"Everything prepared according to your letters, Master Fehrwight," said the harbourmaster. "I apologize for the fact that it required four days rather than three—"
"No matter," said Locke. He passed over a leather satchel containing solari he'd counted out in the carriage. "Balance of payment, in full, and the promised three-day bonus, for your work party. I" ve no reason to be stingy."
"You are entirely too kind," said the harbourmaster, bowing as he accepted the heavy purse. Nearly eight hundred solari gone already. "And the provisions?" asked Locke.
"Complete as specified," said the harbourmaster. "Rations and water for a week. The wines, the oilcloaks and other emergency gear — all there, and checked by myself." "Our dinner?"
"Coming," said the harbourmaster, "coming. I expected a runner several minutes ago. Wait — here's the boy now."
Locke glanced back toward their carriage. A small boy had just appeared from behind it, jogging with a covered basket larger than his chest cradled in his arms. Locke smiled.
"Our dinner concludes our business," he said as the boy approached and handed the basket up to Jean. "Very good, Mater Fehrwight. Tell me, will you be putting out—"
"Immediately," said Locke. "We have… a great many things to leave behind." "Will you require assistance?"
"We had expected a third," said Locke quietly. "But the two of us will suffice." He stared at their new boat, at the once-alien arrangement of sails, rigging, mast, tiller. "We're always sufficient."
It took them less than five minutes to load the boat with their baggage from the carriage; they had little to speak of. A few spare clothes, work tunics and breeches, weapons and their little kit of thieves" conveniences.
The sun was settling into the west as Jean began to untie them from the dock. Locke hopped down onto the sterndeck, a room-sized space surrounded by raised gunwales, and as his last act before their departure he opened the burlap sack and released the contents onto the boat.
The black kitten looked up at him, stretched and began to rub himself against Locke's right boot, purring loudly.
"Welcome to your new home, kid. All that you survey is yours," said Locke. "But this doesn't mean I'm getting attached to you."
4
They anchored a hundred yards out from the last of Vel Virazzo's lantern towers, and beneath its ruby light they had the dinner that Locke had promised.
They sat on the sterndeck, legs folded, with a small table between them. They each pretended to be absorbed in their bread and chicken, in their shark fins and vinegar, in their grapes and black olives. Regal attempted to make war on their meal several times, and only accepted an honourable peace after Locke bribed him with a chicken wing nearly the size of his body.
They went through a bottle of wine, a nondescript Camorri white, the sort of thing that smooths a meal along without becoming its centrepiece. Locke tossed the empty bottle overboard and they started another, more slowly.
"It's time," Jean said at last, when the sun had moved so low in the west that it seemed to be sinking into the starboard gunwale. It was a red moment, all the world from sea to sky the colour of a darkening rose petal, of a drop of blood not yet dry. The sea was calm and the air was still; they were without interruptions, without responsibilities, without a plan or an appointment anywhere in the world.
Locke sighed, removed a glass vial of clear liquid from his inner coat pocket and set it on the table. "We discussed splitting it," he said. "We did," said Jean. "But that's not what we're doing." "Oh?"
"You're going to drink it." Jean set both of his hands on the table, palms down. "All of it." "No," said Locke. "You don't have a choice," said Jean. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
"We can't take the chance of splitting it," said Jean, his voice reasonable and controlled in just the fashion that told Locke he was ready for instant action. "Better that one of us be cured for certain than for both of us to linger on and… die like that." "I'll take my chances with lingering on," said Locke. "I won't," said Jean. "Please drink it, Locke." "Or what?"
"Or you know what," said Jean. "You can't overpower me. The reverse is definitely not true." "so you'll—"
"Awake or unconscious," said Jean, "it's yours. I don't care. Drink the fucking antidote, for the Crooked Warden's sake." "I can't," said Locke. "Then you force me to—" "You don't understand," said Locke. "I didn't say "won't". I can't." "What—"
"That's just water in a vial I picked up in town." Locke reached once more into his pocket, withdrew an empty glass vial and slowly set it down beside the fake. "I have to say, knowing me the way you do, I'm surprised you agreed to let me pour your wine."
5
"You bastard," Jean roared, leaping to his feet. "Gentleman Bastard."
"You miserable fucking son of a bitcbV Jean was a blur as he moved, and Locke flinched backward in alarm. Jean snatched up the table and flung it into the sea, scattering the remnants of their dinner across the boat's deck. "How could you? How could you do that to me?"
"I can't watch you die," said Locke flatly. "I can't. You couldn't ask me to—" "so you didn't even give me a choice!"
"You were going to fucking force-feed it to me!" Locke stood up, brushing crumbs and chicken-bone fragments from his tunic. "I knew you" d try something like that. Do you blame me for doing it first?"
"Now I get to watch you die, is that it? Her, and now you? And this is a favour?"
Jean collapsed onto the deck, buried his face in his hands and began to sob. Locke knelt beside him and wrapped his arms around his shoulders.
"It is a favour," said Locke. "A favour to me. You save my life all the time because you're an idiot and you don't know any better. Let me… let me do it for you, just once. Because you actually deserve it."
"I don't understand any of this,"Jean whispered. "You son of a fucking bitch, how can you do this? I want to hug you. And I want to tear your gods-damned head off. Both at once."
"Ah," said Locke. "Near as I can tell, that's the definition of "family" right there." "But you'll die," whispered Jean.
"It was always going to happen," said Locke. "It was always going to happen, and the only reason it didn't happen before now… is… you, actually." "I hate this,"said Jean. "I do, too. But it's done. I suppose I have to feel okay about it." I feel calm, he thought. J suppose I can say that. I feel calm. "What do we do now?" "same as we planned," said Locke. "somewhere, anywhere, laziest possible speed. Up the coast, just roaming. No one after us. No one in the way, no one to rob. We've never really done this sort of thing before." Locke grinned. "Hell, I honestly don't know if we'll be any good at it." "And what if you—" "When I do, I do," said Locke. "Forgive me." "Yes," said Jean. "And no. Never."
"I understand, I think," said Locke. "Get up and give me a hand with the anchor, would you?" "What do you have in mind?"
"This coast is so gods-damned old," said Locke. "Falling apart. Seen it, seen everywhere like it. Let's see if we can't get this thing pointed somewhere else." He stood up, keeping one of his hands on Jean's shoulder. "Somewhere new."