The Gentleman Bastard Series 3-Book Bundle: The Lies of Locke Lamora, Red Seas Under Red Skies, The Republic of Thieves (228 page)

“He did say some unexpected and handsome things,” said Moncraine.

“You going to call the meeting to order,” said Sabetha, “or should I?”

“I can break the news, gir—Verena. Thank you kindly.” Moncraine cleared his throat.
“A moment of your time, gentlemen and ladies of the Moncraine Company. And you as
well, Andrassus. And our, uh, benefactor and patient creditor, Mistress Gloriano.
There are some … changes in the offing.”

“Sweet gods,” said Sylvanus, “you coal-skinned, life-ruining bastard, are you actually
suggesting that gainful employment is about to get its hands around our throats again?”

“Sylvanus, I love you as I love my own Syresti blood,” said Moncraine, “but shut your
dribbling booze-hole. And yes, Espara will have its production of the Moncraine Company’s
The Republic of Thieves
.”

Sabetha coughed.

“I am compelled, however, to accept certain arrangements,” continued Moncraine. “Lord
Boulidazi’s agreed to reconsider my, er, refusal of his patronage offer. Once Salvard
has the papers ready, we’re the Moncraine-Boulidazi Company.”

“A patron,” said Mistress Gloriano in disbelief. “Does this mean we might get paid
back for our—”

“Yes,” said Locke, strolling in from the inn-yard with several purses in his hands.
“And here’s yours.”

“Gandolo’s privates, boy!” She caught the jingling bag Locke threw at her. “I simply
don’t believe it.”

“Your countinghouse will believe it for you,” said Locke. “That’s twelve royals to
square you. Lord Boulidazi is buying out Master Moncraine’s debts to relieve him of
the suffering brought on by their contemplation.”

“To wind a cord about my legs so he can fly me like a kite,” said Moncraine through
gritted teeth.

“To keep you from getting knifed in a gods-damned alley!” said Sabetha.

“Not that this isn’t miraculous,” said Jenora, “but those of us with shares in the
company have precedence over any arrangement Boulidazi might have proposed. Noble
or not, we have papers he can’t just piss on.”

“I realize that,” said Locke. “We’re not here to pry your shares out from under you.
Boulidazi is giving Moncraine the funds he needs as an advance against Moncraine’s
future share of the company’s profits. Your interest is protected.”

“That’s as may be,” said Jenora, “but if this company is back on a paying basis, I
want another set of eyes on the books. No offense, Jasmer, but strange things can
happen to profits before they reach the stakeholders.”

“The one for figures is Jovanno,” said Locke. “He’s a genius with them.”

“Hey, thanks for volunteering me,” said Jean. “I was wondering when I could stop doing
interesting things and go bury myself in account ledgers.”

“I meant it as a compliment! Besides, given a choice, would you rather trust me, or
the Asinos—”

“Dammit,” Jean growled. “I’ll see to the books.”

“Master Moncraine,” said Locke, “this, by the way, is my cousin, Jovanno de Barra.”

“The third of the mysterious Camorri,” said Jasmer. “And where are four and five?”

“The Asino brothers are still asleep,” said Jean. “And when they wake I expect they’ll
be hungover. They crossed bottles with that
thing
.” He gestured at Sylvanus. “It was all I could do to keep them alive.”

“Well, then,” said Moncraine, “let us yet be merciful. I’m for a bath and fresh clothes.
Someone hunt down Alondo, and we’ll have our proper meeting about the play after luncheon.
How’s that sound?”

“Moncraine!” The street door burst inward, propelled by a kick from an unpleasant-looking
man. His expensive clothes were stained with wine, sauces, and ominous dark patches
that had nothing to do with food. Half a dozen men and women followed him into the
room, clearly assorted species of leg-breakers. The Right People of Espara were on
the scene.

“Oh, good morning, Shepherd. Can I offer you some refresh—”

“Moncraine,” said the man called Shepherd, “you sack of dried-up whores’ cunt leather!
Did you stop at a countinghouse after your escape from the Weeping Tower?”

“I haven’t had time. But—”

“At some point, Moncraine, compound interest becomes less interesting to my boss than
shoving you up a dead horse’s ass and sinking you in a fucking
swamp
.”

“Excuse me,” said Locke, meekly.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was the Children’s Festival this week,” said Shepherd.
“You looking for an ass-kicking or what?”

“Can I ask how much Master Moncraine owes your boss?”

“Eighteen royals, four fifths, thirty-six coppins, accurate to this very hour.”

“Thought so. There’s nineteen in this bag,” said Locke, holding out a leather purse.
“From Moncraine, of course. He just likes to draw these things out, you know. For
dramatic effect.”

“This a fucking joke?”

“Nineteen royals,” said Locke. “No joke.”

Shepherd slipped the purse open, ran his fingers through the coins inside, and gave
a startled grunt.

“Strange days are upon us.” He snapped the purse shut. “Signs and wonders. Jasmer
Moncraine has paid a debt. I’d say my fucking prayers tonight, I would.”

“Are we square?” said Moncraine.

“Square?” said Shepherd. “Yeah,
this
matter’s closed. But don’t come crawling back for more, Moncraine. Not for a few
months, at least. Let the boss forget what a degenerate ass-chancre you are.”

“Sure,” said Moncraine. “Just as you say.”

“Of course, if you had any brains at all you’d never risk the chance of seeing me
again.” Shepherd sketched a salute in the air, turned, and left along with his crew
of thugs, most of whom looked disappointed.

“A word,” said Moncraine, leading Locke off to one side of the room. “While I’m pleased
as a baby on a breast to have that weight lifted, I begin to wonder if I’m meant to
be nothing but a mute witness to my own affairs from now on.”

“If you’d had
your
way you’d be starting your real prison sentence today,” said Locke. “You can’t blame
us for wanting to keep you out of further trouble.”

“I’m not pleased to be treated like I can’t handle simple business. Give me the purses
you have left, and I’ll dispense with my own debts.”

“The tailor, the bootmaker, the scrivener, and the actors that left for Basanti’s
company? We can hunt them down ourselves, thank you.”

“They’re not your accounts to close, boy!”

“And this isn’t your money to hold,” said Locke.

“Jasmer,” said Sabetha, coming up behind them with Jean in tow, “I’d hate to think
that you were trying to corner and intimidate one of us privately.”

“We were merely discussing how I might take responsibility for my own shortcomings,”
said Moncraine.

“You can hold to the deal,” said Sabetha. “And remember who got you out of the Weeping
Tower, and brought in our new patron. Your job is to give us a play. Where that’s
concerned, we’re your subjects, but where your safety is concerned, you’re
ours
.”

“Well,” said Moncraine, “don’t I feel enfolded in the bosom of love itself.”

“Just try not to screw anything else up,” said Sabetha. “It won’t be that hard a life.”

“I’ll go have my bath, then,” said Moncraine. “Would the three of you care to watch,
to make sure I don’t drown myself?”

“If you did that,” said Locke, “you’d never have the satisfaction of bossing us around
onstage.”

“True enough.” Moncraine scratched at his dark gray stubble. “See you after luncheon,
then. Oh, since these are matters relating to the play … Lucaza, get a dozen chairs
from the common room and set them out in the inn-yard. Verena, dig through the common
property to find all the copies of
The Republic of Thieves
we have. Jenora can lend you a hand.”

“Of course,” said Sabetha.

“Good. Now, if I’m wanted for any further business, I’ll be in my room with no clothes
on.”

JUST BEFORE
noon the sun passed behind a thick bank of clouds, and its brain-poaching heat was
cut to a more bearable lazy warmth. The mud of the inn-yard, late resting place of
the very pickled Sylvanus Olivios Andrassus, had dried to a soft crust beneath the
feet of the excited and bewildered Moncraine-Boulidazi Company.

All five Gentlemen Bastards had seats, though Calo and Galdo, with dark patches under
their eyes, pointedly refused to sit together and so bookended Locke, Jean, and Sabetha.

Alondo flipped idly through a torn and stained copy of
The Republic of Thieves
. Each volume in the little stack of scripts found by Sabetha was a different size,
and no two had been copied in the same hand. Some were marked MONCRAINE COMPANY or
SCRIBED FOR J. MONCRAINE, while others were the ex-property of other troupes. One
even bore the legend BASANTI on its back cover.

Sylvanus, sober, or at least not actively imbibing, sat next to Jenora. Alondo’s cousin
stood against a wall, arms folded.

This, then, was the complete roster of the company. Locke sighed.

“Hello again.” Moncraine appeared, looking almost respectable in a quilted gray doublet
and black breeches. “Now, let us discover together which of history’s mighty entities
are sitting with us, and which ones we shall have to beg, borrow, or steal.
You!
”

“Me, sir?” said Alondo’s cousin.

“Yes. Who in all the hells are you? Are you a Camorri?”

“Oh, gods above, no, sir. I’m Alondo’s cousin.”

“Got a name?”

“Djunkhar Kurlin. Everyone calls me Donker.”

“Bad fucking luck. You an actor?”

“No, sir, a hostler.”

“What do you mean by spying on my company’s meeting like this?”

“I just want to get killed onstage, sir.”

“Fuck the stage. Come here and I’ll grant your wish right now.”

“He means,” said Jean, “that we promised him a bit part in exchange for helping us
sell off some surplus horseflesh.”

“Oh,” said Moncraine. “An
enthusiast
. I’d be very pleased to help you die onstage. Stay on my good side and it can even
be pretend.”

“Uh, thank you, sir.”

“Now,” said Moncraine. “We need ourselves an
Aurin
. Aurin is a young man of Therim Pel, basically good-hearted, unsure of himself. He’s
also
the only son and heir to the emperor. Looks like we’ve got a surplus of young men,
so you can all fight it out over the next few days. And we’ll need an Amadine—”

“Hey,” said Calo. “Sorry to interrupt. I was just wondering, before we all get measured
for codpieces or whatever, where the hell are we supposed to be giving this play?
I hear this Basanti has a theater of his own. What do we have?”

“You’re one of the Asino brothers, right?” said Moncraine.

“Giacomo Asino.”

“Well, being from Camorr, Giacomo, you probably don’t know about the Old Pearl. It’s
a public theater, built by some count—”

“Poldaris the Just,” muttered Sylvanus.

“Built by Poldaris the Just,” said Moncraine, “as his perpetual legacy to the people
of Espara. Big stone amphitheater, about two hundred years old.”

“One hundred and eighty-eight,” said Sylvanus.

“Apologies, Sylvanus, unlike you I wasn’t there. So you see, Giacomo, we can use it,
as long as we pay a little fee to the countess’ envoy of ceremonies.”

“If it’s such a fine place, why did Basanti build his own?”

“The Old Pearl is perfectly adequate,” said Moncraine. “Basanti built to flatter his
self-regard, not fatten his pocketbook.”

“Because businessmen like to spend lots of money to replace perfectly adequate structures
they can use for nearly nothing, right?”

“Look, boy,” said Moncraine, “it wouldn’t matter if Basanti’s new theater turned dog
turds into platinum, while merely setting foot inside the Old Pearl gave people leprosy.
The Old Pearl’s it. There’s no time or money for anything else.”

“Does it?” said Calo. “Give people leprosy, I mean?”

“Go lick the stage and find out. Now, let’s talk about Amadine. Amadine is a thief
in a time of peace and abundance. Therim Pel has grown a crop of bandits in the ancient
catacombs beneath the city. They mock the customs of the upright people, of the emperor
and his nobles. Some of them even call their little world a republic. Amadine is their
leader.”

“You should be our Amadine, Jasmer,” said Sylvanus. “Think of the pretty skirts Jenora
could sew for you!”

“Verena’s our Amadine,” said Moncraine. “There’s a certain deficiency of breasts in
the company, and while yours may be larger than hers, Sylvanus, I doubt as many people
would pay to see them. No, since our former Amadine abandoned us … she’ll do.”

Sabetha gave a slight, satisfied nod.

“Now, everyone take a copy of the lines. Have them out for consultation. A troupe
learns a play like we all learn to screw, stumbling and jostling until everything’s
finally in the right place.”

Locke felt his cheeks warm a bit, though the sun was still hidden away behind the
high wall of summer clouds.

“So, Aurin falls for Amadine, and they have lots of problems, and it’s all very
romantic
and
tragic
and the audience gives us ever so much money to see it,” said Moncraine. “But to
get there we’ve got to sharpen things to a fine point … slash some deadweight from
the text. I’ll give you full cuts later, but for now I think we can discard all the
bits with Marolus the courtier. And we’ll cut Avunculo, and Twitch, the comic relief
thieves, for a certainty.”

“Aye, a certainty,” said Sylvanus, “and what a bold decision that is, given that our
Marolus, Avunculo, and Twitch all ran across town chasing Basanti’s coin when you
took up lèse-majesté as a new hobby.”

“Thank you, Andrassus,” said Moncraine. “You’ll have many
weeks to belittle my every choice; don’t spend yourself in one afternoon. Now you,
Asino—”

“Castellano,” said Galdo, yawning.

“Castellano. Stand up. Wait, you can read, can’t you? You can all
read
, I assume?”