Scott Lynch - The Lies of Locke Lamora

Vidrik took it and unfolded it to read:

PERSONAL ATTENTION OF THE DUKE’S SPIDER

FOR RETURN TO KARTHAIN

“Gods,” he said. “A real Karthani bondsmage. Looks like he won’t be recommending Camorr to his friends.”

“What do we do with him, Sergeant?”

Vidrik sighed, folded the letter, and passed it back to Constanzo.

“We pass the coin, lad,” he said. “We pass this fucking coin right up the chain of command and we forget we ever saw it. Haul him to the Palace of Patience and let someone else give it a ponder.”

FALSELIGHT GLIMMERED on the rain-rippled water of Camorr Bay as Doña Angiavesta Vorchenza, dowager countess of Amberglass, stood on the dock, huddled in a fur-lined oilcloak, while teams of men with wooden poles prowled through a barge full of rain-sodden shit beneath her. The smell was attention-grabbing.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” said the watch-sergeant at her left hand. “We’re positive there’s nothing on the other two barges, and we’ve been at this one for six hours. I sincerely doubt that anything will turn up. We will, of course, continue our efforts.”

Doña Vorchenza sighed deeply and turned to look at the carriage that stood on the dock behind her, drawn by four black stallions and framed with alchemical running lights in the Vorchenza colors. The door was open; Don and Doña Salvara sat inside peering out at her, along with Captain Reynart. She beckoned to them.

Reynart was the first to reach her side; as usual he wore no oilcloak and he bore the heavy rain with stiff-necked stoicism. The Salvaras were sensibly covered up against the downpour; Lorenzo held up a silk parasol to shield his wife even further.

“Let me guess,” said Reynart. “They’re full of shit.”

“I’m afraid so,” said Doña Vorchenza. “Thank you for your time, Watch-sergeant; you are dismissed. You may call your men out of the barge, as well. I don’t believe we’ll be needing them anymore.”

As the greatly relieved yellowjackets filed away down the dock, wooden poles held very carefully on their shoulders, Doña Vorchenza seemed to shudder and gasp. She put her hands to her face and bent forward.

“Doña Vorchenza,” cried Sofia, rushing forward to grab her by the shoulders. As they all bent close around her, she suddenly straightened up and cackled, gasping in air between bursts of dry-sounding laughter. She shook with it; her tiny fists punched the air before her.

“Oh, gods,” she gasped. “This is too much.”

“What? Doña Vorchenza, what’s the matter?” Reynart grabbed her by the arm and peered at her.

“The money, Stephen.” She chuckled. “The money was never anywhere near this place. The little bastard had us digging through shit-barges purely for his own amusement. The money was on board the Satisfaction .”

“How do you figure that?”

“Isn’t it plain? It’s all striking me from so many directions at once. Capa Raza assisted with the charitable contributions to the plague ship, yes?”

“He did.”

“Not from any sense of charitable duty. But because he needed a means to move his fortune out to the frigate!”

“Out to a plague ship?” said Doña Sofia. “That wouldn’t do him any good.”

“It would if there was no plague,” said Doña Vorchenza. “The plague was a lie.”

“But,” said Don Lorenzo, “why was Lukas so adamant about sinking that ship? Was it simple pique? If he couldn’t have it, no one could?”

“His name was Callas, Lorenzo dear-Tavrin Callas.”

“Whichever, darling,” said Lorenzo. “Forty-five thousand crowns, plus whatever Barsavi’s fortune came to. That’s a great deal of money to put out of everyone’s grasp, forever.”

“Yes,” said Doña Vorchenza. “And he told us why he was doing it while he stood there. Damn me for a fool.”

“I fear,” said Doña Sofia, “I speak for the rest of us when I say we don’t follow.”

“The Thorn said he was a priest of the Thirteenth,” she said. “The heresy of the Nameless Thirteenth, the Crooked Warden, the god of thieves and malefactors. ‘For propriety’s sake,’ he said. ‘For propriety’s sake.’ He said that on purpose.”

She laughed again, biting down on her knuckles to contain herself.

“Oh, gods. Anatolius killed three of his friends. So don’t you see? There was no danger on that ship; he didn’t want it sunk to save Camorr. It was a death-offering, Stephen, a death-offering .”

Reynart slapped one hand against his forehead; water flew.

“Yes,” said Doña Vorchenza. “And I sank it for him, in sixty fathoms of shark-infested water, neat as you please.”

“So…,” said Don Lorenzo, “all of our money is three hundred and sixty feet down on the bottom of Old Harbor?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Doña Vorchenza.

“Ah…what do we do now?”

Doña Vorchenza sighed and meditated for a few moments. “First,” she said when she looked back up at the Salvaras, “all the truths behind this affair will be declared state secrets of the Duchy of Camorr; I bind you all to silence concerning them. The Thorn of Camorr is a myth; the money he allegedly stole never existed; the duke’s Spider never took any formal interest in the matter.”

“But,” said Doña Sofia, “they told Lorenzo that’s how the Thorn guarantees his own secrecy! When they stole into our house dressed as Midnighters!”

“Yes,” said her husband, “one of the false Midnighters specifically told me that the Thorn relied on the embarrassment of his victims to keep his thefts secret from other potential victims, and I don’t think that part was a lie.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” said Doña Vorchenza. “But nonetheless, that’s just what we’re going to do. In time, you’ll come to understand that a state like ours cannot afford to offer up a show of weakness for honesty’s sake; Duke Nicovante charges me with vouchsafing his security, not his conscience.”

The Salvaras stared at her, saying nothing.

“Oh, don’t look so glum,” she said. “Your real punishment for getting involved in this mess has not yet begun. Come back to Amberglass with me, and let’s talk about the penalty.”

“Our punishment, Doña Vorchenza?” said Lorenzo hotly. “Our punishment was nearly seventeen thousand crowns! Haven’t we been punished enough?”

“Not nearly,” said Doña Vorchenza. “I’ve decided who’s to inherit the title of Countess Amberglass when it’s my time to pass on.” She paused for just a moment before continuing. “Or, should I say, Count and Countess Amberglass.”

“What?” Sofia squeaked like a girl of eight. A particularly squeaky girl of eight, much accustomed to squeaking, loudly.

“It’s no blessing,” said Doña Vorchenza. “It comes with a job.”

“You can’t be serious,” said Don Lorenzo. “There are two dozen families on the Alcegrante with more rank and honor than ourselves; the duke would never name us to Amberglass before them.”

“I believe I know Nicovante somewhat better than you do, young man,” said Doña Vorchenza. “And I believe the inheritance is mine to dictate.”

“But…the job,” said Doña Salvara. “You can’t mean…”

“Of course I do, Sofia. I can’t live forever. Each time something like this affair lands in my lap, I suddenly recall that I don’t want to live forever. Let someone else play the Spider; we’ve deceived everyone for all these years letting them think the office was held by a man. Now let’s deceive them further by passing it on to two individuals.”

She put her arm through Reynart’s and allowed him to help her back toward the carriage.