5
THERE WERE Nightglass soldiers near the chain elevator landings who’d been given his description; naturally, they were delighted when Conté hauled him over with his hands tied in front of him. They ascended once again; Locke with Conté at his back and a blackjacket holding him by either arm.
“Please take me to Do?a Vorchenza,” said Locke. “If you can’t find her, please find one of the Salvaras. Or even a captain in your company named Reynart.”
“Shut up, you,” said one of the blackjackets. “You go where you go.”
The cage slid home into the locking mechanisms on the embarkation terrace; a milling crowd of nobles and their guests turned their attention to Locke as he was carried forward between the three men. As they passed the threshold into the first gallery within the tower, Captain Reynart happened to be standing nearby with a plate of small confectionary ships in his hands. His eyes grew wide; he took a last bite of marzipan sail, wiped his mouth, and thrust his dish into the arms of a passing waiter, who nearly toppled over in surprise.
“By the gods,” he said, “where did you find him?”
“We didn’t, sir,” said one of the blackjackets. “Man behind us says he’s in the service of Lord and Lady Salvara.”
“I caught him by the carriages,” said Conté.
“Fantastic,” said Reynart. “Take him down a level, to the eastern wing of suites. There’s an empty storeroom with no windows. Search him, strip him down to his breechclout, and throw him in there. Two guards at all times. We’ll pull him out after midnight, when the feast starts to break up.”
“Reynart, you can’t,” cried Locke, struggling uselessly against the men who held him. “I came back on my own. On my own, do you understand? Everyone here is in danger. Are you in on your adopted mother’s business? I need to talk to Vorchenza!”
“I’ve been warned to develop selective hearing when it comes to you.” Reynart gestured at the blackjackets. “Storeroom, now.”
“Reynart, no! The sculptures, Reynart! Look in the fucking sculptures!”
Locke was shouting; guests and nobles were taking an intense interest, so Reynart clapped a hand over his mouth. More blackjackets appeared out of the crowd.
“Keep making a fuss,” said Reynart, “and these lords and ladies might just see blood.” He withdrew his hand.
“I know who she is, Reynart! I know who Vorchenza is. I’ll shout it across all of these galleries; I’ll go kicking and screaming, but before I’m in that room everyone will know! Now, look at the gods-damned sculptures, please.”
“What about the sculptures?”
“There’s something in them, damn it. It’s a plot. They’re from Capa Raza.”
“They were a gift to the duke,” said Reynart. “My superiors cleared them personally.”
“Your superiors,” said Locke, “have been interfered with. Capa Raza hired the services of a Bondsmage. I’ve seen what he can do to someone’s mind.”
“This is ridiculous,” said Reynart. “I can’t believe I’m letting you conjure another fairy tale. Get him downstairs, but first let me gag him.” Reynart plucked a linen napkin from another nearby waiter’s tray and began to wad it up.
“Reynart, please, take me to Vorchenza. Why the hell would I come back if it wasn’t important? Everyone here is going to fucking die if you throw me in that storeroom. I’m tied up and under guard; please take me to Vorchenza.”
Stephen stared coldly at him, then set the napkin down. He put his finger in Locke’s face. “So be it. I’ll take you to see the do?a. But if you utter so much as a single word while we’re hauling you over to her, I will gag you, beat you senseless, and put you in the storeroom. Is that clear?”
Locke nodded vigorously.
Reynart gestured for more blackjackets to join his procession; Locke was led across the gallery and down two sets of stairs with six soldiers at his side and Conté scowling just behind him. Reynart led him back to the very same hall and the very same chamber where he’d first met Do?a Vorchenza. She was sitting in her chair, knitting discarded at her feet, holding a wet cloth to her lips while Do?a Salvara knelt beside her. Don Salvara stood staring out the window with his leg up on the sill; all three of them looked very surprised indeed when Reynart thrust Locke into the room before him.
“This room is closed,” said Reynart to his guards. “Sorry, you, too,” he said when Conté tried to pass.
“Let the Salvaras’ man come in, Stephen,” said Do?a Vorchenza. “He already knows most of it; he might as well know the rest.”
Conté stepped in, bowed to Vorchenza, and grabbed Locke by the right arm while Reynart locked the door behind them. The Salvaras gave Locke a matching pair of scowls.
“Hello, Sofia. Hey, Lorenzo. Nice to see you two again,” said Locke, in his natural voice.
Do?a Vorchenza rose from her chair, closed the distance between herself and Locke with two steps, and punched him in his own mouth, a straight-arm blow with the flat of her palm. His head whirled to the right, and spikes of pain shot through his neck.
“Ow,” he said. “What the fuck is it with you, anyway?”
“A debt to be repaid, Master Thorn.”
“You stuck a gods-damned poisoned needle in my neck!”
“You most certainly deserved it,” said Do?a Vorchenza.
“Well, I for one would dis—”
Reynart grabbed him by his left shoulder, spun him around, and slammed his own fist into Locke’s jaw. Vorchenza was rather impressive for someone of her age and build, but Reynart could really hit. The room seemed to go away for a few seconds; when it returned, Locke was sprawled in a corner, lying on his side. Small blacksmiths seemed to be pounding on anvils inconveniently located just above his eyes; Locke wondered how they’d gotten in there.
“I told you Do?a Vorchenza was my adoptive mother,” said Reynart.
“Oh my,” said Conté, chuckling. “Now this is my sort of private party.”
“Has it occurred to any of you,” said Locke, crawling back to his feet, “to ask why the fuck I came all the way back to Raven’s Reach when I’d already made it clean away?”
“You jumped from one of the outside ledges,” said Do?a Vorchenza, “and you grabbed one of the elevator cages as it went past, didn’t you?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, all the other ways to the ground were too unhealthy to consider.”
“You see? I told you, Stephen.”
“Perhaps I thought it was possible,” said the Vadran, “but I just didn’t want to think it had actually been done.”
“Stephen is not fond of heights,” said Vorchenza.
“He’s a very wise man,” said Locke, “but please, please listen to me. I came back to warn you—those sculptures. Capa Raza gave you four of them. Everyone in this tower is in awful fucking danger from them.”
“Sculptures?” Do?a Vorchenza stared down at him curiously. “A gentleman left four gold-and-glass sculptures as a gift for the duke.” She looked over at Stephen. “I’m sure the duke’s security men have looked into them, and approved them. I wouldn’t know; I’m just consulting in this affair as a favor to some of my peers.”
“So I’ve been told by my superiors,” said Reynart.
“Oh, quit that,” said Locke. “You’re the Spider. I’m the Thorn of Camorr. Did you meet with Capa Raza? Did you meet a Bondsmage, styling himself the Falconer? Did they speak to you about the sculptures?”
Don and Do?a Salvara were staring at Do?a Vorchenza; the old woman stuttered and coughed.
“Whoops,” said Locke. “You hadn’t told Sofia and Lorenzo, had you? Playing the old friend-of-a-friend angle? Sorry. But I need to talk to you as the Spider. When Falselight comes, everyone in Raven’s Reach is fucked.”
“I knew it,” said Sofia. “I knew it!” She grabbed her husband by the arm and squeezed hard enough to make him wince. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“I’m still not so sure,” said Lorenzo.