The Republic of Thieves

meeting our expectations, don’t you think we’d have packed you off somewhere out of the way?”

“Well, thank you, Master Callas.” Nikoros smiled, but it was a wan formality.

“Gods, it must be my week to be confessor to the heartsick and weary,” sighed Jean. “You could do with a few more hours of sleep, I think. The sort not spent jammed into a chair. Off to your chambers, and don’t let me see you again until—”

A woman with short curly black hair pounded up the stairs. She wore a traveling coat and mantle, as well as a courier’s pouch and a sheath knife.

“Sirs,” she said, “I’m sorry to come rushing back like this, but I didn’t know where else to go.”

“This is Ven Allaine,” said Nikoros, rising. “Ven for ‘Venturesome.’ She’s one of our troubleshooters. Ven, I’m sure you know who Master Callas is.”

Jean and Allaine exchanged the quickest possible courtesies; then she continued:

“Master Via Lupa sent us out an hour before sunrise, five of us on horseback, north from the Court of Dust. We were supposed to spot Vadran swells on the road. Introduce ourselves, make our offers, get them in the bag for the Deep Roots before they even hit the city.” She pulled her leather gloves off and slapped them against her leg. “We planned to be out until midafternoon, but just after sunup we were overridden by bluecoats, lots of them, not sparing their horses.

“They said they had an emergency directive from the Commission for Public Order. No Karthani citizens allowed more than a hundred yards north on the road, because of ‘unsettled conditions.’ They said we could either ride back under escort or walk back under arrest. So that’s it, and here I am again.”

“Are you sure they were real constables?” said Jean.

“No foolery there,” said Allaine. “They had the papers from the Commission, and I recognized a few of them.”

“You did well,” said Jean. “If you’d tried to argue you’d probably be trudging back home under guard right now. You and your fellows get some breakfast, and leave this with us.” Jean watched her depart, then turned to Nikoros. “The Commission for Public Order?”

“A trio of Konseil members. Chosen by majority vote of the larger body. A sort of committee to run the constabulary.”

“Shit. I suppose it’d be silly of me to ask what party those three belong to.”

“It would,” said Nikoros. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“We’ll just have to continue our diplomatic efforts within the city gates,” said Jean. “No worries. I’ll send Allaine and her crew out to join that party once they’ve eaten. As for you: bed. Don’t say anything, just go to your chambers and go to bed, or I’ll throw you off this balcony. You and Master Lazari both need it. I can call the tune for this dance for a few hours.”

After Nikoros crept gratefully off to his rest, Jean sifted the papers he’d left, noting new developments as well as familiar problems. He wrote orders of his own, passed them to couriers, received routine inquiries, and drank several different varieties of coffee, all freshly boiled and scalding, while the pale fingers of autumn light from the windows swung across the room.

Just after noon, the front doors banged open. Damned Superstition Dexa and Firstson Epitalus swept through the crowd and up the stairs, trailed by an unusually large bevy of attendants. Jean set down his coffee and paperwork, then rose to greet them.

“You!” hissed Dexa as she crested the last step, striding forcefully toward Jean. “You and Lazari have rashly placed us in a position of the most profound and untenable embarrassment!”

Jean squared his shoulders, drew in a deep breath, and spread his hands disarmingly.

“I can see we have a misunderstanding in progress,” he said. “Well, I’m here to instruct and condole. Everyone who isn’t a member of the Konseil is dismissed.”

Some of the attendants looked uncertain, but Jean took a step forward, smiling, and shooed them off, as though dealing with children. In a moment he and the two Konseillors were alone on the private balcony, and Jean’s smile vanished.

“You will never again address me in that fashion,” he said, his voice low and even but not even remotely polite.

“On the contrary,” said Dexa, “I intend to take your skin off by means of verbal vitriol. Now—”

“Damned Superstition Dexa,” said Jean, stepping in to loom over her without subtlety, “you will lower your voice. You will not create a scene. You will not confuse and demoralize the party members below. You will not allow our opponents the satisfaction of hearing about any disarray or dissension here!”

She glared at him, but then, through the force of argument or sorcerous conditioning or both, she caught hold of her temper and nodded, grudgingly.

“Now,” said Jean. “I will listen to anything, even the most vicious chastisement, so long as it is delivered quietly and we preserve our outward show of amity.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re entirely correct. But you and Lazari have loaded our credibility on a barge and sunk it in the lake with this business of collecting strays!”

“Wealthy, well-connected strays,” said Jean. “All of whom will be grateful for their places here, and will show their gratitude by voting—”

“That’s just it,” interrupted Firstson Epitalus, “they won’t. Show it to him, Dexa.”

“We were summoned to an emergency meeting of the Konseil just over an hour ago,” said Dexa, taking several folded sheets of paper out of her jacket and passing them to Jean. “The Black Iris convened it and barely managed to scrape the letter of the law in sending out notices. They pushed an emergency directive through by simple majority vote.”

“In light of unforeseen developments,” muttered Jean out loud as he read the tightly scripted legal pronouncements, “and the influx of desperate and diverse refugees … steps necessary to secure the sanctity of the Karthani electoral process … urgently and immediately bar all such refugees from enfranchisement as voting citizens … period of three years! Oh, those cheeky sacks of donkey shit!”

“Quite,” said Dexa. “Now, proceed to the fine details.”

“All constables empowered …” Jean read, skimming irrelevancies and flourishes, “… therefore this directive shall be considered in effect … noon! Noon today! A few damn minutes ago.”

“Yes,” said Epitalus. “Seems it wasn’t quite such an urgent and immediate need that they didn’t want to be sure all of their own Vadran newcomers were registered first.”

“Hells,” said Jean. “I only sent off about half a dozen of ours. We thought we’d have all day! How many new voters did they buy?”

“Our sources say forty,” said Dexa. “So for all your galloping about in the middle of the night, you’ve earned us six votes and the opposition forty, and now we have six dozen of our cousins from the north to store like useless clothes! How do you propose we get rid of them?”

“I don’t.”

“But that’s simply—”

“We made promises to aid and shelter them in the name of the Deep Roots party,” said Jean. “Do you know what happens when that sort of promise goes unkept? How willing do you think Karthani voters will be to put their trust in us if we’re seen kicking respectable refugees back out into the cold before the eyes of the whole city?”

“Point taken,” sighed Dexa.

“If we can’t use them as voters,” said Jean, “we can still take their money in exchange for our help. And we can use them to grow sympathy. We’ll circulate some exaggerations about these people being chased out of their homes. Families murdered, houses burned, inheritances usurped—all that sort of thing. We’re good with stories, Lazari and me.”

“Oh yes, quite,” said Dexa, all the fight leaving her voice at last. “I wager you must know best, after all.”

Jean frowned. This sort of sudden lassitude had to be some sort of friction between Dexa’s conditioning and her natural inclinations. Now it was time to put her and Epitalus back together.

“You wouldn’t have hired us if you hadn’t wanted the best in a very unusual business,” said Jean. “Now, if you’ve got no further plans for the moment, I could use your advice on some of these situations around the city.