The Republic of Thieves

people and yours, until I undertake my public metamorphosis. Once I do so, your people walk away and leave mine the gold.”

“Elegant, don’t you think?” Locke wanted to punch the wall. This was too much. Lovaris had information from confidential conversations with Locke’s half-dozen most trusted associates, information just a day or two old. Still, Locke had stayed calm through worse. “Come now, Lovaris, we both know you’re no ideologue. The whole city knows it. Nobody’s going to be particularly surprised or hurt, and ten thousand ducats will buy an awful lot of anything.”

“Do I look like a stranger to money?” said Lovaris.

“You look like a man of a certain age,” said Locke. “How many more pleasant and healthy years will the gods give you? How much more pleasant and healthy could they be with that extra ten thousand to ease your way?”

“There is a more practical concern,” said Lovaris. “Accepting a bribe is technically an amputation offense, perhaps even a capital one if state interest can be invoked. Nobody pays attention to routine little exchanges, but ten thousand ducats is a very awkward mass of coin, and it doesn’t fit any of the usual patterns. If I did this, I would be hounded by the Black Iris. I’d be the one man in Karthain to whom the bribery laws would be applied! The only place that money could vanish to is my cellars. I wouldn’t be able to join it legally with my countinghouse funds for years, and that’s damned inconvenient. Nor can I simply take a letter of credit, for even more obvious reasons.”

“If you can assume that I’m good for ten thousand in cold metal,” said Locke, “why don’t I leave it to you to dictate how I can best conceal the transfer of funds to you?”

“I think not.” Lovaris rose and stretched. “The most important point to consider is that your little scheme is only worth the trouble if we Black Iris win the election by exactly one Konseil seat. If you win, you’ve no need to buy me at all, and if we win by two seats or more, my turning can’t shift the majority. Frankly, it’s all immaterial, because I don’t believe you’re going to win. I don’t believe you’re going to lose by so little as one seat. You’re correct that I’m no slave to ideology, but it would be tedious and stupid to suddenly find myself on the side of the minority.”

“Many interesting things could happen between now and the election,” said Locke.

“A hazy platitude. You might as well be conducting your business in public squares, Lazari. I’ve revealed how extensive our intelligence is because I want you to understand that you’re over the barrel.”

“Fair enough,” said Locke. “This, then, is the point in the conversation where I say ‘twenty thousand.’ ”

“Ten thousand would be awkward enough. You expect me to be enthusiastic about trying to hide twice as much? The money’s only an enticement if it can reach my pockets invisibly, and if I’m still relevant to Karthani politics after I’ve earned it. No, Master Lazari, I won’t pretend I’m not ultimately for sale in some fashion, but you are not offering any sort of price I’m looking for. Now, before I have you escorted out, do you want a moment to put your wet disguise back on? For formality’s sake, if nothing else?”

7

A LEAN, scruffy man in a paint-stained tunic left the tradesman’s entrance of the manse of Perspicacity Lovaris and hurried west, back into the cool green maze of the Mara Karthani. Subtle signs had been laid since his last passage, knots of brown cloth tied around hedge branches at knee level, and the man followed them rapidly through twistings and turnings, through brick arches hung with yellowing vines, to the statuary niche where Jean Tannen waited.

Jean, clad in a sensible hooded oilcloak, was sitting on a bench beside the likeness of some forgotten scholar-soldier of the old empire, a stern woman carved in the traditional mode, carrying the raised lantern of learning in one hand and a clutch of barbed javelins on the opposite shoulder. Jean pulled out a second oilcloak and swept it over Locke’s shoulders.

“Thank you,” said Locke, pulling off his wig and optics. “We’ve got a serious hole in our security. Lovaris knew I was coming.”

“Damn,” said Jean. “Do you want me to roust those grandmothers Sabetha’s got up on the rooftops after all?”

“Gods, they’re harmless. Just there to taunt us. Our problem is someone inside Josten’s. Lovaris had full details of my plan and my offer, things I’ve only mentioned to a handful of people, in privacy, in the past couple of days! Is there any place an eavesdropper could have their way with the Deep Roots private gallery?”

“I spent hours going over all the cellars, all the bolt-holes,” said Jean. “There’s nowhere close enough, not above or below. And the noise of the place … no, I’d stake my life on it. It’d take— Well, it’d take magic.”

“Then I’m off to hunt the rat,” said Locke. “And since my first approach bounced right off the fatuous fucker’s self-satisfaction, you’ll have to visit Lovaris and try our second approach.”

“Second approach, right.” Jean rose from the bench. “You sure our budget can bear the strain?”

“It’ll take us down to the dregs, and an emergency few thousand, and those donations from our Vadran refugees,” said Locke. “But there’s not much else to spend it on at this point, is there?”

“So be it,” said Jean. “If he bites, I’ll start visiting jewelers tonight. I’ve picked some discreet ones.”

“Good. I’d say diamonds and emeralds, mostly, but you’ve got a sharp eye. Trust your own discretion.”

“And we’ll need a boat,” said Jean.

“Already thinking on it!” Locke tapped his own forehead. “But let’s cover first, second, third, and fourth things before we go chasing down fifths or sixths, eh?”

“Gods keep you,” said Jean. “Don’t trip over your feet on the way home. What are you going to do about our rat?”

“Well, since someone we trust is feeding my confidential instructions to Sabetha,” said Locke, “I reckon I might feed some confidential instructions to all the people we trust.”

8

THAT NIGHT, as a hard rain beat down outside, Locke put his arm around Firstson Epitalus and drew the old man into a whispered conversation in the Deep Roots private gallery.

“You know more about the Isas Thedra than I do,” said Locke. “I need a quiet, out-of-the-way place in your district to store some barrels of fire-oil. A shack, a cellar. Somewhere nobody will disturb, at least not before the election.”

“Fire-oil? What’s this for, Master Lazari?”

“I’m going to see to it that our Black Iris friends have a fairly damaging fire a few nights before the election at one of their Bursadi District properties. I’ll take pains to see that nobody gets hurt. I just want them to lose some papers and some comforts.”

“Capital!” Epitalus thumped his cane on the floor approvingly. “Well, in that case, there’s an outbuilding on my own estate. The old boathouse. I’m not using it at all.”

“Good. One more thing, Epitalus. This is absolutely, vitally secret. Speak of this to no one. Am I clear?”

“As an empty glass, Master Lazari.”

The reference left them both thirsty. They toasted the frustration of the Black Iris with small glasses of cinnamon lemon cordial, and then Jean reappeared from his errand, shrugging himself out of his rain-slick oilcloak. Locke waved Epitalus off, then conversed in whispers with Jean.

“We’re on,” said Jean. “I think Lovaris was perversely pleased by the idea of us doing our part tonight, in the rain.”

“Of course. He’s a miserable sack of smugness. When?”