A few of the lounging waiters looked as though they might offer argument, but the sight of Benjavier, half-dressed and firmly held by the two guards, seemed to convince them that something was deeply amiss. They scuttled from the room, and Locke turned to the guards.
“Hold him here,” said Locke. “I’m going to fetch Master Meraggio; we’ll return in a few moments. This room is to stay clear until we return. Let the waiters take their ease somewhere else.”
“Hey, what’s going on?” The service-door guard poked his head into the receiving room.
“If you value your job,” said Locke, “keep your eyes out there in that alley, and don’t let anyone else in. Meraggio’s going to be down here soon, and he’s going to be in a mood, so it’d be best not to catch his attention.”
“I think he’s right, Laval,” said one of the guards holding Benjavier.
“Uh…sure, sure.” The service-door guard vanished.
“As for you,” said Locke, stepping close to Benjavier, “like I said, it’s nothing personal. Can I give you a bit of advice? Don’t play games. You can’t lie to Meraggio. None of us could, on our best day. Just confess, straight out. Be totally honest. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” sniffed Benjavier. “Yes, please, I’ll do anything….”
“You don’t need to do anything. But if you hope for Master Meraggio to be at all lenient or sympathetic, then by the gods, you fucking confess and you do it in a hurry. No games, remember?”
“O-okay, yes, anything…”
“I shall return very shortly,” said Locke, and he spun on his heel and made for the door. As he left the receiving room, he allowed himself a brief smirk of pleasure; the guards pinning Benjavier now looked almost as frightened of him as the waiter did. It was strange, how readily authority could be conjured with nothing but a bit of strutting jackassery. He made his way through the service passages and kitchens, and back out onto the public floor.
“I say,” said Locke to the first guard he came across, “is Master Meraggio in the members’ galleries?” Locke waved his blank rolled parchment as though it were pressing business.
“Far as I know,” said the guard, “I think he’s up on the third level, taking reports.”
“Many thanks.”
Locke climbed the wide black iron stairs that led up to the first members’ gallery, nodding at the pair of guards at its base. His uniform seemed to be a sufficient guarantee of gallery privileges, but he kept the parchment clutched visibly in both hands, as an added assurance. He scanned the first-floor galleries, found no sign of his quarry, and continued upward.
He found Giancana Meraggio on the third floor, just as the guard had indicated. Meraggio stood staring out at the public gallery, abstractly, as he listened to a pair of finnickers behind him read from wax tablets figures that meant very little to Locke. Meraggio didn’t seem to keep a bodyguard near his person; apparently he felt safe enough within the bounds of his commercial kingdom. So much the better. Locke stepped right up beside him, relishing the arrogance of the gesture, and stood waiting to be noticed.
The finnickers and several nearby gallery members started muttering to themselves; after a few seconds Meraggio turned and let the full power of his storm-lantern glare rest on Locke. It took only a moment for that glare to shift from irritation to suspicion.
“You,” said Meraggio, “do not work for me.”
“I bring greetings from Capa Raza of Camorr,” said Locke, in a quiet and respectful voice. “I have a very serious matter to bring to your attention, Master Meraggio.”
The master of the countinghouse stared at him, then removed his optics and tucked them in a coat pocket. “So it’s true, then. I’d heard Barsavi had gone the way of all flesh…. And now your master sends a lackey. How kind of him. What’s his business?”
“His business is rather congruent with yours, Master Meraggio. I’m here to save your life.”
Meraggio snorted. “My life is hardly in danger, my improperly dressed friend. This is my house, and any guard here would cut your balls off with two words from me. If I were you, I’d start explaining where you got that uniform.”
“I purchased it,” said Locke, “from one of your waiters, a man by the name of Benjavier. I knew he was tractable, because he’s already in on the plot against your life.”
“Ben? Gods damn it—what proof have you?”
“I have several of your guards holding him down by your service entrance, rather half-dressed.”
“What do you mean you have several of my guards holding him? Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Capa Raza has given me the job of saving your life, Master Meraggio. I mean exactly what I said. And as for who I am, I happen to be your savior.”
“My guards and my waiters—”
“Are not reliable,” hissed Locke. “Are you blind? I didn’t purchase this at a secondhand clothier; I walked right in through your service entrance, offered a few crowns, and your man Benjavier was out of his uniform like that.” Locke snapped his fingers. “Your guard at the service door slipped me in for much less—just a solon. Your men are not made of stone, Master Meraggio; you presume much concerning their fidelity.”
Meraggio stared at him, color rising in his cheeks; he looked as though he was about to strike Locke. Instead, he coughed and held out his hands, palms up.
“Tell me what you came to tell me,” said Meraggio. “I’ll take my own counsel from there.”
“Your finnickers are crowding me. Dismiss them and give us a bit of privacy.”
“Don’t tell me what to do in my own—”
“I will tell you what to do, gods damn it,” Locke spat. “I am your fucking bodyguard, Master Meraggio. You are in deadly danger; minutes count. You already know of at least one compromised waiter and one lax guard; how much longer are you going to prevent me from keeping you alive?”
“Why is Capa Raza so concerned for my safety?”
“Your personal comfort likely means nothing to him,” said Locke. “The safety of the Meraggio, however, is of paramount importance. An assassination contract has been taken out against you, by Verrari commercial interests who wish to see Camorr’s fortunes diminished. Raza has been in power for four days; your assassination would shake the city to its foundations. The Spider and the city watch would tear Raza’s people apart looking for answers. He simply cannot allow harm to come to you. He must keep this city stable, as surely as the duke must.”
“And how does your master know all of this?”
“A gift from the gods,” said Locke. “Letters were intercepted while my master’s agents were pursuing an unrelated matter. Please dismiss your finnickers.”
Meraggio pondered for a few seconds, then grunted and waved his attendants away with an irritated wrist-flick. They backed off, wide-eyed.
“Someone very nasty is after you,” said Locke. “It’s a crossbow job; the assassin is Lashani. Supposedly, his weapons have been altered by a Karthani Bondsmage. He’s slippery as all hell, and he almost always hits the mark. Be flattered; we believe his fee is ten thousand crowns.”
“This is a great deal to swallow, Master…”
“My name isn’t important,” said Locke. “Come with me, down to the receiving room behind the kitchens. You can talk to Benjavier yourself.”
“The receiving room, behind the kitchens?” Meraggio frowned deeply. “As yet, I have no reason to believe that you yourself might not be trying to lure me there for mischief.”
“Master Meraggio,” said Locke, “you are wearing silk and cotton, not chain mail. I have had you at dagger-reach for several minutes now. If my master wished you dead, your entrails would be staining the carpet. You don’t have to thank me—you don’t even have to like me—but for the love of the gods, please accept that I have been ordered to guard you, and one does not refuse the orders of the Capa of Camorr.”
“Hmmm. A point. Is he as formidable a man as Barsavi was, this Capa Raza?”
“Barsavi died weeping at his feet,” said Locke. “Barsavi and all of his children. Draw your own conclusions.”
Meraggio slipped his optics back onto his nose, adjusted his orchid, and put his hands behind his back.
“We shall go to the receiving room,” he said. “You lead the way.”