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

‘Why do they bear it? I know they get paid, but the defaults! Gods . . . er, Holy Marrows, why do they come here and put up with it? Humiliated, beaten, stoned, befouled . . . to what end?’

Locke paced agitatedly around the Baumondain family’s workshop, clenching and unclenching his fists. It was the afternoon of his fourth day in Salon Corbeau.

‘As you said, they get paid, Master Fehrwight.’ Lauris Baumondain rested one hand gently on the back of the half-finished chair Locke had come in to see. With the other she stroked poor motionless Lively, tucked away inside a pocket of her apron. ‘If you’re selected for a game, you get a copper centira. If you’re given a default, you get a silver volani. There’s also a random drawing: one person per War, one in eighty, gets a gold solari.’

‘They must be desperate,’ said Locke.

‘Farms fail. Businesses fail. Tenant lands get repossessed. Plagues knock all the money and health out of cities. When they’ve got nowhere else to go, they come here. There’s a roof to sleep under, meals, hope of gold or silver. All you have to do is go out there often enough and . . . amuse them.’

‘It’s perverse. It’s infamous.’

‘You have a soft heart, for what you’re spending on just four chairs, Master Fehrwight.’ Lauris looked down and wrung her hands together. ‘Forgive me. I spoke well out of turn.’

‘Speak as you will. I’m not a rich man, Lauris. I’m just my master’s servant. But even he . . . we’re frugal people, damn it. Frugal and fair. Some might call us eccentric, but we’re not cruel.’

‘I’ve seen nobles from the Marrows at the Amusement War many times, Master Fehrwight.’

‘We’re not nobles. We’re merchants . . . merchants of Emberlain. I can’t speak for our nobles, and often don’t want to. Look, I’ve seen many cities. I know how people live. I’ve seen gladiatorial fights, executions, misery and poverty and desperation. But I’ve never seen anything like that - the faces of those spectators. The way they watched and cheered. Like jackals, like crows, like something . . . something so very wrong.’

‘There are no laws here but Lady Saljesca’s laws,’ said Lauris. ‘Here they can behave however they choose. At the Amusement War they can do exactly what they want to do to the poor folk and the simple folk. Things forbidden elsewhere. All you’re seeing is what they look like when they stop pretending they give a damn about anything. Where do you think Lively came from? My sister saw a noblewoman having kittens Gentled so her sons could torture them with knives. Because they were bored at tea. So welcome to Salon Corbeau, Master Fehrwight. I’m sorry it’s not the paradise it looks like from a distance. Does our work on the chairs meet with your approval?’

‘Yes,’ said Locke slowly. ‘Yes, I suppose it does.’

‘If I were to presume to give you advice,’ said Lauris, ‘I’d suggest that you avoid the Amusement War for the rest of your stay. Do what the rest of us here do: ignore it. Paint a great cloud of fog over it in your mind’s eye and pretend that it’s not there.’

‘As you say, Madam Baumondain.’ Locke sighed. ‘I might just do so.’