The Gentleman Bastard Series 3-Book Bundle: The Lies of Locke Lamora, Red Seas Under Red Skies, The Republic of Thieves (159 page)

“I’ve got him under my bolt. Tie him up. Get his hands and his feet, and make the
knots tight.”

One of their ambushers pointed his own crossbow into the air and fumbled for rope
in a jacket pocket. The other lowered his bow and produced a knife. His eyes had just
moved from Locke to his associate when Jean made his next move.

With his own bow in one hand and Locke’s in the other, he calmly pivoted and put a
bolt into the head of each of their attackers.

Locke heard the sharp
twak-twak
of the double release, but it took several seconds for full comprehension of its
meaning to travel from his eyes to the back of his skull. He stood there shaking,
jaw hanging open, while the two strangers spurted blood, twitched, and died. One of
them reflexively curled a finger around the trigger of his weapon. With a final
twak
that made Locke jump, a bolt whizzed into the darkness.

“Jean, you—”

“How difficult was it to
give me the damn weapon
?”

“But you … you said—”

“I said …” Jean grabbed him by his lapels and shook him. “What do you mean ‘I said,’
Locke? Why were you paying attention to what I was saying?”

“You didn’t—”

“Gods, you’re shaking. You believed me? How could you
believe
me?” Jean released him and stared at him, aghast. “I thought you were just playing
along too intently!”

“You didn’t give me a hand signal, Jean! What the hell was I supposed to think?”

“Didn’t give you a hand signal? I flashed you the ‘lying’ sign, plain as that bloody
burning ship!”

“You did not—”

“I did! As if I could forget! I can’t believe this! How could you ever think … Where
did you think I’d found the
time
to broker a deal with anyone else? We’ve been on the same damn ship for two months!”

“Jean, without the signal—”

“I did give it to you, you twit! I gave it when I did the whole cold, reluctant betrayer
bit! ‘Actually, I know who sent them.’ Remember?”

“Yeah—”

“And then the hand signal! The ‘Oh, look, Jean Tannen is lying about betraying his
best friend in the whole fucking world to a couple of Verrari cutthroats’ signal!
Shall we practice that one more often? Do we really need to?”

“I
didn’t see
a signal, Jean. Honest to all the gods.”

“You missed it.”

“Missed it? I—yeah, look, fine. I missed it. It was dark, crossbows everywhere, I
should’ve known. I should’ve known we didn’t even need it. I’m sorry.”

He sighed, and looked over at the two bodies, feathered shafts sticking grotesquely
out of their motionless heads.

“We really, really needed to interrogate one of those bastards, didn’t we?”

“Yes,” said Jean.

“It was … bloody good shooting, regardless.”

“Yes.”

“Jean?”

“Mm?”

“We should
really
be running like hell right now.”

“Oh. Yes. Let’s.”

“AHOY THE ship,” cried Locke as the boat nudged up against the
Poison Orchid
’s side. He released his grip on the oars with relief; Caldris would have been proud
of the pace they’d set in scudding out of Tal Verrar, through a flotilla of priestly
delegations and drunkards, past the flaming galleon and the blackened hulks of the
previous sacrifices, through air still choked with gray haze.

“Gods,” said Delmastro as she helped them up the entry port, “what happened? Are you
hurt?”

“Got my feelings dented,” said Jean, “but all this blood has been borrowed for the
occasion.”

Locke glanced down at his own finery, smeared with the life of at least two of their
attackers. He and Jean looked like drunken amateur butchers.

“Did you get what you needed?” asked Delmastro.

“What we needed? Yes. What we might have wanted? No. And from the
goddamn mystery attackers that won’t give us a moment’s peace in the city? Far too
much.”

“Who’s this, then?”

“We have no idea,” said Locke. “How do the bastards know where we are, or who we are?
It’s been nearly two months! Where were we indiscreet?”

“The Sinspire,” said Jean, a bit sheepishly.

“How were they waiting for us at the docks, then? Pretty bloody efficient!”

“Were you followed back to the ship?” asked Delmastro.

“Not that we could tell,” said Jean, “but I think we’d be fools to linger.”

Delmastro nodded, produced her whistle, and blew the familiar three sharp notes. “At
the waist! Ship capstan bars! Stand by to weigh anchor! Boatswain’s party, ready to
hoist the boat!”

“You two look upset,” she said to Locke and Jean as the ship became a whirlwind of
activity around them.

“Why shouldn’t we be?” Locke rubbed his stomach, still feeling a dull ache where the
Sinspire bouncer had struck him. “We got away, sure, but someone pinned a hell of
a lot of trouble on us in return.”

“You know what I like to do when I’m in a foul mood?” said Ezri sweetly. “I like to
sack ships.” She raised her finger and pointed slowly across the deck, past the hustling
crewfolk, out to sea, where another vessel could just be seen, lit by its stern lanterns
against the southern darkness. “Oh, look—there’s one right now!”

They were knocking on Drakasha’s cabin door just moments later.

“You wouldn’t be standing on two legs if that blood was yours,” she said as she invited
them in. “Is it too much to hope that it belongs to Stragos?”

“It is.”

“Pity. Well, at least you came back. That’s reassuring.”

Paolo and Cosetta were tangled together on their little bed, snoring peacefully. Drakasha
seemed to see no need to whisper in their presence. Locke grinned, remembering that
he’d learned to sleep through some pretty awful distractions at their age, too.

“Did you make any real progress?” asked Drakasha.

“We bought time,” said Locke. “And we got out of the city. The issue was in doubt.”

“Captain,” said Delmastro, “we were sort of wondering if we could get started on the
next part of this whole scheme a bit early. Like right now.”

“You want to do some boarding and socializing?”

“There’s a likely suitor waiting to dance about two miles south by west. Away from
the city, outside the reefs—”

“And the city’s a bit absorbed in the festa at the moment,” added Locke.

“It’d just be a quick visit, like we’ve been discussing,” said Ezri. “Rouse them up,
make ’em piss their breeches, loot the purse and the portable goods, throw things
overboard, cut some chains and cripple the rigging—”

“I suppose we have to start somewhere,” said Drakasha. “Del, send Utgar down to borrow
some of my silks and cushions. I want a makeshift bed rigged for the children in the
rope locker. If I’m going to wake them up to hide them, it’s only fair.”

“Right,” said Delmastro.

“What’s the wind?”

“Out of the northeast.”

“Put us around due south, bring it onto the larboard quarter. Reefed topsails, slow
and steady. Tell Oscarl to hoist out the boats, behind our hull so our friend can’t
see them in the water.”

“Aye, Captain.” Delmastro shrugged out of her overcoat, left it on Drakasha’s table,
and ran from the cabin. A few seconds later Locke could hear commotion on deck, Oscarl
shouting about how they’d only just been told to raise the boat, and Delmastro yelling
something about soft-handed, slack-witted idlers.

“You two look ghastly,” said Zamira. “I’ll have to get a new sea chest to separate
the blood-drenched finery from the clean. Confine yourselves to wearing reds and browns
next time.”

“You know, Captain,” said Locke, staring down at the blood-soaked sleeves of his jacket,
“that sort of gives me an idea. A really, really
amusing
idea …”

JUST PAST the second hour of the morning, with Tal Verrar finally shuddering into
a drunken slumber and the festa fires extinguished, the
Poison Orchid
in her costume as the
Chimera
crept past the
Happy Pilchard
. She passed the battered, sleepy little ketch at a distance of about two hundred
yards, flying a minimal number of navigational lanterns and offering no hail. That
wasn’t entirely unusual, in waters where not one act of piracy had been reported for
more than seven years.

In darkness, it was impossible to see that the
Orchid
’s deck carried no boats.

Those boats slowly emerged from the ship’s larboard shadow, and at a silent signal
their rowers exploded into action. With the haste of their passage they turned the
dark sea white. Three faint, frothy lines reached out
from
Orchid
to
Pilchard
, and by the time the lone watchman on at the ketch’s stern noticed anything, it was
far too late.

“Ravelle,” cried Jean, who was the first up the ketch’s side. “Ravelle!” Still dressed
in his blood-spattered finery, he’d wrapped a scrap of red linen around his head and
borrowed an iron-shod quarterstaff from one of the
Orchid
’s arms lockers. Orchids scrambled up behind him—Jabril and Malakasti, Streva and
Rask. They carried clubs and saps, leaving their blades sheathed at their belts.

Three boats’ worth of pirates boarded from three separate directions; the ketch’s
meager crew was swept into the waist by shouting, club-waving lunatics, all hollering
a name that was meaningless to them, until at last they were subdued and the chief
of their tormentors came aboard to exalt in his victory.

“The name’s Ravelle!”

Locke paced the deck before the thirteen cringing crewfolk and their strange blue-robed
passenger. Locke, like Jean, had kept his bloody clothing and topped it off with a
red sash at his waist, a red bandanna over his hair, and a scattering of Zamira’s
jewelry for effect. “Orrin Ravelle! And I’ve come back to pay my respects to Tal Verrar!”

“Don’t kill us, sir,” pleaded the captain of the little vessel, a skinny man of about
thirty with the tan of a lifelong mariner. “We ain’t even from Tal Verrar, just calling
so our charter can—”

“You are interrupting critical hydrographic experiments,” shouted the blue-robed man,
attempting to rise to his feet. He was shoved back down by a squad of leering Orchids.
“This information is vital to the interest of all mariners! You cut your own throat
if you—”

“What the hell’s a critical hydrographic experiment, old man?”

“By examining seafloor composition—”

“Seafloor composition? Can I
eat
that? Can I
spend
it? Can I take it back to my cabin and fuck it sideways?”

“No and no and most
certainly
no!”

“Right,” said Locke. “Toss this fucker over the side.”

“You ignorant bastards! You hypocritical apes. Let go—
let go of me
!” Locke was pleased to see Jean stepping in to perform the duty of heaving the robed
scholar off the deck; not only would the man be scared witless, but Jean would control
the situation precisely to keep him from actually getting hurt.

“Oh, please, sir, don’t do that,” said the
Pilchard
’s captain. “Master Donatti’s harmless sir, please—”

“Look,” said Locke, “is everyone on this tub an idiot besides me? Why
would I sully the soles of my boots with a visit to this embarrassment unless you
had something I wanted?”

“The, um, hydrographic experiments?” asked the captain.

“Money!”
Locke seized him by the front of his tunic and heaved him to his feet. “I want every
valuable, every drinkable, every consumable this overgrown
dinghy
has to offer, or you can watch the old bastard drown! How’s that for a
hydrographic experiment
?”

THEY DIDN’T clear such a bad haul for such a little ship; obviously, Donatti had paid
well to be carried around for his experiments, and been unwilling to sail without
many of the comforts of home. A boat laden with liquors, fine tobacco, silk pillows,
books, artificers’ instruments, alchemical drugs, and bags of silver coins was soon
sent back to the
Orchid
, while “Ravelle’s” pirates finished sabotaging the little ship.

“Rudder lines disabled, sir,” said Jean about half an hour after they’d boarded.

“Halyards cut, braces cut,” shouted Delmastro, plainly enjoying her role as an ordinary
buccaneer for this attack. She strolled along the larboard rail with a hatchet, chopping
things seemingly at whim. “Whatever the hell that was, cut!”

“Sir, please,” pleaded the captain, “that’ll take ages to fix. You got all the valuables
already.…”

“I don’t want you to die out here,” said Locke, yawning in feigned boredom at the
captain’s pleas. “I just want to have a few quiet hours before this news gets back
to Tal Verrar.”

“Oh, sir, we’ll do what you ask. Whatever you want; we won’t tell no one—”

“Please,”
said Locke. “Cling to some dignity, Master Pilchard. I
want
you to talk about this. All over the place. Use it to leverage sympathy from whores.
Maybe get a few free drinks in taverns. Most importantly, repeat my name. Orrin Ravelle.”

“O-orrin Ravelle, sir.”

“Captain Orrin Ravelle,” said Locke, drawing a dagger and placing it against the captain’s
throat. “Of the good ship
Tal Verrar Is Fucked
! You stop in and let them know I’m in the neighborhood!”

“I, uh, I will, sir.”

“Good.” Locke dropped the man back to the deck and stowed his dagger.
“Then let’s call it quits. I’ll let you have your amusing little toy ship back now.”

Locke and Jean met briefly at the stern before boarding the last boat back to the
Orchid
.

“Gods,” said Jean, “the archon is going to
love
this.”

“Well, we didn’t lie to him, did we? We promised pirate attacks at every compass point.
We just didn’t say they’d all feature Zamira as the major attraction.” Locke blew
a kiss to the city, spread across the northern horizon. “Happy festa, Protector.”