The Republic of Thieves

Recrimination followed. Amadine stood aside in sorrow and shock while Ferrin, in despairing rage, first cajoled and then ordered Aurin to slay her.

“Now, Aurin, now! She stands bereft of all power! See how her curs crouch in awe. None shall impede you. A moment’s work will teach your enemies fear forever.”

“I shall not teach anyone that I destroy beauty when I find it, nor betray love when I profess it,” said Locke. “Swallow your counsel and keep it down, Ferrin. I am your prince.”

“You are no prince, save you act as one! Our sovereign majesty, your father, has charged you to execute his justice!”

“My father watered fields with the blood of armies. I will not water stones with the blood of an unarmed woman. That is execution, yes, but not justice.”

“Then stand aside and let it be done in your name.” Alondo drew his long steel, taking care to slide it hard against the scabbard for the most sinister and impressive noise possible. “Look away, Prince. I shall swear to your father it was done by your hand.”

“Twice now, Ferrin, have you presumed upon my patience.” Locke set a hand on the hilt of his own sword. “Never shall I stand aside, nor shall you presume again! A third time closes my heart against you and dissolves all friendship.”

“Dissolves our intimacy, Prince. Such is your right and power. Dissolve my friendship, you cannot. I act in this matter as a friend must. So I presume again, though it cuts my very soul, and charge you to remove yourself.”

“I loved you, Ferrin, but for love’s sake I’ll slay you if I must.” Locke drew his sword in a flash. “Advance on Amadine and you are my foe.”

“You are an emperor’s heir and I an emperor’s servant!” cried Alondo, raising his blade to the level of Locke’s. “You can no more run from your throne than you can from the turning of the sun! It is upon you, Prince! Your life … is … DUTY!”

“I HAVE no duty if not to her!” Locke snarled and lashed out, catching Alondo’s right sleeve, as though Ferrin had not truly expected Aurin to strike. “And you no duty if not to me!”

“I see now you are soft as the metal of your naming,” said Alondo coldly, massaging his “wounded” arm. “But I am the true Therin iron. I shall mourn thee. I mourn thee already, unkind friend, unnatural son! Here’s tears for our love and steel for your treachery!”

Alondo’s voice became an anguished cry as he leapt forward. The racketing beat of blade against blade echoed across the crowd; all the jokes and muttering died in an instant. Locke and Alondo had practiced this dance exhaustively, giving it the motions of two men furious and beyond reason. There was no banter, no clever blade- play, just harsh speed, desperate circling, and the brutal clash of metal. The groundlings drank it in with their eyes.

Ferrin was the better, stronger fighter, and he pounded Aurin mercilessly, drawing “blood,” driving Locke to his knees. At the most dramatically suitable moment, Ferrin drew back his arm for a killing thrust and received Aurin’s instead. Alondo took the blade under his left arm, dropped his own sword, and spilled out a red cloth. His collapse to the stage was so sudden and total that even Locke flinched away in surprise. The groundlings applauded.

Locke and Sabetha held one another, perfectly still, while Alondo slowly rose and went to the rear of the stage to receive his white mask and robe.

The final scenes were upon them. The sun had moved to crown the high western wall of the theater. Another fray and tumult; bit players in imperial red advanced their spears upon bit players in the gray and leather of thieves. Calamaxes followed, black robe flowing, red and orange pots of alchemical smoke bursting behind him to mark the use of his sorcery. At last the screams died; Amadine’s subjects were wiped out. The slaughtered thieves and guardsmen rose as one, donned robes and masks, and joined the looming chorus of ghosts.

Jasmer pulled Locke and Sabetha to their feet, pushed them apart, and stood dividing them.

“The kingdom of shadows is swept away,” said Jasmer. “His majesty, tendering your safety, bid me watch from afar and then retrieve you. I see your duty is nearly done, though it cost you a friend.”

“It has cost me far more than that,” said Locke. “I shall not go with you, Calamaxes. Not now or ever.”

“Your life is not your own, my prince, but something held in trust for the million souls you must rule. You as heir secure their peace. You slain or lost to dalliance condemns them to mutiny and civil war. You who claim the throne are claimed by it as tightly.”

“Amadine!” said Locke.

“She must die, Aurin, and you must rule. You will find the strength to raise your sword, or I will slay her with a spell. Either way, my tale shall flatter you to your father’s court, and none live to contradict me.”

Locke picked up his sword, stared at Sabetha, and cast it back down to the stage.

“You cannot ask me to do this.”

“I do not ask, but instruct,” said Jasmer with a bow. “And if you cannot, then, the spell.”

“Hold, sorcerer!” Sabetha brushed past Jasmer and took Locke’s hands. “I see the powers that sent you before me conspired as much against your will as my realm. Take heart, my love, for you are my love and never shall I know another. Let it be a final and fatal honesty between us now. My kingdom is gone and yours remains to be inherited. Show it much kindness.”

“I shall rule without joy,” said Locke. “All my joy lives in you, and that but shortly. After comes only duty.”

“I shall teach you something of duty, love. Here is duty to myself.” Sabetha pulled a dagger from her sleeve and held it high. “I am Amadine, Queen of Shadows, and my fate is my own. I am no man’s to damn or deliver!”

She plunged the dagger between her left arm and breast and fell forward gently, giving Locke ample time to catch her and lower her across his knees. Sobbing was easy; even the sight of Sabetha pretending to stab herself was enough to put rivers behind his eyes, and he wondered if this touch would be admired as acting. He held her tight, rocking and crying, under Jasmer’s stern, still countenance.

At last, Locke released her. Sabetha rose and walked with languorous grace to the waiting line of phantasma, who received her like courtiers and concealed her in the most elaborate cloak and mask of all.

Locke stood and faced Jasmer, composing himself.

“When I am crowned,” he said, “you shall be turned out of all my father’s gifts, your name and issue disinherited. You shall be exiled from Therim Pel, and from my sight, wherever that sight should fall.”

“So be it, my prince.” Jasmer reached forth and lowered a gold chain of office onto Locke’s shoulders, followed by his crown. “So long as you return with me.”

“The way to the throne is straight with never a turning,” said Locke. “Save this which I had, to my sorrow. I shall return.”

The phantasma parted, forming two neat ranks, revealing Sylvanus seated, unmoving, on his throne. Locke walked slowly toward him, between the rows of ghosts, with Jasmer three paces behind. Finally, Locke knelt before Sylvanus and lowered his head.

7

UNCANNY SILENCE ruled for the span of a few heartbeats. While Locke knelt in submissive tableau, the nearest two phantasma swept off their robes and masks to reveal themselves as Calo and Galdo of the Chorus.

They strolled to the end of the stage and spoke in unison: “The Republic of Thieves, a true and tragical history by Caellius Lucarno. Gods rest his soul, and let us all part as friends.”

The crowd responded with cheers and applause. Sylvanus cracked a smile and beckoned for Locke to stand. Small objects flew through the air, but they were all being thrown against the walls and galleries to either