The Republic of Thieves

grudgingly refrain from stopping you.”

“It’s nearly midnight,” said Sabetha, running her fingers through his hair. “Not much left now but the casting and counting of the ballots. Were you planning on attending the last big show at the Karthenium?”

“Can’t miss it,” said Locke. “Too many hands to hold. Yourself?”

“There are private galleries looking down on the grand hall. Once you’ve given all your children suitable pats on their heads, why don’t you and Jean join me to watch the returns? Ask any attendant for the Sable Chamber.”

“Sable Chamber. Right. And, ah, now you seem to be wearing that ‘there’s something amusing I’m not telling Locke’ face.”

“As it happens, I did hear the most fascinating thing.” She took his hand and led him to the very edge of the embankment wall. “One of my Konseil members privately complained that someone broke into his manor and, if you can believe it, stole the reliquary shelves from his ancestral chapel.”

“Some people should learn to lock their doors at night.”

“I found myself pondering the purpose of such an unorthodox acquisition,” said Sabetha. “I concluded that it must, in all probability, be an attempt to exercise some sort of hold on a man for whom the theft of less personal trinkets would have no real meaning.”

“I’m disheartened to learn that your speculations took on such a cynical character.”

“Konseillors of Karthain shouldn’t have to worry about outside influence on the eve of an election. Don’t you agree? I felt compelled to make inquiries and issue instructions to the constabulary. Merely as a matter of routine civic duty, of course.”

“Everyone knows your deep attachment to the civic health of Karthain goes back quite a few minutes,” said Locke.

“There it is! Nearly on time.” Sabetha pointed down to the water, where a canopied pleasure barge emerged from under the Skyvault Span. A long black constabulary launch was lashed alongside the barge, and bluecoats with lanterns and truncheons were swarming it. “That’s the Plain Delight. Belongs to a friend of one of your Deep Roots Konseillors, I believe. I also believe that the reliquary shelves in its hold will be back in the hands of their proper owner before the sun comes up. Any particular comments?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that you’re a sneaky, sneaky bitch,” said Locke.

“You’re my favorite audience.” Sabetha leaned in and kissed him again, then broke off with a grin. “Sable Chamber, tomorrow evening. I can’t wait to see you. And I’ll have a discreet escape route prepared, since I think a lot of irate Deep Roots supporters are going to be looking for you once the ballots are counted.”

INTERLUDE: DEATH-MASKS

1

THE NEXT SOUND in the room was that of Donker attempting to fling himself at the door, only to be caught and pulled back by the combined efforts of Alondo and the Sanza twins.

“Gods damn it, you brick-skulled hostler,” Jasmer growled. “If the rest of us have to suffer through this farce, then so do you!”

“What’s the name of this hireling of Boulidazi’s?” said Locke.

“Nerissa Malloria,” said Jasmer. “Used to be a lieutenant in the countess’ guard. Now she’s sort of a mercenary. Hard as witchwood and cold as Aza Guilla’s cunt-plumbing.”

“Where’s she meant to take the money after the play?” said Locke.

“The hell should I know, boy?” Jasmer ran his hands slowly over his rough stubble. “His lordship might’ve been screwing me, but it wasn’t the sort of affair where we had pillow talk afterward, know what I mean?”

“I’d bet my life he’d have told her to bring the money to his countinghouse,” said Jenora. “It’s at the Court of Cranes, not far from his manor.”

“No retrieving it from there,” said Sabetha. “I’ll have to work up another note in Boulidazi’s hand and send her somewhere more private.”

“She will still expect to deliver the money to him,” yelled Moncraine. “And she’ll expect a signed receipt, and she will rather expect him to have a PULSE when he signs it!”

“Well, she’s not working for the countess now,” said Sabetha. “She’s not an agent of the law. She’s Boulidazi’s by hire, and she’ll bend to his eccentricities. All we need to do is contrive some that will make her leave the money and go away satisfied.”

“Well, Amadine, Queen of the Shadows, what do you suggest?” Jasmer waved his hands in elaborately mystical gestures. “Magic? Pity I’m only a sorcerer onstage!”

“Enough!” shouted Locke. “The sand is running into the bottom of our glass, and no fooling. Leave the details of the money switch to us, Jasmer. This company needs to move to the Pearl in good order, and all of you need to act as though the play is the only care you have in the world. Stout hearts and brave faces! Out!”

The Moncraine-Boulidazi Company shuffled from the room in mingled states of shock, hangover, and grim resolve. The Sanza twins followed; it had been Sabetha’s suggestion that after the meeting they lurk conspicuously, leaving as few opportunities as possible for anyone to slip away.

“Any ideas toward parting this Malloria from the money?” whispered Sabetha.

“I’ve got one notion,” said Locke. “But you might not appreciate it. We’d need you to play the giggling strumpet again.”

“I’d rather do that than hang!”

“Then we need to find out what the best bathhouse in the city is, and ensure that Baron Boulidazi has a reservation there after the play is finished.” Locke rubbed his eyes and sighed. “And please remember that I did warn you. I think this is going to work, but it’s not going to have more than a scrap of dignity.”

2

“DEMOISELLE GALLANTE, I don’t understand!” Brego looked uncomfortable in finer-than-usual clothes, and he gestured with clenched fists as he spoke. “Where the devils has he got off to? Why won’t he simply—”

“Brego, please,” said Sabetha. “I know where his lordship is meant to be later. As for the present, you know as much as I! Didn’t his notes give you instructions?”

“Yes, of course they did, but I’m uneasy! I’m charged with m’lord’s personal safety, and I wish that I could—”

“Brego!” Sabetha was suddenly cold and stern. “You surprise me. If you have clear directions from the Baron Boulidazi, why are you in difficulty about following them?”

“I … I suppose I have no, ah, difficulty, Demoiselle.”

“Good. My own duties are about to become rather overwhelming.” Sabetha kissed her fingers and touched them to Brego’s cheek. “Be a dear and look to your business. You’ll see what our lord is playing at soon enough.”

The company had left the yard of Gloriano’s, arrayed in some semblance of a spectacle. Three black horses had been loaned by Boulidazi, caparisoned in his family colors, red and silver. Sabetha sat the first, sidesaddle, and Chantal walked beside her holding the reins. Behind them came Andrassus, tended by Donker, and Moncraine, tended by Alondo. The players on horseback wore their costumes, and Alondo wore a hooded mantle and a linen mask that left only his eyes bare. A cruel thing in the heat, but it couldn’t be helped.

The wagon, driven by Jean and Jenora, had also been draped in red and silver and was piled high with props and clothing. At the very bottom of the pile, shrouded and well-dusted with scents and pomanders, lay the corpse of the company’s patron. Galdo walked in the rear, juggling stingingly hot alchemical balls that spewed red