The Republic of Thieves

without hucking it right back up. And lo, the Bastard is victorious once again!”

“Jasmer,” said Sabetha, lowering her voice, “not to put too fine a point on it, but we need these two unpoisoned if they’re going to keep rehearsing. In fact, we need everyone! Can’t you idiots dry out a bit—”

Sylvanus, though he seemed barely aware of the existence of his own face let alone the world beyond it, gave an elephantine snort.

“Green gills or no,” said Jasmer, “the company always takes the stage, my dear. Besides, this can hardly even be called a proper debauch by our lofty standards. Your friends hold their liquor like sieves, is the problem.”

“Sorry to make this your trouble,” said Alondo, sinking into a chair, “but we needed some help with the floor, and moving the Asinos, and we’re all too blotted to be much use, and we can’t find Jenora or Jovanno … Hey, did you two see Lord Boulidazi? He was here, too!”

“We know,” said Sabetha. “Mistress Gloriano, we need some water buckets. Lucaza, we’d better drag these two out to the yard and get to work. They’ll be stuck to the floor like barnacles if we let them alone.”

“I was going to thank you again for prying me out of Boulidazi’s grasp,” whispered Locke, “but now I think I’ll wait and see how the evening ends first.”

“How do you think I feel?” She squeezed his arm and flashed him a hint of a smile, like a fellow desert traveler sharing out precious water. “Now, pick arms or legs. Let’s heave this one outside.”

“Where the hell is Jovanno?” muttered Locke.

2

JEAN HAD watched Locke ascend the stairs, skin of wine in hand, with a mix of relief and annoyance. It was past time for Locke and Sabetha to sort themselves out, or pitch themselves out of a high window. Jean’s own peace of mind would be the benefactor in either case.

He closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and let the wall do the job of holding it up for a moment. What a time he must be having, when merely sitting alone and not pretending that his bruises didn’t hurt felt like an immoderate indulgence.

When he opened his eyes again, Jenora was smiling at him from two feet away.

“I’ve found a threadbare boy!” she said. “Let me help you back up to your room.”

“Oh, uh, my room?”

“Trust me,” she said, hauling him to his feet. “Until the rest of the company’s too drunk to move, you never want to be the first to fall asleep around ’em. Gods know what mischief you’ll wake up to.”

There was a strange heat on his cheeks, like the warmth of too many ales. Jenora’s hand was around his waist as though it were the most natural thing in the world, and together they made a quick exit from the common room.

“So what are you not telling me, Jovanno?” She closed the door to Locke and Jean’s chamber softly, then put her arms on his shoulders.

“Not telling you?”

“Oh, come now.” Her fingers began to work the knots between his shoulder blades. “You read, write, and figure, but scribes don’t get muscles like this pushing quills. I know you speak Vadran as well as Therin. You can handle a needle and thread. You fought a grown man to a standstill … not just any man, but Bert. Bert’s a scrapper and a half.”

“I’ve had a, ah, strange education,” said Jean, feeling his wits loosening as agreeably as his muscles under Jenora’s ministrations.

“You’re all strange, you Camorri. And strangely educated.”

“It’s nothing sinister. We’re just …”

“Slumming, hmm? Isn’t that what they usually call it when someone dresses down and plays beneath their station?”

“Jenora!” Jean turned around, grabbed her hands, and halted the massage. His well-soothed wits grudgingly rose to the occasion. If she’d been snooping on them a flat denial would probably be useless. “Look, imagine whatever you like, but please believe me … everyone is better off just taking things at face value.”

“Is there some sort of danger in my being curious?”

“Let’s just say there’s absolutely no danger in not being curious!”

“Rest easy. It’s an informed guess, Jovanno. Your cousin Lucaza, well, he seems a little surprised every time he notices that the world isn’t revolving around him. And Verena, she’s no scullery maid, you know? Manners, diction, learning, poise. Then there’s swordsman’s calluses on these hands of yours.” She ran her fingers lightly over his palms, and the sensation made Jean’s blood run hot in more than one place. “The gods put you all together from odd parts. There’s a story to be told.”

“There isn’t. There are so many trusts I’d be breaking … Jenora, please.”

“All right,” she said soothingly. “I can live with a bit of mystery. Let’s work on what ails you, then.”

“What ails … I don’t … oh, well, ha—”

She slipped her hands under his tunic and ran them up his back, where they started to gently but firmly put his sore muscles into something resembling their proper order. This had the natural effect of bringing them together; her breasts were warm against his upper chest, and her lips were parted in a half-smile just in front of his nose.

“Heh.” She blew playfully on his optics, fogging them over. “Not frightened of older, taller women, are you?”

“I, uh, wouldn’t really know what to be frightened of.”

“Oh? So you’re an untapped vintage, hmmm?”

“Jenora, I’m not used … surely you can see that I’m not thought of as, uh, you know—”

“You know what I don’t like, Jovanno?” She moved her hands and teased the thin line of hair that ran down his stomach. “Stupid men, weak men, illiterate men. Men who can’t tell a play from a pile of kindling.”

Their lips came together, and as they kissed she slowly, deliberately guided one of his hands until it rested atop a breast. She squeezed for both of them, pushing his fingers, and Jean felt his awareness of the world narrowing to the delightful corridor of heat that seemed to be rising between them.

“Lucaza,” he whispered. “He might—”

“I have a feeling your friends are going to be up on the roof for a very long time,” she murmured. “Don’t you?”

Soon enough, by some process halfway between legerdemain and wrestling, their clothes were off and they fell into his bed. Jean could barely tell where light skin ended and dark skin began. He lay wrapped in the taste and smell and warmth of her, with smoke-colored hair falling around him like a teasing shroud. Jenora seemed very much at ease taking the lead, staying on top of him, alternately slowing and quickening the rhythm of their coupling. All too soon he reached the limit of his untrained endurance, and with a joyful, aching eruption there was one less mystery in Jean Tannen’s life.

Exhilarated, exhausted, and pleasantly bewildered, he clung to her for some time as their heartbeats slowed from a gallop to a canter. The pains of his tussle with Bertrand the Crowd seemed a hundred years in the past.

Jenora found her jacket in the mixed scatter of their clothing, pulled out a slim wooden pipe, and tamped it full of a tobacco mixture that smelled alien and spicy to Jean. They covered the room’s feeble alchemical globe and shared the pipe back and forth in the near-darkness, talking softly by the orange glow of the embers.

“So I really was your first.”

“Was it that obvious? Would you have known, even if I hadn’t said?”

“Enthusiasm is the first step,” she said. “Artfulness comes later.”

“I hope I didn’t disappoint you.”

“I’m not displeased, Jovanno. Hells, having a lover that’s new to the dance means you can train him