Locke nodded vigorously.
Reynart gestured for more blackjackets to join his procession; Locke was led across the gallery and down two sets of stairs with six soldiers at his side and Conté scowling just behind him. Reynart led him back to the very same hall and the very same chamber where he’d first met Doña Vorchenza. She was sitting in her chair, knitting discarded at her feet, holding a wet cloth to her lips while Doña Salvara knelt beside her. Don Salvara stood staring out the window with his leg up on the sill; all three of them looked very surprised indeed when Reynart thrust Locke into the room before him.
“This room is closed,” said Reynart to his guards. “Sorry, you, too,” he said when Conté tried to pass.
“Let the Salvaras’ man come in, Stephen,” said Doña Vorchenza. “He already knows most of it; he might as well know the rest.”
Conté stepped in, bowed to Vorchenza, and grabbed Locke by the right arm while Reynart locked the door behind them. The Salvaras gave Locke a matching pair of scowls.
“Hello, Sofia. Hey, Lorenzo. Nice to see you two again,” said Locke, in his natural voice.
Doña Vorchenza rose from her chair, closed the distance between herself and Locke with two steps, and punched him in his own mouth, a straight-arm blow with the flat of her palm. His head whirled to the right, and spikes of pain shot through his neck.
“Ow,” he said. “What the fuck is it with you, anyway?”
“A debt to be repaid, Master Thorn.”
“You stuck a gods-damned poisoned needle in my neck!”
“You most certainly deserved it,” said Doña Vorchenza.
“Well, I for one would dis-”
Reynart grabbed him by his left shoulder, spun him around, and slammed his own fist into Locke’s jaw. Vorchenza was rather impressive for someone of her age and build, but Reynart could really hit. The room seemed to go away for a few seconds; when it returned, Locke was sprawled in a corner, lying on his side. Small blacksmiths seemed to be pounding on anvils inconveniently located just above his eyes; Locke wondered how they’d gotten in there.
“I told you Doña Vorchenza was my adoptive mother,” said Reynart.
“Oh my,” said Conté, chuckling. “Now this is my sort of private party.”
“Has it occurred to any of you,” said Locke, crawling back to his feet, “to ask why the fuck I came all the way back to Raven’s Reach when I’d already made it clean away?”
“You jumped from one of the outside ledges,” said Doña Vorchenza, “and you grabbed one of the elevator cages as it went past, didn’t you?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, all the other ways to the ground were too unhealthy to consider.”
“You see? I told you, Stephen.”
“Perhaps I thought it was possible,” said the Vadran, “but I just didn’t want to think it had actually been done.”
“Stephen is not fond of heights,” said Vorchenza.
“He’s a very wise man,” said Locke, “but please, please listen to me. I came back to warn you-those sculptures. Capa Raza gave you four of them. Everyone in this tower is in awful fucking danger from them.”
“Sculptures?” Doña Vorchenza stared down at him curiously. “A gentleman left four gold-and-glass sculptures as a gift for the duke.” She looked over at Stephen. “I’m sure the duke’s security men have looked into them, and approved them. I wouldn’t know; I’m just consulting in this affair as a favor to some of my peers.”
“So I’ve been told by my superiors,” said Reynart.
“Oh, quit that,” said Locke. “You’re the Spider. I’m the Thorn of Camorr. Did you meet with Capa Raza? Did you meet a Bondsmage, styling himself the Falconer? Did they speak to you about the sculptures?”
Don and Doña Salvara were staring at Doña Vorchenza; the old woman stuttered and coughed.
“Whoops,” said Locke. “You hadn’t told Sofia and Lorenzo, had you? Playing the old friend-of-a-friend angle? Sorry. But I need to talk to you as the Spider. When Falselight comes, everyone in Raven’s Reach is fucked.”
“I knew it,” said Sofia. “I knew it!” She grabbed her husband by the arm and squeezed hard enough to make him wince. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“I’m still not so sure,” said Lorenzo.
“No,” said Doña Vorchenza, sighing. “ Sofia has the truth of the matter. I am the duke’s Spider. Having said that, if it gets beyond this room, throats will be cut.”
Conté looked at her with surprise and a strange sort of approval in his eyes; Locke stumbled back to his feet.
“As for the matter of the sculptures,” said Doña Vorchenza, “I did clear them personally. They are a gift to the duke.”
“They’re a plot,” said Locke. “They’re a trap. Just open one up and you’ll see! Capa Raza means to ruin every man, woman, and child in this tower; it’ll be worse than murder.”
“Capa Raza,” said Doña Vorchenza, “was a perfect gentleman; he was almost too demure to accept my invitation to briefly join us this evening. This is another one of your fabulations, intended to bring you some advantage.”
“Oh, shit yes,” said Locke. “I marched back here after escaping and had myself cleverly tied up and hauled in here by the whole gods-damned Nightglass Company, on purpose. Now I’ve got you right where I fucking want you. Those sculptures are full of Wraithstone, Vorchenza! Wraithstone.”
“Wraithstone?” said Doña Sofia, aghast. “How can you know?”
“He doesn’t,” said Doña Vorchenza. “He’s lying. The sculptures are harmless.”
“Open one up,” said Locke. “There’s an easy remedy for this argument. Please, open one up. They catch fire at Falselight.”
“Those sculptures,” said Vorchenza, “are ducal property worth thousands of crowns. They will not be damaged on some mad whim of a known criminal.”
“Thousands of crowns,” said Locke, “versus hundreds of lives. Every peer in Camorr is going to be a drooling moron, do you understand? Can you imagine those children in that garden with white eyes like a Gentled horse? That’s what we’ll all be,” he shouted. “Gentled. That shit will eat our fucking souls.”
“Can it really hurt to check?” asked Reynart.
Locke looked up at Reynart with gratitude on his face. “No, it can’t, Reynart. Please do.”
Doña Vorchenza massaged her temples. “This is quite out of hand,” she said. “Stephen, throw this man somewhere secure until after the feast. A room without windows, please.”
“Doña Vorchenza,” said Locke, “what does the name Avram Anatolius mean to you?”
Her eyes were cold. “I couldn’t begin to say,” she said. “What do you imagine it means to you?”
“Capa Barsavi murdered Avram Anatolius twenty-two years ago,” said Locke. “And you knew about it. You knew he was a threat to the Secret Peace.”
“I can’t see what relevance this has to anything,” said Doña Vorchenza.
“You will be silent now, or I’ll have you silenced.”
“Anatolius had a son,” said Locke with desperate haste, as Stephen took a step toward him. “A surviving son, Doña Vorchenza. Luciano Anatolius. Luciano is Capa Raza. Luciano took revenge on Barsavi for the murder of his parents and his siblings-now he means to have revenge on you as well! You and all your peers.”
“No,” said Doña Vorchenza, touching her head again. “No, that’s not right. I enjoyed the time I spent with Capa Raza. I can’t imagine he would do anything like this.”
“The Falconer,” said Locke. “Do you recall the Falconer?”