5
“NICE BIRD, asshole,” said Locke.
The Bondsmage stared coldly at him, nonplussed.
“So you must be the reason nobody can find your boss. The reason none of the Full Crowns could remember what they were doing when Tall Tesso got nailed to a wall.”
The falcon screeched, and Locke flinched backward; the creature’s anger was extremely expressive. It was more than the cry of an agitated animal; it was somehow personal. Locke raised his eyebrows.
“My familiar mislikes your tone of voice,” said the Falconer. “I for one have always found her judgment to be impeccable. I would mind your tongue.”
“Your boss expects me to do something for him,” said Locke, “which means I have to remain functional. Which means the manner in which I address his fucking Karthani lackeys is immaterial. Some of the garristas you killed were friends of mine. I’m looking at an arranged fucking marriage because of you! So eat hemp and shit rope, Bondsmage.”
The falcon exploded, screeching, from its perch on its master’s hand. Locke raised his left arm in front of his face and the bird slammed against it, talons clutching with edges that sliced through the fabric of Locke’s coat sleeve. The bird fastened itself on Locke’s arm, excruciatingly, and beat its wings to steady itself. Locke hollered and raised his right hand to punch the bird.
“Do that,” said the Falconer, “and die. Look closely at my familiar’s talons.”
Biting the insides of his cheeks against the pain, Locke did just that. The creature’s rear talons weren’t talons at all, but more like smooth curved hooks that narrowed to needle points at their tips. There were strange pulsating sacs on the legs just above them, and even to Locke’s limited knowledge of hunting birds this seemed very wrong.
“Vestris,” said the Gray King, “is a scorpion hawk. A hybrid, facilitated by alchemy and sorcery. One of many that the Bondsmagi amuse themselves with. She carries not just talons, but a sting. If she were to cease being tolerant of you, you might make it ten steps before you fell dead in your tracks.”
Blood began to drip from Locke’s arm; he groaned. The bird snapped at him with its beak, clearly enjoying itself.
“Now,” said the Gray King, “are we not all grown men and birds here? Functional is such a relative state of affairs, Locke. I would hate to have to give you another demonstration of just how relative.”
“I apologize,” said Locke between gritted teeth. “Vestris is a fine and persuasive little bird.”
The Falconer said nothing, but Vestris released her grip on Locke’s left arm, unleashing new spikes of pain. Locke clutched his bloodied wool sleeve, massaging the wounds within it. Vestris fluttered back to her perch on her master’s glove and resumed staring at Locke.
“Isn’t it just as I said, Falconer?” The Gray King beamed at Locke. “Our Thorn knows how to recover his equilibrium. Two minutes ago, he was too scared to think. Now he’s already insulting us and no doubt scheming for a way out of this situation.”
“I don’t understand,” said Locke, “why you keep calling me Thorn.”
“Of course you do,” said the Gray King. “I’m only going to go over this once, Locke. I know about your little burrow beneath the House of Perelandro. Your vault. Your fortune. I know you don’t spend any of your nights sneak-thieving, as you claim to all the other Right People. I know you breach the Secret Peace to spring elaborate confidence schemes on nobles who don’t know any better, and I know you’re good at it. I know you didn’t start these ridiculous rumors about the Thorn of Camorr, but you and I both know they refer to your exploits, indirectly. Lastly, I understand that Capa Barsavi would do some very interesting things to you and all of your Gentlemen Bastards if the things I know were to be confided to him.”
“Oh, please,” said Locke, “you’re not exactly in any position to whisper politely in his ear and be taken seriously.”
“I’m not the one who would be whispering in his ear,” said the Gray King, smiling, “if you failed at the task I have for you. I have others close to him to speak for me. I trust I have made myself very clear.”
Locke glared for a few seconds, then sat down with a sigh, turning his chair around and leaning his injured arm against the back. “I see your point. And in exchange?”
“In exchange, for the task I require, I would promise you that Capa Barsavi won’t hear about your very cleverly arranged double life, nor that of your closest companions.”
“So,” said Locke slowly, “that’s how it is.”
“My Bondsmage excepted, I’m a thrifty man, Locke.” The Gray King stepped out from behind the bar and folded his arms. “You get paid in life, not coin.”
“What’s the task?”
“A straightforward beguilement,” said the Gray King. “I want you to become me.”
“I, ah, I don’t understand.”
“The time has come for me to quit this game of shadows. Barsavi and I need to speak face-to-face. I will very shortly arrange a clandestine conference with the capa, one that will bring him forth from the Floating Grave.”
“Fat chance.”
“In this you must trust me. I’m the architect of his current troubles; I assure you, I know what can bring him out from that soggy fortress of his. But it won’t be me that he’ll speak to. It will be you. The Thorn of Camorr. The greatest mummer this city has ever produced. You, cast in the role of me. Just for one night. A virtuoso performance.”
“A command performance. Why?”
“I will be required elsewhere at that time. The conference is one part of a wider concern.”
“I am personally known to Capa Barsavi and his entire family.”
“You have already convinced the Salvaras that you were two different men. In the same day, no less. I’ll coach you in what I wish you to say and provide you with a suitable wardrobe. Between your skills and my current anonymity, no one will ever be aware that you are even involved, or that you are not the real Gray King.”
“An amusing plan. It has balls, and that appeals to me. But you do realize that I’m going to look like quite the ass,” said Locke, “when the capa opens our conversation with a dozen crossbow bolts to my chest.”
“Hardly an issue. You’ll be quite well protected against routine foolishness on the capa’s part. I’ll be sending the Falconer with you.”
Locke flicked his gaze back to the Bondsmage, who smiled with obvious mock magnanimity.
“Do you really think,” continued the Gray King, “that I would have let you keep that other stiletto in your coat sleeve if any weapon in your hands could touch me? Try to cut me. I’ll let you borrow a crossbow or two, if you like. A quarrel will do no better. The same protection will be yours when you meet with the capa.”
“Then it’s true,” said Locke. “Those stories aren’t just stories. Your pet mage gives you more than just the ability to make my brain lock up like I’ve been drinking all night.”
“Yes. And it was my men who started spreading those stories, for one purpose—I wanted Barsavi’s gangs to so dread my presence that they wouldn’t dare to get close to you when the time came for you to speak to him. After all, I have the power to kill men with a touch.” The Gray King smiled. “And when you’re me, so will you.”
Locke frowned. That smile, that face…There was something damned familiar about the Gray King. Nothing immediately obvious, just a nagging sensation that Locke had been in his presence before. He cleared his throat. “That’s very thoughtful of you. And what happens when I’ve finished this task for you?”
“A parting of the ways,” said the Gray King. “You to your business, and me to my own.”
“I find that somewhat difficult to believe.”
“You’ll leave your meeting with Barsavi alive, Locke. Fear not for what happens after that; I assure you it won’t be as bad as you think. If I merely wanted to assassinate him, can you deny that I could have done it long ago?”
“You’ve killed seven of his garristas. You’ve kept him locked away on the Floating Grave for months. ‘Not as bad as I think’? He killed eight of his own Full Crowns after Tesso died. He won’t accept less than blood from you.”
“Barsavi has kept himself locked away on the Floating Grave, Locke. And as I said, you must trust me to deal with that end of the situation. The capa will acquiesce to what I have to offer him. We’ll settle the question of Camorr once and for all, to everyone’s satisfaction.”
“I grant that you’re dangerous,” said Locke, “but you must be mad.”
“Suit whatever meaning you wish to my actions, Locke, provided that you perform as required.”
“It would appear,” Locke said sourly, “that I have no choice.”
“This is no accident. Are we agreed? You’ll perform this task for me?”
“With instruction in what you wish me to say to Capa Barsavi?”
“Yes.”
“There will be one other condition.”
“Really?”
“If I’m going to do this for you,” said Locke, “I need to have a way to speak to you, or at least get a message to you, at my own will. Something may come up which can’t wait for you to prance around appearing out of nowhere.”
“It’s unlikely,” said the Gray King.
“It’s a necessity. Do you want me to be successful in this task or not?”