The Republic of Thieves

“He’s been Deep Roots since this place was three bricks and some postholes in the mud. Gods above, Lazari, he’s as likely to turn as I am.”

“What makes you think we trust you?”

“I … I—”

“Take a breath, I’m kidding.” Locke patted Nikoros on the back and smiled. “If you’re wrong, of course, we’re buggered as all hell. Josten! My dear fellow. Yes, have our junk sent to our rooms, I’m sure they’re perfect, with just the right number of walls and ceilings. I’ll count them later. You know why we’re here?”

“Why, to help us kick the Black Iris in the teeth for a change. And to enjoy your coffee.”

A waiter appeared at Jean’s side, offering a steaming mug on a brass tray. Jean took it and swallowed half of it in one gulp, shuddering with pleasure as the heat cascaded down his battle-hardened gullet.

“Oh yes,” he said. “That’s the stuff. Sweet liquid death. With just a hint of ginger.”

“Okanti beans,” said Josten. “My family once grew them on the home islands, before we came north.”

“Feeling human again?” said Locke.

“This brew could make a dead eunuch piss lightning,” said Jean. He tossed back the second half of the cup. “You want to go up and rest?”

“Gods, no,” said Locke. “Time is precious, security’s nonexistent, and our collective ass is hanging in the wind just begging a certain someone to put an arrow right between the cheeks. Josten, I’ve got to make cruel use of you, I’m afraid.”

“Name any requirement. I’ll meet it eye to eye.”

“Good man, but you’ll learn soon enough not to say that sort of thing to me until I’ve finished speaking. And then you’ll probably learn not to say nice things at all. Your waiters, porters, and the like, have you hired any new ones in the last week?”

“Five or six.”

“Get their names on paper. Get that paper to Master Callas here.” Locke jerked a thumb at Jean. “Instruct your most trusted employees to watch your newest hirelings at all times. Don’t do anything, but get full reports of their activities. On paper.”

“And get that paper to Master Callas?”

“Right you are. Next, consider every door in the entire structure that you routinely keep locked. Excepting the guest rooms, of course. Have all the locks changed, every last one. Do it tomorrow, during business hours. Nikoros will reimburse you from party funds.”

“I—” said Nikoros.

“Nikoros, your job this afternoon is to say yes to anything that comes out of my mouth. The more you rehearse this, the sooner it’ll become a smooth mechanical process allowing no time for painful reflection. Can you practice for me?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a natural. Anyway, Josten, get locksmiths down here tomorrow even if you have to promise them a month’s pay. Make sure your fresh hirelings don’t get new keys. Arrange to make it look like the locksmiths have simply run out. Tell them they’ll get theirs in a few days. We’ll see if any of them do anything interesting as a result. Clear so far?”

Josten nodded and tapped his right temple with one finger.

“Next, get a metalsmith to bang up some simple neck chains for all of your employees. Dignified but cheap. Gilded iron, nothing anyone would want to pawn. This is important. We don’t want some enterprising spy throwing together an outfit to mimic one of your waiters so they can lurk about. Anyone on duty wears a chain. Anyone working without a chain gets hauled in back for an impolite conversation. Nobody takes their chain with them when they leave, or they’re fired. Got it? Chains get handed in to you and your most trusted associates, and donned again when it’s time to start a new shift.

“Once you’ve seen to that, announce to all of your employees that you’re doubling their wages until the day after the election. Nikoros will reimburse you out of party funds.”

“Er … yes,” said Nikoros.

“Mention also,” said Locke, “the importance of preserving a secure house during the election, and that anyone reporting anything genuinely unusual or out of place will be compensated for their trouble. If a spider farts in a wine cellar, I want you to hear about it.”

Josten’s eyes had widened, but he nodded as before.

“What else …? Physical security! We need brutes. Say half a dozen. Reliable types, patient, ready for a scrap but not slobbering to start one. No idiots. And some women we can blend in with the crowd. Handy things, pretty girls with knives under their skirts. Where can we get some?”

“The Court of Dust,” said Nikoros. “The caravan staging and receiving posts. There’s always guards for hire. Not exactly Collegium scholars, mind you.”

“Just so long as they don’t suck their thumbs in polite company,” said Locke. “See to it tomorrow, Nikoros, and take Master Callas with you. He can sort cream from crap. Clean up the new recruits, get them decent clothes, and put them up here for the duration. Pay for the rooms out of party funds. Also—make it clear that anyone brought on as muscle answers directly to me or Callas. They take no orders from anyone else without our permission.”

“Uh, sure,” said Nikoros.

“Now, Nikoros, you have an office full of papers to preserve. Run off and get your scribe working. Take the steps we discussed earlier. What time are you parading us around?”

“Ninth hour of the evening.”

“Good, good, shit. Wait. Will everyone in attendance know that Callas and I are running the show?”

“No, no, only the members of the Committee. We did hire you, remember.”

“Ah,” said Locke. “That’s fine. You carry on with getting the hell out of here, and we’ll see you tonight.”

Nikoros nodded, shook hands with Josten, and went out the front door.

“What else …?” Locke turned back to Josten. “Rooms. Yes. The rooms adjacent to our suite, and across from it, are not to be let. Keep them vacant. Have Nikoros pay you the full six weeks’ rent for them out of party funds. But give the keys for the empty rooms to me, right?”

“Easily done.”

Jean studied Locke carefully. This rapid transition to a state of wide-eyed energetic scheming was something he’d seen many times before. However, there was a nervous, feverish quality to Locke’s mood that made Jean bite his lip with concern.

“What else …?”

“Luncheon, perhaps?” Jean interrupted as gracefully as he could. “Food, wine, coffee? A few minutes to sit down and catch your breath in private?”

“Food, yes. Coffee and wine are a ghastly mix. One or the other, I don’t care which. Not both.”

“As for food, sir—” said Josten.

“Put anything on my plate short of a live scorpion and I’ll eat it. And … and …” Locke snapped his fingers. “I know what I’ve forgotten! Josten, have you had any new customers in the past few days? Particularly new customers, never seen before, ones that spend a great deal of time sitting around?”

“Well, now that you mention it.… Don’t stare at them, but on your right, far side of the room, the third table from the rear wall, under the painting of the lady with the exceptional boso … necklace.”

“I see,” said Locke. “Yes, that is an extraordinary place to hang a necklace. Three men?”

“First started coming three days ago. They eat and drink, more than enough to keep their spot. But they keep it for hours at a time, and they come and go in shifts, sometimes. There’s a fourth fellow not there right now.”

“Do they have rooms?”

“No. And they don’t do business with the regular crowd. Sometimes they play cards, but mostly … well, I don’t know what they do. Nothing offensive.”

“Would you call them gentlemen? In their manner of dress, in their self-regard?”