The Lies of Locke Lamora (16 page)

In the air over the witchwood table, a striking chandelier blazed; Locke would, in later years, come to recognize it as an armillary sphere, fashioned from glass with an axis of solid gold. At its heart shone an alchemical globe with the white-bronze light of the sun; surrounding this were the concentric glass rings that marked the orbits and processions of the world and all her celestial cousins, including the three moons; at the outermost edges were a hundred dangling stars that looked like spatters of molten glass somehow frozen at the very instant of their outward explosions. The light ran and glimmered and burned along every facet of the chandelier, yet there was something
wrong
about it. It was as if the Elderglass ceilings and walls were somehow drawing the light
out
of the alchemical sun; leavening it, weakening it, redistributing it along the full length and breadth of all the Elderglass in this uncanny cellar.

“Welcome to our real home, our little temple to the Benefactor.” Chains tossed his bag of coins down on the table. “Our patron has always sort of danced upon the notion that austerity and piety go hand in hand; down here, we show our appreciation for things by
appreciating
, if you get me. Boys! Look who survived his interview!”

“We never doubted,” said one twin.

“For even a second,” said the other.

“But now can we hear what he did to get himself kicked out of Shades’ Hill?” The question, spoken in near-perfect unison, had the ring of repeated ritual.

“When you’re older.” Chains raised his eyebrows at Locke and shook his head, ensuring the boy could see the gesture clearly. “
Much
older. Locke, I don’t expect that you know how to set a table?”

When Locke shook his head, Chains led him over to a tall cabinet just to the left of the cooking hearth. Inside were stacks of white porcelain plates; Chains held one up so Locke could see the hand-painted heraldic design (a mailed fist clutching an arrow and a grapevine) and the bright gold gilding on the rim.

“Borrowed,” said Chains, “on a rather permanent basis from Doña Isabella Manechezzo, the old dowager aunt of our own Duke Nicovante. She died childless and rarely gave parties, so it wasn’t as though she was
using
them all. You see how some of our acts that might seem purely cruel and larcenous to outsiders are actually sort of
convenient
, if you look at them in the right way? That’s the hand of the Benefactor at work, or so we like to think. It’s not as though we could tell the difference if he didn’t want us to.”

Chains handed the plate to Locke (who clutched at it with greatly exaggerated care and peered very closely at the gold rim) and ran his right hand lovingly over the surface of the witchwood table. “Now this, this used to be the property of Marius Cordo, a master merchant of Tal Verrar. He had it in the great cabin of a triple-decker galley. Huge! Eighty-six oars. I was a bit upset with him, so I lifted it, his chairs, his carpets and tapestries, and all of his clothes. Right off the ship. I left his money; I was making a point. I dumped everything but the table into the Sea of Brass.

“And that!” Chains lifted a finger in the direction of the celestial chandelier. “That was being shipped overland from Ashmere in a guarded wagon convoy for the old Don Leviana. Somehow, in transit, it transformed itself into a box of straw.” Chains took three more plates out of the cabinet and set them in Locke’s arms. “Damn, I was fairly good back when I actually worked for a living.”

“Urk,” said Locke, under the weight of the fine dinnerware.

“Oh, yeah.” Chains gestured to the chair at the head of the table. “Put one there for me. One for yourself on my left. Two for Calo and Galdo on my right. If you were my servant, what I’d tell you to lay out is a
casual setting
. Can you say that for me?”

“A casual setting.”

“Right. This is how the high and mighty eat when it’s just close blood and maybe a friend or two.” Chains let the set of his eyes and the tone of his voice suggest that he expected this lesson to be retained, and he began to introduce Locke to the intricacies of glasses, linen napkins, and silver eating utensils.

“What kind of knife is this?” Locke held a rounded buttering utensil up for Chains’ inspection. “It’s all wrong. You couldn’t kill
anyone
with this.”

“Well, not very easily, I’ll grant you that, my boy.” Chains guided Locke in the placement of the butter knife and assorted small dishes and bowls. “But when the quality get together to dine, it’s impolite to knock anybody off with anything but poison.
That
thing is for scooping butter, not slicing windpipes.”

“This is a
lot
of trouble to go to just to eat.”

“Well, in Shades’ Hill you may be able to eat cold bacon and dirt pies off one another’s asses for all your old master cares. But now you’re a Gentleman Bastard, emphasis on the
Gentleman
. You’re going to learn how to eat like this, and how to serve people who eat like this.”

“Why?”

“Because, Locke Lamora, someday you’re going to dine with barons and counts and dukes. You’re going to dine with merchants and admirals and generals and ladies of every sort! And when you do…” Chains put two fingers under Locke’s chin and tilted the boy’s head up so they were eye to eye. “When you do, those poor idiots won’t have any idea that they’re really dining with a thief.”

“NOW, ISN’T this lovely?”

Chains raised an empty glass and saluted his three young wards at the splendidly furnished table; steaming brass bowls and heavy crockware held the results of Calo and Galdo’s efforts at the cooking hearth. Locke, seated on an extra cushion to raise his elbows just above the tabletop, stared at the food and the furnishings with wide eyes. He was bewildered at how quickly he had escaped his old life and fallen into this new one with strangely pleasant crazy people.

Chains lifted a bottle of something he’d called
alchemical wine
; the stuff was viscous and dark, like quicksilver. When he pulled the loosened cork, the air was filled with the scent of juniper; for a brief moment it overwhelmed the spicy aroma of the main dishes. Chains poured a good measure of the stuff into the empty glass, and in the bright light it ran like molten silver. Chains raised the glass to a level with his eyes.

“A glass poured to air for the one who sits with us unseen; the patron and protector, the Crooked Warden, the Father of Necessary Pretexts.”

“Thanks for deep pockets poorly guarded,” said the Sanza brothers in unison, and Locke was caught off guard by the seriousness of their intonation.

“Thanks for watchmen asleep at their posts,” said Chains.

“Thanks for the city to nurture us and the night to hide us,” was the response.

“Thanks for friends to help spend the loot!” Chains brought the half-filled glass down and set it in the middle of the table. He took up another, smaller glass; into this he poured just a finger of the liquid silver. “A glass poured to air for an absent friend. We wish Sabetha well and pray for her safe return.”

“Maybe we could have her back a little less crazy, though,” said one of the Sanzas, whom Locke mentally labeled Calo for convenience.

“And humble.” Galdo nodded after he’d said this. “Humble would be really great.”

“The brothers Sanza wish Sabetha well.” Chains held the little glass of liquor rock-steady and eyed the twins. “And they pray for her safe return.”

“Yes! Wish her well!”

“Safe return, that would be really great.”

“Who’s Sabetha?” Locke spoke quietly, directing his inquiry to Chains.

“An ornament to our little gang. Our only young woman, currently away on…educational business.” Chains set her glass down beside the one poured to the Benefactor, and plucked up Locke’s glass in exchange. “Another special deal from your old master. Gifted, my boy, gifted like you are with a preternatural talent for the vexation of others.”

“That’s us he’s talking about,” said Calo.

“Pretty soon it’ll mean you, too.” Galdo smiled.

“Pipe down, twitlings.” Chains poured a splash of the quicksilver wine into Locke’s glass and handed it back to him. “One more toast and prayer. To Locke Lamora, our new brother. My new
pezon
. We wish him well. We welcome him warmly. And for him, we pray,
wisdom
.”

With graceful motions, he poured wine for Calo and Galdo, and then a nearly full glass for himself. Chains and the Sanzas raised their glasses; Locke quickly copied them. Silver sparkled under gold.

“Welcome to the Gentlemen Bastards!” Chains tapped his glass gently against Locke’s, producing a ringing sound that hung in the air before fading sweetly.

“You should’ve picked death!” said Galdo.

“He did offer you death as a choice, right?” Calo spoke as he and his brother tapped their own glasses together, then reached across the table in unison to touch Locke’s.

“Laugh it up, boys.” Soon all the knocking about with glasses was finished and Chains led the way with a quick sip of his wine. “Ahhh. Mark my words, if this poor little creature lives a year, you two will be his
dancing monkeys
. He’ll throw you grapes whenever he wants to see a trick. Go ahead and have a drink, Locke.”

Locke raised the glass; the silvery surface showed him a vivid but wobbly reflection of his own face and the brightly lit room around him; the wine’s bouquet was a haze of juniper and anise that tickled his nose. He put the tiny image of himself to his lips and drank. The slightly cool liquor seemed to go two ways at once as he swallowed. A line of tickling warmth ran straight down his throat while icy tendrils reached upward, sliding across the roof of his mouth and into his sinuses. His eyes bulged; he coughed and ran a hand over his suddenly numb lips.

“It’s mirror wine, from Tal Verrar. Good stuff. Now go ahead and eat something or it’ll pop your skull open.”

Calo and Galdo whisked damp cloths off serving platters and bowls, revealing the full extent of the meal for the first time. There were indeed sausages, neatly sliced and fried in oil with quartered pears. There were also split red peppers stuffed with almond paste and spinach; dumplings of thin bread folded over chicken, fried until the bread was as translucent as paper; and cold black beans in wine and mustard sauce. The Sanza brothers were suddenly scooping portions of this and that onto Locke’s plate too fast for him to track.

Working awkwardly with a two-pronged silver fork and one of the rounded knives he’d previously scorned, Locke began to shovel things into his mouth; the flavors seemed to burst gloriously, haphazardly. The chicken dumplings were spiced with ginger and ground orange peels. The wine sauce in the bean salad warmed his tongue; the sharp fumes of mustard burned his throat. He found himself gulping wine to put out each new fire as it arose.

To his surprise, the Sanza twins didn’t partake once they’d served him; they sat with their hands folded, watching Chains. When the older man seemed assured that Locke was eating, he turned to Calo.

“You’re a Vadran noble. Let’s say you’re a Liege-Graf from one of the less important Marrows. You’re at a dinner party in Tal Verrar; an equal number of men and women, with assigned seating. The party is just entering the dining hall; your assigned lady is beside you as you enter, conversing with you. What do you do?”

“At a Vadran dinner party, I would hold her chair out for her without invitation.” Calo didn’t smile. “But Verrari ladies will stand beside a chair to show they want it pulled out. It’s impolite to presume. So I’d let her make the first move.”

“Very good. Now.” Chains pointed to the second Sanza with one hand as he began adding food to his plate with the other. “What’s seventeen multiplied by nineteen?”

Galdo closed his eyes in concentration for a few seconds. “Um…three hundred and twenty three.”

“Correct. What’s the difference between a Vadran nautical league and a Therin nautical league?”

“Ah…the Vadran league is a hundred and…fifty yards longer.”

“Very good. That’s that, then. Go ahead and eat.”

As the Sanza brothers began to undecorously struggle for possession of certain serving dishes, Chains turned to Locke, whose plate was already half-empty. “After you’ve been here a few days, I’m going to start asking questions about what you’ve learned, too. If you want to eat you’ll be expected to learn.”

“What am I going to learn? Other than setting tables?”

“Everything!” Chains looked very pleased with himself. “Everything, my boy. How to fight, how to steal, how to lie with a straight face. How to cook meals like this! How to disguise yourself. How to speak like a noble, how to scribe like a priest, how to skulk like a half-wit.”

“Calo already knows that one,” said Galdo.

“Agh moo agh na mugh baaa,” said Calo around a mouthful of food.

“Remember what I said, when I told you we didn’t work like other thieves work? We’re a new sort of thief here, Locke. What we are is actors. False-facers. I sit here and pretend to be a priest of Perelandro; for years now people have been throwing money at me. How do you think I paid to furnish this little fairy-burrow, this food? I’m three and fifty; nobody my age can steal around rooftops and charm locks. I’m better paid for being blind than I ever was for being quick and clever. And now I’m too slow and too round to pass for anything really interesting.”

Chains finished off the contents of his glass and poured another.

“But you. You, and Calo and Galdo and Sabetha…you four will have every advantage I didn’t. Your education will be thorough and vigorous. I’ll refine my notions, my techniques. When I’m finished, the things you four will pull…well, they’ll make my little scam with this temple look simple and unambitious.”

“That sounds nice,” said Locke, who was feeling the wine. A warm haze of charitable contentment was descending over him and smothering the tension and worry that were so second-nature to a Shades’ Hill orphan. “What do we do first?”

“Well, tonight, if you’re not busy throwing up the first decent meal you’ve ever had, Calo and Galdo will draw you a bath. Once you’re less aromatic company, you can sleep in. Tomorrow, we’ll get you an acolyte’s robe and you can sit the steps with us, taking coins. Tomorrow night…” Chains scratched at his beard while he took a sip from his glass. “I take you to meet the big man. Capa Barsavi. He’s ever so curious to get a look at you.”