“As you wish,” said Nikoros.
“To that end … I need a trustworthy alchemist. I need a wagon … a few dozen small animal cages … as many live snakes as we can get our hands on.”
“Live snakes?” said one of the scribes. “You mean—”
“Yeah,” said Locke. “They’ve got scales, they slither around—snakes. Keep up. We only want ’em if they’re not venomous! That means barn serpents, brown marshies, belt snakes. Anything else you have in these parts that fits the bill. Use mercenaries, boys, girls, anyone .… Offer a suitable bounty, but keep it gods-damned quiet. I don’t want word of this little project going too far. Drop the cages in the cellar and keep the snakes there until further notice. How’s Master Callas’ nose?”
“Badly set,” said the physiker. “I gather from your rather forthright aroma that you gentlemen have been unable to rest for several days.”
“Woefully correct,” said Locke.
“It’ll have to be rebroken. It’s plain this isn’t your first such injury, Master Callas, and you’re developing a breathing obstruction.”
“Then do it,” said Jean.
“I’ll need two cups of brandy, some assistants, and some rope.”
“No time for all that,” growled Jean, “and I want my head clear for work. Just do it here and now.”
“Your pardon, Master Callas, but I don’t relish the thought of a man your size lashing out at me—”
“Scholar,” said Locke, “this building is more likely to collapse than my friend is to lose control of himself.”
“I’m doubling my fee,” said the woman sternly.
“And I’m tripling it,” said Jean. “Go on, snap the damn thing to where it ought to be. I’ve had worse, and I’ve had it without warning.”
Triassa placed her hands carefully, as though Jean’s head were a clay sculpture and she meant to pinch the nose off and start over. She applied pressure with one smooth motion; Jean remained still but did indulge in a long, deep, appropriately theatrical groan. The sound of whatever was moving or breaking inside the nose itself made Locke shudder as though his privates had just been dipped in ice water, and a collective gasp arose from the scribes.
“Perhaps just one small brandy,” rasped Jean, barely moving his lips. Tears ran down his cheeks. Locke pointed at one of the scribes; the woman nodded and hurried out of the gallery.
Triassa deftly set Jean’s nose in cream-colored alchemical plasters and wrapped linen around his head. “Keep this in place,” she said. “You’ve danced this dance before, so don’t do anything foolish. Brace your head while you sleep. Come see me tomorrow—I’m across the street.”
“Thanks,” said Jean. A moment later the helpful scribe returned with a glass of caramel-brown liquor, which Jean poured carefully down his throat.
“Well then,” said Locke. “Now that we’ve all realized precisely how tough we’ll neverbe, let’s stand on what we have. Pass your lists to Nikoros and he’ll mind the details.”
“Sirs,” said Nikoros as his hands rapidly filled with papers, “I’m pleased to see you back and taking a more active role in our affairs, but, ah, this volume of work—”
“Don’t fret, Nikoros, there’s plenty of time, assuming none of us sleeps before dawn.” Locke gave Nikoros a reassuring squeeze on the arm, then lowered his voice to a private whisper. “Also, if I catch you stuffing another speck of black alchemy down your throat, your job situation is going to be vacant. Understand?”
“Master Lazari, sir, what can I say? I’m ashamed … but you were gone … everything was so confused—”
“Everything is now unconfused. We’re gonna have baths drawn and rejoin civilization. Get to work. Get me that list and get me that alchemist. There’s two ladies in particular waiting to see what we’ve got up our sleeves, and it’s time for things to get hectic.”
“Uh, of course, Master Lazari.”
“Nikoros!”
“Uh, yes, sir?”
“I just had a really exciting thought. Get me the list, the alchemist, and then get me a city constable! A well-bent one. Someone who thinks with their purse and isn’t shy about it.”
“Uh, certainly, but it may take—”
“Tonight, Nikoros, tonight!”
5
LOCKE AND Jean found steaming baths in their suite, along with more food and enough towels, body scrapers, and scented oil jars to supply a rather hygienic harem. Refreshed and repackaged in respectable outer layers, they returned to the Deep Roots private gallery to find Nikoros waiting, new papers in hand. Locke scanned them as rapidly as the crabbed handwriting would permit.
“Good, good,” he muttered. “Debts, lots of debts. Eager little gamblers, our Black Iris friends … Who’d be holding most of these?”
“Most of the debts that aren’t between gentlefolk would involve Fifthson Lucidus, over in the Vel Verda .… Well, he owns the chance houses in the Vel Verda, but he lives somewhere on Isas Merreau.”
“Lovely,” said Locke. “A little duke of the dice-dens. He’s not a big player in either political party, is he?”
“Doesn’t give a damn about the elections, as far as I know.”
“Better and better,” said Locke. “Exactly the sort of man Master Callas and I should see in the small hours of the night, like dutiful physikers paying a house call.”
“Physikers?”
“Absolutely. We want him firmly convinced that if he disregards our advice his health is apt to suffer. Now where’s my alchemist and my constable?”
“Coming, Master Lazari, coming .…”
6
THE MOONS were shy in just the way thieves prefer, hidden behind clouds like black wool, and the brisk south wind carried the scents of lake water and forge smoke. Banked-down furnaces were faint smudges of red and orange nestled among the shadows of the Isle of Hammers, and the view from the window of Fifthson Lucidus’ third-story bedroom captured it all nicely.
Locke took a moment to properly appreciate the tableau before he turned and woke Lucidus with a slap to the face.
“Mmmmmph,” said the heavyset Karthani. His exclamation was muffled by Jean, who, standing behind his bed, slapped one hand over his mouth and hauled him to a sitting position with the other.
“Shhhh,” said Locke, who sat down at Lucidus’ feet. He adjusted the aperture of his dark-lantern to throw a thin beam directly on the bearded and bleary-eyed fellow, whose face wore the sort of extra years that came out of a wine bottle. “Your first thought will be to struggle, so I’d like you to think about whereand how deepI can cut you while leaving you perfectly capable of conversation.”
He unsheathed a long, freshly polished steel blade, and was sure to catch the lantern light with it before he slapped Lucidus’ legs with the flat of the weapon.
“Your second thought,” said Locke, who wore an improvised gray linen mask, “will be to summon that big man who’s supposed to be watching your front door. I’m afraid we’ve put him to sleep for a bit. So now my associate will take his hand off your mouth, and you’ll mind your tone of voice.”
“Who the hell are you?” whispered Lucidus.
“ Whatwe are is the important thing. We’re better than you. There’s no defense you can dream up and no hole you can hide in that will keep us from doing this to you any time we please.”
“What … what do you want?”
“Take a good look at these names.” Locke sheathed the blade and pulled out a torn sheet of parchment with a short list on it. The names had been culled from the larger list provided by Nikoros. They weren’t merely opposition voters, but components of varying importance in the Black Iris political machine. “Some of these men and women owe you money, yes?”
“Yes,” said Lucidus, squinting at the parchment. “Yes … most of them, in fact.”
“Good,” said Locke. “Because you’re about to have some money problems, understand? You’re going to call in your markers on all of these fine citizens.”