The Republic of Thieves (Gentleman Bastard, #3)

by Scott Lynch

‘I can’t name the poison that’s killing your friend. But the one that’s killing you is called hope.’

That cruellest of landlords, cold morning reality, finished evicting the warm fantasy that had briefly taken up residence in his skull.

What followed was a pandemonium of finger-pointing and hard words in which the intelligence, birth city, artistic capacity, work habits, skin colour, dress sense, and personal honour of every participant were insulted at least once.

‘You impossible assholes!’ Sabetha leapt up, moved around the table, pulled Locke and Jean from their chairs, and threw an arm around each of them, laughing. ‘Oh, you two are such insufferable weaselly shits, it’s marvellous!’ ‘You weren’t so bad yourself,’ said Jean.