The Gentleman Bastard Series 3-Book Bundle: The Lies of Locke Lamora, Red Seas Under Red Skies, The Republic of Thieves (259 page)

“The lady will not receive players in her private box,” said one of the guards. “You
must—”

“None of that,” came the voice of the envoy of ceremonies. “Admit them, and see that
we have privacy.”

Locke and Sabetha were allowed onto the balcony, where they found Ezrintaim at the
rail, looking down at the stage and the drudges (paid for by Moncraine) sweeping the
courtyard. The baroness turned, and the two Camorri bowed more deeply than required.

“Well,” said Ezrintaim, “your noble patron does come and go rather as he pleases,
doesn’t he? This is the second time I’ve expected him and met part of his troupe instead.”

“My lord Boulidazi sends his most earnest and abject apologies, my lady, that he cannot
visit you as you required,” said Locke. “Leaving the stage just now, he stumbled and
injured his ankle. Very badly. He cannot stand at the moment, let alone climb stairs.
He placed his
signet in our hands as his messengers, and bid us offer it if you wished to verify—”

“My, my. The Baron Boulidazi is less than careful in his habits. Do put that down,
boy, I’ve no need to bite the baron’s ring. I’ve seen it before. Is your lord still
here?”

“Some of his friends insisted he be taken to a physiker immediately, my lady, and
without causing a scene,” said Sabetha. “My lord was in considerable pain and may
not have adequately resisted their blandishments.”

“Refusing temptation isn’t Lord Boulidazi’s particular strength,” said Ezrintaim,
staring at Sabetha more intently than Locke would have liked. “But if he’s done himself
an injury I won’t begrudge his friends using their brains for once.”

“He, ah, that is,
my lord
hopes that you will consent to be his guest at any convenient time following tomorrow’s
performance,” said Locke. This was a risky ploy if Lady Ezrintaim had any reason to
find the offer insulting, but if it helped strengthen the impression that Boulidazi
was presently alive and planning an active social calendar, it meant everything to
their deception.

“I see.” Ezrintaim steepled her fingers before her chest. “Well, it would be convenient,
and the sooner the better. I expect you two will also be in attendance.”

“My lady,” said Locke, “we would appear if so commanded, but we are only players in
my lord Boulidazi’s company, and I don’t see—”

“Lucaza,” said the baroness, “I should perhaps disabuse you of the notion that I am
unaware of Lord Boulidazi’s intentions toward your cousin Verena.”

“I, uh—” Locke felt much as he would have if Ezrintaim had adopted a
chausson
fighting stance and kicked him in the head.

“You know what we really are!” said Sabetha in smooth Throne Therin, saving Locke
from another useless sputter.

“Countess Antonia relies on me to be something of a social arbiter as well as her
envoy of ceremonies,” said Ezrintaim in the same tongue. “Gennaro is an eligible young
peer of Espara who has lost the close guidance of his elders. I prevailed upon several
members of his household staff to report on his behavior. Gennaro is, let us say,
rather forthright with them concerning his desires.”

“Does our presence in Espara cause you difficulty, my lady?” said Locke, trying to
force himself to be as collected as Sabetha was.

“You’ve been reasonably discreet, though I will say that none of you have considered
the needs of the larger world around you.” She fixed her gaze on Sabetha. “I don’t
necessarily believe it would do any harm to Espara to strengthen its ties with Camorr
through a marriage. If, of course, that ever was your genuine intention.”

“I haven’t misled Gennaro,” said Sabetha forcefully. “He is … overbearing and presumptuous,
but in all other respects he is quite acceptable. And we share a significant interest
in several arts.”

“Did your family instruct you to freely choose a future husband during your sojourn
in Espara, Verena? I’d find it very strange if they did. I think you’ve allowed yourself
to forget that you are your family’s to dispose of. My sources haven’t reported which
family that is, but I require this much honesty: Are you a member of a Five Towers
clan?”

Sabetha nodded.

“Then you know very well that you serve a duke who may require your marriage elsewhere
for political reasons! Even if he doesn’t, you will still require Nicovante’s permission
to wed, much as Gennaro will need Countess Antonia’s.” Ezrintaim rubbed her forehead
and sighed. “Should you ever feel any resentment that I have looked into the affairs
of Lord Boulidazi’s household, please do remember that I am
specifically
empowered to avoid thoughtless entanglements like the one you two and Gennaro would
have concocted for all of us.”

“We didn’t mean to leap into it instantly,” said Sabetha. “We meant to take several
years.”

“There, at least, you show a grain of wisdom,” said Ezrintaim. “But patient arrangements
are quickly set aside when a woman’s stomach swells.”

“I can make tea with Poorwife’s Solace, the same as any woman,” said Sabetha. “I have
been thoroughly instructed in avoiding the … imposition of a child.”

“Rest assured it
would
be an imposition,” said Ezrintaim. “I will assume that any such occurrence, no matter
what sort of accident you plead, is a deliberate attempt to secure a hasty marriage
to Lord Boulidazi. I will never threaten your personal safety, but I will certainly
threaten your happiness. Is that clear?”

“Absolutely, my lady,” said Sabetha.

“Good. Let us speak no more of this until we are under Lord Boulidazi’s roof. Now,
your company did tolerably well today. A brisk staging despite your winnowed numbers.
I’ll deliver a favorable report, and I expect that attendance tomorrow will benefit.
Dare I assume that Lord Boulidazi has now satisfied his urge to flounce about onstage
as a bit player?”

“I fear Gennaro won’t be flouncing anywhere for some time,” said Sabetha. “His attendance
tomorrow will be far more conventional.”

“Also good. I suppose you’re eager to return to his side.”

Sabetha nodded vigorously.

“Then do so. Please express my desire for his swift recovery. And that he might act
in a more considered fashion, henceforth.”

Locke and Sabetha excused themselves, then raced back across the Old Pearl courtyard
toward the attiring chambers. Locke’s head swam with the realization of what a fool
he’d been to neglect the possibility that the nobles of Espara might have their own
sources of intelligence, their own plans and expectations. Baroness Ezrintaim was
more right about one thing than she could know. He
had
arrogantly neglected the wider world in his scheming.

“I think that was the strangest damned lecture I have ever received,” he said to Sabetha.

“You too, huh?”

ZADRATH
’
S HYACINTH
Lane Aquapyria was the most reputable bathhouse in Espara, featuring warm baths,
cold baths, steam rooms, and a variety of services both openly advertised and discreetly
arranged. Within its courtyard lay a tall central building fronted with decorative
columns, surrounded by private outbuildings, one of which had been secured for the
use of Lord Boulidazi and his entourage.

Welcome clouds were thickening overhead when the Moncraine-Boulidazi wagon pulled
into the Aquapyria’s court, scarcely an hour after the end of the play. Locke, Sabetha,
Jasmer, Calo, and Galdo rode, and Donker still lay miserably concealed somewhere in
the heart of the wagon’s contents. Locke and Galdo, dressed in threadbare but
serviceable footman’s jackets from the company’s property, leapt out, entered the
reserved bathhouse, and chased out the blue-trousered, bronze-muscled attendants.

“Lord Boulidazi will be here any minute!” cried Locke, pushing the last of them out
the door. “He desires privacy! He has injured himself and is in a foul mood!”

When the courtyard was clear, Locke and Galdo helped Donker out of the wagon and into
the bathhouse, taking just a few seconds to make the move. Jasmer and Sabetha followed.
Calo took the wagon to the stable, there to check the horses and quite literally sit
on the corpse of Boulidazi.

Each private bathhouse had a theme to its decorations, and the one secured for “Boulidazi’s”
use featured toads. Silver and iron toads surmounted all the basin fixtures, and the
walls were murals of toads wearing crowns and jewelry while luxuriating in hot baths.
A square sunken bath of white and green tiles dominated the middle of the room; it
was about three yards on a side, and its lavender-scented waters steamed. Beside it,
on a low refreshment table, several requested wines and brandies had been set out
with a tray of sweets and bottles of aromatic oils.

On the left-hand wall a door led into a large steam room, where water could be poured
on a brazier of coals to suit the tastes of those lounging inside.

Donker instantly collapsed against a wall, shuddering and gagging. He was frightfully
pale.

“Easy there, Donker.” Locke put a hand on his back. “You’ve been amazing so far. You’ve
saved everyone—”

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Donker growled, gulping deep breaths and obviously straining
to avoid throwing up. “You just leave me the hell alone. This is worse than I ever
dreamed.”

“Well, it’s not over yet,” said Locke. “We still need your clothes.”

Donker surrendered them clumsily. Locke pulled a dressing screen closer to the door
and arranged Boulidazi’s wardrobe on and around it, haphazardly. Dagger and jacket
he hung from the screen. Silk tunic, boots, vest, and trousers he scattered on the
floor.

Sabetha threw her own shoes and costume components on the tiles near the bath. She
retained only her black hose and a dressing
gown. Locke did his best to look like he wasn’t staring, and she did an admirable
job of pretending she wasn’t encouraging him. Once the floor was in sufficient disarray,
Sabetha grabbed Donker by the front of his undertunic and steered him to the steam
room.

“Donker’s right,” muttered Moncraine as he followed. “This entire plan is thinner
than old parchment at too many points.”

“We’re not doing so badly,” said Locke. “If we can just get past this we’re safe home
with the money in our hands.”

Donker, Jasmer, and Sabetha closed themselves up in the steam chamber. Locke used
some of the aromatic oils to slick his hair back, and donned a pair of costume optics
provided by Jenora. He positioned himself next to the door, while Galdo ate sweets
and examined the wine bottles.

There was a knock at the door not two minutes later.

Instantly, Jasmer moaned in a manner that was half-pained and half-sensual. He’d been
retained for this portion of the scheme for one reason—he alone had the depth and
flexibility of voice to imitate Baron Boulidazi.

Locke opened the front door of the bathhouse. Nerissa Malloria stood there holding
a reinforced wooden box, with one of her burly hirelings at her shoulder. The other
waited with the carriage that had brought them.

“Ahhhhhhh,” cried Moncraine. “Ahhh, gods!”

“Mistress Malloria,” said Locke, coughing into his hand. “Please come in. My lord
Boulidazi instructed us to expect you.”

“I said more wine, damn your dry balls,” shouted Jasmer. “Where is it?”

Galdo busied himself with a wine bottle and a pair of glasses.

“Very interesting,” said Malloria, stepping over the threshold and moving carefully
to avoid the clothes scattered on the floor. Her man remained outside and closed the
door. “I’m to present this to the baron and obtain his mark on a chit.”

“The, ah, baron, my master, tripped and fell after the play,” said Locke. “He hurt
his ankle quite severely. His, ah, that is, Verena … Verena Gallante is comforting
him while we wait for a physiker.”

“Comforting him,” mused Malloria.

“Ahhhhhh,” moaned Jasmer, and there was a slapping noise. “Now,
now, you can keep doing that in a moment. The wine! Fetch the damn wine!”

The door to the steam room burst open, and gray tendrils slithered out into the air
of the main room. Sabetha stood there, gown in hand, topless. She pretended to notice
Malloria for the first time, half screamed, and wound the dressing gown around herself
in a flash. Then she closed the door to the steam room.

“Apologies,” she giggled. “My lord Boulidazi is in need of ministration. And wine.”
She snapped her fingers at Galdo, who passed over a tray with the glasses and open
bottle.

“Ministration,” smirked Malloria. “I’m sure that’s just what he needs to recover from
any … infirmity.”

“Malloria! Is that Malloria?” Locke had to credit Moncraine for his impression of
Boulidazi, though perhaps the impresario’s resentment colored the act with a touch
too much petulance. “Good, good! Sorry I can’t receive you at the moment. Just wait
a bottle or two, there’s a good woman.”

Sabetha slipped back into the steam room with the wine. Muffled giggles and laughter
followed.

“Don’t bother with the damn glasses,” yelled Moncraine. “Just give the bottle here.
That’s it. I’ll put my lips on this, and as for yours …”

Locke stood at attention against the wall and tried to look profoundly embarrassed.
Galdo hung his head and slunk back to a place on the far wall.

Jasmer’s appreciative moaning drifted from the steam room for some time. Malloria’s
dark amusement faded into obvious irritation.

“Um,” said Locke, quietly. “I do have my lord’s signet ring.…”

Malloria raised an eyebrow at him.

“That is, he’s entrusted it to me while he’s … occupied. If you wished to—”

“Why not?” she said. “If Lord Boulidazi has no time for me, far be it from me to
presume
upon his attention.”

She set the wooden box down next to the wine and brandy bottles, then unlocked it
with a key hung around her neck. She handed a piece of parchment to Locke, who examined
it while heating a stick of wax over one of the room’s non-alchemical lamps.