The Lies of Locke Lamora (Gentleman Bastard, #1)

by Scott Lynch

My attendant will be along any moment,” Locke/Fehrwight said as he/they stepped aboard the barge. “His name is Graumann, and he too suffers from a slight case of being imaginary.” “Merciful gods,” said Calo, “it must be catching.”

“Bug,” Calo said, “Locke is like a brother to us, and our love for him has no bounds. But the four most fatal words in the Therin language are ‘Locke would appreciate it.’ ”

“Rivaled only by ‘Locke taught me a new trick,’ ” added Galdo. “The only person who gets away with Locke Lamora games—” “—is Locke Lamora—” “—because we think the gods are saving him up for a really big death. Something with knives and hot irons—” “—and fifty thousand cheering spectators.”

“Fuckdamn,” said Conté, totally unable to help himself when the sums involved vanished over his mental horizon. “Beg pardon, Doña Sofia.” “You should.” She drained her snifter in one quick unladylike gulp.

“Your calculations are off. This merits a triple fuckdamn at least.”

“If you put Durant’s brains in a thimble full of water,” said Jean, “they’d look like a ship lost in the middle of the sea.”

“You can imagine,” said Chains, “just how surprised they were when they sat down at their chairs on that beautiful carpet, and fifty of Barsavi’s men piled into the room with crossbows, and shot those poor idiots so full of bolts that a porcupine in heat would have taken any one of them home and fucked him.

“I have to pay extra because your ass and your brains switched places at birth? I think not;

“Very noted,” said Locke. “Received, recognized, and duly considered with the utmost gravity. Sealed, notarized, and firmly imprinted upon my rational essence.”

or, if one cannot take satisfaction immediately, on the virtue of having a long memory.

“Most men do nothing to deserve what the gods throw their way,”