The Republic of Thieves

“Now we can make this look like anything,” said Sabetha. “Argument, crime of passion, anything. We put him somewhere plausible and build a fable. All we’ve got to do is figure out what. And, ah, do it in the next couple of—”

Someone pounded on the door to the room.

Locke fought to keep control of himself; at the first noise it had felt like his skin was attempting to leap off his body. A quick glance around the room showed that nobody else had a firm grip on their nerves, either.

“M’lord Boulidazi?” The muffled voice belonged to Brego, the baron’s bodyguard and errand-hound. “M’lord, are you in there? Is all well?”

Locke stared at the door, which Sabetha had moved away from in order to finish off Boulidazi. Calo and Galdo were the closest to it, but even they were three or four paces away. The door was not bolted; if Brego decided to open it, even a crack, he’d be looking directly at Boulidazi’s corpse.

2

SABETHA MOVED like an arrow leaving a bowstring, and the very first thing she did was tear her tunic off.

Locke’s jaw hadn’t finished dropping before Sabetha was at the door, landing ghost-light on her bare feet.

“Oh, Brego,” she said, panting. “Oh, just a moment!”

She gestured at Boulidazi’s corpse. Calo and Galdo sprang forward to help Locke, and in seconds they managed to push the baron’s body under the bed. Jean slid a blanket partly over the room’s alchemical lamp, dimming it. A moment later Calo, Galdo, and Locke squeezed up against the wall just behind Sabetha, out of the visual arc of the door, provided it wasn’t opened all the way.

Sabetha tousled her hair with one precise head-toss, then cracked the door open to give Brego an unexpectedly fine view of a preoccupied young woman. Her tunic was pressed to her chest with one hand to cover an artful minimum of bosom.

“Why, Brego,” she said, mimicking perfect breathlessness, “you dutiful fellow, you!”

“Why, Mistress Verena, I … my lord, is he—”

“He’s busy, Brego.” She giggled. “He’s very busy and will be that way for some time. You can wait downstairs, I think. He’s in the best possible hands.”

She didn’t give him time to say anything else, but with a lascivious little wave she slid the door shut and bolted it.

A few agonizing seconds passed, and then Locke could hear Brego’s boot-steps as he moved away down the corridor. Sabetha threw her tunic back on, sank down against the door, and sighed with relief.

“We’re all gonna have gray fuckin’ hair by the time the sun comes up,” said Galdo. He and Calo had both been holding daggers at the ready; now they hid the slender bits of blackened steel again. The air in the room suddenly seemed dense with the smells of blood and nervous sweat.

“Can we get the hell out of here now?” said Jenora.

“Where do you want to go?” said Jean.

“Camorr!” she whispered. “For the gods’ sakes, I know you can do … something! I know you’re not really just actors.”

“Calm down, Jenora.” Locke stared at one of Boulidazi’s boots, sticking out incongruously from beneath the bed. “You’re not exactly inconspicuous. How would people not notice you sneaking off hours before we’re supposed to deliver the play? How could we keep you hidden on the road?”

“A ship, then.”

“If you run,” said Sabetha, “you’ll tear a hole in whatever story we invent to explain what’s happened. And you’ll leave your aunt to take all the trouble! If we can’t make the tale neat and obvious, the countess’ people will be right back to rounding up scapegoats.”

“Even if you manage to make it neat and obvious,” said Jenora, “we’re all crushed. We’re liable, remember? To the ditch-tenders, the confectioners, the alemongers, the cushion-renters. Without the play, we’ll be so far in default to all of ’em we might as well go turn ourselves in at the Weeping Tower now.”

“What about acts of the gods?” said Calo. “Surely you wouldn’t be liable if a hurricane blew in. Or the Old Pearl collapsed.”

“Of course not,” said Jenora. “But whatever powers you have, I doubt they extend that far.”

“Not that far, no,” said Calo. “But the stage is made of wood.”

“A fire! Nice one!” said Galdo. “The two of us could handle it. In, out, like shadows. Wouldn’t take two hours.”

“The stage timbers are alchemically petrified,” said Jenora. “They won’t just catch fire. You’d need a dozen cartloads of wood, like engineering a bloody siege.”

“So we can’t destroy the Pearl,” said Sabetha.

“And we can’t run,” said Jean. “It’d invite all kinds of trouble, and it’s not likely any of us would make it home.”

“And if we stay but don’t do the play, we all get thrown into chains for debt,” said Locke. “Debt at the very least.”

“So there’s only one sensible course of action,” said Sabetha.

“Grow wings?” said Calo.

“We have to pretend everything’s normal.” Sabetha counted off items using her fingers as she spoke. “We have to get Brego out of the damned building so we can have some room to move. We have to do the play—”

“You’re cracked!” said Jenora.

“… and once we’ve done it, then we let the world in on the fact that Boulidazi’s dead, in circumstances that don’t incriminate anyone we care about.”

“What are we going to do with the son-of-a-bitch’s corpse?” Galdo kicked the nearest boot for emphasis. “You know what it’ll smell like if we treat it as a keepsake until tomorrow night.”

“And it’s gonna be ass-ugly,” said Calo. “Any dullard will see the wound’s not fresh.”

“That’s where fire comes in,” said Locke. “We can burn him! Cook him until nobody can tell whether he died an hour or a week ago.”

“How can we control it?” said Jean. “If we burn him beyond recognition …”

“No worries.” Locke held up the knife he’d taken from Boulidazi, the same one the baron had set against his cheek. Its blade was all business, but the hilt was set with black garnets and a delicate white iron cloisonne. “This and all his other baubles will make his identity very plain.”

“Where are we hiding it … I mean, him?” said Jenora.

“No, you mean it,” said Jean, smiling grimly.

“For the smell … I suppose I have pomanders and some rose dust we can douse the body with.” Jenora was still far from settled, but her resolve seemed to be strengthening. “That should help it keep. For a day, at least.”

“Good thought,” said Calo. “As for where, I suppose it’s too easy just to keep him shoved under this bed?”

“Out of the gods-damned question!”

“We could have Sylvanus sit on it all night,” said Locke. “He wouldn’t notice a damn thing until he’d sobered up again. Alas, everyone else would. Let’s hide him with the props and costumes.”

“Let’s hide him as a prop,” said Sabetha. “We’ve got a play full of corpses. Cover him in something suitable, throw a mask on him, and as far as anyone knows, he’s just scenery! That way we can keep him with us—”

“… and not have to worry about anyone finding him while we’re away at the Pearl!” said Locke. “Yeah. That leaves one last problem.… He’s got a pile of gentlemen and retainers expecting to share his company at the play.”

“Hate to add turds to the shit-feast,” said Calo, “but that’s not the last problem.