by Scott Lynch
“How could I stay?” she said. “How could I help you pretend to keep house? You wanted everything the same—same glass burrow, same temple, same schemes, and now I learn that you even started taking apprentices. Boys, of course.”
“Of all the damned unfair—”
“Roots are for vegetables, Locke, not criminals. Chains had enough blind spots of his own, thank you very much. The last thing I ever could have done was prance along hand in hand to your pale imitation!
“I might have been able to live with you as a partner,” she continued. “As priest, garrista, father figure, no. Not for an instant! Gods, that fucking pile of money Chains left us was the biggest curse he could have dreamed up if he’d spent his whole life planning it. I wish he’d thrown it into the sea. I wish we’d burned that temple ourselves.”
“We did burn it ourselves,” said Locke. “And I did throw the money in the sea.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had the whole mess of it sunk in Camorr’s Old Harbor. As Calo and Galdo’s death-offering.”
“It’s really all gone?”
“To the sharks and the gods, every last copper.”
“Thank you for that,” she whispered, and she reached out to set the back of her right hand against his cheek.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, reached up, and felt the heat surge in his blood when she didn’t draw away from the pressure of his hand on hers.
“For losing everything?” he said.
“For the Sanzas.”
“Ah.”
“You’ve grown some lines since I saw you last,” she said.
“It was a bad poisoning,” said Locke. “And it wasn’t my first.”
“I can’t imagine how anyone as charming and easy to get along with as yourself could ever incite someone to poison you,” she said. “I am sorry about Calo and Galdo. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help. For what it’s worth.”
“I suppose I’m sorry I was such a shitty garrista,” said Locke.
“Maybe in a better life I could have stayed to watch these lines grow on you. Perhaps put them there myself,” she said with a thin smile. “But it’s not as though I didn’t arm you with the clearest possible expression of my feelings before I chose to go.”
“Frankly, sometimes, I was surprised you stayed with us as long as you did.”
“I didn’t nerve myself up to leave overnight.” She lowered her hand and slipped it out of his grasp. “When Chains died, you thought you had to preserve everything the way it had been. Freeze our lives in amber. Maybe that was your way of mourning. It couldn’t be mine.”
“Well, I, uh … did trace you as far as Ashmere,” Locke said. “I never told anyone but Jean. I had someone up there that owed me a favor. After that …”
“Come here,” she said, pulling out the nearest chair. “Sit down. We’re pacing like servants.”
“Is that the chair with the trapdoor beneath it?”
“Oh, don’t be an ass. Choose any one you like.”
Locke pulled a chair away from a table on his side of the aisle and set it down next to the one Sabetha had offered. He gestured for her to go first, and when she was seated he eased into his, facing the door to the room. They were not quite facing one another, but turned inward at an angle with their knees almost touching.
“I did what I’d planned,” said Sabetha. “I circulated in the Kingdom of the Marrows. Started in Emberlain and moved west, hitting rich bachelors and the occasional married lord with a wandering eye.”
“Did they come up with a legendary name for you?”
“I’m sure they came up with a lot of names for me.” She smirked. “But once I was in the thick of things I decided it was better to stay anonymous than to build a myth.”
“You know I didn’t start that Thorn of Camorr bullshit—”
“Peace, Locke, it wasn’t a rebuke.”
“So why’d you leave the Marrows? Get bored?”
“The Marrows are getting dangerous. Emberlain means to break from the rest of them. All the cantons are buckling on their swords. It seemed a good time to be elsewhere.”
“I’ve been hearing this for years,” said Locke. “Emberlain is always about to secede. The king is always about to fall over in his tracks. I even used this nonsense as the basis for a scheme. Hells, I fully expect the peace in the Marrows to outlive me.”
“Then you must be planning to die in the next month or two,” she said. “Trust someone who’s been up there, Locke. The old king is heirless and out of his wits. It’s an open secret that he’s ordered his privy council to choose his successor when he finally dies.”
“How does that guarantee a war?”
“It means that there are about ten noble families that would get a vote, and a hundred that wouldn’t. Do you think they won’t prefer to just pull steel and get to work? They’ll be hip-deep in corpses once they start really trading opinions.”
“I see. So, you were dodging that, and you got a job offer for a sojourn here in Karthain?”
“I was leaving Vintila,” she said. “One moment I was alone in my carriage; the next I was having a conversation with a Bondsmage.”
“I know what that’s like.” Locke took a deep breath before asking the next question. “And … they told you about Jean and me before you took the job? That you’d be set against us, I mean.”
“I was told.”
“Before—”
“Yes, before. And I agreed to the job anyway. Do you want a moment to think very, very hard before proceeding on this point?”
“I … You’re right, I have no cause to say anything.”
“We’re not enemies, Locke; we’re rivals. Surely we’re both accustomed to the situation. And tell me, how would you have answered if our positions were reversed?”
“If I hadn’t said yes, I’d be dead.”
“Well, if I hadn’t said yes, I’d still be somewhere in the Marrows with Graf kul Daros’ agents one step behind me. I have to confess I didn’t manage to get out with as much money or anonymity as I might have hoped. In fact, I’ve … understated the mess I left behind me. I’m sorry.”
“Jean and I … weren’t coming off one of our more lucrative exploits, either.”
“So neither of us had any sensible reason to refuse this engagement.” Sabetha leaned forward. “The magi offered to get me out. To erase my tracks, help me disappear in complete safety. That was their end of the bargain. And for my part, the chance to see you and Jean again was agreeable.”
“Agreeable?”
“No doubt you find it a mild term. But this conversation’s too young to go back on our steps just yet. I’ve given you my facts; now give me yours. Tell me what happened in Camorr.”
“Ah. Well.” Locke found himself trying to scratch at the stubble that was no longer present on his chin. “We had a scheme going. A good one, that would have added a fair sum to that pile of treasure you detested.”
“This was when the Gray King was abroad in the city?”
“Gray King, Capa Raza, same man. Yes, we were chosen for the dubious honor of assisting the bastard in his war against the Barsavis. He had a Bondsmage working for him.”
“My … principals told me about him,” said Sabetha.
“The murdering shit-stain was no credit to your principals, whatever they think. Anyhow, he must have spied us out along with the money in our vault. I’ve had a long time to think about the situation, and it’s the only explanation that makes sense.
“We did our job,” he continued, “and then it turned out that the Gray King coveted our good fortune. He had a lot of bills to pay. So we got the chop. It was—”
Every fiber of his being, already unhinged by his more recent illness, revolted at the recollection of those moments drowning in a cask of warm, soupy filth.
“… it was a near thing.”
“Did any of the Barsavis survive?”
“None. Nazca was murdered to put her father’s ner
ves on edge. With our help, the Gray King tricked Barsavi into thinking he’d avenged her. He threw a party at the Floating Grave, and that’s where he and his sons were taken apart. Hell of a spectacle. Remember the Berangias sisters?”
“How could I forget?”
“They were in on it. Turns out they were actually the sisters of the Gray King. They served Barsavi all those years, waiting for the moment to strike.”
“Gods, what happened to them?”
“Jean happened.”
“And this Gray King?”
“Ah.” Locke cleared his throat. “He was my affair. We crossed swords.”
“Now, to that I must admit some pleasant surprise,” said Sabetha, and Locke felt a fresh warmth around his heart at the sparkle of interest in her eyes. “Did you finally start paying attention to your bladework?”
“Ah, don’t be misled. I’m afraid he opened me up like a physiker. I had to trick him into letting me sheath a dagger in his back.”
“Hmmm,” she said. “I’m pleased you killed him. Still a pity you never amended your clumsiness with long steel.”
“Well, Sabetha, unlike some, I’m afraid I’ve just never had it in me to instantly presume a flawless expertise in every last sphere of human endeavor.”
“There was nothing instant about it. You might have thrown yourself into training as vigorously as I did, if you hadn’t lived with the expectation of having Jean Tannen at your back for the rest of your life.”
“No. Gods damn it, I would gladly listen to you berate me until the sun comes up, but not on this subject. Jean isn’t some dog I tricked into a leash. He’s my true and particular friend. He’s still your true and particular friend, though both of you may need some time to recall it.”
“Forgive me,” she said. “I had your best interests at heart.”
“For someone whose primary insistence in life has always been that she must be taken true and unalloyed, unbending to the whims of those around her, you have a curious interest in the correction of my condition!”
“Ouch,” she said softly.
“Fuck.” Locke slammed his fists down on his legs. “Forgive me. I know you mean well—”
“No, you’re right,” she said. “I’m an extraordinarily accomplished hypocrite. Anything that displeased you is unsaid. Please go on with your story.”
“Ahhh … all right. Well. Not much more to say about Camorr. We took ship for Vel Virazzo the night the Gray King died. Oh! I met the Spider.”
“What? How did that happen?”
“When the Gray King business reached its conclusion, the duke’s people had no choice but to get involved. After an initial misunderstanding, the Spider and I worked together. Very briefly.”
“Sweet gods, were you pardoned for your crimes?”
“Oh, hells, no. Once the Gray King was dead, Jean and I bolted like rabbits.”
“And did you learn the actual identity of the Spider?”
“Yes, she and I had words on several occasions.”
“So it was a woman! As I’d always thought.”
“How did you know?”
“All those years of rumors,” said Sabetha, “and the one detail that emerged with absolute clarity from the fog was that the Spider was a man. Everyone was certain. Now, if this person could maintain total control over every other shred of their identity, why was such a fundamental truth allowed to slip? It had to be misdirection.”
“Heh. So it was.”
“And who was she, then?”
“Ahhh,” said Locke. “I see I’ve got something that genuinely intrigues you. I think I’ll hold on to it for a while.”
“Oh? I’ll remember this, Master Lamora. On that you have my word. So you took ship. What next?”
Warmed to the subject, Locke spent about ten minutes summarizing the two years spent in and around Tal Verrar—the nature of the scheme for Requin’s Sinspire, the interference of Maxilan Stragos, the time in the Ghostwinds, the battles at sea, the loss of Ezri, the loss of nearly everything.
“Incredible,” Sabetha said when he drew his story to a close. “I’d heard about the trouble in Tal Verrar. You caused all that. You brought the gods-damned Archon down! You silly, stupid, lucky little wretches!”
“And for our genius, we left Tal Verrar without Jean’s love, without a fortune, and without an antidote.”
“I’m sorry for all of that. Especially for Jean.”
“I’d say something comforting, like how he’ll get over it in time, but I know he won’t.” Locke paused, and lowered his voice. “I know I didn’t.”
“Ah,” said Sabetha. It was a completely noncommittal noise. “And here we are, then.”
“Here we are,” said Locke. “Stories told.”
“I have … instructions from my principals,” she said. “We’re not forbidden from talking to one another, but in the matter of the election … Look, we’ve got to fight it out to the last. Sincerely. All of our tricks, all of our skills. The consequences for holding back would be severe. So severe, I could never—”
“I understand,” he said. “I have similar directions from my … uh, principals.”
“Gods, I wish we could talk all night.”
“Then why don’t we?”
“Because I didn’t expect to get this much honesty out of you.” She rose. “And if I don’t do what I really brought you here for, I might lose my nerve.”
“Wait, what do you mean—”
She answered him by pulling him out of the chair and into her arms. Reflexively, he fought back for a moment, but the intensity of the embrace subdued him.
“I am glad you’re alive,” she whispered. “Please believe me, whatever else happens, I’m so glad to see you.”
“I can’t believe I have two reasons to be grateful to the Bondsmagi,” said Locke. Gods, she was warm and strong, and her scent so instantly familiar beneath the slightest sweet-apple scent of perfume. He ran a hand through the gentle curls of her hair and sighed. “Assholes. I’d work for free for any chance to be near you. They’re offering a fortune, and I’d throw it in the Amathel for this. I—”
“Locke,” she whispered. “Indulge me.”
“Oh?”
“Kiss me.”
“With every—”
“No, not like that. My preferred way. You know what I mean. From back when we were—”
“Ahhh,” he said, laughing. “Your servant, madam.”
Sabetha had always had a peculiar ticklish weakness, something he’d discovered by accident when they’d first become lovers so many years before. He gently placed his left hand beneath her chin and tilted her head back, then planted his lips high up the side of her neck, beneath her ear.
The way she moved in his arms instantly folded his better judgment up and hid it away in a deep, dark place.
“So this is what you really brought me here for?”
“Keep going,” she said breathlessly, “and we’ll find out.”
He kissed her several more times, and when he felt he’d teased her enough, ran his tongue up and down those same few inches of warm skin. She actually gasped, and clutched him more tightly still.
“Oh, dear,” he said, laughing and smacking his lips. He swallowed several times to clear a curious dry taste from his tongue. “Your perfume. I seem to have removed some of it. I hope it wasn’t expensive.”
“A special formulation, just for you,” she whispered. She continued to cling to him, digging her hands into his shoulders, and for one more moment Locke was at peace with the entire world.
The numbness began at the edge of his tongue, and in a few seconds it spread, tingling, around his mouth and up to the tip of his nose.
“No,” he whispered, hit as hard by shock as he was by whatever he’d just swallowed. He tried to pull away, but she was too strong for him; his limbs were already taking on a curious foggy dissociation. “No, no … Jnnnn … Jnnnn!”
“Shhhhhh,” Sabetha whispered, no longer shuddering,
no longer breathless with shared anticipation. “A special formulation. Throat and voice go first. Just relax. Jean can’t hear you.”
“Whhhh … whhhhy?”
“Forgive me,” she said. She cradled him as his legs turned to jelly. She knelt slowly, bringing him down with her, laying him across her knees. “I wasn’t sure whether I’d really do it or not. If it’s any consolation, your story about Tal Verrar was the convincer. You’re not as good as I am, Locke, but you’re too damn good to let you run around fighting fairly. I have to beat you, for both our sakes.”
“Nnngh—”
“Don’t talk. Just listen; you don’t have much time left. There’s a second reason. I can see now how ill you’ve been, and how you’ll have to push yourself to keep up with me. I can’t let you do it, Locke. I can’t watch you do it. You’ll kill yourself trying to best me, and you can’t ask me to permit that. Not when I could stop it. I once cared for you a great deal. I care for you now. Remember that.”
She kissed him gently on the forehead, and he barely felt it.
“Remember that, and forgive me.”
9
“NNNNGH,” SAID Locke, coming up from layers of blackness that seemed draped over him like burial shrouds. “Nnngh—Sab … no, please!”
He gasped, with the disbelieving gratitude of someone finally fighting back to wakefulness after an interminable nightmare of suffocation. He smelled his own sweat, and the familiar odors of wet wood and fresh lake air.
His eyes slid grudgingly open. He was lying on his back in yet another ship’s great cabin, this one more luxuriously appointed than any he’d ever seen, even Zamira Drakasha’s. Soft orange alchemical globes cast the fixtures and finery in an inviting light. Gulls cried somewhere nearby, and the world creaked gently around him.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” muttered Locke, reveling in the full recovery of his powers of speech. He sat up, and instantly became aware of the fierce gnawing hunger in his belly. “Oh, stupid, stupid, stupid—”
“You can’t blame yourself,” said Jean.