“Still,” Locke continued, “the opposition seems to have a damnable grasp of where we’re hiding our good toys these days. I want you to secure us a boat.”
“Ah, a boat, Master Lazari?”
“Yes. Something respectable. A barge, maybe a small pleasure yacht if a party member has one available.”
“Very, uh, likely. May I ask to what end?”
“We took something from one of the Black Iris Konseil members,” said Jean. “Family heirlooms of significant … sentimental value. We’ll return them after he’s done us a favor.”
“And we need the items in question to be absolutely secure until after election night,” said Locke. “I’m not sure I can trust our current bolt-holes, so let’s try putting them on the water, in something that can move.”
“I’ll get on it immediately,” said Nikoros.
“Good man,” said Locke, forking another bite of chicken. “Minimal crew, trusted sorts. They won’t need to know what the boat is carrying. Master Callas and I will load the items ourselves.”
Nikoros hurried away.
“I wasn’t expecting it to be him,” whispered Jean.
“Nor me,” said Locke. “And I’m dead curious to find out how she did it. But at least we know. And now we pin our hopes on the boat.”
“To the boat,” said Jean. They raised their ale flagons and drained them.
13
THE NIGHT before the election, Locke leaned on a wall high atop the northernmost embankment of the Plaza Gandolo, looking out across the softly rippling water of the river and the lantern-lights running across it like a hundred splashes of color on a drunken artist’s canvas.
To his left loomed the Skyvault Span, swaying and singing suspension bridge, its four anchor towers uniquely crowned with balconies and sealed doors. Those doors were invisible from Locke’s position hundreds of feet below, but he’d listened to Josten describe them not an hour before.
According to the innkeeper, the doors were as impervious to human arts as most Eldren legacies, but a team of scholars and workers had once erected a climbing scaffold and tried to study them closely.
“Hundred and fifty years ago, maybe. Eight folk went up,” Josten had muttered after looking around the bar. “Six came down. No bodies were ever found, and none of the survivors could say what had happened. For the rest of their lives, they had dreams. Badones. They wouldn’t talk about those, either, except one woman. Confessed to a priest of Sendovani before she died. Young, like all the rest. They say the magi and the Konseil suppressed the hell out of whatever that priest wrote down. So it’s just as well that Elderglass doesn’t need maintenance, my friend, because nobody in Karthain has climbed the Skyvault Span since.”
“Bloody charming,” muttered Locke, staring up at the elegant dark silhouettes blotting out stars and clouds. Gods, he was reciting horror stories to himself. Hardly suave and collected behavior. He needed to calm down, and he hadn’t had the foresight to bring a quarter-cask of strong wine.
Footsteps scuffed the stones behind him, and he whirled, neither suave nor collected.
Sabetha was alone. She wore a dark scarlet jacket over chocolate-brown skirts, and her hair was tightly bound around her lacquered pins.
“You look as though you’ve been listening to the stories about this bridge,” she said.
“My, ah, tavern master,” said Locke. “When I got your note, I asked him if he knew anything about the spot you picked.”
“Seems it’s not a popular corner of the district.” She smiled and moved closer. “I thought we could do with a bit of privacy.”
“Haunted Eldren detritus does tend to secure that. Sly woman! I would have gone with something like a private chamber at a fine dining establishment, but I suppose I’m hopelessly conventional.” A carriage rattled past, onto the creaking deck of the bridge. “What’s on your mind?”
“I appreciated your letter,” she said, gliding closer with that seemingly effortless dancer’s step that made it look as though a wind had just nudged her along. “And I don’t mean that as the usual oatmeal-tongued sort of polite acknowledgement; I appreciatedwhat you said and how you said it. I’m beginning to think I might have been … hasty in the way I treated you. When you first arrived in Karthain.”
“Well, ah, even if drugging me and putting me on a ship was something of a personal misstep, I think we can agree it was a valid approach from a professional perspective.”
“I admire that equanimity.” She was within arm’s reach now, and her hands were around his waist. He couldn’t have defended himself if he’d wanted to. “I’m not … uneasy with you, you know. It’s not you, it’s …”
“I know,” said Locke. “Believe me, I understand. You don’t have to—”
She slipped her right hand up behind his neck and pulled him so close there wasn’t room for a knife blade to pass between them. Next came the sort of kiss that banished the world to distant background noise and seemed to last a month.
“Well, thatyou can do,” Locke whispered at last. “If you feel you have to. I’ll, ah, grudgingly refrain from stopping you.”
“It’s nearly midnight,” said Sabetha, running her fingers through his hair. “Not much left now but the casting and counting of the ballots. Were you planning on attending the last big show at the Karthenium?”
“Can’t miss it,” said Locke. “Too many hands to hold. Yourself?”
“There are private galleries looking down on the grand hall. Once you’ve given all your children suitable pats on their heads, why don’t you and Jean join me to watch the returns? Ask any attendant for the Sable Chamber.”
“Sable Chamber. Right. And, ah, now you seem to be wearing that ‘there’s something amusing I’m not telling Locke’ face.”
“As it happens, I did hear the most fascinatingthing.” She took his hand and led him to the very edge of the embankment wall. “One of my Konseil members privately complained that someone broke into his manor and, if you can believe it, stole the reliquary shelves from his ancestral chapel.”
“Some people should learn to lock their doors at night.”
“I found myself pondering the purpose of such an unorthodox acquisition,” said Sabetha. “I concluded that it must, in all probability, be an attempt to exercise some sort of hold on a man for whom the theft of less personal trinkets would have no real meaning.”
“I’m disheartened to learn that your speculations took on such a cynical character.”
“Konseillors of Karthain shouldn’t have to worry about outside influence on the eve of an election. Don’t you agree? I felt compelled to make inquiries and issue instructions to the constabulary. Merely as a matter of routine civic duty, of course.”
“Everyone knows your deep attachment to the civic health of Karthain goes back quite a few minutes,” said Locke.
“There it is! Nearly on time.” Sabetha pointed down to the water, where a canopied pleasure barge emerged from under the Skyvault Span. A long black constabulary launch was lashed alongside the barge, and bluecoats with lanterns and truncheons were swarming it. “That’s the Plain Delight. Belongs to a friend of one of your Deep Roots Konseillors, I believe. I also believe that the reliquary shelves in its hold will be back in the hands of their proper owner before the sun comes up. Any particular comments?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny that you’re a sneaky, sneaky bitch,” said Locke.
“You’re my favorite audience.” Sabetha leaned in and kissed him again, then broke off with a grin. “Sable Chamber, tomorrow evening. I can’t wait to see you. And I’ll have a discreet escape route prepared, since I think a lot of irate Deep Roots supporters are going to be looking for you once the ballots are counted.”
INTERLUDE
DEATH-MASKS
1
THE NEXT sound in the room was that of Donker attempting to fling himself at the door, only to be caught and pulled back by the combined efforts of Alondo and the Sanza twins.