“The Boulidazi-Moncraine company,” said the baron. “It does have a certain … weight. A certain noble ring to it.”
“Help me have a season or two in the lights,” said Sabetha. “Then bring the company touring to Camorr. We’ll introduce you to Grandfather, all the counts and countesses, the duke …”
“They could play all the Five Towers in turn,” said Locke. “The rooftop gardens. Verena and I would have to disappear as actors, of course, but we’d be delighted to attend the shows as your hosts.”
“Isn’t that worth temporary inconvenience?” said Sabetha with a smile that could have coaxed steam out of ice.
“I will require … a moment to reflect,” said Boulidazi.
“Shall we leave you alone?” said Sabetha, rising partway from her chair.
“Yes, for but a moment. Tymon will fetch you anything you desire in the reception hall.”
Locke rose as well, but Boulidazi held up a hand.
“Not you, Lucaza, if you please. I’d appreciate a word.”
Locke sank back into his chair, stole a brief glance at Sabetha, and caught the slightest hint of a nod from her. She withdrew the way she and Locke had come.
“Lucaza,” said the baron, leaning forward and lowering his voice, “I hope that I might be forgiven this liberty; I know that Camorri are not to be trifled with in matters touching family honor, and I mean no offense.”
“Truly, Gennaro, we’ve asked for a favor tomorrow in exchange for promises that will take months or years to fully play out. I doubt you could find two people in Espara more difficult to offend than Verena or myself at this moment.”
“You’re both so well spoken,” said Boulidazi. “I can see why you’d want to dabble on the stage. But now let me have your confidence. Your cousin … has an aspect that blossomsupon consideration. When she entered this room she was merely pretty, but after watching her, listening to her … I feel as though the air has been taken straight out of my lungs.”
Locke felt as though the air had been taken straight out of hislungs.
“Tell me, please,” said Boulidazi, clearly noticing the change in Locke’s demeanor as Locke fought for self-control. “Does she really love the theater? And bladework?”
“She, uh, lives for them,” said Locke.
“Are you betrothed to her?”
Locke was overwhelmed by a flurry of immediate reactions; the urge to stand up, say yes, slap Boulidazi across the face, grab him by his hair and dig wide furrows in the felt of his billiards table using his teeth … Then came the secondary calculations like a bucket of cold water: Boulidazi would kill him, Sabetha would gladly help, the intrusion of his personal jealousy into his professional character would doom the Gentlemen Bastards to utter failure.
“No,” he said, almost calmly, “no, I’ve been meant for someone else … since I was barely old enough to walk. We’ll wed when she comes of age.”
“And Verena?” said Boulidazi.
(Another less than helpful flash from Locke’s imagination, protesting what his higher reasoning knew to be unavoidable. Jean Tannen smashing in through a back door, hoisting Boulidazi over his head, slamming him down across the billiards table … Why were all his fantasies so calamitous for that table, which had done him no injury? And gods damn it anyway, it was never going to happen!)
“Unattached,” said Locke, hating the word even as he brought it forth. “Father and Grandfather have always felt that Verena … is a fruit best left hanging, uh, until they know how she might be most advantageously … plucked.”
“Thank you,” said the baron. “Thank you! That’s … welcome news. I hope you won’t think of me as, as grasping beyond my station, Lucaza. I come from a long and honorable line. I hold several estates with secure incomes. I’ve much to offer by way of … of a match.”
“I’m sure you do,” said Locke slowly. “Were she pleased, and with Count Blackspear’s consent.”
“Yes, yes. With the family’s blessing … and were she pleased.” Boulidazi ran a hand through his hair and made nervous, meaningless adjustments to his white silk neck-cloth. “I’ll do it, Lucaza. I’ll forgive Moncraine, and trust you to keep him under my thumb. I’ll provide whatever you need to settle his debts and tame his troupe. All I ask …”
“Yes?”
“Help me,” said Boulidazi. “Help me show Verena my quality. My honorable intentions. Teach me how I might better please her. Advise her favorably on my behalf.”
“If Moncraine goes free …”
“He will,” said Boulidazi. “He won’t be at the Weeping Tower a moment longer than he has to be.”
“Then I am your man,” said Locke softly, fighting back further visions of Gennaro Boulidazi spitting up fragments of his billiards table. “I am for you,my friend.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE FIVE-YEAR GAME: COUNTERMOVE
1
“WHAT THE HELL’S the matter with us, Jean?” Locke rubbed his eyes and noticed certain discomforts in his gut and around his ankles, in that order. “She’s rolled us up like a couple of old tents. And what the fuck are these things on my legs?”
Just above his feet, his thin, pale ankles were encircled by bands of iron. The manacles were loose enough to let blood flow, but weighed about five pounds apiece.
“I imagine they’re to discourage us from swimming,” said Jean. “Aren’t they thoughtful? They match your eyes.”
“The bars across the windows aren’t enough, eh? Gods above, my stomach feels like it’s trying to eat the rest of me.”
Locke made a more thorough examination of their surroundings. Cushions, shelves, silks, and lanterns—the cabin was fit for the duke of Camorr. There was even a little rack of books and scrolls next to Jean.
“Look what she left sitting out for us,” said Jean. He tossed Locke the leather-bound book he’d been reading. It was an aged quarto with gold leaf alchemically embossed into three lines on the cover:
THE REPUBLIC OF THIEVES
A TRUE AND TRAGIC HISTORY
CAELLIUS LUCARNO
“Ohhh,” said Locke softly, setting the book aside. “That beauty has a bitch streak as wide as ten rivers.”
“How’d she drug you?” said Jean.
“Quite embarrassingly.”
There was a knock at the cabin door. It opened a moment later, and down the steps came a spry, long-legged fellow with the tan of many active years sunk into his lean features.
“Hello, boys,” said the stranger. He had a faint Verrari accent. “Welcome aboard the Volantyne’s Resolve. Solus Volantyne, at your service. And I do mean that! You boys are our first and only business on this trip.”
“Whatever you’re being paid,” said Locke, “we can double it if you turn this ship around right now.”
“Our mutual friend told me that was probably the first thing you’d say, Master Lazari.”
Locke cracked his knuckles and glared. He had to give Sabetha credit for at least preserving their false identities, but he didn’t wantto have any kind thoughts toward her at the moment.
“I’m inclined to agree with her suggestion,” continued Volantyne, “that I’m rather more likely to enjoy success and fair compensation in partnership with the woman who’s still at liberty, rather than the two men she brought to me in chains.”
“We can triple her payment,” said Locke.
“A man who’d trade a sure fortune for the promises of an angry prisoner is far too stupid to be the captain of his own ship,” said Volantyne.
“Well, hells,” said Locke. “If you won’t turn coat, can you at least get me some ship’s biscuit or something?”
“Our mutual friend said that food would be the second thing on your mind.” Volantyne folded his arms and smiled. “But we’re not eating ship’s biscuit on this leg of the trip. We’re eating fresh-baked pepper bread, and goose stuffed with honey-glazed olives, and boiled lake frogs in brandy and cream.”