Red Seas Under Red Skies (11 page)

“To your health,” said Requin. “It needs all the assistance it can get.”

Locke took a long sip of the warm wine and allowed himself a few seconds of contemplation. He marveled at the way the taste of apricots transmuted to the sharper flavor of slightly tart apple in midswallow. That sip had been worth twenty volani, if his knowledge of the liquor market was still accurate. He gave a genuinely appreciative nod to Requin, who waved a hand nonchalantly.

“It cannot have escaped your attention, Master Kosta, that my vault is the most secure in Tal Verrar—the single most redundantly protected space in the entire city, in fact, not excepting the private chambers of the archon himself.” Requin tugged at the skintight leather of his right glove with the fingers of his left hand. “Or that it is encased within a structure of pristine Elderglass, and accessible only through several layers of metallurgical and clockwork artifice that are, if I may be permitted to stroke my own breechclout, peerless. Or that half the Priori council regards it so highly that they entrust much of their personal fortunes to it.”

“Of course,” said Locke. “I congratulate you on a very flattering clientele. But your vault doors are guarded by gears, and gears are shaped by men. What one man locks another will sooner or later unlock.”

“I say again, impossible.”

“And I correct you again.
Difficult
. ‘Difficult' and ‘impossible' are cousins often mistaken for one another, with very little in common.”

“You have more chance of giving birth to a live hippopotamus,” said Requin, “than the best thief alive has of making it past the cordon drawn around my vault. But this is silly—we could sit here all night contrasting cock-lengths. I say mine is five feet long, you say yours is six, and shoots fire upon command. Let's hurry back to significant conversation. You admit that cheating the mechanisms of my games is out of the question. My vault is the most secure of all mechanisms; am
I
therefore the flesh and blood you were presuming to fool?”

“It's possible this conversation represents me giving up that hope.”

“What does cheating my guests have to do with plotting entry into my vault?”

“Originally,” said Locke, “we gamed merely to blend in and cover our observance of your operations. Time passed and we made no progress. The cheating was a lark to make the games more interesting.”

“My house bores you?”

“Jerome and I are thieves. We've been sharping cards and lifting goods east and west, here to Camorr and back again, for years. Spinning carousels with the well-heeled is only amusing for so long, and we weren't getting far with our job, so we had to stay amused somehow.”

“Job. Yes, you said you were hired to come here. Elaborate.”

“My partner and I were sent here as the point men of something very elaborate.
Someone
out there wants your vault emptied. Not merely penetrated, but pillaged. Plucked and left behind like an empty honeycomb.”

“Someone?”

“Someone. I haven't the faintest notion who; Jerome and I are dealt with through fronts. All of our efforts to penetrate them have been in vain. Our employer is as anonymous to us now as he was two years ago.”

“Do you frequently work for anonymous employers, Master Kosta?”

“Only the ones that pay me large piles of good, cold metal. And I can assure you—this one has been paying us very well.”

Requin sat down behind his desk, removed his optics, and rubbed his eyes with his gloved hands. “What's this new game, Master Kosta? Why favor me with all of this?”

“I tire of our employer. I tire of Jerome's company. I find Tal Verrar much to my taste, and I wish to arrange a new situation for myself.”

“You wish to turn your coat?”

“If you must put it that way, yes.”

“What do you suggest I have to gain from this?”

“First, a means to work against my current employer. Jerome and I aren't the only agents set against you. Our job is the vault, and nothing else. All the information we gather on your operations is being passed to someone else. They're waiting for us to come up with a means to crack your money-box, and then they've got further plans for you.”

“Go on.”

“The other benefit would be mutual. I want a job. I'm tired of running from city to city chasing after work. I want to settle in Tal Verrar, find a home, maybe a woman. After I help you deal with my current employer, I want to work for you, here.”

“As an entertainer, perhaps?”

“You need a floor boss, Requin. Tell me truly, are you as complacent about your security as you were before I came up your stairs? I know how to cheat every single game that
can
be cheated here, and if I weren't sharper than your attendants I'd already be dead. Who better to keep your guests playing fairly?”

“Your request is…logical. Your willingness to shrug off your employer isn't. Don't you fear their retribution?”

“Not if I can help you put us both beyond it. Identification is the problem. Once identified, any man or woman in the world can be dealt with. You have every gang in Tal Verrar under your thumb, and you have the ear of the Priori. Surely you could make the arrangements if we could come up with names.”

“And your partner, Master de Ferra?”

“We've worked well together,” said Locke. “But we quarreled, not long ago, over an intensely personal matter. He believes his insult is forgiven; I assure you it is anything but. I want to be quits with him when our current employer is dealt with. I want him to know before he dies that I've had the best of him. If possible, I'd like to kill him myself. That and the job are my only requests.”

“Mmm. What do you think of all this, Selendri?”

“Some mysteries are better off with their throats slit,” she whispered.

“You might fear that I'm trying to displace you,” said Locke. “I assure you, when I said floor boss I meant floor boss. I don't want your job.”

“And you could never
have
it, Master Kosta, even if you did want it.” Requin ran his fingers down Selendri's right forearm and squeezed her undamaged hand. “I admire your boldness only to a point.”

“Forgive me, both of you. I had no intention of presuming too much. Selendri, for what it's worth, I agree with you. In your position, getting rid of me might seem like wisdom. Mysteries
are
dangerous to people in our profession. I am no longer pleased with the mystery of my employment. I want a more predictable life. What I ask and what I offer are straightforward.”

“And in return,” said Requin, “I receive possible insight into an alleged threat against a vault I have enhanced by my own design to be impenetrable.”

“A few minutes ago, you expressed the same confidence concerning your attendants and their ability to spot cardsharps.”

“Have you penetrated my vault security as thoroughly as you say you've danced around my attendants, Master Kosta? Have you penetrated it at all?”

“All I need is time,” said Locke. “Give it to me and a way will make itself plain, sooner or later. I'm not giving up because it's too hard; I'm giving up because it pleases me. But don't just take my word on my sincerity; look into the activities of Jerome and myself. Make inquiries about everything we've been doing in your city for the past two years. We have made some progress that might open your eyes.”

“I shall,” said Requin. “And in the meantime, what am I to do with you?”

“Nothing extraordinary,” said Locke. “Make your inquiries. Keep your eyes on Jerome and myself. Continue to let us play at your spire—I promise to play more fairly, at least for the coming few days. Allow me to think on my plans and gather whatever information I can about my anonymous employer.”

“Let you walk out of here, unscathed? Why not hold you somewhere secure, while I exercise my curiosity about your background?”

“If you take me seriously enough to consider any part of my offer,” said Locke, “then you must take the possible threat of my employer seriously as well. Any tip-off to them that I've been compromised, and Jerome and I might be cast loose. So much for your opportunity.”

“So much for your usefulness, you mean. I am to take a great deal on faith, from a man offering to betray and kill his business partner.”

“You hold my purse, as surely as your desk held my hand. All the coin I have in Tal Verrar, I keep here with your Sinspire. You may look for my name at any countinghouse in the city, and you will not find it. I give you that leverage over me, willingly.”

“A man with a grudge, a genuine grudge, might piss on all the white iron in the world for one chance at his real target, Master Kosta. I have been that target too many times to forget this.”

“I am
not
crass,” said Locke, taking back one of his decks of cards from Requin's desktop. He shuffled it a few times without looking at it. “Jerome insulted me without good cause. Pay me well and treat me well, and I will never give you any reason for displeasure.”

Locke whisked the top card off his desk, flipped it, and set it down faceup beside the remnants of Requin's dinner. It was the Master of Spires.

“I deliberately choose to throw in with you, if you'll have me. Place a bet, Master Requin. The odds are favorable.”

Requin pulled his optics out of his coat pocket and slipped them back on. He seemed to brood over the card; nothing was said by anyone for some time. Locke sipped quietly from his glass of wine, which had turned pale blue and now tasted of juniper.

“Why,” said Requin at last, “all other considerations aside, should I allow you to violate the cardinal rule of my spire on your own initiative and suffer nothing in exchange?”

“Only because I imagine that cheaters are ordinarily discovered by your attendants while other guests are watching,” said Locke, attempting to sound as sincere and contrite as possible. “Nobody knows about my confession, outside this office. Selendri didn't even tell your attendants why they were hauling me up here.”

Requin sighed, then drew a gold solari from within his scarlet coat and set it down atop Locke's Master of Spires.

“I shall hold fast with a small wager for now,” said Requin. “Do anything unusual or alarming, and you will not survive long enough to reconsider. At the slightest hint that anything you've told me has been a lie, I will have molten glass poured down your throat.”

“Uh…that seems fair.”

“How much money do you currently have on the ledger here?”

“Just over three thousand solari.”

“Two thousand of that is no longer yours. It will remain on the ledger so Master de Ferra doesn't get suspicious, but I'm going to issue instructions that it is not to be released to you. Consider it a reminder that my rules are not to be broken on anyone's recognition but my own.”

“Ouch. I suppose I should be grateful. I mean, I am. Thank you.”

“You walk on eggshells with me, Master Kosta. Step delicately.”

“Then I may go? And I may think of myself as in your service?”

“You may go. And you may consider yourself on my
sufferance
. We will speak again when I know more about your recent past. Selendri will accompany you back down to the first floor. Get out of my sight.”

With an air of faint disappointment, Selendri folded the brass fingers of her artificial hand up, until it was whole once again and the blades were hidden. She gestured toward the stairs with that hand, and with the look in her good eye she told him precisely how much patience she had to spare for him if Requin's should start to wane.

4

JEAN TANNEN
sat reading in a private booth at the Gilded Cloister, a club on the second tier of the Savrola, just a few blocks down from the Villa Candessa. The Cloister was a labyrinth of dark wood enclosures, well padded with leather and quilting, for the benefit of diners wishing an unusual degree of solitude. The waitstaff, in their leather aprons and drooping red caps, were forbidden to speak, answering all customer requests with either a nod or a shake of the head.

Jean's dinner, smoked rock eel in caramel brandy sauce, lay chopped into fragments and scattered like debris from a battle. He was making his way slowly through dessert, a cluster of marzipan dragonflies with crystallized sugar wings that glimmered by the steady glow of the booth's candles. He was absorbed in a leather-bound copy of Lucarno's
Tragedy of the Ten Honest Turncoats
, and he didn't notice Locke until the smaller man was already seated across from him in the booth.

“Leocanto! You gave me a start.”

“Jerome.” They both spoke in a near whisper. “You really were nervous, weren't you? Nose buried in a book to keep you from going mad. Some things never change.”

“I wasn't nervous. I was merely reasonably concerned.”

“You needn't have been.”

“Is it done, then? Am I successfully betrayed?”

“Quite betrayed. Absolutely sold out. A dead man walking.”

“Wonderful! And his attitude?”

“Guarded. Ideal, I'd say. Had he been too enthusiastic, I would be worried. And had he not been enthusiastic at all, well…” Locke mimicked shoving a knife into his chest and wiggling it several times. “Is this smoked eel?”

“Help yourself. It's stuffed with apricots and soft yellow onions. Not entirely to my taste.”

Locke took up Jean's fork and helped himself to a few bites of the eel; he was more partial to the stuffing than Jean had been. “We're going to lose two-thirds of my account, it seems,” he said after making some progress on the dish. “A tax on cheating to remind me not to presume too much on Requin's patience.”

“Well, it's not as though we expected to get out of the city with the money in those accounts. Might've been nice to have it for a few more weeks, at least.”