The Gentleman Bastard Series 3-Book Bundle: The Lies of Locke Lamora, Red Seas Under Red Skies, The Republic of Thieves by Scott Lynch Page B
Authors: Scott Lynch
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Soon he was sending ghostly
gray swirls of smoke up to join the ghostly gray clouds; the stuff smelled like burning
pine tar.
“Forgive me,” Chains said, shifting his bulk to his right so his direct exhalations
would miss the boy by a few feet. “Two smokes a night is all I let myself have; the
rough stuff before dinner, and the smooth stuff after. Makes everything taste better.”
“So I’m staying for dinner?”
“Oh-ho, my cheeky little opportunist. Let’s say the situation remains fluid. You go
ahead and finish your story. You tipped your old master that Veslin was working as
an auxiliary member of the famed Camorr constabulary. He must have thrown quite a
fit.”
“He said he’d kill me if I was lying.” Locke scuttled to his own right, even farther
from the smoke. “But I said he’d hid the coin in his room. His and Gregor’s. So … he
tore it apart. I hid the coin real well, but he found it. He was supposed to.”
“Mmmm. What did you expect to happen then?”
“I didn’t know they’d get killed!” Chains couldn’t hear any real grief in that soft
and passionate little voice, but there seemed to be real puzzlement, real aggravation.
“I wanted him to beat Veslin. I thought maybe he’d do him up in front of all of us.
We ate together, most nights. The whole hill. Fuck-ups had to do tricks, or serve
and clean everything, sometimes get held down for caning. Drink ginger oil. I thought
he’d get those things. Maybe all those things.”
“Well.” Chains held an inhalation of smoke for a particularly long moment, as though
the tobacco could fill him with insight, and looked away from Locke. When he finally
exhaled, he did so in little puffs, forming wobbly crescents that fluttered a few
feet and faded into the general haze. He harrumphed and turned back to the boy. “Well,
you certainly learnedthe value of good intentions, didn’t you? Caning. Cleaning and serving. Heh. Poor
Veslin got cleaned and served, all right. How did your old master do it?”
“He was gone for a few hours, and when he came back, he waited. In Veslin’s room.
When Veslin and Gregor came back that night, there were older boys nearby. So they
couldn’t go anywhere. And then … the master just killed them. Both. Cut Veslin’s throat,
and … some of the others said he looked at Gregor for a while, and he didn’t say anything,
and then he just …” Locke made the same sort of jabbing motion with two fingers that
Chains had made at him earlier. “He did Gregor, too.”
“Of course he did! Poor Gregor. Gregor Foss, wasn’t it? One of those lucky little
orphans old enough to remember his last name, not unlike yourself. Of
course
your old master did him, too. He and Veslin were best friends, right? Two draughts
from the same bottle. It was an elementary assumption that one would know that the
other was hiding a fortune under a rock.” Chains sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Elementary.
So, now that you’ve told your part, would you like me to point out where you fucked
everything up? And to let you know why most of your little friends in Streets that
helped you pluck that white iron coin are going to be dead before morning?”
CHAPTER TWO
SECOND TOUCH AT THE TEETH SHOW
1
IDLER’S DAY, THE eleventh hour of the morning, at the Shifting Revel. The sun was
once again the baleful white of a diamond in a fire, burning an arc across the empty
sky and pouring down heat that could be felt against the skin. Locke stood beneath
the silk awning atop Don Salvara’s pleasure barge, dressed in the clothes and mannerisms
of Lukas Fehrwight, and stared out at the gathering Revel.
There was a troupe of rope dancers perched atop a platform boat to his left; four
of them, standing in a diamond pattern about fifteen feet apart. Great lengths of
brightly colored silk rope stretched amongst the dancers, around their arms and chests
and necks. It seemed
gray swirls of smoke up to join the ghostly gray clouds; the stuff smelled like burning
pine tar.
“Forgive me,” Chains said, shifting his bulk to his right so his direct exhalations
would miss the boy by a few feet. “Two smokes a night is all I let myself have; the
rough stuff before dinner, and the smooth stuff after. Makes everything taste better.”
“So I’m staying for dinner?”
“Oh-ho, my cheeky little opportunist. Let’s say the situation remains fluid. You go
ahead and finish your story. You tipped your old master that Veslin was working as
an auxiliary member of the famed Camorr constabulary. He must have thrown quite a
fit.”
“He said he’d kill me if I was lying.” Locke scuttled to his own right, even farther
from the smoke. “But I said he’d hid the coin in his room. His and Gregor’s. So … he
tore it apart. I hid the coin real well, but he found it. He was supposed to.”
“Mmmm. What did you expect to happen then?”
“I didn’t know they’d get killed!” Chains couldn’t hear any real grief in that soft
and passionate little voice, but there seemed to be real puzzlement, real aggravation.
“I wanted him to beat Veslin. I thought maybe he’d do him up in front of all of us.
We ate together, most nights. The whole hill. Fuck-ups had to do tricks, or serve
and clean everything, sometimes get held down for caning. Drink ginger oil. I thought
he’d get those things. Maybe all those things.”
“Well.” Chains held an inhalation of smoke for a particularly long moment, as though
the tobacco could fill him with insight, and looked away from Locke. When he finally
exhaled, he did so in little puffs, forming wobbly crescents that fluttered a few
feet and faded into the general haze. He harrumphed and turned back to the boy. “Well,
you certainly learnedthe value of good intentions, didn’t you? Caning. Cleaning and serving. Heh. Poor
Veslin got cleaned and served, all right. How did your old master do it?”
“He was gone for a few hours, and when he came back, he waited. In Veslin’s room.
When Veslin and Gregor came back that night, there were older boys nearby. So they
couldn’t go anywhere. And then … the master just killed them. Both. Cut Veslin’s throat,
and … some of the others said he looked at Gregor for a while, and he didn’t say anything,
and then he just …” Locke made the same sort of jabbing motion with two fingers that
Chains had made at him earlier. “He did Gregor, too.”
“Of course he did! Poor Gregor. Gregor Foss, wasn’t it? One of those lucky little
orphans old enough to remember his last name, not unlike yourself. Of
course
your old master did him, too. He and Veslin were best friends, right? Two draughts
from the same bottle. It was an elementary assumption that one would know that the
other was hiding a fortune under a rock.” Chains sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Elementary.
So, now that you’ve told your part, would you like me to point out where you fucked
everything up? And to let you know why most of your little friends in Streets that
helped you pluck that white iron coin are going to be dead before morning?”
CHAPTER TWO
SECOND TOUCH AT THE TEETH SHOW
1
IDLER’S DAY, THE eleventh hour of the morning, at the Shifting Revel. The sun was
once again the baleful white of a diamond in a fire, burning an arc across the empty
sky and pouring down heat that could be felt against the skin. Locke stood beneath
the silk awning atop Don Salvara’s pleasure barge, dressed in the clothes and mannerisms
of Lukas Fehrwight, and stared out at the gathering Revel.
There was a troupe of rope dancers perched atop a platform boat to his left; four
of them, standing in a diamond pattern about fifteen feet apart. Great lengths of
brightly colored silk rope stretched amongst the dancers, around their arms and chests
and necks. It seemed
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