The Gentleman Bastard Series 3-Book Bundle: The Lies of Locke Lamora, Red Seas Under Red Skies, The Republic of Thieves (117 page)

Locke opened his mouth to say something ill-advised, but Caldris went on.

“Now, unrack the oars. Slide ’em in the oarlocks. Kosta, you’re starboard oar. De
Ferra, you’re larboard.” Caldris unlashed the dinghy from the
iron rings, threw the ropes into the bottom of the boat, and hopped down into it,
landing just before the mast. He settled down onto his backside and grinned as the
boat swayed. “I’ve locked the rudder tight for now. You two will do all our steering,
gods help us.

“De Ferra, push us off from the quay. That’s right. Nice and easy. Can’t fly sails
straight from the dockside; got to get some sea-room first. Plus there’s no breeze
behind these walls for us to use anyway. Row gently. Pay attention as I move around … look
how I’m making us wobble. Don’t like that, do you? You’re turning green, Kosta.”

“Hardly,” muttered Locke.

“This is important. What I’m trying to tell you about now is called
trim
. Weight needs to be distributed sensible in a boat or a ship. I move to starboard,
we heel over on Kosta’s side. I move to larboard, we heel over even worse on de Ferra’s
side. Can’t have that. That’s why stowing cargo proper is so important on a ship.
Gotta have balance fore and aft, starboard and larboard. Can’t have the bow in the
air or the stern higher than the mast. Looks silly, then you sink and die. That’s
basically what I mean when I says ‘trim.’ Now, time to learn how to row.”

“We already know how to—”

“I don’t care what you think you know, Kosta. Until further notice, we’re gonna presume
that you’re too dumb to count to one.”

Locke would later swear that they must have spent two or three hours rowing around
in circles on that artificial bay, with Caldris crying out, “Hard a-larboard! Back
water! Hard a-starboard!” and a dozen other commands, seemingly at random. The sailing
master constantly shifted his weight, left and right, forward and center, to force
them to fight for stability. To make things even more interesting, there was an obvious
difference between the power of Jean’s strokes and the power of Locke’s, and they
had to concentrate to avoid constantly turning to starboard. They were at it so long
that Locke started in surprise when Caldris finally called for a halt to their labor.

“ ’Vast rowing, you fuckin’ toddlers.” Caldris stretched and yawned. The sun was approaching
the center of the sky. Locke’s arms felt wrung out, his tunic was soaked through with
sweat, and he fervently wished that he’d had less coffee and more actual food for
breakfast. “Better than you was two hours ago, I’ll give you that. That and not much
else. You gotta know your starboard and larboard, fore and aft, boats and oars, like
you know the width of your own cocks. Ain’t no such thing as a calm or convenient
emergency out on the blue.”

The sailing master produced lunch from a leather sack at the bow of the
dinghy, and they floated relaxingly in the middle of the enclosed square bay while
they ate. The men shared black bread and hard cheese, while the kitten was let out
to make quick work of a pat of butter in a stone crock. The skin that Caldris passed
around was full of “pinkwater,” warm rainwater mixed with just enough cheap red wine
to partly conceal its stale, leathery taste. Caldris took only a few sips, but the
two thieves rapidly finished it off.

“So, our ship is waiting for us somewhere around here,” said Locke when his thirst
was temporarily beaten down, “but where are we going to get a crew?”

“A fine question, Kosta. I wish I knew the answer. The archon said the matter is being
attended to, that’s all.”

“I suspected you’d say something like that.”

“No sense in dwelling on what’s beyond our power at the moment,” said Caldris. The
sailing master lifted the kitten, who was still licking her greasy nose and paws,
and stuck her back into the basket with surprising tenderness. “So, you’ve done some
rowing. I’ll get those men up top to open the gate, take the rudder, and we’re gonna
head out and see if we can catch enough breeze to hoist some canvas. You two have
any money in the things you left ashore?”

“Some,” said Locke. “Maybe twenty volani. Why?”

“Then I’ll bet you twenty volani that you two are gonna capsize us at least once before
the sun goes down.”

“I thought you were here to teach us how to do things the right way?”

“I am. And I damn well will! It’s just that I know first-time sailors too well. Make
the bet and the money’s as good as mine. Hell, I’ll pay up a full solari against your
twenty silvers if I’m wrong.”

“I’m in,” said Locke. “Jerome?”

“We’ve got the kitten and a blood blessing on our side,” said Jean. “Underestimate
us at your peril, sailing master.”

IT HAD been refreshing, at first, to work for a while in completely soaked tunic and
breeches. After they’d righted the dinghy and rescued the kitten, of course.

But now the sun was lowering in the west, casting a golden halo around the dark outlines
of the battlements and towers above the Sword Marina, and the gentle harbor breeze
had begun to chill Locke despite the lingering heat of the summer air.

He and Jean were rowing the dinghy toward the open gate to their private
bay; Caldris had been happy to earn his twenty volani, but not happy enough that he
was willing to trust them with the sails again.

“ ’Vast rowing,” said Caldris as they finally drifted near the edge of the stone plaza.
Caldris tended to the business of tying them up again while Locke stowed his oar and
breathed a deep sigh of relief. Every muscle in his back seemed to slide painfully
against those surrounding it, as though someone had thrown grit in between them. He
had a headache from the glare of sun on water, and his old wound in his left shoulder
was demanding attention above and beyond his other aches.

Locke and Jean clambered stiffly out of the boat and stretched while Caldris, clearly
amused, uncovered the basket and plucked the bedraggled kitten out of it. “There,
there,” he said, allowing it to nestle within his crossed arms. “The young masters
didn’t mean anything by that soaking they gave you. They got it just as bad.”

“Mrrrrrrrrreeeeew,” it said.

“I fancy that means ‘fuck you,’ ” said Caldris, “But at least we’ve got our lives.
So what do you think, sirs? An educational day?”

“I hope we’ve shown some aptitude, at least,” groaned Locke, kneading a knot in the
small of his back.

“Baby steps, Kosta. As far as sailors go, you haven’t even learned to suck milk from
a tit yet. But now you know starboard from larboard, and I’m twenty volani richer.”

“Indeed,” sighed Locke as he fetched his coat, vest, neck-cloths, and shoes from the
ground. He tossed a small leather purse to the sailing master, who dangled it at the
kitten and cooed as though to a small child.

Locke happened to glance over at the gate while he was throwing his coat on over his
damp tunic, and he saw Merrain’s gig slip into the artificial bay. She was seated
at the bow again, looking as though they had parted ten minutes rather than ten hours
before.

“Your ride back to civilization, gents.” Caldris raised Locke’s coin purse in a salute.
“See you bright and early tomorrow. Only gets worse from here, so mind yourselves.
Enjoy those nice beds while they’re still available.”

Merrain was completely unwilling to answer questions as the team of ten soldiers rowed
them back to the docks beneath the Savrola, which suited Locke’s mood. He and Jean
commiserated over their aches and pains while lounging, as best the space allowed,
in the rear gallery.

“I could sleep for about three days, I think,” said Locke.

“Let’s order a big dinner when we get back, and some baths to take the knots out.
After that, I’ll race you to unconsciousness.”

“Can’t,” Locke sighed. “Can’t. I have to go see Requin tonight. By now,
he probably knows Stragos pulled us in again a few nights ago. I need to talk to him
before he gets annoyed. And I need to give him the chairs.
And
I need to somehow tell him about all of this, and convince him not to strangle us
with our own intestines if we leave for a few months.”

“Gods,” said Jean. “I’ve been trying not to think about that. You just barely convinced
him that we’ve been assigned to the Sinspire to go after his vault; what can you say
that will make this whole out-to-sea thing plausible?”

“I have no idea.” Locke massaged the aching vicinity of his old shoulder wound. “Hopefully
the chairs will put him in a forgiving mood. If not, you’ll get the bill for cleaning
my brains off his plaza stones.”

When the rowers finally pulled the boat up alongside the Savrola docks, where a carriage
was waiting with several guards, Merrain left the bow and made her way back to where
Locke and Jean were sitting.

“Seventh hour of the morning tomorrow,” she said, “I’ll have a carriage at the Villa
Candessa. We’ll vary your movement for a few mornings for safety’s sake. Stay at your
inn this evening.”

“Out of the question,” said Locke. “I have business on the Golden Steps tonight.”

“Cancel it.”

“Go to hell. How do you propose to stop me?”

“You might be surprised.” Merrain rubbed her temples as though she felt a headache
coming on, then sighed. “You’re sure you can’t cancel it?”

“If I cancel my business tonight, you-know-who at the Sinspire is likely to cancel
us
,” said Locke.

“If you’re worried about Requin,” she said, “I could simply arrange for quarters to
be found in the Sword Marina. He’d never be able to reach you there; you’d be safe
until your training was finished.”

“Jerome and I have sunk two years in this bloody city into our plans for Requin,”
said Locke. “We intend to finish them. Tonight is critical.”

“On your head be it, then. I can send a carriage with some of my men. Can it wait
two hours?”

“If that’s what it takes, fine.” Locke smiled. “In fact, send two. One for me, one
for cargo.”

“Don’t push your—”

“Excuse me,” said Locke, “but is the money coming out of
your
pocket? You want to protect me, surround me with your agents, fine—I accept. Just
send two carriages. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“So be it,” she said. “Two hours. No sooner.”

THE WESTERN horizon had swallowed the sun, and the two moons visible in the cloudless
sky were soft red, like silver coins dipped in wine. The driver of the carriage rapped
three times on the roof to announce their arrival at the Sinspire, and Locke moved
the window curtain back over the corner he’d been peeking out of.

It had taken time for the pair of carriages to thread their way out of the Savrola,
across the Great Gallery, and through the bustling traffic of the Golden Steps. Locke
had found himself alternately stifling yawns and cursing the bumpy ride. His companion,
a slender swordswoman with a well-used rapier resting across her legs, had steadfastly
ignored him from her position on the opposite seat.

Now, as the carriage jostled to a halt, she preceded him out the door, tucking her
weapon under a long blue coat that hung to her calves. After she’d scanned the warm
night for trouble, she beckoned wordlessly for Locke to follow.

As per Locke’s instructions, the carriage driver had turned onto the cobbled drive
that led to a courtyard behind the Sinspire. Here, a pair of converted stone houses
held the tower’s primary kitchens and food storage areas. By the light of red and
gold lanterns bobbing on unseen lines, Sinspire attendants were coming and going in
squads—carrying forth elaborate meals and returning with empty platters. The smell
of richly seasoned meat filled the air.

Locke’s bodyguard continued to look around, as did the two soldiers atop the carriage,
each dressed in nondescript coachman’s uniforms. The second carriage, the one carrying
Locke’s suite of chairs, rattled to a halt behind the first. Its team of gray horses
stamped their feet and snorted, as though the scent of the kitchens was not to their
taste. A heavyset Sinspire attendant with thinning hair hurried over to Locke and
bowed.

“Master Kosta,” he said, “apologies, sir, but this is the service courtyard. We simply
cannot receive you in the accustomed style here; the front doors are far more suited
to—”

“I’m in the right place.” Locke put one hand on the attendant’s shoulder and slipped
five silver volani into the man’s vest pocket, letting the coins clink against one
another as they slipped from his hand. “Find Selendri, as quickly as you can.”

“Find … uh … well …”

“Selendri. She stands out in a crowd. Fetch her now.”

“Uh … yes, sir. Of course!”

Locke spent the next five minutes pacing in front of his carriage while the swordswoman
tried to look casual and keep him within a few steps at the same time. Surely nobody
would be foolish enough to try anything, he thought—not with five people at his beck
and call, not here in the very heart of Requin’s domain. Nonetheless, he was relieved
to finally see Selendri step out the service door, wearing a flame-colored evening
gown that made the brass of her artificial hand look molten where it reflected orange.

“Kosta,” she said. “To what do I owe the distraction?”

“I need to see Requin.”

“Ah, but does Requin need to see
you
?”

“Very much,” said Locke. “Please. I do need to see him in person. And I’m going to
need some of your stronger attendants; I’ve brought gifts that need careful handling.”

“Gifts?”

Locke showed her to the second carriage and opened the door. She spared a quick glance
at Locke’s bodyguard, then stroked her brass hand with her flesh hand while she pondered
the contents of the compartment.

“Are you entirely sure that such obvious bribery is the solution to your problems,
Master Kosta?”

“It’s not like that, Selendri. It’s rather a long story. In fact, he’d be doing me
a favor if he’d accept them. He has a tower to decorate. All I have is a rented suite
and a storage room.”