“Well. My dear Master Lamora. How much money have you brought me this week?”
7
“THIRTY-SIX SOLONS, five coppers, Your Honor.”
“Mmm. A slender week’s work, it seems.”
“Yes, with all apologies, Capa Barsavi. The rain, well…sometimes it’s murder on those of us doing second-story work.”
“Mmmm.” Barsavi set the goblet down and folded his right hand inside his left, caressing the reddened knuckles. “You’ve brought me more, of course. Many times. Better weeks.”
“Ah…yes.”
“There are some that don’t, you know. They try to bring me the exact same amount, week after week after week, until I finally lose patience and correct them. Do you know what that sort of garrista must have, Locke?”
“Ah. A…very boring life?”
“Ha! Yes, exactly. How very stable of them to have the exact same income every single week, so they might give me the exact same percentage as a cut. As though I were an infant who would not notice. And then there are garristas such as yourself. I know you bring me the honest percentage, because you’re not afraid to walk in here and apologize for having less than last week.”
“I, ah, do hope I’m not considered shy about sharing when the balance tilts the other way…”
“Not at all.” Barsavi smiled and settled back in his chair. Ominous splashing and muffled banging was coming from beneath the floor in the vicinity of the hatch that Julien had vanished down. “You are, if anything, the most reliably correct garrista in my service. Like Verrari clockwork. You deliver my cut yourself, promptly and without a summons. For four years, week in and week out. Unfailing, since Chains died. Never once did you suggest that anything took precedence over your personal appearance before me, with that bag in your hand.”
Capa Barsavi pointed at the small leather bag Locke held in his left hand, and gestured to Nazca. Her formal role in the Barsavi organization was to act as finnicker, or record-keeper. She could rattle off the running total of the payments made by any gang in the city, itemized week by week and year by year, without error. Locke knew she updated records on parchment for her father’s private use, but so far as the Capa’s subjects in general knew, every coin of his fabled treasure was catalogued solely behind her cold and lovely eyes. Locke tossed the leather purse to her, and she plucked it out of the air.
“Never,” said Capa Barsavi, “did you think to send a pezon to do a garrista’s job.”
“Well, ah, you’re most kind, Your Honor. But you made that very easy today, since only garristas are allowed past the door.”
“Don’t dissemble. You know of what I speak. Nazca, love, Locke and I must now be alone.”
Nazca gave her father a deep nod, and then gave a much quicker, shallower one to Locke. She turned and walked back toward the doors to the entrance hall, iron heels echoing on the wood.
“I have many garristas,” Barsavi said when she was gone, “tougher than yourself. Many more popular, many more charming, many with larger and more profitable gangs. But I have very few who are constantly at pains to be so courteous, so careful.”
Locke said nothing.
“My young man, while I take offense at many things, rest assured that courtesy is not one of them. Come, stand easy. I’m not fitting you for a noose.”
“Sorry, capa. It’s just…you’ve been known to begin expressing your displeasure in a very…ahhh…”
“Roundabout fashion?”
“Chains told me enough about scholars of the Therin Collegium,” said Locke, “to understand that their primary habit of speech is the, ah, booby trap.”
“Ha! Yes. When anyone tells you habits die hard, Locke, they’re lying-it seems they never die at all.” Barsavi chuckled and sipped from his wine before continuing. “These are…alarming times, Locke. This damn Gray King has finally begun to get under my skin. The loss of Tesso is particularly…Well, I had plans for him. Now I am forced to begin bringing other plans forward sooner than intended. Tell me, pezon…What do you think of Anjais and Pachero?”
“Uh. Ha. Well…my honest opinion, Your Honor?”
“Full and honest, pezon. By my command.”
“Ah. They’re very respected, very good at their jobs. Nobody jokes about them behind their backs. Jean says they really know how to handle themselves in a fight. The Sanzas are nervous about playing fair card games with them, which is saying something.”
“This I could hear from two dozen spies any time I wanted to. This I know. What is your personal opinion of my sons?”
Locke swallowed and looked Capa Barsavi straight in the eyes. “Well, they are worthy of respect. They are good at their jobs, and they must know their business in a fight. They’re fairly hard workers and they’re bright enough…but…Your Honor, begging your pardon, they tease Nazca when they should be heeding her warnings and taking her advice. She has the patience and the subtlety that…that…”
“Elude them?”
“You knew what I was going to say, didn’t you?”
“I said you were a careful and considerate garrista, Locke. Those are your distinguishing characteristics, though they imply many other qualities. Since the time of your prodigious early cock-ups, you have been the very picture of a careful thief, firmly in control of his own greed. You would be very sensitive to any opposing lack of caution in others. My sons have lived all their lives in a city that fears them because of their last name. They expect deference in an aristocratic fashion. They are incautious, a bit brazen. I need to make arrangements to ensure that they receive good counsel, in the months and years to come. I can’t live forever, even after I deal with the Gray King.”
The jovial certainty that filled Capa Barsavi’s voice when he said this made the hair on the back of Locke’s neck stand up. The capa was sitting in a fortress he hadn’t left in more than two months, drinking wine in air still rank with the blood of eight members of one of his most powerful and loyal gangs.
Was Locke speaking to a man with a far-ranging and subtle scheme? Or had Barsavi finally cracked, like window glass in a fire?
“I should very much like,” said the capa, “to have you in a position to give Anjais and Pachero the counsel they’ll require.”
“Ah…Your Honor, that’s extremely…flattering, but-I get along well enough with Anjais and Pachero, but I’m not exactly what you’d call a close friend. We play some cards every now and then, but…let’s be honest. I’m not a very important garrista.”
“As I said. Even with the Gray King at work in my city, I have many who are tougher than you, more daring than you, more popular. I don’t say this to strike a blow, because I’ve already discussed your own qualities. And it is those qualities they sorely need. Not toughness, daring, or charm, but cold and steady caution. Prudence. You are my most prudent garrista; you only think of yourself as the least important because you make the least noise. Tell me, now-what do you think of Nazca?”
“Nazca?” Locke was suddenly even warier than before. “She’s…brilliant, Your Honor. She can recite conversations we had ten years ago and get every word right, especially if it embarrasses me. You think I’m prudent? Compared to her I’m as reckless as a bear in an alchemist’s lab.”
“Yes,” said the capa. “Yes. She should be the next Capa Barsavi when I’m gone, but that won’t happen. It’s nothing to do with her being a woman, you know. Her older brothers would simply never stand to have their little sister lording it over them. And I should prefer not to have my children murdering one another for scraps of the legacy I intend to leave them, so I cannot push them aside in her favor.