The Republic of Thieves

“We see certain truths manifested in limited forms for our own apprehension,” said Locke. “We don’t see the life after life as it truly is, because in our eyes it conforms to our mechanics of nature.”

“Straight out of elementary theology, just as I learned it. Several times,” said Jean. “Anyway, since when are you a connoisseur of revelation? Have you ever, at any point in your life since you became a priest, been struck by the light of heavenly clarity, by dreams and visions, by omens, or anything that made you quake in your breeches and say, ‘Holy shit, the gods have spoken!’ ”

“You know I would have told you if I had,” said Locke. “Besides, that’s not how things work, not as we’re taught in our order.”

“You think any sect isn’t told the exact same thing, Locke? Or do you honestly believe that there’s a temple of divines out there somewhere constantly getting thumped on the head by bolts of white-hot truth while the rest of you are left to stumble around on intuition?”

“Broadening the discussion, aren’t you?”

“Not at all. After so many years, so many scrapes, so much blood, why would you suddenly start having true revelations from beyond the grave now?”

“I can’t know. I can’t presume to speak for the gods.”

“But that’s precisely what you’re doing. Listen, if you walk into a whorehouse and find yourself getting sucked off, it’s because you put some money on the counter, not because the gods transported a pair of lips to your cock.”

“That’s … a really incredible metaphor, Jean, but I think I could use some help translating it.”

“What I’m saying is, we have a duty to accept on faith, but also a duty to weigh and judge. Once you insist that some mundane thing was actually the miraculous hand of the gods, why not treat everything that way? When you start finding messages from the heavens in your breakfast sausages, you’ve thrown aside your responsibility to use your head. If the gods wanted credulous idiots for priests, why wouldn’t they make you that way when you were chosen?”

“This didn’t happen while I was eating breakfast, for fuck’s sake.”

“Yeah, it happened while you were this far from death.” Jean held up his thumb and forefinger, squeezed tightly together. “Sick, exhausted, drugged, and under the tender care of our favorite people in the world. I’d find it strange if you didn’t have a nightmare or two.”

“It was so vivid, though. And he was so—”

“You said he was cold and vengeful. Does that sound like Bug? And do you really think he’d still be there, wherever you imagined him, hovering around years after he died just to frighten you for half a minute?”

Locke stuffed more biscuit into his mouth and chewed agitatedly.

“I refuse to believe,” said Jean, “that we live in a world where the Lady of the Long Silence would let a boy’s spirit wander unquiet for years in order to scare someone else! Bug’s long gone, Locke. It was just a nightmare.”

“I sure as hell hope so,” said Locke.

“Worry about something else,” said Jean. “I mean it, now. The magi came through on their end of our deal. We’ll be expected to make ourselves useful next.”

“Some convalescence,” said Locke.

“I am glad as hell to see you up and moping on your own two feet again. I need you, brother. Not lying in bed, useless as a piece of pickled dogshit.”

“I’m gonna remember all of this tender sympathy next time you’re ill,” said Locke.

“I tenderly and sympathetically didn’t heave you off a cliff.”

“Fair enough,” said Locke. He turned around and glanced across the lantern-lit reaches of the deck. “You know, I think my wits might be less congealed. I’ve just noticed that there’s nobody in charge of this ship.”

Jean glanced around. None of the magi were visible anywhere else on deck. The ship’s wheel was still, as though restrained by ghostly pressure.

“Gods,” said Jean. “Who the hell’s doing that?”

“I am,” said Patience, appearing at their side. She held a steaming mug of tea and gazed out across the jewel-dotted depths.

“Gah!” Locke slid away from her. “My nerves are scraped raw. Must you do that?”

Patience sipped her tea with an air of satisfaction.

“Have it your way,” said Locke. “What happened to all of your little acolytes?”

“Everyone’s shaken from the ritual. I’ve sent them down for some rest.”

“You’re not shaken?”

“Nearly to pieces,” she said.

“Yet you’re moving this ship against the wind. Alone. While talking to us.”

“I am. Nonetheless, I’d wager that you’re still going to misplace your tone of respect whenever you speak to me.”

“Lady, you knew I was poison when you picked me up,” said Locke.

“And how are you now?”

“Tired. Damned tired. Feels like someone poured sand in my joints. But there’s nothing eating at my insides … not like before. I’m hungry as all hell, but it’s not … evil. Not anymore.”

“And your wits?”

“They’ll serve,” said Locke. “Besides, Jean’s here to catch me when I fall.”

“I’ve had the great cabin cleaned for you. There’s a wardrobe with a set of slops. They’ll keep you warm until we reach Karthain and throw you to the tailors.”

“We can’t wait,” said Locke. “Patience, are we in any danger of running aground or something if we ask you a few questions?”

“There’s nothing to run aground on for a hundred miles yet. But are you sure you don’t want to rest?”

“I’ll collapse soon enough. I can feel it. I don’t want to waste another lucid moment if I can help it,” said Locke. “You remember what you promised us in Lashain? Answers, I mean.”

“Of course,” she said. “So long as you recall the limitation I set.”

“I’ll try not to get too personal.”

“Good,” said Patience. “Then I’ll try not to waste a great deal of effort by setting you on fire if my temper runs short.”

3

“WHY DO you people serve?” said Locke. “Why take contracts? Why Bondsmagi?”

“Why work on a fishing boat?” Patience breathed the steam from her tea. “Why stomp grapes into wine? Why steal from gullible nobles?”

“You need money that badly?”

“As a tool, certainly. Its application is simple and universally effective.”

“And that’s it?”

“Isn’t that good enough for your own life?”

“It just seems—”

“It seems,” said Patience, “that what you really want to ask is why we care about money at all when we could take anything we please.”

“Yes,” said Locke.

“What makes you think we would behave like that?”

“Despite your sudden interest in my welfare, you’re scheming, skull-fucking bastards,” said Locke, “and your consciences are shriveled like an old man’s balls. Start with Therim Pel. You did burn an entire city off the map.”

“Any few hundred people sufficiently motivated could have destroyed Therim Pel. Sorcery wasn’t the only means that would have sufficed.”