Scott Lynch - Red Seas Under Red Skies

"Unless the Bondsmagi tipped another party off to our presence here in Tal Verrar," said Locke. "They might even be helping them."

"If the Bondsmagi had been helping those two on the docks, do you really think we" d have survived? Come on. Both of us knew they were probably going to come after us for what we did to the Falconer, and if they just wanted us dead, we" d be smoked meat. Stragos is right about one thing — they must mean to toy with us. So I still say it's more likely that some third party took offence at something we've done as Kosta and de Ferra. That makes Durenna, Corvaleur and Lord Landreval the obvious suspects." "Landreval" s been gone for months." "That doesn't rule him out completely. The lovely ladies, then." "I just… I honestly believe thed'r come after us themselves — Durenna has a reputation with a sword, and I hear that Corvaleur's been in a few duels. Maybe thed'r hire some help, but they're hands-on sorts."

"Did we bilk anyone important at Blind Alliances? Or some other game when we were playing our way up through the floors? Step on someone's toe? Fart noisily?"

"I can't imagine that we" d have missed someone disgruntled enough to hire assassins. Nobody likes to lose at cards, to be sure, but do any really sore losers stick out in memory?"

Jean scowled and sipped his coffee. "Until we know more, this speculation is useless. Everyone in the city is a suspect. Hell, everyone in the world."

"So in truth," said.Locke, "all we really know is that whoever it is wanted us dead. Not scared off, not brought in for a little chat. Plain old dead. Maybe if we can ponder that, we might come up with a few—"

Locke stopped speaking the instant he saw their waitress approaching their booth… then looked more closely and saw that it wasn't their waitress at all. The woman wearing the leather apron and red cap was Merrain. "Ah," said Jean. "Time to settle the bill."

Merrain nodded and handed Locke a wooden tablet with two small pieces of paper pinned to it. One was indeed the bill; the other had a single line written on it in flowing script: Remember the first place I took you the night we met? Don't waste time.

"Well," said Locke, passing the note to Jean, "we" d love to stay, but the quality of the service has sharply declined. Don't expect a gratuity." He counted copper coins onto the wooden tablet, then stood up. "Same old place as usual, Jerome."

Merrain collected the wooden tablet and the money, bowed and vanished in the direction of the kitchens.

"I hope she doesn't take offence about the tip," said Jean when they were out on the street. Locke glanced around in every direction and noticed that Jean was doing likewise. Locke's sleeve-stilettos were a comforting weight inside each arm of his coat, and he had no doubt that Jean was ready to produce the Wicked Sisters with a twitch of his wrists.

"Gods," Locke muttered. "We should be back in our beds, sleeping the day away. Have we ever been less in control of our lives than we are at this moment? We can't run away from the Archon and his poison, which means we can't just disengage from the Sinspire game. Gods know we can't even see the Bondsmagi lurking, and we've suddenly got assassins coming out of our arseholes. Know something? I'd lay even odds that between the people following us and the people hunting us, we've become this city's principal means of employment. Tal Verrar's entire economy is now based on fucking with w."

It was a short walk, if a nervous one, to the crossroads just north of the Gilded Cloister. Cargo wagons clattered across the cobbles and tradesfolk walked placidly to their jobs. As far as they knew, Locke thought, the Savrola was the quietest, best-guarded neighbourhood in the city, a place where nothing worse than the occasional drunk foreigner ever disturbed the calm.

Locke and Jean turned left at the intersection, then approached the door of the first disused shop on their right. While Jean kept a watch on the street behind them, Locke stepped up to the door and rapped sharply, three times. It opened immediately and a stout young man in a brown leather coat beckoned them in.

"Stay away from the window," he said once he'd closed and bolted the door behind them. The window was covered with tightly drawn sailcloth curtains, but Locke agreed that there was no need to tempt fate. The only light in the room came from the sunrise, filtered soft pink through the curtains, enabling Locke to see two pairs of men waiting at the rear of the shop. Each pair consisted of one heavy, broad-shouldered man and one smaller man, and all four of the strangers were wearing identical grey cloaks and broad-brimmed grey hats.

"Get dressed," said the man in the leather coat, pointing to a pile of clothing on a small table. Locke and Jean were soon outfitted in their own matching grey cloaks and hats. "New summer fashion for Tal Verrar?" said Locke.

"A little game for anyone trying to follow you," said the man. He snapped his fingers and one set of grey-clad strangers moved to stand right behind the door. "I'll go out first. "Vbu stand behind these two, follow them out, then enter the third carriage. Understood?"

"What carri—" Locke started to say, but he cut himself off as he heard the clatter of hoofs and wheels in the street immediately outside. Shadows passed before the window and after a few seconds the man in the brown coat unbolted the door. "Third carriage. Move fast," he said without turning around, and then he threw the door open and was out into the street.

At the kerb just outside the disused shop three identical carriages were lined up. Each was black lacquered wood with no identifying crests or banners, each had heavy drapes drawn over its windows and each was pulled by two black horses. Even their drivers all looked vaguely similar and wore the same reddish uniforms under leather overcoats.

The first pair of grey strangers stepped out through the door and hurried to the first carriage in line. Locke and Jean left the disused shop a second later, hurrying to the rear carriage. Locke caught a glimpse of the last team of grey strangers all but running to the door of the. middle carriage behind them. Jean worked the latch on the rear carriage's door, held it open for Locke and flung himself inside afterward.

"Welcome aboard, gentlemen." Merrain lounged in the right forward corner of the compartment, her waitress's clothing discarded. She was now dressed as though for a ride in an open saddle, in field boots, black breeches, a red silk shirt and a leather vest. Locke and Jean settled beside one another in the seat across from her. Jean's slamming of the door threw them into semi-darkness, and the carriage lurched into motion.

"Where the hell are we going?" Locke began to shrug off his grey cloak as he spoke.

"Leave that on, Master Kosta. You'll need it when we get out again. First we'll all tour the Savrola for a bit. Then we'll split — one carriage to the Golden Steps, one to the northern edge of the Great Gallery and us to the docks to catch a boat." "A boat to where?" "Don't be impatient. Sit back and enjoy the ride."

That was difficult, to say the least, in the hot and stuffy compartment. Locke felt sweat running down his brow and he grumpily removed his hat and held it in his lap. He and Jean attempted to pelt Merrain with questions, but she answered with nothing but non-committal "hmmms" until they gave up. Tedious minutes passed. Locke felt the carriage rattling around several corners, then down a series of inclines that had to be the ramp from the upper heights of the Savrola to the sea-level docks. "We're almost there," said Merrain after another few minutes had passed in uncomfortable, jouncing silence. "Hats back on. When the carriage stops, go straight to the boat. Take your seat at the rear and for the gods" sakes, if you see anything dangerous, duck."