fire and eat— Damn, here come Dexa and Nikoros, just the people I can’t miss.”

The two Gentlemen Bastards separated, Jean headed for the kitchens and Locke headed to intercept his targets and guide them up to the private gallery. He begged a moment alone with Nikoros first.

“Look, uh, Master Lazari, here’s the latest reports,” said Nikoros, fumbling with his satchel as Locke pushed him toward a quiet corner. “We had a break-in last night at Cavril’s office in the Ponta Corbessa, nothing major, but I suspect they got away with some confidential minutes and voter lists. Our delegations to the temples paid for a public sacrifice for each of the Twelve. A lash and a silver compass for Morgante, a silk shroud for Aza Guilla, a dove’s heart for Preva—”

“Nikoros,” said Locke, “I’m devout. I know the usual sacrifices. Just tell me there were no complications.”

“Well, ah, the rain probably cut down on the crowds, but they all went well. The whole city knows we’ve done our duty to the gods and asked their blessing.”

“If nobody got struck by lightning, I’m content. Now, I need you to get something for me. A hiding place. A shack, a cellar, a hole, anything, preferably deserted or disused. Near the Vel Vespala, as close to the Sign of the Black Iris as you can safely get. Do you know any spots?”

“I, well, let me think.” Nikoros rubbed his eyes and muttered to himself. “There’s a foreclosed chandlery that doesn’t have a new tenant, about three blocks from the Sign of the Black Iris. What should I do with it?”

“Just get me the place and I’ll do the work,” said Locke. “I’m going to repeat my stunt at the Enemy Tavern, smoke it up with harmless alchemy, only this time it’s going to last hours and it’s going to hit ’em at the worst possible time. I’ll decide when that is, but I need my fire-oil and powders stored nearby. This chandlery sounds perfect.”

“As you wish, of course.”

“And Nikoros,” said Locke, “this is the deepest, darkest sort of secret. Don’t write any notes or take any minutes on it. Keep this between you and me and the gods. Absolutely nobody else. Understood?”

“Perfectly, Master Lazari.”

“Good. Off on your other business, now, and send Dexa over to me as you go.”

“Master Lazari,” she said, waving her cigar at him. “You look busy. Can’t say I disapprove. What did you want to see me about?”

“What we’re going to discuss must remain absolutely confidential,” whispered Locke, leaning in so close he was immersed in tendrils of her smoke. “You know the Isas Mellia better than anyone. I need you to find me a shack, or a cellar, a bolt-hole of just about any sort, where I can store a certain quantity of …”

9

AN HOUR before midnight the rain flashed down like silver harpstrings against the darkness. A lean man and a burly man stood beneath a snuffed lantern at the edge of the Mara Karthani. They watched the manse of Perspicacity Lovaris and shivered under their oilcloaks.

“There she is,” said Locke.

A heavy dark shape, sensibly dressed like themselves, emerged from the tradesfolk entrance and walked away from them, north, in the direction of the city streets.

“And if this is a trap?” said Jean.

“I took a precaution.” Locke knelt to lift a light wooden crate onto his shoulders. Jean picked up another. “There should be a carriage running one green alchemical lamp about a block north of the manse. Two of our drivers and two of our guards watching for trouble. If we come running, they’ll snatch us up and get us home.”

“Good thought,” said Jean. “Assuming we can run. I hope this is the last risky stupidity we dive into before this mess is over. I’m not sure we can get much less cautious than this.”

“May the Crooked Warden bless us for keeping Him entertained,” said Locke. “Let’s go. What kind of house-breakers would we be if we didn’t keep our appointment?”