Authors: Scott Lynch
“My turn,” said Sabetha. “To strange little boys and impatient little girls. May their
real mistakes … be gentle and far between.”
“Am I wide of the mark, or are you in a better mood than you were three nights ago?”
said Locke as he finished his second drink.
“It was quite a mood, wasn’t it?”
“Did you figure anything out?”
“Only that I wasn’t going to find any real answers in one night of brooding. Besides,
packing you off in some sort of richly deserved trap always cheers me up.”
“You might see those snakes again, madam, if you keep up that unseemly gloating. Now,
I believe I promised you dinner.”
Off to one side of the balcony was a long oak table and a smoldering brazier. Locke
threw more chips of aromatic wood into the brazier and gave them a stir. Pleasantly
approaching the edge of muddled as the wine mounted from his mostly empty stomach,
he examined the piles of ingredients and utensils he’d set out earlier. There was
a tap on his shoulder.
“Now, this is
not
how it’s done,” said Sabetha. She’d removed her black velvet jacket, revealing a
white silk undertunic and a loosely knotted scarf just slightly darker than her hair.
“I haven’t even started cooking yet!”
“Where we come from we didn’t cook for one another, remember? We cooked together.”
“Well—”
“Let’s see what sort of mess you’ve got here.” She bumped him gently aside with her
hip. Together they sorted out the components of the meal he’d planned—fennel fronds,
onions, sliced blood oranges, pale white olives, almonds and hazel nuts, a chicken
he’d plucked and dressed, and enough assorted oils to sauté anything smaller than
a horse.
“How strange,” she said, “but it looks as though you’ve assembled some of my favorite
things.”
“My life is haunted by wild coincidences,” said Locke.
“I suppose I should admire your constancy in one respect, Locke Lamora. All these
years and you’re still beside yourself to tumble a redheaded girl.”
“Oh?” His grin faded, along with some of his wine-induced buoyancy.
He reached out and touched a loose strand of her burnished copper hair. “You know,
if you take offense at the notion, you have a
hell
of a strange way of showing it.”
“ ‘Confusion and all arts insidious,’ ” she said, glancing away.
“Did you really restore that color just to keep me off balance? Make me easier to
play games with?”
“No,” she said. “Not entirely.”
“Not entirely.” Locke stared at her, trying to force the muscles of his face, usually
so loyal and pliable, to twitch into some semblance of a smile. “You know, I hate
the way one of us can say something.… We’re enjoying ourselves for the gods know how
long, but one wrong word and suddenly it’s like we’re not even in the same room.”
“ ‘We’ is a tactful way of saying ‘me,’ isn’t it?”
“Only this time,” said Locke, “Sabetha, listen to me. You know what I’m after. My
cards are on the table and always have been. Am I fixated?
Yes
. Absolutely. Am I sorry about that?
No
. I’m standing here with my intentions plain as the rising sun, waiting for you to
convince
yourself
, one way or the other. And I’ll wait for that. I’ll wait until I’m old and bent and
need help spelling my own name. But you know, if I had the luxury of any self-respect
at
all
where you’re concerned, I’d be insulted by the idea that I must think convincing
you to spread your legs is the big endgame.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know. I do know you want more than that, and for all your
faults you give more—”
“Bloody right. I mean, who knows, maybe we could sleep together
twice
.” He drew himself up, thrust out his chest, and stuck out his tongue. “Limitless
ambitions, woman!
Limitless!
”
“Oh, you bastard.” She punched him, but it was the sort of punch delivered with a
warm smile. “So, has it … well, how long has it been, for you? Since, you know—”
“You already know the answer,” said Locke. “Very precisely. Think about the day you
left. Go back two nights from that, and there you have it.”
“Not even once?”
“I guess it’s fucking ridiculous, isn’t it? But no. I tried. I tried to enlist some
help. One of the resident cherry tops at the Guilded Lilies.
Turns out a redhead’s just not a redhead if she’s not, you know, twice as smart as
I am and three times as infuriating.”
“Three times as smart,” said Sabetha. “Half as infuriating. And … I am sorry.”
“Don’t be. It wasn’t too bad.” Locke rolled an onion across the table and bounced
it off a decanter of olive oil. “She was a friend, close to Chains and me. She knew
what my problem was, and that pushing it wasn’t the answer. I got a massage that was
worth the price of admission.”
“I suppose I should tell you … it hasn’t been the same way with me these past few
years. For several reasons.”
“I see.” He felt cold knots forming in his guts, but fought the sensation down. “I
won’t lie. My feelings about you are selfish as hell. I don’t like to think about
you with anyone else, but … I wasn’t there. You’re a grown woman and you didn’t owe
me anything. Did you expect me to be angry?”
“Yes.”
“I might have been, once. Maybe the one real advantage to getting older is that you
have the time to pull your head a little bit farther out of your ass. I don’t
want
to care, understand? You’re here now. With luck … I really hope you’ll be here later.
Besides, it seems safe to assume you weren’t swept off your feet by a handsome young
Vadran lord with a castle or two to spare—”
“I had some comfort from it, once or twice.” She reached out and touched his arm,
not softly, as though she were afraid he might suddenly decide to be elsewhere. “And
the rest of the time, it was to empty some pockets. Or a vault. You know.”
“I do indeed.” He reached out, half-consciously, and started fiddling with another
onion, spinning it like a top. “In fact, I’m steadily emptying a bank vault because
of you with every passing day.”
“Good. Because I’ve never been what anyone would call easy, and I’m
certainly
not cheap.” She reached up and took his other arm.
“Sabetha, what—”
“I’m making a decision. Now, are you going to quit playing with that fucking onion
and see what happens if you kiss me, or do I have to put a sword to your neck?”
“Promise I won’t wake up on a ship?”
“Disappoint me, Lamora, and I make
no
promises as to where and when you’ll wake up.”
He put his hands beneath her arms, swung her off her feet, and lifted her onto the
table. Laughing, she hooked her legs behind his waist and pulled him close. Her lips
were warm and still carried the faint taste of ginger and oranges; he had no idea
how long they kissed, arms around each other’s necks, but while they did Locke completely
lost track of the fact that he was even standing up.
“Whew,” Sabetha said when they grudgingly broke apart at last. She put a finger against
his lips. “And look at that, you’re still conscious. You’re one and one when it comes
to kissing in Karthain.”
“That’s a tally I mean to improve … Sabetha? Sabetha, what is it?”
She’d gone rigid in his arms. With his head still spinning from the one-two punch
of wine and woman, he slowly turned to look over his shoulder.
Patience was standing beside the little round table, dressed in a carnelian-colored
robe with a wide hood.
“Oh, come on,” Locke growled. “Not now. Surely you have better things to do than bother
us
now
.”
“Which one are you?” said Sabetha, calmly and respectfully.
“Archedama Patience. You work for my rival.”
“Patience,” said Locke, “if this isn’t important, I swear to the Crooked Warden, I’ll—”
“It is important. In fact, it’s critical. It’s time we spoke. Since neither of you
could be dissuaded from this foolishness, both of you have a right to know.”
“Both of us?” said Sabetha. “What do we have a right to know?”
“Where Locke really comes from.” Patience gestured for the two of them to move away
from the food table. “And what Locke really is.”
“
HONORED
…
COUSIN
,”
LOCKE
hissed, “I need …”
“Do
regale
me with your needs,” said Boulidazi.
“Air!”
“Ah.” The iron pressure against Locke’s neck eased just enough to permit a breath.
“It’s not what you think,” he gasped.
“Perhaps I’ve been an idiot,” whispered Boulidazi, “but you’ll not find me eager to
resume the role.”
“Gennaro!”
Sabetha stood in the balcony door, and her tone of voice was sufficient to check a
rampant horse. Boulidazi actually lowered his blade.
“Verena, I … I’m sorry, but your behavior—”
“It’s
your
behavior that requires explanation, Cousin!”
“I’ve been listening to both of you—”
“You’ve been skulking like a thief!”
“You proclaimed love for one another! I heard your quarrel!”
Too late, Boulidazi seemed to remember that he hadn’t yet professed his interest in
Verena to Verena herself. Dismay spilled across
his face like paint splashed across a blank canvas, and Sabetha didn’t neglect the
opening.
“It was an acting exercise, you lout! An improvisation! And why should it concern
you, were it otherwise?”
“An … improvisation?”
“I asked Lucaza to follow my lead and improvise a scene!” She pushed Boulidazi’s arm
firmly away from Locke’s throat. “A scene you interrupted! We might be the ones dressed
as commoners, Baron Boulidazi, but you’ve bested us for coarse behavior!”
“But …”
Locke admired the ingenuity of Sabetha’s ploy, but perhaps she was pushing it too
far. They needed Boulidazi controlled, not crushed. It was time to resume his role
as advocate. He rubbed his aching throat.
“Cousin Verena,” he coughed, “what Gennaro means is that I told him about my own betrothal.
So, when he overheard our exercise, why, he had good cause to suspect some deceit.”
“He had no cause to lay hands on your person!”
“Cousin, be sensible. We discussed this before we set out. We knew that living incognito
would require us to surrender some of the dignities of our true station.”
“Yes, but—”
“Furthermore, there are no other witnesses, so I feel no need to require satisfaction.”
Locke tried to sound as natural and confident as possible, though he suspected Boulidazi
would rate the prospect of a duel with him as a physical threat on par with a difficult
bowel movement. The thought of alienating Verena, however …
“I seem to have made a mistake.” Boulidazi sheathed his knife. The cold anger of moments
before was put away just as thoroughly. “Verena, I apologize for the misunderstanding.
Tell me, please, how can I recover your good opinion?”
Locke blinked at the solitary direction of the apology and the rapid shift to a smooth,
wheedling manner. He’d pegged Boulidazi as sincere and straightforward, even a bit
of a yokel, but the Esparan had obviously relegated the “noble” Lucaza to the role
of a tool in his designs on Sabetha. That and his ease with violence hinted at dangerous
depths.
“For one thing,” said Sabetha, “you can cease this unseemly scuttling in shadows.
You’re a lord of Espara and the patron of this company. I’d prefer to see you come
and go openly in a manner befitting your blood.”
“Of … of course.”
“And if you want to make yourself genuinely useful, you could secure us a more appropriate
rehearsal space. I’m growing tired of Mistress Gloriano’s inn-yard.”
“Where would you prefer—”
“I’m told we’re to use a theater called the Old Pearl.”
“Oh. Naturally. Well, that’s just a matter of a gratuity for the countess’ envoy of
ceremonies—”
“See to that gratuity, Baron Boulidazi,” said Sabetha, subtly softening her posture
and tone of voice. “Surely it’s a matter of little consequence for you. It will be
a boon to the company to be practicing on our real stage as soon as possible. Do this,
and I’ll be pleased to call you Gennaro again.”
“Then consider it done.” Boulidazi bowed to her with gallant over-formality, gave
Locke a perfunctory clap on the shoulder, and went away in haste. His footsteps receded
down the passage, and the door to the inn’s second floor banged shut.
“That was close,” whispered Locke.
“Our patron is starting to assume possessive feelings toward his noble cousins,” said
Sabetha. “He’s more shifty than I realized.”
“My neck agrees.” With the threat of Boulidazi temporarily quelled, Locke’s thoughts
returned to the conversation the baron had interrupted. “And, uh, look, you and I
have had—”
“Nothing,” hissed Sabetha. “Evidently I was wrong to say what I did, and wrong to
feel those things in the first place.”
“That’s bullshit!” Barely feeling the ache across his throat for the new sting of
her words, Locke shocked himself by grabbing her arm and pulling her back out onto
the balcony. “I tripped over something. I don’t know what it is, but you
owe
me an explanation. After everything we just said to one another, I will
not
let you push me aside just because you’re pitching a fit!”
“I am not pitching a fit!”
“You make the Sanzas look like bloody diplomats when you do
this. I’ll run after Boulidazi and pick another fight with him before I’ll let this
rest. What set you off?”
“You cannot be so wholly ignorant … Do you know what they pay for red-haired girls
in Jerem? Do you know what they do to us if we’re pristine? The Thiefmaker did—and
it’s so awful it was
too much for his conscience
. Understand? That ghoul would tongue-fuck a dead rat if there was silver in it for
him, but selling
redheads
was too vile. He’s the one that taught me to keep my hair dyed and wrapped.”