Red Seas Under Red Skies: The Gentleman Bastard Sequence, Book Two (Gentleman Bastards 2)

Their exit was quick; the boat simply drew up to the edge of one deserted quay and Locke and Jean hopped out. One of the Archon’s soldiers threw a leather sack out onto the stones at their feet, and then the gig was backing away, and the whole damnable episode was over. Locke felt a strange daze and he rubbed his eyes, which felt dry within their sockets.

‘Gods,’ said Jean. ‘We must look as though we’ve been mugged.’

‘We have been.’ Locke reached down, picked up the sack and examined its contents - Jean’s two hatchets and their assortment of daggers. He grunted. ‘Magi. Gods-damned Bondsmagi!’

‘This must be what they had in mind.’

‘I hope it’s all they have in mind.’

‘They’re not all-knowing, Locke. They must have weaknesses.’

‘Must they really? And do you know what they are? Might one of them be allergic to exotic foods, or suffer poor relations with his mother? Some good that does us, when they’re well beyond dagger-reach! Crooked Warden, why don’t dog’s arseholes like Stragos ever want to simply hire us for money? I’d be happy to work for fair pay.’

‘No, you wouldn’t.’

‘Feh.’

‘Stop scowling and think for a moment. You heard Stragos’s report. The Bondsmagi know about the preparations we’ve made for going after Requin’s vault, but they don’t know the whole story. The important part.’

‘Right . . . but what need would there be for them to tell Stragos everything?’

‘None, of course, but also . . . they knew where we were operating from in Camorr, but he didn’t mention our history. Stragos spoke of Barsavi, but not Chains. Perhaps because Chains died before the Falconer ever came to Camorr and started observing us? I don’t think the Bondsmagi can read our thoughts, Locke. I think they’re magnificent spies, but they’re not infallible. We still have some secrets.’

‘Hmmm. Forgive me if I find that a cold comfort, Jean. You know who waxes philosophical about the tiniest weaknesses of enemies? The powerless.’

‘You seem resigned to that without much of a—’

‘I’m not resigned, Jean. I’m angry. We need to cease being powerless as soon as possible.’

‘Right. So where do we start?’

‘Well, I’m going back to the inn. I’m going to pour a gallon of cold water down my throat. I’m going to get into bed, put a pillow over my head and stay there until sunset.’

‘I approve.’

‘Good. Then we’ll both be well rested when it comes time to get up and find a black alchemist. I want a second opinion on latent poisons. I want to know everything there is to know about the subject, and whether there are any antidotes we can start trying.’

‘Agreed.’

‘After that, we can add one more small item to our agenda for this Tal Verrar holiday of ours.’

‘Kick the Archon in the teeth?’

‘Gods yes,’ said Locke, smacking a fist into an open palm. ‘Whether or not we finish the Requin job first. Whether or not there really is a poison! I’m going to take his whole bloody palace and shove it so far up his arse he’ll have stone towers for tonsils!’

‘Any plans to that effect?’

‘No idea. I’ve no idea whatsoever. I’ll reflect on it, that’s for damn sure. But as for not being rash, well, no promises.’

Jean grunted. The two of them turned and began to plod along the quay, toward the stone steps that would lead laboriously to the island’s upper tier. Locke rubbed his stomach and felt his skin crawling . . . he felt violated somehow, knowing that something lethal might be slipping unfelt into the darkest crevices of his own body, waiting to do mischief.

On their right the sun was a burning bronze medallion coming up over the city’s horizon, perched there like one of the Archon’s faceless soldiers, gazing steadily down upon them.