“A thief among thieves,” gasped Tesso.
“And will they all hang with you, for fellowship, and split death into equal shares like loot?”
“I am not caught yet,” growled the boy.
“Take my curse. I shall waitfor you.”
“I take your curse as a blessing of my heavenly patron,” said Tesso.
“Does this fool speak for you all?”
“ He does!”
“You were all born to hang.” The man released Tesso from his noose and turned away. Volanti stumbled backward and was caught by Calo and Galdo.
“Depart, phantoms!” shouted Chains. “Go with empty hands! Tell your masters how slight a dread we bear for thee, and how deep a scorn!”
The four costumed antagonists marched back down the aisle, until they vanished from Locke’s sight somewhere behind the crowd near the chamber door.
“Now face your oath,” said Chains.
The female priest set a leather-bound book on the altar, and the male priest set a metal basin next to it. Chains pointed at Locke. Tense with excitement, Locke stepped up to the altar.
“What are you called?”
“Locke Lamora.”
“Are you a true and willing servant of our thirteenth god, whose name is guarded?”
“I am.”
“Do you consecrate thought, word, and deed to his service, from now until the weighing of your soul?”
“I do.”
“Will you seal this oath with blood?”
“I will seal it with blood on a token of my craft.”
Chains handed Locke a ceremonial blade of blackened steel.
“What is the token?”
“A coin of gold, stolen with my own hands,” said Locke. He used the knife to prick his left thumb, then squeezed blood onto the gold tyrin he’d scored from the cake business. He set the coin in the basin and passed the blade back to Chains.
“This is the law of men,” said Chains, pointing at the leather-bound tome, “which tells you that you must not steal. What is this law to you?”
“Words on paper,” said Locke.
“You renounce and spurn this law?”
“With all my soul.” Locke leaned forward and spat on the book.
“May the shadows know you for their own, brother.” Chains touched a cool, gleaming coin to Locke’s forehead. “I bless you with silver, which is the light of moons and stars.”
“I bless you with the dust of cobblestones, on which you tread,” said the female priest, brushing a streak of grime onto Locke’s right cheek.
“I bless you with the waters of Camorr, which bring the wealth you hope to steal,” said the third priest, touching wet fingers to Locke’s left cheek.
And so it was done—the oath of joining, without a fumble or a missed cadence. Warm with pride, Locke rejoined the other boys and girls, though he stood just a few feet apart from them.
The ritual continued. Nazca next, then Jean, then Tesso, then Sabetha. There was a general murmur of appreciation when she revealed her offering of stolen truncheons. After that, things went smoothly until one of the Sanzas was beckoned forth, and they stepped up to the altar together.
“One at a time, boys,” said Chains.
“We’re doing it together,” said Calo.
“We figure the Crooked Warden wouldn’t want us any other way,” said Calo. The twins joined hands.
“Well then!” Chains grinned. “It’s your problem if he doesn’t, lads. What are you called?”
“Calo Giacomo Petruzzo Sanza.”
“Galdo Castellano Molitani Sanza.”
“Are you true and willing servants of our Thirteenth God, whose name is guarded?”
“We are!”
“Do you consecrate thought, word, and deed to his service, from now until the weighing of your souls?”
“We do!”
Once the Sanzas were finished, the remaining postulants took their oaths without further complication. Chains addressed the assembly while his fellow priests carried away the offering-filled basin. They would give its contents to the dark waters of the Iron Sea later that night.
“One thing, then, remains. The possibility of a choosing. We priests of the Crooked Warden are few in number, and few are called to join our ranks. Consider carefully whether you would offer yourselves for the third and final oath, the oath of service. Let those who would not desire this join their fellows at the sides of the chamber. Let those who would stand for choosing remain where they are.”
The crowd of postulants cleared out rapidly. Some hesitated, but most had looks of perfect contentment on their faces, including Jean and the Sanzas. Locke pondered silently … didhe truly want this? Did it feel right? Weren’t there supposed to be signs, omens, some sort of guidance one way or another? Maybe it would be best just to step aside—
He suddenly realized that the only person still standing on the floor beside him was Sabetha.
There was no hesitation in hermanner—arms folded, chin slightly up, she stood as though ready to physically fight anyone who questioned her feelings. She was staring sideways at Locke, expectantly.
Was this the sign? What would she think of him if he turned away from this chance? The thought of failing to match Sabetha’s courage while standing right in front of her was like a knife in his guts. He squared his shoulders and nodded at Chains.
“Two bold souls,” said Chains quietly. “Kneel and bow your heads in silence. We three shall pray for guidance.”
Locke went down to his knees, folded his hands, and closed his eyes. Crooked Warden, don’t let me make some sort of awful mistake in front of Sabetha,he thought; then realized that praying on the matter of his own problems at a moment like this might well be blasphemous. Shit,was his next thought, and that of course was even worse.
He struggled to keep his mind respectfully blank, and listened to the murmur of adult voices. Chains and his peers conferred privately for some time. At last Locke heard footsteps approaching.
“One will be chosen,” said the female priest, “and must answer directly. The chance, if refused, will never be offered again.”
“Small things guide us in this,” said the long-haired garrista. “Signs from the past. The evidence of your deeds. Subtle omens.”
“But the Benefactor doesn’t make difficult decisions for us,” said the woman. “We pray that our choice will serve his interests, and thus our own.”
“Locke Lamora,” said Father Chains softly, setting his hands on Locke’s shoulders. “You are called to the service of the thirteenth Prince of Earth and Heaven, whose name is guarded. How do you answer his call?”
Wide-eyed with shock, Locke glanced at Chains, and then at Sabetha. “I … ,” he whispered, then cleared his throat and spoke more clearly. “I … I must. I do.”
Cheers broke out in the vault, but the look on Sabetha’s face at that instant cut coldly through Locke’s excitement. It was a look he knew only too well, a look he’d practiced himself—the game face, the perfect blank, a neutral mask meant to hide hotter emotions.
Given her earlier attitude, Locke had no difficulty guessing what those hotter emotions must be.
CHAPTER FOUR
ACROSS THE AMATHEL
1
EVERYTHING THAT WAS wrong came to a crescendo at once: Locke’s screams, Jean’s crippling vertigo, and the surging black candle flames, filling the cabin with their ghastly grave-water un-light.
There was a bone-rattling vibration in the hot air, a sensation that something vast and unseen was rushing past at high speed. Then the black flames died, casting the room into real darkness. Locke’s screams trailed off into hoarse sobs.