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"What the—" said a portly, well-dressed servant who had the misfortune to walk around the corner, past the alcove containing the fourth-floor window Locke and Jean had just crawled in through.
"Hey," said Locke. "Congratulations! We're reverse burglars, here to give you fifty gold solari!" He tossed his coin-purse at the servant, who caught it in one hand and gaped at its weight. In the next second and a half he spent not raising an alarm, Jean coshed him.
Thed'r come in through the north-west corner of the top storey of the Cordo family manor; battlements and iron spikes had made a climb to the roof unattractive. It was just shy of the tenth hour of the evening, a perfect late-Aurim night on the Sea of Brass, and Locke and Jean had already squirmed through a thorny hedgerow, dodged three parties of guards and gardeners and spent twenty minutes scaling the damp, smooth stone of Cordo Manor just to get this far.
Their makeshift priestly robes of Callo Androno, along with most of their other needs, were tucked into backpacks sewn with haste by Jabril. Possibly thanks to those robes, no one had loosed a crossbow bolt at them since thed'r set foot on solid Verrari ground, but the night was young, thought Locke — so very, very young.
Jean dragged the unconscious servant into the window alcove and glanced around for other complications while Locke quietly slipped the double frosted-glass windows shut and rehitched their latch. Only a slender, carefully bent piece of metal had allowed him to open that latch; the Right People of Camorr called the tool a "breadwi
As it happened, Locke and Jean had stolen into just enough great houses much like this one — if none quite so vast — to know vaguely where to look for their quarry. Master bedchambers were often located adjacent to comforts like smoking rooms, studies, sitting parlours and-
"Library," muttered Jean as he and Locke padded quietly down the right-hand corridor. Alchemical lights in tastefully curtained alcoves gave the place a pleasantly dim orange-gold glow. Through a pair of open doors in the middle of the hall, on their left, Locke could just glimpse shelves of books and scrolls. No other servants were in sight.
The library was a thing of minor wonder; there must have been a thousand volumes, as well as hundreds of scrolls in orderly racks and cases. Charts of the constellations, painted on alchemically bleached leather, decorated the few empty spots on the walls. Two closed doors led to other i
Locke flattened himself against the left-hand door, listening. He heard a faint murmur and turned to Jean, only to find that Jean had halted in his tracks next to one of the bookshelves. He reached out, plucked a slim octavo volume — perhaps six inches in height — from the stacks and hurriedly stuffed it into his backpack. Locke gri
At that moment, the left-hand door opened directly into him, giving him a harmless but painful knock on the back of the head. He whirled to find himself face to face with a young woman carrying an empty silver tray. She opened her mouth to scream and there was nothing else for it: Locke's left hand shot out to cover her mouth while his right went for a dagger. He pushed her back into the room from which she'd come, and past the door Locke felt his feet sinking into plush carpet an inch deep.
Jean came through right behind him and slammed the door. The servant's tray fell to the carpet and Locke pushed her aside. She fell into Jean's arms with an "Oooomph!" of surprise, and Locke found himself at the foot of a bed that was roughly ten feet on a side, draped in enough silk to sail a rather substantial yacht.
Seated on pillows at the far end of that bed, looking vaguely comical with his thin body surrounded by so much empty, opulent space, was a wizened old man. His long hair, the colour of sea-foam, fell free to his shoulders above a green silk gown. He was sorting through a pile of papers by alchemical light as Locke, Jean and the unwilling servant woman all barged into his quarters.
"Marius Cordo, I presume," said Locke. "For the future, might I suggest an investment in some artificer gearwork for your window latches?"
The old man's eyes went wide and the papers scattered from his hands. "Oh, gods," he cried, "oh, gods protect me! It's you!"
3
"Of course it's me," said Locke. "You just don't know who the hell I am yet."
"Master Kosta, we can discuss this. You must know that I am a reasonable and extremely wealthy man—"
"All right, you do know who the hell I am," said Locke, disquieted. "And I don't give a shit about your money. I'm here to—"
"In my place, you would have done the same," said Cordo. "It was business is all, just business. Spare me, and let that too be a business decision, based on gain of gold, jewels, fine alchemicals—"
"Master Cordo," said Locke, "look, I—" He scowled, turned to the servant. "Is this man, ah, senile?" "He's absolutely competent," she answered coldly.
"I assure you I am," roared Cordo. Anger changed his countenance utterly. "And I will not be put off from business by assassins in my own bedroom! Now, you will either kill me immediately or negotiate the price of my release!"
"Master Cordo," said Locke, "tell me two things, and be perfectly bloody clear about them both. First, how do you know who I am? Second, why do you think I'm here to kill you?" "I was shown your faces," said Cordo, "in a pool of water." "In a pool of—" Locke felt his stomach lurch. "Oh, damn, by a—"
"By a Karthani Bondsmage, representing his guild on a personal matter. Surely you now realize—"
"You," said Locke. "I'd have done the same in your place, is what you said. You" ve been sending those gods-damned assassins after us! Those fuckers at the docks, that barkeeper with the poison, those teams of men on Festa night—"
"Obviously," said Cordo. "And you" ve been elusive, unfortunately. With a bit of help from Maxilan Stragos, I believe."
"Unfortunately? Unfortunately? Cordo, you have no idea what a lucky son of a bitch you are that they didn't succeed! What did the Bondsmagi tell you?" "Come now. Surely your own plans—" "Tell me in their words or I will kill you!"
"That you are a threat to the Priori, and that in light of sums paid for their services previously, they thought it in their best interests to tender a warning of your presence." "To the I
"You stupid bastards," said Locke. "The Bondsmagi used you, Cordo. Think on that next time you consider giving them money. We — Master de Ferra and myself — are on their fuck-with list, and they tossed us between you and Stragos for a laugh. That's all! We didn't come here to do anything to the Priori.7 "So you say—" "Why aren't I murdering you right now, then?"
"A simultaneously pleasing and vexing point," said Cordo, biting his lip.
"The fact is," said Locke, "that for reasons which are forever going to remain way the hell beyond your understanding, I" ve broken into your manor to do one thing — give you the head of Maxilan Stragos on a platter." "What?"
"Not literally. I have plans for that head, actually. But I know how gods-damned happy you" d be to have the Archonate kicked over like an ant hill, so I'm only going to say this once: I mean to remove Maxilan Stragos from power permanently, and I mean to do it tonight. I must have your help." "But… you are some sort of agent of the Archon—"
"Jerome and I are unwilling agents," said Locke. "Stragos" s personal alchemist gave us a latent poison. So long as Stragos controls the antidote, we can serve him or die pretty awfully. But the fucker just had to keep pushing us, and now he's pushed too far." "You could be… you could be provocateurs, sent by Stragos to—"