Next, they rattled north to the Casta Gravina, the old citadel of Karthain, whose interior walls and gates had been knocked down years before to make more room for a government that didn’t have to fear anything so mundane as a hostile army at its doorstep. The plazas and gardens were so beautifully laid out that the fog might have been just one more decoration, artfully conjured and shaped by crews of overambitious groundskeepers.
“Magistrates’ Court,” said Nikoros, leading the way out of the carriage. “I know the place. If you want to make any money in my business, you’ll end up party or witness in your share of lawsuits.”
Locke and Jean followed him across a circular plaza, into the clammy silver mist that opened a few paces ahead of them and swallowed their carriage an equal distance behind. The fog echoed faintly with the sounds of the city coming to life—doors opening, horses and wheels clattering, people shouting to one another.
“Clerks’ office is just over here,” said Nikoros.
“OOF!” A woman came out of the fog to Locke’s left before he could react. She collided with Locke, steadied herself against him, and was then snatched away rather ignominiously by Jean.
“Gods above!” she cried. The voice was creaky, middle-aged, Karthani.
“It’s fine, Master Callas, it’s fine,” said Locke. He patted his purse and papers, verifying their undisturbed state. The collision might or might not be innocent, but the woman seemed to be no pickpocket.
“A thousand apologies. You startled us, madam,” said Jean, releasing the woman. She was a few inches shorter than Locke, broad and heavy, dressed in a dull but expensive fashion. Her gray-dusted brown hair was pinned up under an elegant four-cornered cap, and her face was lined with whatever cares had chased her through life. Locke prayed silently that they hadn’t just upset one of the very clerks they might want to suborn.
“It’s you who startled me, looming out of the fog like a pack of highwaymen!”
“I wouldn’t call it looming, madam. Some of us simply aren’t built for looming,” said Locke.
“You, perhaps not, but I could plant your big friend in the street to shade the roof of my house.” She readjusted her coat with a sharp tug and went on her way, scowling. “Good day, oafs.”
“Nikoros,” said Jean, “was that anyone important?”
“Never seen her before.”
“Well, let’s get inside before we trip over someone we can’t afford to offend,” said Locke.
The office of the clerks wasn’t particularly large, but it was comfortably appointed. The purgatory of quiet halls and empty chairs outside the clerical chambers looked like a decent place to fall asleep in. Capability Peralis, a round and attractive woman on the kinder side of forty, was scratching away at papers behind her desk when Locke, Jean, and Nikoros entered her chamber.
“I’m sorry,” she said, irritably tossing thick dark ringlets out of her eyes as she looked up. “No appointments before half ten. Where’s the hall secretary?”
“The secretary has been taken advantage of by my excessive natural and financial charms,” said Locke, who’d been charming to the tune of a month’s salary. “I’m sure you can sympathize.”
Locke settled smoothly into one of the chairs before Peralis’ desk, and Jean casually drew the door shut. Nikoros stood off to one side and pretended to admire the walls.
“I’ve no idea who you think you are, sir—”
“Last night,” said Locke, “a warrant was signed and sent out from this office, a warrant concerning Josten’s Comprehensive Accommodations.”
“If you’re Josten’s counsel, you know bloody well when Public Proceedings are held!”
“What I know,” said Locke, “is that some miracle caused the records for the payment of Josten’s ardent spirits license, which is perfectly sound, to be misplaced. I’d like that miracle reversed. I do understand that miracles are expensive.”
Sighing inwardly at the artlessness of this approach (there was no time to waste on subtlety), Locke swept a hand across the desktop, leaving a comet-like trail of gold coins.
“Is that meant to impress me?” said Peralis softly, fiercely. Oh, her version of Offended Honest Public Functionary deserved applause! “Attempted bribery of a civic official. You’ll shed your boldness when you’re chained to an interrogation cell wall.”
“Good gods, that’s lovely,” said Locke. “I’m really sorry that I simply don’t have time to play this game with you. That’s your annual salary right there on the desktop. I propose to give you six more payments just like it, one per week until this election is over. All I ask is that no further complications to Deep Roots party business be specially conjured by you or your staff. Nothing more.”
“Well,” she said, dropping her façade of outrage, “what if another benefactor is willing to provide additional funds in a contrary direction?”
“Notify us,” said Locke. “We’ll match anything you’re offered. I don’t even want you to take action against that other benefactor; merely refrain from taking action against us. Make up excuses. Imply that you’re under scrutiny, that further accommodations are temporarily impossible. Surely you can see it’s a sweet arrangement where you’re concerned.”
“It’s not without its temptations,” she mused.
“Quit being coy. Just say yes and earn a fortune.”
“Well, then—yes.”
“I have your word this warrant concerning Josten is a misunderstanding, and the record in question is going to be found, by the happiest happenstance, as soon as I leave this office?”
“You may safely consider the matter settled.”
“Good. If it remains settled next week, I’ll call again with more decorations for your desk. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a tight schedule of pushing boulders up hills.”
“You know,” said Nikoros quietly as they left the Second Clerk’s office, “not to criticize, but if no particular tact is required in these matters, I’ve a hundred Deep Roots men and women who can make these calls in their official capacities—”
“No,” said Locke. “When it comes to just laying out money, leave our official friends out of it. Save them for areas in which their authority is needed. There’s no point in blunting our tools in the wrong applications.”
“Well,” said Nikoros, “you’re damned impossible to argue with, Master Lazari.”
“Not impossible,” said Jean placidly. “About as intractable as a tortoise with its ass on fire, though.”
“If we’re going to catch up to the opposition,” said Locke, “we’ve got to step boldly at every—”
“There he is! There’s the man who stole my purse!” cried a familiar voice as Locke emerged once again onto the fog-shrouded plaza.
The middle-aged woman stood there, flanked by two men in pale blue coats reminiscent of the one worn by Vidalos. These men wore studded leather vests beneath them, however, and had clubs hanging from their belts.
Gods. So it hadn’t been an innocent collision after all.
“Your pardon, sir,” said one of the guards, stepping forward, “but I must ask to see your pockets.”
“A black silk purse,” said the woman, “with the initials ‘G.B.’ in red in one of the corners. Seven ducats in it. Or at least there were!”
Locke patted himself down hurriedly. Yes, there wasa slender new weight in the lower left inside pocket of his rather excellent new coat. He hadn’t noticed the addition; he’d been so satisfied with verifying that nothing had been removed. Stupid, clumsy, amateurish—
“I say,” he sputtered, “this is an intolerable accusation! How dare you, madam, how dare you! And how dare you, sir, suggest that a gentleman might be turned upside-down and shaken like a common cutpurse!”
“Be reasonable, sir,” said the guard. “The lady has a precise description of what was taken, and surely proving that you don’t have it is worth a moment of your time—”
“It is a liberty beyond comprehension! This is Karthain, not the lawless wilds!” Into his furious gesticulations, Locke worked a number of quick hand signals for Jean’s benefit. “I take great … I take the most … I take take take … arrrrrggggggggh!”