“You’re not an actress?” said Jean.
“Stage-mistress,” said Jenora. “Costumes, scenery, props. If it doesn’t walk around on its own legs, it’s my business.”
“And assuming,” said Locke, “that a miracle occurred, and the gods themselves transported Moncraine out of gaol, would we have work for the summer?”
“We’ve lost some rehearsal time,” said Sylvanus, easing himself onto his back with a sigh.
“That sounds like a hint at a yes,” said Locke.
“The real problem is money,” said Mistress Gloriano. “I invested in Moncraine two years ago for my niece’s sake, and he’s still down to me for twelve royals. And I’m the leasttroublesome of those he’s bound to—”
“Money troubles can be finessed,” said Locke.
“There’s no credit to be had,” said Alondo. “None of us can buy so much as a grain of rice on a promise. We can find scut-work to stay fed, or even do morality plays in the streets, but the company has no funds … for scribing, for costumes, masks, lights—”
“And we have no venue, nor transport to it,” said Jenora. “There’s two rooms of old props and clothes we can work with, all stored here, but we’ll make a laughingstock of ourselves if we’re seen hauling it around on foot.”
“More of a laughingstock,” muttered Alondo.
“We have a wagon,” said Locke. “Give us a moment.” He pulled Jean and Sabetha away from the tattered remnants of the Moncraine Company.
“That’s a lot of our money sewn up in the wagon and horses,” said Jean.
“I know,” said Locke. “What if we sold two horses and kept the other pair?”
“Taking care of them is going to use up more time and money we hadn’t planned on spending,” said Sabetha.
“Yeah,” said Locke, “but if we can’t get this troupe back to work, we might as well turn around and roll straight back to Camorr. If that’s the plan, I’m sure as hell going to develop a speech impediment when we explain things to Chains.”
“Hardly our fault Moncraine punched a swell,” said Jean.
“Chains will expect more from us than a quick sniff around before we give up,” said Sabetha. “We were sent here expresslyto restore Moncraine’s fortunes. We’ve got to pry him out of this mess somehow.”
“And what if we can’t?” said Jean softly.
“Then at least we tried,” said Locke. “Sabetha’s right. It’s one thing to go home with our options exhausted; it’s another to fold at the first sign of trouble.”
“We’ll need more money,” said Sabetha. “I don’t see much chance of any thoughtful schemes just yet, but pockets are pockets and purses are purses. If we—”
“No,” said Locke. “We can’t be thieves, remember? We’ve got more trouble than we bargained for just pretending to be actors.”
The expression on Sabetha’s face was so dangerous that Locke became aware of it, like the heat from an oil lamp, before he even turned to see it. He put his hands up, palms out.
“Sabetha, I know what you’re thinking .… I’ve been dwelling on what you said, believe me. I can’t insist that you follow my orders. But I am asking you to consider my points, and let me convince you.”
Her expression softened. “Maybe there’s hope for you after all,” she said. “So make your case.”
“We don’t knowthis place,” said Locke. “We don’t know the constables, the gangs, or the hiding places. What would we think of some asshole from the outlands trying to come it the slick coat-teaser back in Camorr? We’d laugh at the yokel and watch him hang. Well, in Espara we’rethe yokels. And if we make a mistake, there’s no Secret Peace to fall back on.
“It’s not that we might not need to clutch and tease a bit,” he continued. “Just not yet. Not until we’ve learned our way around.”
“I see your point,” she said. “In fact, I’m sure you’re right. Maybe I’m a little too used to the conveniences of home.”
She put out her hand, and Locke, after a moment, smiled and shook it firmly.
“Who the hell are you people,” said Jean, “and where did you get those excellent Locke and Sabetha disguises?”
“Quit gaping, Jean. Let’s move fast,” said Sabetha sweetly. “We need horses sold, horses stabled, Moncraine freed, money changed, and rooms. And that’s just off the top of my head.”
“Mistress Gloriano,” Locke yelled, turning back toward her, “we don’t mean to put you to any trouble, but we need rooms in a hurry so we can unload our wagon.”
“You’re really staying, then?”
“Of course,” said Locke. “And keep a tab separate from the rest of the company. We’ll pay actual money.”
For a few days at least, he thought.
“Well,” said Mistress Gloriano, as though coming out of a trance. “I’ve no shortage of rooms.”
“Giacomo,” shouted Sabetha, “Castellano!”
Calo and Galdo came at a near-run and skidded to a halt in front of Sylvanus.
“These are the Asino brothers,” said Sabetha. “You two, find out where Mistress Gloriano’s putting us, and get our things heaved out of the wagon as quick as you can.”
“What, first we’re the bloody wagon guards, now we’re fuckin’ stevedores?” said Calo. “You want a foot massage and some chilled wine while you watch us work?”
“We’ve all got jobs,” said Sabetha, “and if you touch my feet I’ll cut your ears off. Move!”
The next fifteen minutes were a blur of activity for everyone except Sylvanus, for whom they were merely a blur. Jean took a moment to pitch a little tent over the prostrate actor using the wagon tarp and some sticks, and then the Gentlemen Bastards heaved their possessions into two rooms selected by Mistress Gloriano. These were fine examples of how middle age, while charming in some humans, is less endearing in wood-panel construction and unpreserved wall tapestries. The twins claimed one room, Locke and Jean the other, and Sabetha accepted Jenora’s invitation to share her room down the corridor.
Once the wagon was emptied, Jean selected the less healthy pair of horses and with Jenora’s aid got them stabled. Alondo claimed to have a cousin working as a hostler near the Jalaan Gate, so Jean enlisted the young actor to help walk the best two horses back to the caravan staging area for resale.
“Now,” Locke said to Mistress Gloriano, “we need Jasmer back. For that I think we’ll need a solicitor.”
“I suppose it can’t be helped,” she said. “I’ve given Jasmer so much slack these past few years in the hope my investment might find its way home again.”
“Let him have a bit more,” said Locke. “We’re here now, for what it’s worth. And we needa Moncraine play. There’s no work for us back home.”
“I had wondered at the nature of your devotion. Jasmer’s a Syresti, you know. Capricious and moody. Barely reliable! Not an even-tempered Okanti like myself or Jenora. Let me tell you, boy, if I knew then what a hole I’d be throwing my money down—”
“Yes, I’m sure you’re quite right,” said Locke in a placating tone of voice. “But a solicitor … ?”
“There is a fellow,” said Mistress Gloriano, “back up the avenue the way you came. Stay-Awake Salvard, he’s called, on account of his peculiar hours. He’s done papers for me. I wouldn’t go so far as to accuse him of being a gentleman. Works for a lot of … colorful sorts.”
“That’s good,” said Locke. “That’s great. We’re colorful sorts.”
2
“ETIENNE DELANCARRE Domingo Salvard,” said Sabetha, reading out loud from the lantern-lit plaque beside the building’s street entrance. “Master solicitor, bonded law-scribe, authorized notary, executor of wills and estates, Vadran translator and transcriber. Fortunes assured, justice delivered, enemies confounded. Reasonable rates.”