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"There's only one way for us to walk away safely from the Sinspire, once Requin knows we've taken him for a ride," said Locke. "We need to leave the place and walk directly into the hands of your Eyes, who'll be waiting to arrest us." "Why, before all the gods, would I have them do that?"
"Because once we're safely back here," said Locke, "we will slip out quietly and return to the Poison Orchid, and later this very night we'll hit the Silver Marina itself. Drakasha has one hundred and fifty crew-folk, and we spent the afternoon taking two fishing boats to use as fire-craft. You wanted the crimson flag in sight of your city? By the gods, we'll put it in the harbour. Smash and burn as much as we can, and hit whatever's in reach on our way out. The Priori will be at your gates with bags of money, pleading for a saviour. The people will riot if they don't get one. Is that immediate enough for you? We can do what you want. We can do it tonight. And a punitive raid on the Ghostwind Isles — well, how quickly can you pack your sea-chest, Protector?"
"What are you taking from Requin?" asked Stragos, after a long, silent rumination. "Nothing that can't be transported by one man in a serious hurry." "Requin's vault is impenetrable." "We know," said Locke. "What we're after isn't in it."
"How can I be sure you won't get yourselves uselessly killed while doing this?"
"I can assure you we will," said Locke, "unless we find immediate safety in the public, legal custody of your Eyes. And then we vanish, whisked away for crimes against the Verrari state, on a matter of the Archonate's privilege. A privilege which you will soon be at leisure to flaunt. Come on, admit that it's bloody beautiful."
"You will leave the object of your desire with me," said the Archon. "Steal it. Fine. Transport it here. But since you'll need your poison neutralized anyway, I will keep it for you until we part." "That's—"
"A necessary comfort to myself," said Stragos, his voice laden with threat. "Two men who knew themselves to be facing certain death could easily flee, and then drink, binge and whore themselves in comfort for several weeks before the end, if they suddenly found a large sum of money in their hands, couldn't they?"
"I suppose you're right," said Locke, feigning irritation. "Every single thing we leave with you—"
"Will be given scrupulous good care. Your investment of two years will be waiting for you at our parting of the ways." "I suppose we have no choice, then. Agreed."
"Then I will have a writ made out immediately for the arrest of Leocanto Kosta and Jerome de Ferra," said Stragos. "And I will grant this request — and then, by the gods, you and that Syresti bitch had better deliver."
"We will," said Locke. "To the utmost of our ability. An oath has been sworn." "My soldiers—"
"Eyes," said Locke. "Send Eyes. There have to be agents of the Priori among your regulars; I'm staking my life on the fact that you keep more of an eye on your Eyes, as it were. Plus they scare the shit out of people. This is a shock operation." "Hmmm," said Stragos. "The suggestion is reasonable." "Then please listen carefully," said Locke.
5
It felt good to be stripping down to nothing.
Emerging from a long spell of false-facing could be like coming up for air after nearly drowning, Locke thought. Now all the baggage of their multi-tiered lies and identities was peeling away, sloughing off behind them as they pounded up the stairs to the Golden Steps one last time. Now that they knew the source of their mystery assassins, they had no need to sham as priests and skulk about; they could run like simple thieves with the powers of the city close on their heels. Which was exactly what they were.
He and Jean should have been loving it, laughing about it together, revelling in their usual breathless joy at crime well executed. Richer and cleverer than everyone else. But tonight Locke was doing all the talking; tonight Jean struggled to keep his composure until the moment he could lash out, and gods help whoever got in his way when he did.
Calo, Galdo and Bug, Locke thought. Ezri. All he and Jean had ever wanted to do was steal as much as they could carry and laugh all the way to a safe distance. Why had it cost them so many loved ones? Why did some stupid motherfucker always have to imagine that you could cross a Camorri with impunity?
Because you can't, Locke thought, sucking air through gritted teeth as the Sinspire loomed overhead, throwing blue and red light into the dark sky. You can't. We proved it once and we'll prove it again tonight, before all the gods.
6
"Stay clear of the service entrance, you— Oh, gods, it's you! Help!"
The bouncer who'd received Jean's painful ministrations to his ribs at their previous meeting recoiled as Locke and Jean ran across the service courtyard toward him. Locke saw that he was wearing some sort of stiff brace beneath the thin fabric of his tunic.
"Not here to hurt you," panted Locke. "Fetch… Selendri. Fetch her now." "You're not dressed to speak with—"
"Fetch her now and earn a coin," said Locke, wiping sweat from his brow, "or stand there for two more seconds and get your fucking ribs re-broken."
Haifa dozen Sinspire attendants gathered around in case of trouble, but they made no hostile moves. A few minutes after the injured bouncer had disappeared within the tower, Selendri came back out in his place. "You two are supposed to be at sea—"
"No time to explain, Selendri. The Archon has ordered us to be arrested. There's a squad of Eyes coming up to get us as we speak. They'll be here in minutes." "What?
"He figured it out somehow," said Locke. "He knows we've been plotting with you against him, and—" "Don't speak of this here," Selendri hissed. "Hide us. Hide us, please!"
Locke could see panic, frustration and calculation warring on the unscarred side of her face. Leave them here to their fate, and let them spill everything they knew to the Archon's torturers? Kill them in the courtyard, before witnesses, without the plausible explanation of an "accidental" fall? No. She had to take them in. For the moment. "Come," she said. "Hurry. You and you, search them."
Sinspire attendants patted Locke and Jean down, coming up with their daggers and coin-purses. Selendri took them.
"This one has a deck of cards," said an attendant after fishing in Locke's tunic pockets.
"He would," said Selendri. "I don't give a damn. We're going to the ninth floor."
Into the grandeur of Requin's shrine to avarice for one last time; through the crowds and the layers of smoke hanging like unquiet spirits in the air, up the wide, spiralling stairs through the floors of increasing quality and risk.
Locke glanced about as they went up; was it his imagination or were there no Priori preening in here tonight? Up to the fourth floor, up to the fifth — and there, naturally, he nearly walked into Maracosa Dure
Up through the last floors, through the most rarefied layers of the house. Still no Priori — coincidence, or encouraging sign?
Up into Requin's office, where the Master of the "Spire was standing before a mirror, pulling on a long-tailed black evening coat trimmed with cloth-of-silver. He bared his teeth at the sight of Locke and Jean, the malice in his eyes easily a match for the fiery alchemical glare of his optics.