“No justice,” he continued sourly. “No true fellowship. Vows in darkness, that’s all, valid until the first time someone goes hungry or needs a few coins. Why do you think I’ve raised you to wink at the Secret Peace? We’re like a sick dog that gnaws its own entrails, the Right People are. But you’vegot a chance to live in real trust and fellowship, to be thieves as the gods intended, scourging the swells and living true to yourselves. I’ll be damned before I’ll let you forget what a gift you’ve been given in one another.”
No smart remark ever made could stand before the gale of this sort of chastisement. Locke noted that he wasn’t the only one with a sudden overwhelming compulsion to stare at the floor.
“And so, I need to apologize for my own failure.” Chains drew a folded letter from his coat. “For allowing us to reach this pretty state of affairs, falling out with one another and forgetting ourselves. It’s a bad time for all of you. You’re confused bundles of nerves and passion, cooped up down here where you can do maximum damage to your mutual regard. You’ve certainly been disagreeable company for me. I’ve decided I need a vacation.”
“Well then,” said Jean, “where will you be going?”
“Going? Drinking, I suppose. Perhaps I’ll go see old Maranzalla. And I’ve a mind to hunt down some chamber music. But forgive me if I’ve been unclear. I require a vacation from all of you, but I’m not leaving Camorr. You five will be making a journey to Espara. I’ve arranged work there to keep you busy for several months.”
“Espara?” said Locke.
“Yes. Isn’t it exciting?” The room was quiet. “I thought that might be your response. Look, I tucked a pin into my jacket for this very moment.”
Chains drew a silver pin from one of his lapels and tossed it into the air. It hit the floor with the faintest chiming clatter.
“One of those expressions I’ve always wanted to put to the test,” said Chains. “But seriously, you’re out. All of you. Evicted. There’s a wagon caravan leaving from the Cenza Gate on Duke’s Day. You’ve got two days to make yourselves part of it. After that, it’s a week and a half to Espara.”
“But,” said Calo, “what if we don’t want to go to bloody Espara?”
“Then leave, and don’t come back to this temple,” said Chains. “Forfeit everything. In fact, leave Camorr. I won’t want to see you again, anywhere.”
“What’s in Espara that’s so important?” said Sabetha.
“Your partnership. It’s past time it was put to a real test, far beyond my reach. Take all your years of training and make something of them. False-face together, rely upon one another, and come back alive. Prove that we haven’t been wasting our time down here. Prove it to me … and prove it to yourselves.”
Chains held up the folded letter.
“You’re going to Espara to enjoy a career on the stage.”
4
“AFTER MY soldiering ended,” continued Chains, “and before I came back to Camorr, I indulged in several vices, not the least of which was acting. I fell in with a troupe in Espara run by the single unluckiest thick-skulled son of a bitch that ever crawled out of a womb. Jasmer Moncraine. I saved his life by design and he saved mine by accident. We’ve kept in touch across the years.”
“Oh gods,” said Sabetha, “you’re sending us in payment of a debt!”
“No, no. Jasmer and I are square. The favor is mutual. I need the five of you occupied elsewhere. Jasmer has desperate need of players, and an equally desperate need to avoid paying them.”
“So it isquestionable circumstances, then.”
“Oh, never doubt. I get the impression from his letters that he’s one mistake away from being chained up for debt. I’d appreciate you preventing that. He wants to do Lucarno’s Republic of Thieves. Your story will be that you’re a band of up-and-coming thespians from Camorr; I sent a letter ahead of you telling him how to play the angles right. The rest is entirely up to you.”
“Do you have a copy of the letter for us?” said Locke.
“Nah.”
“Well, then, what should we do about—”
Chains tossed a jingling bag at Locke’s head. Locke barely managed to pluck it out of the air before it struck his nose.
“Oh, look, a bag of money. That’s all the help you’ll be getting from me, my boy.”
“But … aliases, travel arrangements—”
“Your problem, not mine.”
“We don’t know anything about the stage!”
“You know about costumes, makeup, elocution, and deportment. Everything else, you can learn once you get there.”
“But—”
“Look,” said Chains. “I don’t want to spend the rest of the day interrupting your questions, so I’m going to temporarily forget how to make words come out of my mouth. I’ll be nursing a chilled bottle of Vadran white over at the Tumblehome until further notice. Remember the caravan. Two days. You can be part of it, or you can leave the Gentlemen Bastards. Your time is henceforth your own.”
He left the kitchen in a state of extreme self-satisfaction. A few moments later, Locke heard the creak and slam of the burrow’s concealed river-side exit. Locke and his cohorts traded a sincere set of bewildered looks.
“Well, this is a fist-fuck and a flaming oil bath,” said Calo.
“Is there anyone here,” said Locke quietly, “who’d rather leave the gang than go to Espara?”
“There’d better notbe,” said Galdo.
“The billiard ball’s right for once,” said Calo. “It’s not as though I’m enthusiastic about this, but anyone who wants to leave can do it headfirst off the temple roof.”
“Good,” said Locke. “Then we need to talk. Get some ink and parchment.”
“Count the money,” said Sabetha.
“I’ll fetch some wine,” said Jean. “Strong wine.”
5
THEY WERE far from comfortable together. The Sanzas sat on opposite sides of the table, and Sabetha leaned against a chair pushed away from everyone else. Yet they all seemed to grasp the urgency of their situation; over the course of two bottles of Verrari lemon wine they hashed out mostly civil arguments and scratched up lists of supplies and responsibilities.
“Right, then,” said Locke when his glass was empty and his note-pages full. “Sabetha will try to scare up any portions of The Republic of Thievesfrom the shops and scribes, so we can all have a look at it on the road.”
“I’ve got some other Lucarno plays I’ll pack,” said Jean. “And some Mercallor Mentezzo dross I’m not so fond of, but we should all study them and pick up some lines.”
“Jean and I will find a wagon and get us in with a caravan master,” said Locke. He passed one of his lists over to Galdo. “The Sanzas will pack the common goods and supplies.”
“We need aliases,” said Sabetha. “We can smooth out our stories on the way, but we should have our game names ready to use.”
“Who do you want to be, then?” said Jean.
“Hmmmm. Call me … Verena. Verena Gallante.”
“Lucaza,” said Locke. “I’ll be Lucaza … de Barra.”
“Must you?” said Sabetha.
“Must I what?”
“You always have to choose an alias that starts with ‘L,’ and Jean nearly always goes for a ‘J.’ ”
“Keeps things simple,” said Jean. “And now, just because you’ve said that, I’ll be … Jovanno. Hell, Locke and I can be first cousins. I’ll be Jovanno de Barra.”
“False names are fun,” said Calo. “Call me Beefwit Smallcock.”
“These are aliases, not biographical sketches,” said Galdo.
“Fine then,” said Calo. “Lend me a hand. There’s a masculine form of Sabetha, isn’t there?”
“Sabazzo,” said Galdo, snapping his fingers.
“Yeah, Sabazzo. I’ll be Sabazzo.”
“Like hellyou will,” said Sabetha.
“Hey, I know,” said Galdo. “I’ll be Jean. You can call yourself Locke.”