Authors: Scott Lynch
“A thousand crowns a
day
?”
“You see now why they’re not everywhere, on retainer to every court and noble and
pissant warlord with a treasury to waste. Even in times of war and other extreme crises,
they can be secured for a very limited duration. When you do cross paths with one,
you can be sure that the client is paying them for serious, active work.”
“Where did they come from?”
“Karthain.”
“Ha-
ha
. I mean their guild. Their
monopoly
.”
“That’s easy. One night a powerful sorcerer knocks on the door of a less-powerful
sorcerer. ‘I’m starting an exclusive guild,’ he says. ‘Join me now or I’ll blast you
out of your fucking boots right where you stand.’ So naturally the second mage says …”
“ ‘You know, I’ve always wanted to join a guild!’ ”
“Right. Those two go bother a third sorcerer. ‘Join the guild,’ they say, ‘or fight
both of us, two on one, right here and right now.’ Repeat as necessary, until three
or four hundred guild members are knocking on the door of the last independent mage
around, and everyone who said no is dead.”
“They must have weaknesses,” said Locke.
“Of course they’ve got weaknesses, boy. They’re mortal men and women, same as us.
They eat, they shit, they age, they die. But they’re like gods-damned hornets; mess
with one and the rest show up to punch you full of holes. Thirteen help anyone who
kills a Bondsmage, purposely or otherwise.”
“Why?”
“It’s the oldest rule of their guild, a rule without exceptions: kill a Bondsmage,
and the whole guild drops whatever it’s doing to come after
you
. They seek you out by any means they need to use. They kill your friends, your family,
your associates. They burn your home. They destroy everything you’ve ever built. Before
they
finally
let you die, they make sure you know that your line has been wiped from the earth,
root and branch.”
“So nobody is allowed to oppose them at all?”
“Oh, you can oppose them, all right. You can try to fight back, for what
it’s worth when one of them is against you. But if you go as far as killing one, well,
it’s just not worth it. Suicide would be preferable; at least then they won’t kill
everyone you ever loved or befriended.”
“Wow.”
“Yes.” Chains shook his head. “Sorcery’s impressive enough, but it’s their fucking
attitude
that makes them such a pain. And that’s why, when you find yourself face to face
with one, you bow and scrape and mind your ‘sirs’ and ‘madams.’ ”
“NICE BIRD, asshole,” said Locke.
The Bondsmage stared coldly at him, nonplussed.
“So
you
must be the reason nobody can find your boss. The reason none of the Full Crowns
could remember what they were doing when Tall Tesso got nailed to a wall.”
The falcon screeched, and Locke flinched backward; the creature’s anger was extremely
expressive. It was more than the cry of an agitated animal; it was somehow
personal
. Locke raised his eyebrows.
“My familiar mislikes your tone of voice,” said the Falconer. “I for one have always
found her judgment to be impeccable. I would mind your tongue.”
“Your boss expects me to do something for him,” said Locke, “which means I have to
remain functional. Which means the manner in which I address his fucking Karthani
lackeys is immaterial. Some of the
garristas
you killed were friends of mine. I’m looking at an arranged fucking
marriage
because of you! So eat hemp and shit rope, Bondsmage.”
The falcon exploded, screeching, from its perch on its master’s hand. Locke raised
his left arm in front of his face and the bird slammed against it, talons clutching
with edges that sliced through the fabric of Locke’s coat sleeve. The bird fastened
itself on Locke’s arm, excruciatingly, and beat its wings to steady itself. Locke
hollered and raised his right hand to punch the bird.
“Do that,” said the Falconer, “and die. Look closely at my familiar’s talons.”
Biting the insides of his cheeks against the pain, Locke did just that. The creature’s
rear talons weren’t talons at all, but more like smooth curved hooks that narrowed
to needle points at their tips. There were strange pulsating
sacs on the legs just above them, and even to Locke’s limited knowledge of hunting
birds this seemed very wrong.
“Vestris,” said the Gray King, “is a scorpion hawk. A hybrid, facilitated by alchemy
and sorcery. One of many that the Bondsmagi amuse themselves with. She carries not
just talons, but a sting. If she were to cease being tolerant of you, you might make
it ten steps before you fell dead in your tracks.”
Blood began to drip from Locke’s arm; he groaned. The bird snapped at him with its
beak, clearly enjoying itself.
“Now,” said the Gray King, “are we not all grown men and birds here?
Functional
is such a relative state of affairs, Locke. I would hate to have to give you another
demonstration of just
how
relative.”
“I apologize,” said Locke between gritted teeth. “Vestris is a fine and persuasive
little bird.”
The Falconer said nothing, but Vestris released her grip on Locke’s left arm, unleashing
new spikes of pain. Locke clutched his bloodied wool sleeve, massaging the wounds
within it. Vestris fluttered back to her perch on her master’s glove and resumed staring
at Locke.
“Isn’t it just as I said, Falconer?” The Gray King beamed at Locke. “Our Thorn knows
how to recover his equilibrium. Two minutes ago, he was too scared to think. Now he’s
already insulting us and no doubt scheming for a way out of this situation.”
“I don’t understand,” said Locke, “why you keep calling me Thorn.”
“Of course you do,” said the Gray King. “I’m only going to go over this once, Locke.
I know about your little burrow beneath the House of Perelandro. Your vault. Your
fortune. I know you don’t spend any of your nights sneak-thieving, as you claim to
all the other Right People. I know you breach the Secret Peace to spring elaborate
confidence schemes on nobles who don’t know any better, and I know you’re
good
at it. I know you didn’t start these ridiculous rumors about the Thorn of Camorr,
but you and I
both
know they refer to your exploits, indirectly. Lastly, I understand that Capa Barsavi
would do some
very interesting
things to you and all of your Gentlemen Bastards if the things I know were to be
confided to him.”
“Oh, please,” said Locke, “you’re not exactly in any position to whisper politely
in his ear and be taken seriously.”
“
I’m
not the one who would be whispering in his ear,” said the Gray King, smiling, “if
you failed at the task I have for you. I have others close to him to speak for me.
I trust I have made myself
very
clear.”
Locke glared for a few seconds, then sat down with a sigh, turning his chair around
and leaning his injured arm against the back. “I see your point. And in exchange?”
“In exchange, for the task I require, I would promise you that Capa Barsavi
won’t
hear about your very cleverly arranged double life, nor that of your closest companions.”
“So,” said Locke slowly, “that’s how it is.”
“My Bondsmage excepted, I’m a thrifty man, Locke.” The Gray King stepped out from
behind the bar and folded his arms. “You get paid in life, not coin.”
“What’s the task?”
“A straightforward beguilement,” said the Gray King. “I want
you
to become
me
.”
“I, ah, I don’t understand.”
“The time has come for me to quit this game of shadows. Barsavi and I need to speak
face-to-face. I will very shortly arrange a clandestine conference with the capa,
one that will bring him forth from the Floating Grave.”
“Fat chance.”
“In this you must trust me. I’m the architect of his current troubles; I assure you,
I
know
what can bring him out from that soggy fortress of his. But it won’t be
me
that he’ll speak to. It will be you. The Thorn of Camorr. The greatest mummer this
city has ever produced. You, cast in the role of me. Just for one night. A virtuoso
performance.”
“A
command
performance. Why?”
“I will be required
elsewhere
at that time. The conference is one part of a wider concern.”
“I am personally known to Capa Barsavi and his entire family.”
“You have already convinced the Salvaras that you were two different men. In the same
day, no less. I’ll coach you in what I wish you to say and provide you with a suitable
wardrobe. Between your skills and my current anonymity, no one will
ever
be aware that you are even involved, or that you are not the real Gray King.”
“An amusing plan. It has balls, and that appeals to me. But you do realize that I’m
going to look like quite the ass,” said Locke, “when the capa opens our conversation
with a dozen crossbow bolts to my
chest
.”
“Hardly an issue. You’ll be quite well protected against routine foolishness on the
capa’s part. I’ll be sending the Falconer with you.”
Locke flicked his gaze back to the Bondsmage, who smiled with obvious mock magnanimity.
“Do you really think,” continued the Gray King, “that I would have let you keep that
other stiletto in your coat sleeve if any weapon in your hands could touch me? Try
to cut me. I’ll let you borrow a crossbow or two, if you like. A quarrel will do no
better. The same protection will be yours when you meet with the capa.”
“Then it’s true,” said Locke. “Those stories aren’t just stories. Your pet mage gives
you more than just the ability to make my brain lock up like I’ve been drinking all
night.”
“Yes. And it was my men who started spreading those stories, for one purpose—I wanted
Barsavi’s gangs to so dread my presence that they wouldn’t
dare
to get close to
you
when the time came for you to speak to him. After all, I have the power to kill men
with a touch.” The Gray King smiled. “And when you’re me, so will
you
.”
Locke frowned. That smile, that face … There was something damned
familiar
about the Gray King. Nothing immediately obvious, just a nagging sensation that Locke
had been in his presence before. He cleared his throat. “That’s very thoughtful of
you. And what happens when I’ve finished this task for you?”
“A parting of the ways,” said the Gray King. “You to your business, and me to my own.”
“I find that somewhat difficult to believe.”
“You’ll leave your meeting with Barsavi alive, Locke. Fear not for what happens after
that; I assure you it won’t be as bad as you think. If I merely wanted to assassinate
him, can you deny that I could have done it long ago?”
“You’ve killed seven of his
garristas
. You’ve kept him locked away on the Floating Grave for months. ‘Not as bad as I think’?
He killed eight of his own Full Crowns after Tesso died. He won’t accept less than
blood from
you
.”
“
Barsavi
has kept himself locked away on the Floating Grave, Locke. And as I said, you must
trust me to deal with that end of the situation. The capa
will
acquiesce to what I have to offer him. We’ll settle the question of Camorr once and
for all, to everyone’s satisfaction.”
“I grant that you’re dangerous,” said Locke, “but you must be mad.”
“Suit whatever meaning you wish to my actions, Locke, provided that you perform as
required.”
“It would appear,” Locke said sourly, “that I have no choice.”
“This is no accident. Are we agreed? You’ll perform this task for me?”
“With instruction in what you wish me to say to Capa Barsavi?”
“Yes.”
“There will be one other condition.”
“Really?”
“If I’m going to do this for you,” said Locke, “I need to have a way to speak to you,
or at least get a message to you, at my
own
will. Something may come up which can’t wait for you to prance around appearing out
of nowhere.”
“It’s unlikely,” said the Gray King.
“It’s a necessity. Do you want me to be successful in this task or not?”
“Very well.” The Gray King nodded. “Falconer.”
The Falconer rose from his seat; Vestris never took her eyes from Locke’s. The hawk’s
master reached inside his coat with his free hand and withdrew a candle—a tiny cylinder
of white wax with an odd smear of crimson swirling through it. “Light this,” said
the Bondsmage, “in a place of solitude. You must be absolutely alone. Speak my name,
and I will hear and come, soon enough.”
“Thank you.” Locke took the candle with his right hand and slipped it into his own
coat. “Falconer. Easy to remember, that.”
Vestris opened her beak, but made no noise. It snapped shut, and the bird blinked.
A yawn? Her version of a chuckle at Locke’s expense?
“I’ll be keeping an eye on you,” said the Bondsmage. “Just as Vestris feels what I
feel, I see what she sees.”
“That explains quite a bit,” said Locke.
“If we are agreed,” said the Gray King, “our business here is finished. I have something
else to do, and it must be done tonight. Thank you, Master Thorn, for seeing reason.”
“Said the man with the crossbow to the man with the money purse.” Locke stood up and
slipped his left hand into a coat pocket; the forearm was still throbbing with pain.
“So when is this meeting supposed to take place?”
“Three nights hence,” said the Gray King. “No interruption at all for your Don Salvara
game, I trust?”
“I don’t think you really care, but no.”
“All for the better, then. Let us return you to your own affairs.”
“You’re not going to—”
But it was too late; the Falconer had already begun to gesture with his free hand
and move his lips, forming words but not quite vocalizing them. The room spun; the
orange lantern light became a fading streak of color against the darkness of the room,
and then there was only darkness.