“Beg pardon, m’lord.” The scarred man smiled, gruesomely and artificially, as a man without children might smile when trying to comfort an upset babe. “But let me ask you-have you ever heard of the man they call the Thorn of Camorr?”
2
“I ONLY steal because my dear old family needs the money to live!”
Locke Lamora made this proclamation with his wineglass held high; he and the other Gentlemen Bastards were seated at the old witchwood table in the opulent burrow beneath the House of Perelandro; Calo and Galdo on his right, Jean and Bug on his left. A huge spread of food was set before them, and the celestial chandelier swung overhead with its familiar golden light. The others began to jeer.
“Liar!” they chorused in unison.
“I only steal because this wicked world won’t let me work an honest trade!” Calo cried, hoisting his own glass.
“Liar!”
“I only steal because I have to support my poor lazy twin brother, whose indolence broke our mother’s heart!” Galdo elbowed Calo as he made this announcement.
“Liar!”
“I only steal,” said Jean, “because I’ve temporarily fallen in with bad company.”
“Liar!”
At last the ritual came to Bug; the boy raised his glass a bit shakily and yelled, “I only steal because it’s heaps of fucking fun!”
“BASTARD!”
With a general clamor of whooping and hollering the five thieves banged glasses together; light glittered on crystal and shone through the misty green depths of Verrari mint wine. The four men drained their glasses in one go and slammed them back down on the tabletop. Bug, already a bit cross-eyed, handled his somewhat more delicately.
“Gentlemen, I hold in my hands the first fruits of all our long weeks of study and suffering.” Locke held up a rolled parchment embossed with ribbons and a blue wax seal-the color of the lesser nobility of Camorr. “A letter of credit for five thousand full crowns, to be drawn tomorrow against Don Salvara’s funds at Meraggio’s. And, I daresay, the first score our youngest member has ever helped us to bring in.”
“Barrel boy!” the Sanza brothers hollered in unison; a moment later a small almond-crusted bread roll arced from between their seats, hit Bug right between the eyes, and plopped down onto his empty plate. Bug tore it in half and responded in kind, aiming well despite his wobbliness. Locke continued speaking as Calo scowled and rubbed crumbs out of his eyes.
“Second touch this afternoon was easy. But we wouldn’t have gotten so far, so fast, if not for Bug’s quick action yesterday. What a stupid, reckless, idiotic, ridiculous damn thing to do! I haven’t the words to express my admiration.” Locke had managed to work a bit of wine-bottle legerdemain while speaking; the empty glasses were suddenly full. “To Bug! The new bane of the Camorr city watch!”
When the cheering and the guzzling from this toast had subsided and Bug had been smacked upon the back often enough to turn the contents of his skull sideways, Locke produced a single large glass, set it in the middle of the table, and filled it slowly.
“Just one thing more before we can eat.” He held the glass up as the others fell silent. “A glass poured to air for an absent friend. We miss old Chains terribly and we wish his soul peace. May the Crooked Warden ever stand watch and bless his crooked servant. He was a good and penitent man, in the manner of our kind.”
Gently, Locke set the glass in the center of the table and covered it with a small black cloth. “He would have been very proud of you, Bug.”
“I do hope so.” The boy stared at the covered glass in the middle of the opulent glassware and gilded cookery. “I wish I could have met him.”
“You would have been a restful project for his old age.” Jean kissed the back of his own left hand, the benedictory gesture of the Nameless Thirteenth’s priesthood. “A very welcome respite from what he endured raising the four of us!”
“Jean’s being generous. He and I were saints. It’s the Sanza brothers that kept the poor old bastard up late praying six nights out of seven.” Locke reached out toward one cloth-covered platter. “Let’s eat.”
“Praying that you and Jean would grow up quick and handsome like the two of us, you mean!” Galdo’s hand darted out and caught Locke’s at the wrist. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Am I?”
Calo, Galdo, and Jean met this question with a coordinated stare. Bug looked sheepish and gazed up at the chandelier.
“Gods damn it.” Locke slid out of his gold-gilded chair and went to a side cupboard; when he returned to the table he had a tiny sampling-glass in his hand, little more than a thimble for liquor. Into this he let slip the smallest dash of mint wine. He didn’t hold this glass up, but pushed it into the center of the table beside the glass under the black cloth.
“A glass poured in air for an absent someone. I don’t know where she is at the moment, and I pray you all choke, save Bug, thanks very fucking much.”
“Hardly a graceful blessing, especially for a priest.” Calo kissed the back of his own left hand and waved it over the tiny glass. “She was one of us even before you were, garrista.”
“You know what I do pray?” Locke set his hands on the edge of the table; his knuckles rapidly turned white. “That maybe someday one of you finds out what love is when it travels farther up than the buttons of your trousers.”
“It takes two to break a heart.” Galdo gently placed his left hand over Locke’s right. “I don’t recall her fucking things up without your able assistance.”
“And I daresay,” said Calo, “that it would be a tremendous relief to us all if you would just have the courtesy to go out and get yourself wenched. Long and hard. Gods, do three at once! It’s not as though we don’t have the funds.”
“I’ll have you know my patience for this topic was exhausted long before-” Locke’s voice was rising to a shout when Jean grabbed him firmly by his left biceps; Jean’s fist wrapped easily all the way around Locke’s arm.
“She was our good friend, Locke. Was and still is. You owe her something a bit more godly than that.”
Jean reached out for the wine bottle, then filled the little glass to its brim. He raised it into the light and took his other hand off Locke’s arm. “A glass poured to air for an absent friend. We wish Sabetha well. For ourselves, we pray brotherhood.”
Locke stared at him for a second that seemed like minutes, then let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin the occasion. That was a poor toast and I…repent it. I should have thought better of my responsibilities.”
“I’m sorry, too.” Galdo grinned sheepishly. “We don’t blame you for the way you feel. We know she was…she was…her.”
“Well, I’m not sorry about the wenching bit.” Calo shrugged in mock apology. “I’m fucking serious, man. Dip your wick. Drop your anchor. Go see a lady about a sheath for a dagger. You’ll feel better.”
“Isn’t it obvious that I’m just ecstatic right now? I don’t need to feel better, because you and I still have work to do this evening! For the love of the Crooked Warden, can we please just kill this subject and throw its gods-damned corpse in the bay?”
“Sorry,” Calo said after a few seconds and a well-aimed glare from Jean. “Sorry. Look, you know we mean well. We’re both sorry if we push. But she’s in Parlay and we’re in Camorr, and it’s obvious you-”
Calo would have said something else, but an almond roll bounced off the bridge of his nose and he flinched in surprise. Another roll hit Galdo in the forehead; one arced into Jean’s lap, and Locke managed to throw up a hand in time to swat down the one intended for him.