“That might have been true,” said Locke, “before you told us about the cider.”
“Obviously I know that what I’ve done will give you cause to bear me malice. Appreciate my position. I’ve done this to you because I respect your abilities. I can’t afford to have you in my service without controls. You’re a lever and a fulcrum, you two, looking for a city to turn upside down.”
“Why the hell couldn’t you just hire us?”
“How would money be sufficient leverage for two men who can conjure it as easily as you?”
“So the fact that you’re screwing us like a Jeremite cot doxy is really a very sweet compliment?” said Jean. “You fucking—”
“Calm down, Tannen,” said Stragos.
“Why should he?” Locke straightened his sweat-rumpled tunic and began tying his wrinkled neck-cloths back on in an agitated huff. “You poison us, lay a mysterious task at our feet, and offer no pay. You complicate our lives as Kosta and de Ferra, and you expect to summon us at your leisure when you condescend to reveal this chore. Gods. What about expenses, should we incur them?”
“You shall have any funds and material you require to operate in my service. And before you get excited, remember that you’ll account for every last centira properly.”
“Oh, splendid. And what other perquisites does this job of yours entail? Complimentary luncheon at the barracks of your Eyes? Convalescent beds when Requin cuts our balls off and has them sewn into our eye sockets?”
“I am not accustomed to being spoken to in this—”
“Get accustomed to it,” snapped Locke, rising out of his chair and beginning to dust off his coat. “I have a counterproposal, one I urge you to entertain quite seriously.”
“Oh?”
“Forget about this, Stragos.” Locke drew on his coat, shook his shoulders to settle it properly, and gripped it by the lapels. “Forget about this whole ridiculous scheme. Give us enough antidote, if there is one, to settle us for the time being. Or let us know what it is and we’ll have our own alchemist see to it, with our own funds. Send us back to Requin, for whom you profess no love, and let us get on with robbing him. Bother us no further, and we’ll return the favor.”
“What could that possibly gain me?”
“My point is more that it would allow you to keep everything you have now.”
“My dear Lamora,” laughed Stragos with a soft, dry sound like an echo inside a coffin, “your bluster may be sufficient to convince some sponge-spined Camorri mongrel don to hand over his coin purse. It might even be enough to see you through the task I have in mind. But you’re mine now, and the Bondsmagi were rather clear on how you might be humbled.”
“Oh? How’s that, then?”
“Threaten me one more time and I shall have Jean returned to the sweltering room for the rest of the night. You may wait, chained outside in perfect comfort, imagining what it must be like for him. And the reverse, Jean, should you decide to wax rebellious.”
Locke clenched his jaw and looked down at his feet. Jean sighed, reached over, and patted him on the arm. Locke nodded very slightly.
“Good.” Stragos smiled without warmth. “Just as I respect your abilities, I respect your loyalty to one another. I respect it enough to use it, for good and for ill. So you will want to come at my summons, and accept the task I have for you…. It’s when I refuse to see you that you will begin to have cause for concern.”
“So be it,” said Locke. “But I want you to remember.”
“Remember what?”
“That I offered to let this go,” said Locke. “That I offered to simply walk away.”
“Gods, but you do think highly of yourself, don’t you, Master Lamora?”
“Just highly enough. No higher than the Bondsmagi, I’d say.”
“Are you suggesting that Karthain fears you, Master Lamora? Please. If that were so, they would have killed you already. No. They don’t fear you—they want to see you punished. Giving you over to me to suit my own purposes seems to accomplish that in their eyes. I daresay you’ve good reason to bear them malice.”
“Indeed,” said Locke.
“Consider for a moment,” said Stragos, “the possibility that I might not like them any more than you do. And that while I might use them, out of necessity, and freely accept windfalls they send in my direction…your service on my behalf might actually come to work against them. Doesn’t that intrigue you?”
“Nothing you say can be taken in good faith.” Locke glowered.
“Ahhh. That’s where you’re wrong, Lamora. With the benefit of time, you’ll see how little need I have to lie about anything. Now, this audience is over. Reflect on your situation, and don’t do anything rash. You may remove yourselves from the Mon Magisteria and return when summoned.”
“Wait,” said Locke. “Just—”
The archon rose, tucked the file under his arm, turned, and left the room through the same door he’d used to enter. It swung shut immediately behind him with the clatter of steel mechanisms.
“Hell,” said Jean.
“I’m sorry,” muttered Locke. “I was so keen to come to Tal fucking Verrar.”
“It’s not your fault. We were both eager to hop in bed with the wench; it’s just shit luck she turned out to have the clap.”
The main doors to the office creaked open, revealing a dozen Eyes waiting in the hall beyond.
Locke stared at the Eyes for several seconds, then grinned and cleared his throat. “Oh, good. Your master has left strict instructions placing you at our disposal. We’re to have a boat, eight rowers, a hot meal, five hundred solari, six women who know how to give a proper massage, and—”
One thing Locke would say for the Eyes was that when they seized him and Jean to “escort” them from the Mon Magisteria, they were firm without being needlessly cruel. Their clubs remained at their belts, and there were a minimal number of body blows to soften the resolve of their prisoners. All in all, a very efficient bunch to be manhandled by.
5
THEY WERE rowed back to the lower docks of the Savrola in a long gig with a covered gallery. It was nearly dawn, and a watery orange light was coming up over the landside of Tal Verrar, peeking over the islands and making their seaward faces seem darker by contrast. Surrounded by the archon’s oarsmen and watched by four Eyes with crossbows, Locke and Jean said nothing.
Their exit was quick; the boat simply drew up to the edge of one deserted quay and Locke and Jean hopped out. One of the archon’s soldiers threw a leather sack out onto the stones at their feet, and then the gig was backing away, and the whole damnable episode was over. Locke felt a strange daze and he rubbed his eyes, which felt dry within their sockets.
“Gods,” said Jean. “We must look as though we’ve been mugged.”
“We have been.” Locke reached down, picked up the sack, and examined its contents—Jean’s two hatchets and their assortment of daggers. He grunted. “Magi. Gods-damned Bondsmagi!”
“This must be what they had in mind.”
“I hope it’s all they have in mind.”
“They’re not all-knowing, Locke. They must have weaknesses.”
“Must they really? And do you know what they are? Might one of them be allergic to exotic foods, or suffer poor relations with his mother? Some good that does us, when they’re well beyond dagger reach! Crooked Warden, why don’t dog’s assholes like Stragos ever want to simply hire us for money? I’d be happy to work for fair pay.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“Feh.”
“Quit scowling and think for a moment. You heard Stragos’ report. The Bondsmagi knew about the preparations we’ve made for going after Requin’s vault, but they didn’t know the whole story. The important part.”
“Right…but what need would there be for them to tell Stragos everything?”
“None, of course, but also…they knew where we were operating from in Camorr, but he didn’t mention our history. Stragos spoke of Barsavi, but not Chains. Perhaps because Chains died before the Falconer ever came to Camorr and started observing us? I don’t think the Bondsmagi can read our thoughts, Locke. I think they’re magnificent spies, but they’re not infallible. We still have some secrets.”
“Hmmm. Forgive me if I find that a cold comfort, Jean. You know who waxes philosophical about the tiniest weaknesses of enemies? The powerless.”
“You seem resigned to that without much of a—”
“I’m not resigned, Jean. I’m angry. We need to cease being powerless as soon as possible.”
“Right. So where do we start?”
“Well, I’m going to go back to the inn. I’m going to pour a gallon of cold water down my throat. I’m going to get into bed, put a pillow over my head, and stay there until sunset.”
“I approve.”
“Good. Then we’ll both be well rested when it comes time to get up and find a black alchemist. I want a second opinion on latent poisons. I want to know everything there is to know about the subject, and whether there are any antidotes we can start trying.”
“Agreed.”
“After that, we can add one more small item to our agenda for this Tal Verrar holiday of ours.”
“Kick the archon in the teeth?”
“Gods yes,” said Locke, smacking a fist into an open palm. “Whether or not we finish the Requin job first. Whether or not there really is a poison! I’m going to take his whole bloody palace and shove it so far up his ass he’ll have stone towers for tonsils!”
“Any plans to that effect?”
“No idea. I’ve no idea whatsoever. I’ll reflect on it, that’s for damn sure. But as for not being rash, well, no promises.”
Jean grunted. The two of them turned and began to plod along the quay, toward the stone steps that would lead laboriously to the island’s upper tier. Locke rubbed his stomach and felt his skin crawling…felt violated somehow, knowing that something lethal might be slipping unfelt into the darkest crevices of his own body, waiting to do mischief.
On their right the sun was a burning bronze medallion coming up over the city’s horizon, perched there like one of the archon’s faceless soldiers, gazing steadily down upon them.