“AFTER MY soldiering ended,” continued Chains, “and before I came back to Camorr, I indulged in several vices, not the least of which was acting. I fell in with a troupe in Espara run by the single unluckiest thick-skulled son of a bitch that ever crawled out of a womb. Jasmer Moncraine. I saved his life by design and he saved mine by accident. We’ve kept in touch across the years.”
“Oh gods,” said Sabetha, “you’re sending us in payment of a debt!”
“No, no. Jasmer and I are square. The favor is mutual. I need the five of you occupied elsewhere. Jasmer has desperate need of players, and an equally desperate need to avoid paying them.”
“So it
“Oh, never doubt. I get the impression from his letters that he’s one mistake away from being chained up for debt. I’d appreciate you preventing that. He wants to do Lucarno’s
“Do you have a copy of the letter for us?” said Locke.
“Nah.”
“Well, then, what should we do about—”
Chains tossed a jingling bag at Locke’s head. Locke barely managed to pluck it out of the air before it struck his nose.
“Oh, look, a bag of money. That’s all the help you’ll be getting from me, my boy.”
“But … aliases, travel arrangements—”
“Your problem, not mine.”
“We don’t know anything about the stage!”
“You know about costumes, makeup, elocution, and deportment. Everything else, you can learn once you get there.”
“But—”
“Look,” said Chains. “I don’t want to spend the rest of the day interrupting your questions, so I’m going to temporarily forget how to make words come out of my mouth. I’ll be nursing a chilled bottle of Vadran white over at the Tumblehome until further notice. Remember the caravan. Two days. You can be part of it, or you can leave the Gentlemen Bastards. Your time is henceforth your own.”
He left the kitchen in a state of extreme self-satisfaction. A few moments later, Locke heard the creak and slam of the burrow’s concealed riverside exit. Locke and his cohorts traded a sincere set of bewildered looks.
“Well, this is a fist-fuck and a flaming oil bath,” said Calo.
“Is there anyone here,” said Locke quietly, “who’d rather leave the gang than go to Espara?”
“There’d better
“The billiard ball’s right for once,” said Calo. “It’s not as though I’m enthusiastic about this, but anyone who wants to leave can do it headfirst off the temple roof.”
“Good,” said Locke. “Then we need to talk. Get some ink and parchment.”
“Count the money,” said Sabetha.
“I’ll fetch some wine,” said Jean. “Strong wine.”
5
THEY WERE far from comfortable together. The Sanzas sat on opposite sides of the table, and Sabetha leaned against a chair pushed away from everyone else. Yet they all seemed to grasp the urgency of their situation; over the course of two bottles of Verrari lemon wine they hashed out mostly civil arguments and scratched up lists of supplies and responsibilities.
“Right, then,” said Locke when his glass was empty and his notepages full. “Sabetha will try to scare up any portions of
“I’ve got some other Lucarno plays I’ll pack,” said Jean. “And some Mercallor Mentezzo dross I’m not so fond of, but we should all study them and pick up some lines.”
“Jean and I will find a wagon and get us in with a caravan master,” said Locke. He passed one of his lists over to Galdo. “The Sanzas will pack the common goods and supplies.”
“We need aliases,” said Sabetha. “We can smooth out our stories on the way, but we should have our game names ready to use.”
“Who do you want to be, then?” said Jean.
“Hmmmm. Call me … Verena. Verena Gallante.”
“Lucaza,” said Locke. “I’ll be Lucaza … de Barra.”
“Must you?” said Sabetha.
“Must I what?”
“You always have to choose an alias that starts with ‘L,’ and Jean nearly always goes for a ‘J.’ ”
“Keeps things simple,” said Jean. “And now, just because you’ve said that, I’ll be … Jovanno. Hell, Locke and I can be first cousins. I’ll be Jovanno de Barra.”
“False names are fun,” said Calo. “Call me Beefwit Smallcock.”
“These are aliases, not biographical sketches,” said Galdo.
“Fine, then,” said Calo. “Lend me a hand. There’s a masculine form of Sabetha, isn’t there?”
“Sabazzo,” said Galdo, snapping his fingers.
“Yeah, Sabazzo. I’ll be Sabazzo.”
“Like
“Hey, I know,” said Galdo. “I’ll be Jean. You can call yourself Locke.”
“You two will crap splinters for a month after I make you eat this table,” said Jean.
“Well, if you put it like that,” said Calo. “Why don’t we use our middle names? I’ll be Giacomo, and you can be Castellano.”
“Might work,” said Galdo grudgingly. “Need a last name.”
“
“Gods lend me strength,” said Sabetha.
6
“MASTER DE Barra,” said Anatoly Vireska two nights later, looking up with a smile that put every gap in his teeth on display, like archery ports in a crumbling fortress wall. The rangy, middle-aged Vadran caravan master gave the Gentlemen Bastards’ wagon a friendly thump as Jean brought their team of four horses to a halt. “And company. You picked a good time to show up.”
“I’ve seen this place when it’s busy.” Locke glanced backward at the Millfalls District and the Street of Seven Wheels, which lay under the strange particolored haze of fading Falselight. Traffic on the cobbled road itself was sparse, since few business travelers came or went from the Cenza Gate as darkness was falling. “Figured we might get a jump on the chaos.”
“Just so. Pull up anywhere in the commons beneath the wall. Now, if you want more than half-assed shelter, there’s the Andrazi stable down the lane to the right, and the Umbolo stable just yonder, the one with all the mules. Andrazi tips me a few coppers a week to point people her way, but I wouldn’t take the money if I didn’t think her place was the better bargain, hey?”
“Duly noted,” said Jean.
“Want me to send a boy around to help with your horses? I could have my outfitter check your packing, too.”
“I’m sure we’re fine, thanks,” said Locke.
