Red Seas Under Red Skies (Gentleman Bastard, #2)

by Scott Lynch

“Lower your piece, for the love of the gods,” said Locke’s opponent. “We’ve been instructed not to kill you, if we don’t have to.” “And I’m sure you’d be honest if it were otherwise, of course,” said Locke. His smile grew. “I make it a point never to trust men with weapons at my windpipe. Sorry.”

“What a strange wasteland this place becomes after dark,” said Jean. “I can’t decide if I mislike it or if it enchants me.” “You’d probably be less inclined to enchantment if you didn’t have a pair of hatchets stuffed up the back of your coat.”

The office of the archon had been created following Tal Verrar’s early disgraces in the Thousand-Day War against Camorr, to take command of the army and navy out of the hands of the bickering merchant councils. But the trouble with creating military dictators, Locke reflected, was getting rid of them after the immediate crisis was past.

“To your own tastes be true.” Still smiling, the man pulled his cloak sleeve back up and folded his hands before him. “After all, a scorpion hawk was never to your liking, Master Lamora.” Locke felt a sudden cold pressure in his chest. He flicked a glance at Jean, and found the larger man instantly tense as well.

“You heard that,” whispered Locke. “Very clearly,” said Jean. “I wonder who our friendly scorpion merchant works for?” “It’s not just him,” muttered Locke. “The fruit seller called me ‘Lamora’ as well.

“State your gods-damned business, then.” “You must answer,” said the girl. “Answer for the Falconer,” said the chorus. “You must answer. Both of you.” “Of all the … fuck you!” said Locke, his voice rising to a shout. “We did answer for the Falconer. Our answer was ten lost fingers and a lost tongue, for three dead friends. You got him back alive and it was more than he deserved!”

“You need to understand that you’re in danger!” “Of course I’m in danger. I’m mortal. Jean, gods love you, I will not fucking send you away, and I will not let you send yourself away! We lost Calo, Galdo, and Bug. If I send you away, I lose the last friend I have in the world. Who wins then, Jean? Who’s protected then?” Jean’s shoulders slumped, and Locke suddenly felt the beginning of the transition from fading inebriation to pounding headache. He groaned. “Jean, I will never stop feeling awful for what I put you through in Vel Virazzo. And I will never forget how long you stayed with me when you should have tied weights around my ankles and thrown me in the bay. Gods help me, I will never be better off without you. I don’t care how many Bondsmagi know your damned name.” “I wish I could be sure you knew best about this.” “This is our life,” said Locke. “This is our game, that we’ve put two years into. That’s our fortune, waiting for us to steal it at the Sinspire. That’s all our hopes for the future. So fuck Karthain. They want to kill us, we can’t stop them. So what else can we do? I won’t jump at shadows on account of those bastards. On with it! Both of us together.”

Locke Lamora had arrived in Vel Virazzo nearly two years earlier, wanting to die, and Jean Tannen had been inclined to let him have his wish.

“Can I get a hand, then?” “No, you can do it for yourself. You should’ve been exercising this past week, getting ready. I can’t always be here to hover about like your fairy fucking nursemaid.”

“Please,” said Locke forcefully, gesturing with his good arm. “We can meet in the middle. I’ll pull with my good arm and you handle the bad side. Get me off this ship and I’ll get to exercising.” “Can’t come soon enough,” said Jean, and after another moment’s hesitation he bent down for the tunic.

“Surely you boys can do simple sums,” he said. “One plus one equals don’t fuck with me.”

More and more, Jean found himself spending time with the Brass Coves for no better reason than to avoid Locke. A week passed, then another. “Tavrin Callas” was becoming a known and solidly respected figure in Vel Virazzo’s crooked fraternity. Jean’s arguments with Locke became more circular, more frustrating, more pointless. Jean instinctively recognized the downward arc of terminal self-pity, but had never dreamed that he’d have to drag Locke, of all people, out of it. He avoided the problem by training the Coves.

“Why?” Locke heaved himself up off the bed and shook his fists at Jean; the effect would have been comical, but all the murder in the world was in his eyes. “I told you to leave me! Am I supposed to be grateful for this? This bloody room?” “I didn’t make this room your whole world, Locke. You did.”

“Jean, are you out of your fucking—” “You needed a bath,” Jean interrupted. “You were covered in self-pity.”

“Jean, open this fucking door!” “No. You open it.” “I can’t! You told me yourself you’ve got the special key!” “The Locke Lamora I used to know would spit on you,” said Jean. “Priest of the Crooked Warden. Garrista of the Gentlemen Bastards. Student of Father Chains. Brother to Calo, Galdo, and Bug! Tell me, what would Sabetha think of you?” “You … you bastard! Open this door!” “Look at yourself, Locke. You’re a fucking disgrace. Open it yourself.”

“This has ceased to amuse me, Jean! Give me back my gods-damned wine!” “Gods-damned, it is. And I’m afraid that if you want it, you’re going to have to climb out your window.” Locke took a step back and stared at the makeshift wall, dumbfounded. “Jean, you can’t be serious.” “I’ve never been more serious.” “Go to hell. Go to hell! I can’t climb out a bloody window. My wrist—” “You fought the Gray King with one arm nearly cut off. You climbed out a window five hundred feet up in Raven’s Reach. And here you are, three stories off the ground, helpless as a kitten in a grease barrel. Crybaby. Pissant.” “You are deliberately trying to provoke me!” “No shit,” said Jean. “Sharp as a cudgel, you are.”

“Why, Master Lamora, look at you,” said Jean. “Charming a lock, climbing out a window. Almost as though you used to be a thief.” “I was pulling off hanging offenses when you were still teeth-on-tits in your mother’s arms!” “And I’ve been pulling off hanging offenses while you’ve been sulking in your room, drinking away your skills.” “I’m the best thief in Vel Virazzo,” growled Locke, “drunk or sober, awake or asleep, and you damn well know it.” “I might have believed that once,” said Jean. “But that was a man I knew in Camorr, and he hasn’t been with me for some time.”

“You’re mangy,” said Jean. “You’re dirtier than a Shades’ Hill orphan. You’ve lost weight, though where from is a great mystery. You haven’t been exercising your wounds or letting anyone tend to them for you. You’ve been hiding in a room, letting your condition slip away, and you’ve been drunk for two straight weeks. You’re not what you were, and it’s your own damn fault.”

The night quiet was broken by the high, distant trill of a whistle, the traditional swarming noise of city watches everywhere. Several other whistles joined in a few moments later. “It is possible,” said Locke with a sheepish grin, “that I have been slightly too bold.”

“Well,” said Jean, “you’re going to get some exercise these next few days, whether you like it or not. How’re the wounds?” “They itch,” said Locke. “This damn mush does them little good, I suspect. Still, it’s not as bad as it was. A few hours of motion seems to have had some benefit.” “Wise in the ways of all such things is Jean Tannen,” said Jean. “Wiser by far than most; especially most named Lamora.” “Shut your fat, ugly, inarguably wiser face,” said Locke.

“And I correct you again. Difficult. ‘Difficult’ and ‘impossible’ are cousins often mistaken for one another, with very little in common.”

“I’ve read quite a bit!” “History and biography, mostly what Chains prescribed for you.” “What could possibly be wrong with those subjects?” “As for history, we are living in its ruins. And as for biographies, we are living with the consequences of all the decisions ever made in them. I tend not to read them for pleasure. It’s not unlike carefully scrutinizing the map when one has already reached the destination.” “But romances aren’t real, and surely never were. Doesn’t that take away some of the savor?” “What an interesting choice of words. ‘Not real, and never were.’ Could there be any more appropriate literature for men of our profession? Why are you always so averse to fiction, when we’ve made it our meal ticket?”

“Let me tell you,” said Locke, “exactly what we’re going to do about his vault.” Locke spoke for a few minutes while he put his deck of cards together, outlining the barest details of his scheme. Jean’s eyebrows strained upward, attempting to take to the air above his head. “… so that’s that. Now what do you say, Jean?”

“I, ah … well, hell. Are you going to break down on me again? Are you going to stay reliable?” “Stay reliable? Jean, you can … Damn it, look for yourself! What have I been doing? Exercising, planning—and apologizing all the damn time! I’m sorry, Jean, I really am. Vel Virazzo was a bad time. I miss Calo, Galdo, and Bug.” “As do I, but …” “I know. I let my sorrow get the best of me. It was damned selfish, and I know you must ache like I do. I said some stupid things. But I thought I’d been forgiven.… Did I misunderstand?” Locke’s voice hardened. “Shall I now understand that forgiveness is something prone to going in and out like the tide?” “Now that’s hardly fair. Just—” “Just what? Am I special, Jean? Am I our only liability? When have I ever doubted your skills? When have I ever treated you like a child? You’re not my fucking mother, and you’re certainly not Chains. We can’t work as partners if you’re going to sit in judgment of me like this.”

“I, ah, look—I apologize as well. I just—” “Damn it, don’t interrupt me when I’m feeling virtuously self-critical. I’m ashamed of how I behaved in Vel Virazzo. It was a slight to everything we’ve been through together. I promise to do better. Does that put you at ease?”

Locke and Jean looked at each other, and Jean shrugged. “Very well,” said Locke. “You seem to have us at quite a disadvantage, Archon.” “To be precise, I have you at three. I have this report extensively documenting your activities. I have you here at the center of all my power. And now, for the sake of my own comfort, I have you on a leash.” “Meaning what?” said Locke. “Perhaps my Eyes did not embarrass me, gentlemen. Perhaps you two were intended to spend a few hours in the sweltering chamber, to help you work up a thirst that needed quenching.” He gestured at Locke and Jean’s goblets, which now held only dregs. “You put something else in the cider,” said Jean. “Of course,” said Stragos. “An excellent little poison.”

I’m very sorry you didn’t find satisfaction in your meeting with her.” “Satisfaction? Well, she might have gotten rid of me before I expected, but I think I did what I set out to do.” Jean poured the last of the beer down his throat, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and passed the mug back. “I’m really just planting a seed for the future, is all.”

I have a rule of thumb—if you have a puzzle and the answers are elegant and simple, it means someone is trying to fuck you over.”

Felantozzi

“Has anyone ever tried to cut out that disgustingly silver tongue of yours, Master Kosta?” “It’s become a traditional pastime in several cities I could mention.”

“Crooked Warden,” Locke muttered under his breath, speaking quickly. “A glass poured on the ground for a stranger without friends. Lord of gallants and fools, ease this man’s passage to the Lady of the Long Silence. This was a hell of a way to die. Do this for me and I’ll try not to ask for anything for a while. I really do mean that this time.”

Temporarily distracted by the warm glow of his own affected gallantry, Locke was holding out three silver volani before the first little warning managed to register. The beggar would be happy to have one thin copper, and had a loud voice … why hadn’t they heard her speaking to any of the strangers who’d passed by just ahead of them? And why was she reaching out with the burlap sack rather than an open hand? Jean was faster than he was, and with no more elegant way to get Locke to safety, he raised his left arm and gave Locke a hard shove. A crossbow bolt punched a neat dark hole in the burlap sack and hissed through the air between them; Locke felt it tug at his coattails as he fell sideways.

Locke felt his anger growing like a chancre in his guts. They had no idea who he was or what he was really capable of. No idea what the Thorn of Camorr could do to them, unleashed on Salon Corbeau, with Jean to aid him! Given months to plan and observe, the Gentlemen Bastards could take the place apart, find ways to cheat the Amusement War, surely—rob the participants, rob the Lady Saljesca, embarrass and humiliate the bastards, blacken the demi-city’s reputation so thoroughly that nobody would ever want to visit again. But … “Crooked Warden,” Locke whispered, “why now? Why show me this now?” Jean was waiting for him back in Tal Verrar, and they were already neckdeep in a game that had taken a year to put together. Jean didn’t know anything about what really went on at Salon Corbeau. He would be expecting Locke to return in short order with a set of chairs, so the two of them could carry on with the plan they’d agreed to, a plan that was already desperately delicate. “Gods damn it,” said Locke. “Gods damn it all to hell.”

“Still, every priesthood has what we call mandates: laws handed down by the gods themselves to those who serve them. In most temples, these are complex, messy, annoying things. In the priesthood of the Benefactor, things are easy. We only have two. The first one is thieves prosper. Simple as that. We’re ordered to aid one another, hide one another, make peace whenever possible, and see to it that our kind flourishes, by hook or by crook. Barsavi’s got that mandate covered, never doubt that. “But the second mandate,” said Chains, lowering his voice and glancing around into the fog to make doubly sure that they were not overheard, “is this—the rich remember.” “Remember what?” “That they’re not invincible. That locks can be picked and treasures can be stolen. Nara, Mistress of Ubiquitous Maladies, may Her hand be stayed, sends disease among men so that men will never forget that they are not gods. We’re sort of like that, for the rich and powerful. We’re the stone in their shoe, the thorn in their side, a little bit of reciprocity this side of divine judgment. That’s our second mandate, and it’s as important as the first.”

“Well, you two.” Stragos sighed. “You seem to attract attention, don’t you? You’re certain you’ve no idea who else might be trying to kill you? Some old score to settle from Camorr?” “There are so many old scores to settle,” said Locke. “There would be, wouldn’t there? Well, my people will continue to protect you as best they can. You two, however, will have to be more … circumspect.” “That sentiment is not exactly unprecedented,” said Locke.

“You seem pretty confident of our good behavior for a man who’s all alone with us in a little stone room,” said Jean, taking a step forward. “Your alchemist’s not coming back, is he? Nor Merrain?” “Should I be worried? You’ve absolutely nothing to gain by harming me.” “Except immense personal satisfaction,” said Locke. “You presume that we’re in our right minds. You presume that we give a shit about your precious poison, and that we wouldn’t tear you limb from limb on general principle and take the consequences afterward.”

My navy hasn’t had anything more serious than customs incidents and plague ships to deal with for nigh on three or four years. A quiet time … a prosperous time.” “Isn’t it your job to provide just that?” said Jean. “You seem a well-read man, Tannen. Surely, your readings must have taught you that when men and women of arms have bled to secure a time of peace, the very people who most benefit from that peace are also the most likely to forget the bleeding.”

“It does occur to me,” said Locke, “that your predecessor was supposed to sort of … dissolve the office when Camorr agreed to stop kicking your ass.” “A standing force is the only professional force, Lamora. There must be a continuity of experience and training in the ranks; a worthwhile army or navy cannot simply be conjured out of nothing. Tal Verrar might not have the luxury of three or four years to build a defense when the next crisis comes along. And the Priori, the ones who prattle the loudest about ‘opposing dictatorship’ and ‘civic guarantees,’ would be the first to slip away like rats, loaded down with their fortunes, to take ship for whatever corner of the world would give them refuge.

“You convinced the nobles of Camorr to throw away a fortune on your schemes,” said Stragos without a hint of anger. “They love their money. Yet you shook it out of them like ripe fruit from a tree. You outwitted a Bondsmage. You outwitted Capa Barsavi to his very face. You evaded the trap that caught your Capa Barsavi and his entire court.” “Only some of us,” whispered Locke. “Only some of us got away, asshole.”

“I’m getting a bit annoyed,” said Locke, “with those who praise our previous escapades as an excuse for forcing us into even riskier ones.

“What more might we achieve, given time? What if thirty people could produce the same result? Or ten? Or one? What if better devices could give stronger winds, more driving rain, a harder current? What if our mechanisms of control grew so subtle and so powerful that they ceased to be a spectacle at all? What if we could harness them to change anything, control anything, even ourselves? Our bodies? Our souls? We cower in the ruins of the Eldren world, and cower in the shadow of the Magi of Karthain. But common men and women could equal their power. Given centuries, given the good grace of the gods, common men and women could eclipse their power.”

“I don’t need an excuse to hate the Bondsmagi,” said Locke. “Not to hate them, nor to fight them. I’ve taunted them to their faces, more or less. Jean and I both. But you have to be some kind of madman, to think they’ll ever let you build anything openly powerful enough to knock them down.” “I don’t expect to live to see it,” said Stragos. “I only expect to plant the seed.

“Then I may report to my masters that the plan is under way?” “Yes, I suppose this commits us. You may do just that.” Stragos eyed the shadowed shape of the slender woman beside him and sighed. “Let them know that everything begins in a month or so. I hope for their sake they’re ready for the consequences.” “Nobody’s ready for the consequences,” said Merrain. “It’s going to mean more blood than anyone’s seen in two hundred years. All we can do is hope that by setting things off we can ensure that others reap most of the trouble. By your leave, Archon, I’d like to go compose my messages to them now.”

“Crooked Warden,” said Locke, “men are stupid. Protect us from ourselves. If you can’t, let it be quick and painless.” “Well said.” Jean took a deep breath. “Crazy part on three?” “On three.”

At that moment, there was a faint rumble of thunder overhead. Locke and Jean looked up at just the right moment to feel the first few drops of rain on their faces. “It’s possible,” said Locke, “that this would be really fucking amusing right now, were it anyone but us down on these ropes.” “At the moment, I think I’d take my chances with your pigeons if I could,” said Jean. “Damn, I’m sorry for leaving the Wicked Sisters up there, Locke.” “Why in Venaportha’s name would you have brought them down? There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“Oh, gods, please don’t drop me! Please don’t kill me, sir!” “Why the fuck not?” Locke groaned, dug his heels into the cliff, and managed to reach the edge of his right boot with his right hand. A moment later he had his stiletto out at the bandit’s throat, and the man’s panicked kicking became a terrified quivering. “See this?” Locke hissed. The bandit nodded. “This is a knife. They have these, wherever the fuck you came from?” The man nodded again. “So you know I could just stick you right now and let you fall, right?”

“No, shut up. I don’t want you to agree with me; I want you to use your misplaced acorn of a brain before the squirrel comes looking for it again. I have a blade at your throat, we’re seventy feet above the ground, it’s pissing a nice hard rain, and you just tried to murder me. By all rights, I ought to give you a red smile from ear to ear and let you drop. Would you agree to that?”

Locke popped over the edge. He crawled to his feet, stepped over beside Trav, and kicked the would-be bandit in the stomach. “You fucking jackass! Of all the stupid damn … how difficult would it have been to say, ‘I’ll lower a rope, tie your purses onto it and send them up, or I won’t let you back up’? You don’t tell your bloody victims you’re just going to kill them outright! You come on reasonable first, and when you have the money you run!” “Oh … ow! Gods, please; ow! You said you … wouldn’t kill me!” “And I meant it. I’m not going to kill you, you cabbage-brained twit; I’m just going to kick you until it stops feeling good!”

Know something? I’d lay even odds that between the people following us and the people hunting us, we’ve become this city’s principal means of employment. Tal Verrar’s entire economy is now based on fucking with us.”

“Look, little as we know, Caldris, I daresay we know that much,” said Locke. “Well, far be it from me to correct the young master,” said Caldris, “but as this venture is somewhat in the way of completely fuckin’ mad, and since all our lives are looking mighty cheap, I’m gonna start by presuming that you don’t know water from weasel piss. Is that suitable by you, gentlemen?”