Scott Lynch - Red Seas Under Red Skies

The officer took a few seconds to consider, then went for the signal-chain. While they waited for a decision, Locke and Jean removed all of their weapons and gear, stashed it in their bags and left those in the bottom of the boat. Eventually, Merrain appeared at the top of the landing stairs and beckoned; they were patted down with the usual thoroughness and escorted up to the Archon's study. Jean trembled at the sight of Stragos, who was standing behind his desk. Locke noticed Jean clenching and unclenching his fists, so he squeezed his arm hard. "Is this happy news?" asked the Archon.

"Has anyone come in to report a fire at sea yesterday, around noon, anywhere west of the city?" asked Locke.

"Two merchant ships reported a large pillar of smoke on the western horizon," said Stragos. "No further news that I'm aware of, and no syndicate claiming any loss."

"They will soon enough," said Locke. "One ship, burned and sunk. Not a survivor aboard. It was headed for the city and it was wallowing with cargo, so I'm sure it will be missed eventually."

"Eventually," said Stragos. "So what do you want now, a kiss on the cheek and a plate of sweetmeats? I told you not to trifle with me again until—"

"Think of our first sinking as earnest money," said Locke. "We've decided that we want to show our wine and drink it, too." "Meaning what, exactly?"

"We want the fruit of our efforts at the Sinspire," said Locke. "We want what we spent two years working for. And we want it tonight, before we do anything else."

"Well, you can't necessarily have it tonight. What, did you imagine I could give you some sort of writ, a polite request to Requin to allow you to carry out whatever your game is?"

"No," said Locke, "but we're going over there right now to pull it on him, and until we're safely away with our swag, not another ship gets sunk in your waters at the hands of the Poison Orchid? "You do not dictate the terms of your employment to me—"

T do, actually. Even if we are trusting you to give us our lives back when our enslavement to you is complete, we're no longer confident that the conditions in this city will allow us to pull our Sinspire scheme after you get your way. Think, Stragos. We certainly have been. If you mean to put the Priori squarely under your thumb, there could be chaos. Bloodshed and arrests. Requin's in bed with the Priori; his fortune needs to be intact if we're going to relieve him of any of it. So we want what's ours safely in our hands first, before we finish this affair for you." "You arrogant—"

"Yes," Locke shouted. "Me. Arrogant. We still need our fucking antidote, Stragos. We still need it from your hands. And we demand another extension, if nothing else. Tonight. I want to see your alchemist standing beside you when we return here in a couple of hours." "Of all the bloody— What do you mean, "when you return here"?"

"There's only one way for us to walk away safely from the Sinspire, once Requin knows we've taken him for a ride," said Locke. "We need to leave the place and walk directly into the hands of your Eyes, who'll be waiting to arrest us." "Why, before all the gods, would I have them do that?"

"Because once we're safely back here," said Locke, "we will slip out quietly and return to the Poison Orchid, and later this very night we'll hit the Silver Marina itself. Drakasha has one hundred and fifty crew-folk, and we spent the afternoon taking two fishing boats to use as fire-craft. You wanted the crimson flag in sight of your city? By the gods, we'll put it in the harbour. Smash and burn as much as we can, and hit whatever's in reach on our way out. The Priori will be at your gates with bags of money, pleading for a saviour. The people will riot if they don't get one. Is that immediate enough for you? We can do what you want. We can do it tonight. And a punitive raid on the Ghostwind Isles — well, how quickly can you pack your sea-chest, Protector?"

"What are you taking from Requin?" asked Stragos, after a long, silent rumination. "Nothing that can't be transported by one man in a serious hurry." "Requin's vault is impenetrable." "We know," said Locke. "What we're after isn't in it."

"How can I be sure you won't get yourselves uselessly killed while doing this?"

"I can assure you we will," said Locke, "unless we find immediate safety in the public, legal custody of your Eyes. And then we vanish, whisked away for crimes against the Verrari state, on a matter of the Archonate's privilege. A privilege which you will soon be at leisure to flaunt. Come on, admit that it's bloody beautiful."

"You will leave the object of your desire with me," said the Archon. "Steal it. Fine. Transport it here. But since you'll need your poison neutralized anyway, I will keep it for you until we part." "That's—"

"A necessary comfort to myself," said Stragos, his voice laden with threat. "Two men who knew themselves to be facing certain death could easily flee, and then drink, binge and whore themselves in comfort for several weeks before the end, if they suddenly found a large sum of money in their hands, couldn't they?"

"I suppose you're right," said Locke, feigning irritation. "Every single thing we leave with you—"

"Will be given scrupulous good care. Your investment of two years will be waiting for you at our parting of the ways." "I suppose we have no choice, then. Agreed."

"Then I will have a writ made out immediately for the arrest of Leocanto Kosta and Jerome de Ferra," said Stragos. "And I will grant this request — and then, by the gods, you and that Syresti bitch had better deliver."

"We will," said Locke. "To the utmost of our ability. An oath has been sworn." "My soldiers—"

"Eyes," said Locke. "Send Eyes. There have to be agents of the Priori among your regulars; I'm staking my life on the fact that you keep more of an eye on your Eyes, as it were. Plus they scare the shit out of people. This is a shock operation." "Hmmm," said Stragos. "The suggestion is reasonable." "Then please listen carefully," said Locke.

It felt good to be stripping down to nothing.

Emerging from a long spell of false-facing could be like coming up for air after nearly drowning, Locke thought. Now all the baggage of their multi-tiered lies and identities was peeling away, sloughing off behind them as they pounded up the stairs to the Golden Steps one last time. Now that they knew the source of their mystery assassins, they had no need to sham as priests and skulk about; they could run like simple thieves with the powers of the city close on their heels. Which was exactly what they were.

He and Jean should have been loving it, laughing about it together, revelling in their usual breathless joy at crime well executed. Richer and cleverer than everyone else. But tonight Locke was doing all the talking; tonight Jean struggled to keep his composure until the moment he could lash out, and gods help whoever got in his way when he did.

Calo, Galdo and Bug, Locke thought. Ezri. All he and Jean had ever wanted to do was steal as much as they could carry and laugh all the way to a safe distance. Why had it cost them so many loved ones? Why did some stupid motherfucker always have to imagine that you could cross a Camorri with impunity?

Because you can't, Locke thought, sucking air through gritted teeth as the Sinspire loomed overhead, throwing blue and red light into the dark sky. You can't. We proved it once and we'll prove it again tonight, before all the gods.

"Stay clear of the service entrance, you— Oh, gods, it's you! Help!"

The bouncer who'd received Jean's painful ministrations to his ribs at their previous meeting recoiled as Locke and Jean ran across the service courtyard toward him. Locke saw that he was wearing some sort of stiff brace beneath the thin fabric of his tunic.