The Gentleman Bastard Series (253 page)

“Then do so. Please express my desire for his swift recovery. And that he might act in a more considered fashion, henceforth.”

Locke and Sabetha excused themselves, then raced back across the Old Pearl courtyard toward the attiring chambers. Locke’s head swam with the realization of what a fool he’d been to neglect the possibility that the nobles of Espara might have their own sources of intelligence, their own plans and expectations. Baroness Ezrintaim was more right about one thing than she could know. He
had
arrogantly neglected the wider world in his scheming.

“I think that was the strangest damned lecture I have ever received,” he said to Sabetha.

“You too, huh?”

8

ZADRATH’S HYACINTH Lane Aquapyria was the most reputable bathhouse in Espara, featuring warm baths, cold baths, steam rooms, and a variety of services both openly advertised and discreetly arranged. Within its courtyard lay a tall central building fronted with decorative columns, surrounded by private outbuildings, one of which had been secured for the use of Lord Boulidazi and his entourage.

Welcome clouds were thickening overhead when the Moncraine-Boulidazi wagon pulled into the Aquapyria’s court, scarcely an hour after the end of the play. Locke, Sabetha, Jasmer, Calo, and Galdo rode, and Donker still lay miserably concealed somewhere in the heart of the wagon’s contents. Locke and Galdo, dressed in threadbare but
serviceable footman’s jackets from the company’s property, leapt out, entered the reserved bathhouse, and chased out the blue-trousered, bronze-muscled attendants.

“Lord Boulidazi will be here any minute!” cried Locke, pushing the last of them out the door. “He desires privacy! He has injured himself and is in a foul mood!”

When the courtyard was clear, Locke and Galdo helped Donker out of the wagon and into the bathhouse, taking just a few seconds to make the move. Jasmer and Sabetha followed. Calo took the wagon to the stable, there to check the horses and quite literally sit on the corpse of Boulidazi.

Each private bathhouse had a theme to its decorations, and the one secured for “Boulidazi’s” use featured toads. Silver and iron toads surmounted all the basin fixtures, and the walls were murals of toads wearing crowns and jewelry while luxuriating in hot baths. A square sunken bath of white and green tiles dominated the middle of the room; it was about three yards on a side, and its lavender-scented waters steamed. Beside it, on a low refreshment table, several requested wines and brandies had been set out with a tray of sweets and bottles of aromatic oils.

On the left-hand wall a door led into a large steam room, where water could be poured on a brazier of coals to suit the tastes of those lounging inside.

Donker instantly collapsed against a wall, shuddering and gagging. He was frightfully pale.

“Easy there, Donker.” Locke put a hand on his back. “You’ve been amazing so far. You’ve saved everyone—”

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Donker growled, gulping deep breaths and obviously straining to avoid throwing up. “You just leave me the hell alone. This is worse than I ever dreamed.”

“Well, it’s not over yet,” said Locke. “We still need your clothes.”

Donker surrendered them clumsily. Locke pulled a dressing screen closer to the door and arranged Boulidazi’s wardrobe on and around it, haphazardly. Dagger and jacket he hung from the screen. Silk tunic, boots, vest, and trousers he scattered on the floor.

Sabetha threw her own shoes and costume components on the tiles near the bath. She retained only her black hose and a dressing
gown. Locke did his best to look like he wasn’t staring, and she did an admirable job of pretending she wasn’t encouraging him. Once the floor was in sufficient disarray, Sabetha grabbed Donker by the front of his undertunic and steered him to the steam room.

“Donker’s right,” muttered Moncraine as he followed. “This entire plan is thinner than old parchment at too many points.”

“We’re not doing so badly,” said Locke. “If we can just get past this we’re safe home with the money in our hands.”

Donker, Jasmer, and Sabetha closed themselves up in the steam chamber. Locke used some of the aromatic oils to slick his hair back, and donned a pair of costume optics provided by Jenora. He positioned himself next to the door, while Galdo ate sweets and examined the wine bottles.

There was a knock at the door not two minutes later.

Instantly, Jasmer moaned in a manner that was half-pained and half-sensual. He’d been retained for this portion of the scheme for one reason—he alone had the depth and flexibility of voice to imitate Baron Boulidazi.

Locke opened the front door of the bathhouse. Nerissa Malloria stood there holding a reinforced wooden box, with one of her burly hirelings at her shoulder. The other waited with the carriage that had brought them.

“Ahhhhhhh,” cried Moncraine. “Ahhh, gods!”

“Mistress Malloria,” said Locke, coughing into his hand. “Please come in. My lord Boulidazi instructed us to expect you.”

“I said more wine, damn your dry balls,” shouted Jasmer. “Where is it?”

Galdo busied himself with a wine bottle and a pair of glasses.

“Very interesting,” said Malloria, stepping over the threshold and moving carefully to avoid the clothes scattered on the floor. Her man remained outside and closed the door. “I’m to present this to the baron and obtain his mark on a chit.”

“The, ah, baron, my master, tripped and fell after the play,” said Locke. “He hurt his ankle quite severely. His, ah, that is, Verena … Verena Gallante is comforting him while we wait for a physiker.”

“Comforting him,” mused Malloria.

“Ahhhhhh,” moaned Jasmer, and there was a slapping noise. “Now,
now, you can keep doing that in a moment. The wine! Fetch the damn wine!”

The door to the steam room burst open, and gray tendrils slithered out into the air of the main room. Sabetha stood there, gown in hand, topless. She pretended to notice Malloria for the first time, half screamed, and wound the dressing gown around herself in a flash. Then she closed the door to the steam room.

“Apologies,” she giggled. “My lord Boulidazi is in need of ministration. And wine.” She snapped her fingers at Galdo, who passed over a tray with the glasses and open bottle.

“Ministration,” smirked Malloria. “I’m sure that’s just what he needs to recover from any … infirmity.”

“Malloria! Is that Malloria?” Locke had to credit Moncraine for his impression of Boulidazi, though perhaps the impresario’s resentment colored the act with a touch too much petulance. “Good, good! Sorry I can’t receive you at the moment. Just wait a bottle or two, there’s a good woman.”

Sabetha slipped back into the steam room with the wine. Muffled giggles and laughter followed.

“Don’t bother with the damn glasses,” yelled Moncraine. “Just give the bottle here. That’s it. I’ll put my lips on this, and as for yours …”

Locke stood at attention against the wall and tried to look profoundly embarrassed. Galdo hung his head and slunk back to a place on the far wall.

Jasmer’s appreciative moaning drifted from the steam room for some time. Malloria’s dark amusement faded into obvious irritation.

“Um,” said Locke, quietly. “I do have my lord’s signet ring.…”

Malloria raised an eyebrow at him.

“That is, he’s entrusted it to me while he’s … occupied. If you wished to—”

“Why not?” she said. “If Lord Boulidazi has no time for me, far be it from me to
presume
upon his attention.”

She set the wooden box down next to the wine and brandy bottles, then unlocked it with a key hung around her neck. She handed a piece of parchment to Locke, who examined it while heating a stick of wax over one of the room’s non-alchemical lamps.

Locke inked a quill and wrote “Received” at the bottom of the chit.
He then gave the document a splash of wax and pressed Boulidazi’s signet into it.

“I’ll need to retrieve the box before tomorrow’s performance,” she said as they waited for the signet imprint to harden.

“Come to Gloriano’s Rooms anytime after sunup,” said Locke. “And, ah, my lord would wish … that is, were he not … distracted—” Locke fumbled two silver coins out of a belt pouch and passed them to her. “Some suitable, ah, gratuity for your trouble.”

And for your silence
, thought Locke. It was a safe bet that here, as in Camorr, the well-off relied on open purses to smooth over their poor behavior. Malloria gratified him by touching the coins to her forehead in salute.

“Appreciated,” she said. “I’ll send a man for the box before noon tomorrow.”

Locke bolted the door behind her, then ran to the steam room and threw the door open. Moncraine swaggered out, drinking from the bottle of wine, followed by Sabetha in her dressing gown and Donker with a haunted expression on his face. They all gathered at the coin box and peered at the contents. Here and there a silver coin gleamed against the copper.

“That’s … more money than I’ve ever seen,” muttered Donker. “Must be pretty heavy.”

“Shit,” said Sabetha. “Donker’s right about that. Where are we going to hide it now that we’ve got it? We can’t have the company members walking around with their pockets jangling. It’ll contradict the story that all the money vanished with Boulidazi.”

“Maybe Mistress Gloriano can hide it,” said Donker.

“I wouldn’t ask her to,” said Locke. “Her place is going to be full of constables once we report Boulidazi’s tragic fire. Some of them might take the place apart out of boredom or thoroughness.”

“I hope you’re not about to suggest that we let you take it out of the city,” said Jasmer.

“Of course not,” said Locke. “All we want is enough to let us get home. The rest is yours, if we can find some way to dole it out in portions that won’t get anyone hanged.”

Moncraine braced himself against the box and stared into its depths for some time. Then he snapped his fingers and grinned.

“Salvard,” he said. “Stay-Awake Salvard! The good solicitor. He’ll hold it at his offices, no questions asked. One of his more discreet services for clients who can’t or won’t trust a countinghouse. There’ll be a fee, of course, but what do we care? I’ll take it myself.”

“And
I’ll
go with,” said Galdo, folding his arms.

“Of course.” Moncraine’s smile nearly reached his ears. “You can carry the box. And someone will need to summon a hired carriage; we can’t walk across the city with the damned thing plainly visible.”

“I’ll take care of that,” said Locke, moving to the front door. “Can the rest of you clean up in here?”

“We should leave a bit of a mess,” said Sabetha, tossing a wineglass into the steaming bath. “Pour some of these bottles into the floor drain. Whoever cleans up will be able to report that Lord Boulidazi must have had a
lot
to drink before he went off to have his … accident.”

“Lovely notion,” said Locke, elated. “Right. Fix this place up. I’ll get a carriage and tell the Aquapyria folk that Boulidazi will be here another hour or so. Let’s have Calo roll off quietly, and we’ll all sneak out and meet up on the next block. Then back to Gloriano’s for the, ah, last scene of this production!”

Not half past the sixth hour of the evening, Calo, Locke, Sabetha, and Donker clattered in a leisurely fashion through the neighborhoods of Espara, plainly dressed and with their theatrical property tarped over. Nobody recognized them or gave them any trouble.

At Gloriano’s, they found the rest of the company safe but for many rampant cases of nerves. As per the plan, they had chased off all the would-be drinking fellows and raconteurs and parasites with the story that they wanted order and sobriety prior to the Penance Day performance, promising a huge debauch afterward. Locke grinned, and immediately huddled in a whispered conference with Jean, Jenora, Alondo, Chantal, Sylvanus, and Bert.

“We’ve done it!” Locke said. “Stay-Awake Salvard will hold the money. Jasmer and Castellano have gone off to leave it with him. You’ll all have to take it slowly, bit by bit. And be sure that Donker gets a full share; he’s what you might call fragile.”

“My cousin’ll find his feet soon enough,” said Alondo. “And I’ll make damn sure he gets his cut.”

A general air of relief swept the room. Although Locke wasn’t relishing the task of dressing Boulidazi’s corpse, and he knew neither of the Gloriano women would appreciate the only obvious location for an all-consuming accidental fire, the worst was past and the rest could wait for the fall of darkness. Jenora’s aunt set to work roasting long strips of marinated beef in her wood-fire hearth. Sylvanus made the acquaintance of a bottle of plonk, and the others relaxed with cups of ale.

Just after the seventh hour of the evening, Galdo burst into the room, covered in sweat and quite alone.

9

“I’M SORRY,” Galdo gasped, as soon as they’d all moved to the privacy of the room where they’d unveiled Boulidazi’s corpse that morning. “I’m so sorry! He asked me to make sure the carriage was held. He sounded so damned reasonable, like
we
do, you know? He said that if he had to walk back to the inn he’d strip my hide. He took the box … about fifteen minutes later I lost patience. I went looking for him, and when I asked Salvard’s clerk for Jasmer Moncraine, the man looked at me like I’d been drinking. That’s when I figured it out.”

“Moncraine’s taken the money and buggered us all,” whispered Alondo.

“
Beggared
us all,” said Jenora. “I can’t even … I don’t know what to say. It’s like all the gods are having a long hard laugh at our expense.”

Sylvanus threw his bottle to the ground and buried his face in his hands. No more eloquent commentary was possible, thought Locke, than that a situation would make Sylvanus Olivios Andrassus waste wine.

“I’m a gods-damned fool,” said Galdo. “I should have known.”

“He’s an actor,” said Sabetha. “More’s the pity, a good one.”

“Let’s get after him,” said Calo. “He can’t be dumb enough to have gone to any of the landward gates, the way they’re guarded! He’d be insane to put himself on the roads knowing an alarm was a few hours behind at best. So where would he go?”