Red Seas Under Red Skies

"Says the man in charge of the very people such a force would be charged with hunting down," scoffed Cordo.

"Younger Cordo," said Requin, "those are also the "very people" whose interference with your family business is kept to an acceptable minimum through my involvement. They are the very people who were instrumental in delivering our victory yesterday — carrying your messages, filling the streets to detain army reinforcements, distracting Stragos's most loyal officers while some of you were allowed to approach this affair with the air of amateurs dabbling at lawn-bowling." "Not I—" said Cordo.

"No, not you. You did fight. But I flaunt my hypocrisy with a smile on my face, Lyonis. Don't you dare pretend, here in our highest privacy, that your disdain somehow absolves you from your involvement with the likes of me. You don't want to imagine a city with crime unregulated by the likes of me! As for the Eyes, I am not asking, I am telling. Those few who were true fanatics for Stragos can conveniently trip and land on swords, yes. The rest are too useful to throw away" "On what grounds," said Tiga, "do you presume to lecture—"

"On the grounds that six of the seven people sitting here have seen fit to store goods and funds in the Sinspire vault. Items that, let us be frank, need not ever reappear in the event that I begin to feel anxious about our relationship.

"I have an investment in this city, the same as you. I would not take kindly to having a foreign power interrupt my affairs. To give Stragos his due, I ca

"I think not. Inconveniences like our surviving Eyes have a habit of disappearing before arguments can broaden, don't they? It's a busy time. Messages might be lost, or misconstrued, and I'm sure there" d be a perfectly plausible reason for whatever happened." "So what do you want?" asked Fioran.

"If you're going to take the Mon Magisteria as an administrative centre for our shiny new government, I would imagine that a suite of offices would be a good start. Something nice and prestigious, before all the nice ones are gone. Plus I'll expect a rudimentary operating budget by the end of the week; I'll set down the rough fi

"So you can pass out sinecures to some of your jumped-up thieves," said Lyonis.

"So I can aid them in their transition to life as respectable citizens and defenders of Tal Verrar, yes," said Requin.

"Will this be your own transition to life as a respectable citizen?" asked Tiga.

"Here I thought I already was," said Requin. "Gods, no. I have no desire to turn away from the responsibilities I currently enjoy. But it just so happens that I have an ideal candidate in mind to head our new organization. Someone who shares my qualms about the ma

Selendri couldn't help smiling as the Priori turned in their seats to stare at her. "Now, Requin, hold on—" said Cordo.

"I see no need," said Requin. "I don't believe your six fellows are actually going to deny me this very minor and very patriotic request, are they?"

Cordo looked around, and Selendri knew what he was seeing on the faces of the other Priori: if he formally tried to stop this, he would be alone, and he would weaken not only his father's borrowed position but his own future prospects.

"I think her starting compensation should be something handsome, rather handsome," said Requin cheerfully. "And of course she'll require use of official carriages and barges. An official residence; Stragos had dozens of houses and manors at his disposal. Oh, and I think her office at the Mon Magisteria should be the nicest and most prestigious of all. Don't you?"

They kissed one another for a very long time, alone in the office once the Priori had left in various states of bemusement, worry and aggravation. As he usually did, Requin removed his gloves to run the brown, pocked skin of his hands over her, over the matching scar tissue on her left-hand side as well as the healthy flesh on her right.

"There you are, my dear," he said. "I know you" ve been chafing here for some time, ru

"Our failure was entirely shared," said Requin. "In fact, I fell for Kosta and de Ferra's line of bullshit harder than you did — you retained your suspicion the whole way. Left to your own devices, you would have thrown them out of the window early on and avoided the entire mess at the end, I'm sure." She smiled.

"And those smirking Priori assume I'm inflicting one last grand sinecure on them where you're concerned." Requin ran his fingers through her hair. "Gods, are they in for a surprise. I can't wait to see you in action. You'll build something that will make my little coteries of felantozzi look tawdry."

Selendri stared around at the wreckage of the office. Requin laughed. "I suppose," he said, "that I have to admire the audacious little shits. To spend two years pla

"Ah, the paintings, yes." Requin gri

EPILOGUE

Red Seas Under Red Skies

1

"What the hell do you mean, "reproductions"?"

Locke sat in a comfortable, high-backed wooden chair in the study of Acastus Krell, Fine Diversions dealer of Vel Virazzo. He wrapped both hands around his slender glass of lukewarm tea to avoid spilling it.

"Surely you can't be unfamiliar with the term, Master Fehrwight," said Krell. The old man would have been sticklike if not for the grace of his movements; he paced his study like a dancer in a stage production, manipulated his magnifying lenses like a duellist striking a pose. He wore a loose brocaded gown of twilight-blue silk, and as he looked up now the hairless gleam of his head emphasized the eerily penetrating nature of his stare. This study was Krell's lair, the centre of his existence. It lent him an air of serene authority.

"I am," said Locke, "in the matter of furniture, but as for paintings—"

"It's a rarer thing, to be sure, but there can be no doubt. I have never actually seen the original versions of these ten paintings, gentlemen, but there are critical incongruities in the pigments, brush strokes and general weathering of their surfaces. They are not genuine art objects of the Talathri Baroque."

Jean absorbed this morosely, hands folded before him, saying nothing and ignoring his tea. Locke tasted bile in the back of his throat. "Explain," he said, struggling to keep his temper in check.

Krell sighed, his own aggravation clearly tempered by sympathy for their situation. "Look," he said, carefully holding up one of the paintings thed'r stolen, an image of Therin Throne nobles seated at a gladiatorial game, receiving the tribute of a mortally wounded fighter. "Whoever painted this is a master artisan, a fantastically patient and skilful individual. It would have required hundreds of hours per painting, and the work must have been done with full access to the originals. Obviously, the… gentleman from whom you procured these objects had qualms about exposing the originals to danger. I'd wager my house and all of its gardens that they're in his vault." "But the… incongruities. How can you know?"