The Gentleman Bastard Series (227 page)

2

THEY SLIPPED into traffic and the usual milling semi-confusion of customs inspectors, guards, teamsters, travelers, and horse manure. The Court of Dust, despite the general cleanliness of Karthain, could have been peeled up beneath its paving stones and set down in place of its counterpart in nearly any Therin city without arousing much notice.

Locke scanned the crowds as he and Jean were poked and prodded by bored constables. Sabetha’s spotters would most likely be working in teams, one person on watch while the other was always plausibly absorbed in some trivial business. After counting five possible pairs of watchers, Locke shook his head. What was the point?

Locke felt something else unusual going on, though. A buzz of activity around the court, beyond mundane business. He’d spent too many hours picking pockets in crowds like this not to sense that something was awry.

Jean was alert, too. “What’s the excitement?” he asked of a passing constable.

“It’s the Marrows. You ain’t heard?” The woman gestured toward a crowd forming around a battered statue of a Therin Throne noblewoman. “Crier’s just about to start up again.”

Locke saw that a young woman, a finger’s width over four feet tall, had climbed the statue pedestal. She wore the blue coat of Karthain, and standing below her was a man in the regalia worn by Herald Vidalos, tipstaff and all.

“KIND ATTENTION, citizens and friends of Karthain,” bellowed the woman. Locke was impressed; there had to be more leather lining her lungs than his saddle. “Hear this report of the FACTS as provided and authorized by the KONSEIL! Mendacity will NOT be tolerated! Rumormongers will be subject to INCARCERATION on the PENANCE BARGES!

“Vencezla Valgasha, king of the Seven Marrows, is DEAD! He is KNOWN to have died in the city of Vintila, SIX DAYS AGO. He died WITHOUT ISSUE and without lawful heir! A war of secession is now under way!

“The Canton of EMBERLAIN, easternmost of the Seven Marrows, has EXILED its ruling graf and declared itself to be a SOVEREIGN REPUBLIC! The Konseil of Karthain DECLINES to formally recognize Emberlain at this time, and strongly advises citizens of Karthain to AVOID all travel in the north until the situation stabilizes!”

“Holy hells,” said Locke. “Sabetha was right! The Marrows finally busted up. Gods, what a mess that’s going to be.”

“We won’t be able to pull the Austershalin brandy scam again,” said Jean. “Not for a good long while.”

“There’ll be other opportunities,” said Locke wistfully. “If it’s war, desperate people are going to be moving a lot of valuable things. But come on, we’ve got to move ourselves.”

They spurred their tired mounts down a broad avenue to the west, over a shaking and sighing glass bridge, through the Court of the Divines with its incense haze, and onto the Evening Terrace. It seemed surreal to be back on clean streets, among lush gardens and bubbling fountains, as though Karthain were more of a recurring dream than a real place.

Outside the Sign of the Black Iris, they aroused immediate interest. At least two watchers, unmistakably real, flashed hand signs to dark shapes on roofs. A fleet-footed child darted into the alley beside Sabetha’s headquarters. Locke led their bedraggled horses to a curbside spot more commonly used for carriages, and when he hopped down a cloud of road dust floated off his boots. He wobbled and nearly pitched over before seizing control of himself. His legs felt like prickly jelly. His horse, less than endeared to him, flicked its ears and snapped its teeth.

“These animals are the personal property of Verena Gallante,” Locke said to the anxious-looking footman. “She wants them well looked after.”

“But sir, if you please—”

“I don’t. Get them stabled.” Locke shoved past the man and reached for the door to the foyer, but Jean pushed his hand aside and went first.

Inside were the two alley-hounds Locke had seen last time.

“Oh, hell,” said the closest one. Jean was already inside his guard. A variety of fast, noisy, and painful things happened, none of them to Locke or Jean. As one guard hit the floor, Jean pitched his comrade facefirst through the lobby doors like a battering ram. Then the Gentlemen Bastards followed.

Here was Vordratha, impeccably dressed and with a fresh black iris pinned to his jacket, backed by four guards with truncheons in hand. Better-dressed people scattered for the doors and staircases behind them.

“Gentlemen,” said the majordomo, peering at the guard who’d just landed at his feet, “this is a members-only establishment with firm rules against rendering the help unconscious.”

“Your game now, Lazari,” said Jean.

“Thanks.” Locke put his hands up to show they were empty. “Please take us to Mistress Gallante immediately.”

“Now how can I do that, gentlemen, when you’ll be headed out the alley door presently with bruises on your skulls?”

“We’d really like to see her.” Before the guards could crowd in, Locke moved up to Vordratha, reached down to the man’s breeches, grabbed his balls through the silk, and gave them a considerable twist. “Or we’d like to see your physiker’s face when he gets a look at the bruises from this.”

Vordratha moaned, and his face turned shades of a color rarely seen outside of vineyards at harvest time. The guards edged forward, but Locke held up his free hand.

“Call your friends off,” said Locke. “I’m not a strong man, but I don’t have to be, do I? I’ll twist this thing so tight you’ll piss corkscrews for the next twenty years!”

“Do as he says, gods damn you,” gasped Vordratha.

“Simply take us to Verena,” said Locke, watching as the guards slowly backed away, “and I’ll return your valuable property to you without lasting damage.”

It was an awkward shuffle, with Vordratha stumbling backward and Locke maintaining his tight, twisted grip on the majordomo’s hopes of procreation, but it did the job of keeping the guards at bay.

“Well, how now, asshole?” said Locke. “No little quips for us? I’ve never steered a fellow along by his loot sack before. Sort of like steering a boat by the tiller.”

“Camorri dog … your mother … sucked—”

“If you finish that thought,” said Locke, “I’ll wind your precious bits tighter than a bowstring.”

Vordratha led Locke and Jean up a flight of stairs to the private dining hall where they’d met Sabetha before. The guards maintained a respectful distance, but followed en masse. Vordratha bumped the door to the hall open with his backside, and Locke saw that Sabetha was already waiting for them.

She was dressed sensibly for anything from signing papers to diving out windows, in black breeches, a short brown jacket, and riding boots. Her hair was wound around lacquered pins; doubtless they contained tricks or weapons or both. Behind her were three more guards, armed with coshes and bucklers.

“Hello again, Verena,” said Locke. “We were in the neighborhood and thought we’d investigate persistent rumors that Master Vordratha has no balls.”

“Isn’t this a bit crude, even by your relaxed standards?” said Sabetha.

“I suppose having your boot-print embedded in my ass makes me cranky,” said Locke. “Tell your friends to go away.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely! Shall I tie myself up for you as well?”

“We just want to talk.”

“Release Vordratha and we’ll talk as long as you like.”

“The instant I release Vordratha, all hell’s going to break loose. I’m not stupid. For a change.”

“I promise—”

“HA,” shouted Locke. “Please.”

“We have no basis for trust, then.”

“
You’ve
given us no basis for trust. I wasn’t the one—”

“This is getting personal.” Sabetha glared at him with real irritation. She was always less in control of herself when pushed, a hot anger in direct contrast to Jean’s cold fury. Locke had spent years desperately straining to read her, and he saw now that she had no clever plan for ending this standoff. His own position—his safety assured only so long as he could keep a grip on another man’s privates—suddenly struck him as painfully ridiculous.

“I want to speak to you,” he said, slowly. “Nothing more. I won’t harm you or try to take you from this place. I swear it absolutely on the souls of two men we both loved.”

“What could you—”

With his free hand, Locke made two of the old private signals.

Calo. Galdo
.

Sabetha stared at him; then something broke behind her eyes. Relief? At any rate, she nodded.

“Everyone out,” she said. “Nobody lays a hand on these men without my orders. Release Vordratha.”

Locke did. The majordomo slumped to the ground and curled up in a half-moon of misery. Sabetha’s guards slowly backed out of the room behind her, and Jean crouched over Vordratha.

“I’ll get him out of here,” he said. “I think you two want some privacy.”

In a moment, Jean had carried the slender Vadran out the way they’d come, and Locke was once again facing Sabetha in an empty room.

“We can’t just use those names as magic words every time we find ourselves at cross-purposes,” she said.

“I know. But it’s not my fault I even had to—”

“Spare me.”

“NO!” Locke trembled with hunger, adrenaline, and emotion. “I will not be shrugged off! I will not have my feelings pushed aside for the convenience of whatever pose you think you’re adopting here.”

“Your
feelings
? We’re in Karthain working for the Bondsmagi, damn it, we’re not children fumbling around in the back of a wagon!”

“You used me.”

“And that’s what we do,” she said. “Both of us, professionally. I tricked you, and I meant to trick you, and I’m sorry that hurts, but this is our trade.”

“Not this. You didn’t just trick me. You used the deepest feelings I have
ever
had for anyone, and you know it! You exploited a weakness that only exists when I’m around you!”

“Woman convinces man to impale himself on his own hard-on. There’s a very old story! The world didn’t stop just because it happened again.”

“I’m not an infant, Sabetha. I’m not talking about sex; I’m talking about trust.”

“I put you on that ship for your own gods-damned good, Locke. I knew this would happen! I didn’t just need you out of the way and I wasn’t just minding your health. I knew you’d beat your brains out against your stupid obsession.”

“Oh, marvelous.
Lovely
fucking plan, because I certainly didn’t think about you
once
during the nine days it took to get back to Karthain.”

She had the good grace to glance away.

“What the hell is this, anyway? First you don’t need to justify yourself at all, and now it was for my own
good
?” Locke, feeling hot, angrily unbuttoned the stained, oversized riding jacket he’d taken from the stolen carriage. “And
you
are NOT a stupid obsession!”

“I’m a grown woman who’s telling you we cannot wind the clock back five years just because you can’t work up the courage to make a pass at someone else.”

“Courage? Who the hell do you think you are, telling me about my courage?
Courage
is what it takes to come after you! Courage is what it takes to put up with your self-righteous gods-damned martyr act!”

“You cocksure, self-entitled, swaggering little ass!”

“Tell me you never liked me,” said Locke, advancing step by step.
“Tell me you never found me worthwhile. Tell me we didn’t have good years together. That’s all it would take!”

“Stubborn, fixated—”

“Tell me you weren’t pleased to see me!”

“… presumptuous—”

“Quit telling me things I already know!” They were suddenly less than a foot apart. “Quit making excuses. Tell me you can’t stand me. Otherwise—”

“You … you … whew, Locke, in faith, you
reek
.”

“Is that a surprise? What was I supposed to do, swim back to Karthain?”

“You were supposed to stay on the damned ship! I gave very specific directions about the availability of baths, for one thing.”

“If you wanted me to stay on the ship,” he said, “
you
should have been on it.”

“You look ridiculous.” Locke fought for self-control as Sabetha slowly ran two fingers down his left cheek. “You look bowlegged. Gods above, did you leave
any
dust on the road after you passed?”

“You can’t, can you?”

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t tell me to get lost. Not to my face, not now that I’ve called you out. You don’t really want me to go away.”

“I do
not
have to explain myself by your terms!”

“Better cinch up that jacket, Sabetha, I think your conscience is showing.”

“We are servants of the Bondsmagi,” she whispered angrily. “We came here of our own free will, and we both screwed things up badly enough that we
need
this. Our position is precarious. And if we get too friendly, at least one of us gets killed.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m not saying we don’t need to be careful. I’m just pointing out that there’s nothing forbidding us from having a personal life.”

“Everything personal is business with us.” She brushed the dust from his cheek against her coat. “And all of our damned business is personal.”

“Have dinner with me.”

“What?”

“Dinner. It’s a meal. Men and women often have it together. Ask around if you don’t believe me.”

“For this you twisted my majordomo’s balls off?”

“You said we’re not kids fumbling around in the back of a wagon, and you’re right. We’re in charge of our own gods-damned lives no matter how hard we’ve been kicked around. We can set the clock back however many years we like. It’s ours to set!”

“This is crazy.”

“No. Two weeks ago I was begging to die.
That’s
crazy. Two weeks ago I came this close,
this
close.” He held up a thumb and forefinger with no space at all between them. “I hit the black wall between this life and the next, believe me. I am
through
fucking around. Maybe this is going to complicate the hell out of things. So what? You’re the complication I want more than anything else. You’re my
favorite
complication. No matter what sort of holes you poke in my trust.”