by Scott Lynch
“None of that,” came the voice of the envoy of ceremonies. “Admit them, and see that we have privacy.”
Locke and Sabetha were allowed onto the balcony, where they found Ezrintaim at the rail, looking down at the stage and the drudges (paid for by Moncraine) sweeping the courtyard. The baroness turned, and the two Camorri bowed more deeply than required.
“Well,” said Ezrintaim, “your noble patron does come and go rather as he pleases, doesn’t he? This is the second time I’ve expected him and met part of his troupe instead.”
“My lord Boulidazi sends his most earnest and abject apologies, my lady, that he cannot visit you as you required,” said Locke. “Leaving the stage just now, he stumbled and injured his ankle. Very badly. He cannot stand at the moment, let alone climb stairs. He placed his signet in our hands as his messengers, and bid us offer it if you wished to verify—”
“My, my. The Baron Boulidazi is less than careful in his habits. Do put that down, boy, I’ve no need to bite the baron’s ring. I’ve seen it before. Is your lord still here?”
“Some of his friends insisted he be taken to a physiker immediately, my lady, and without causing a scene,” said Sabetha. “My lord was in considerable pain and may not have adequately resisted their blandishments.”
“Refusing temptation isn’t Lord Boulidazi’s particular strength,” said Ezrintaim, staring at Sabetha more intently than Locke would have liked. “But if he’s done himself an injury I won’t begrudge his friends using their brains for once.”
“He, ah, that is, my lord hopes that you will consent to be his guest at any convenient time following tomorrow’s performance,” said Locke. This was a risky ploy if Lady Ezrintaim had any reason to find the offer insulting, but if it helped strengthen the impression that Boulidazi was presently alive and planning an active social calendar, it meant everything to their deception.
“I see.” Ezrintaim steepled her fingers before her chest. “Well, it would be convenient, and the sooner the better. I expect you two will also be in attendance.”
“My lady,” said Locke, “we would appear if so commanded, but we are only players in my lord Boulidazi’s company, and I don’t see—”
“Lucaza,” said the baroness, “I should perhaps disabuse you of the notion that I am unaware of Lord Boulidazi’s intentions toward your cousin Verena.”
“I, uh—” Locke felt much as he would have if Ezrintaim had adopted a chausson fighting stance and kicked him in the head.
“You know what we really are!” said Sabetha in smooth Throne Therin, saving Locke from another useless sputter.
“Countess Antonia relies on me to be something of a social arbiter as well as her envoy of ceremonies,” said Ezrintaim in the same tongue. “Gennaro is an eligible young peer of Espara who has lost the close guidance of his elders. I prevailed upon several members of his household staff to report on his behavior. Gennaro is, let us say, rather forthright with them concerning his desires.”
“Does our presence in Espara cause you difficulty, my lady?” said Locke, trying to force himself to be as collected as Sabetha was.
“You’ve been reasonably discreet, though I will say that none of you have considered the needs of the larger world around you.” She fixed her gaze on Sabetha. “I don’t necessarily believe it would do any harm to Espara to strengthen its ties with Camorr through a marriage. If, of course, that ever was your genuine intention.”
“I haven’t misled Gennaro,” said Sabetha forcefully. “He is … overbearing and presumptuous, but in all other respects he is quite acceptable. And we share a significant interest in several arts.”
“Did your family instruct you to freely choose a future husband during your sojourn in Espara, Verena? I’d find it very strange if they did. I think you’ve allowed yourself to forget that you are your family’s to dispose of. My sources haven’t reported which family that is, but I require this much honesty: Are you a member of a Five Towers clan?”
Sabetha nodded.
“Then you know very well that you serve a duke who may require your marriage elsewhere for political reasons! Even if he doesn’t, you will still require Nicovante’s permission to wed, much as Gennaro will need Countess Antonia’s.” Ezrintaim rubbed her forehead and sighed. “Should you ever feel any resentment that I have looked into the affairs of Lord Boulidazi’s household, please do remember that I am specifically empowered to avoid thoughtless entanglements like the one you two and Gennaro would have concocted for all of us.”
“We didn’t mean to leap into it instantly,” said Sabetha. “We meant to take several years.”
“There, at least, you show a grain of wisdom,” said Ezrintaim. “But patient arrangements are quickly set aside when a woman’s stomach swells.”
“I can make tea with Poorwife’s Solace, the same as any woman,” said Sabetha. “I have been thoroughly instructed in avoiding the … imposition of a child.”
“Rest assured it would be an imposition,” said Ezrintaim. “I will assume that any such occurrence, no matter what sort of accident you plead, is a deliberate attempt to secure a hasty marriage to Lord Boulidazi. I will never threaten your personal safety, but I will certainly threaten your happiness. Is that clear?”
“Absolutely, my lady,” said Sabetha.
“Good. Let us speak no more of this until we are under Lord Boulidazi’s roof. Now, your company did tolerably well today. A brisk staging despite your winnowed numbers. I’ll deliver a favorable report, and I expect that attendance tomorrow will benefit. Dare I assume that Lord Boulidazi has now satisfied his urge to flounce about onstage as a bit player?”
“I fear Gennaro won’t be flouncing anywhere for some time,” said Sabetha. “His attendance tomorrow will be far more conventional.”
“Also good. I suppose you’re eager to return to his side.”
Sabetha nodded vigorously.
“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.”