The Republic of Thieves

“I do indeed.” He reached out, half-consciously, and started fiddling with another onion, spinning it like a top. “In fact, I’m steadily emptying a bank vault because of you with every passing day.”

“Good. Because I’ve never been what anyone would call easy, and I’m certainly not cheap.” She reached up and took his other arm.

“Sabetha, what—”

“I’m making a decision. Now, are you going to quit playing with that fucking onion and see what happens if you kiss me, or do I have to put a sword to your neck?”

“Promise I won’t wake up on a ship?”

“Disappoint me, Lamora, and I make no promises as to where and when you’ll wake up.”

He put his hands beneath her arms, swung her off her feet, and lifted her onto the table. Laughing, she hooked her legs behind his waist and pulled him close. Her lips were warm and still carried the faint taste of ginger and oranges; he had no idea how long they kissed, arms around each other’s necks, but while they did Locke completely lost track of the fact that he was even standing up.

“Whew,” Sabetha said when they grudgingly broke apart at last. She put a finger against his lips. “And look at that, you’re still conscious. You’re one and one when it comes to kissing in Karthain.”

“That’s a tally I mean to improve … Sabetha? Sabetha, what is it?”

She’d gone rigid in his arms. With his head still spinning from the one-two punch of wine and woman, he slowly turned to look over his shoulder.

Patience was standing beside the little round table, dressed in a carnelian-colored robe with a wide hood.

“Oh, come on,” Locke growled. “Not now. Surely you have better things to do than bother us now.”

“Which one are you?” said Sabetha, calmly and respectfully.

“Archedama Patience. You work for my rival.”

“Patience,” said Locke, “if this isn’t important, I swear to the Crooked Warden, I’ll—”

“It is important. In fact, it’s critical. It’s time we spoke. Since neither of you could be dissuaded from this foolishness, both of you have a right to know.”

“Both of us?” said Sabetha. “What do we have a right to know?”

“Where Locke really comes from.” Patience gestured for the two of them to move away from the food table. “And what Locke really is.”

INTERLUDE:HAPPENINGS IN BEDCHAMBERS

1

“HONORED … COUSIN,” LOCKE hissed, “I need …”

“Do regale me with your needs,” said Boulidazi.

“Air!”

“Ah.” The iron pressure against Locke’s neck eased just enough to permit a breath.

“It’s not what you think,” he gasped.

“Perhaps I’ve been an idiot,” whispered Boulidazi, “but you’ll not find me eager to resume the role.”

“Gennaro!”

Sabetha stood in the balcony door, and her tone of voice was sufficient to check a rampant horse. Boulidazi actually lowered his blade.

“Verena, I … I’m sorry, but your behavior—”

“It’s your behavior that requires explanation, Cousin!”

“I’ve been listening to both of you—”

“You’ve been skulking like a thief!”

“You proclaimed love for one another! I heard your quarrel!”

Too late, Boulidazi seemed to remember that he hadn’t yet professed his interest in Verena to Verena herself. Dismay spilled across his face like paint splashed across a blank canvas, and Sabetha didn’t neglect the opening.

“It was an acting exercise, you lout! An improvisation! And why should it concern you, were it otherwise?”

“An … improvisation?”

“I asked Lucaza to follow my lead and improvise a scene!” She pushed Boulidazi’s arm firmly away from Locke’s throat. “A scene you interrupted! We might be the ones dressed as commoners, Baron Boulidazi, but you’ve bested us for coarse behavior!”

“But …”

Locke admired the ingenuity of Sabetha’s ploy, but perhaps she was pushing it too far. They needed Boulidazi controlled, not crushed. It was time to resume his role as advocate. He rubbed his aching throat.

“Cousin Verena,” he coughed, “what Gennaro means is that I told him about my own betrothal. So, when he overheard our exercise, why, he had good cause to suspect some deceit.”

“He had no cause to lay hands on your person!”

“Cousin, be sensible. We discussed this before we set out. We knew that living incognito would require us to surrender some of the dignities of our true station.”

“Yes, but—”

“Furthermore, there are no other witnesses, so I feel no need to require satisfaction.”

Locke tried to sound as natural and confident as possible, though he suspected Boulidazi would rate the prospect of a duel with him as a physical threat on par with a difficult bowel movement. The thought of alienating Verena, however …

“I seem to have made a mistake.” Boulidazi sheathed his knife. The cold anger of moments before was put away just as thoroughly. “Verena, I apologize for the misunderstanding. Tell me, please, how can I recover your good opinion?”

Locke blinked at the solitary direction of the apology and the rapid shift to a smooth, wheedling manner. He’d pegged Boulidazi as sincere and straightforward, even a bit of a yokel, but the Esparan had obviously relegated the “noble” Lucaza to the role of a tool in his designs on Sabetha. That and his ease with violence hinted at dangerous depths.

“For one thing,” said Sabetha, “you can cease this unseemly scuttling in shadows. You’re a lord of Espara and the patron of this company. I’d prefer to see you come and go openly in a manner befitting your blood.”

“Of … of course.”

“And if you want to make yourself genuinely useful, you could secure us a more appropriate rehearsal space. I’m growing tired of Mistress Gloriano’s inn-yard.”

“Where would you prefer—”

“I’m told we’re to use a theater called the Old Pearl.”

“Oh. Naturally. Well, that’s just a matter of a gratuity for the countess’ envoy of ceremonies—”

“See to that gratuity, Baron Boulidazi,” said Sabetha, subtly softening her posture and tone of voice. “Surely it’s a matter of little consequence for you. It will be a boon to the company to be practicing on our real stage as soon as possible. Do this, and I’ll be pleased to call you Gennaro again.”

“Then consider it done.” Boulidazi bowed to her with gallant over-formality, gave Locke a perfunctory clap on the shoulder, and went away in haste. His footsteps receded down the passage, and the door to the inn’s second floor banged shut.

“That was close,” whispered Locke.

“Our patron is starting to assume possessive feelings toward his noble cousins,” said Sabetha. “He’s more