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

‘Callas,’ said Locke. ‘Tavrin Callas. Forgive my friend, he’s had a trying day. I’ll conduct our business.’

‘Of course,’ said the master of Vel Virazzo’s private yacht harbour. Here the pleasure-barges and day-sailing vessels of Vel Virazzo’s notable families - who could be counted on two hands without using all the available fingers - were kept under constant guard.

The harbourmaster led them to the end of one of his docks, where a sleek one-masted sailing vessel rocked gently on the swells. Forty feet long, lacquered teak and witchwood, trimmed with brass and silver. Her rigging was the finest new demi-silk, and her furled sails were the white of clean beach sand.

‘Everything prepared according to your letters, Master Fehrwight,’ said the harbourmaster. ‘I apologize for the fact that it required four days rather than three—’

‘No matter,’ said Locke. He passed over a leather satchel containing solari he’d counted out in the carriage. ‘Balance of payment, in full, and the promised three-day bonus, for your work party. I’ve no reason to be stingy.’

‘You are entirely too kind,’ said the harbourmaster, bowing as he accepted the heavy purse. Nearly eight hundred solari gone already.

‘And the provisions?’ asked Locke.

‘Complete as specified,’ said the harbourmaster. ‘Rations and water for a week. The wines, the oilcloaks and other emergency gear - all there, and checked by myself.’

‘Our dinner?’

‘Coming,’ said the harbourmaster, ‘coming. I expected a runner several minutes ago. Wait - here’s the boy now.’

Locke glanced back toward their carriage. A small boy had just appeared from behind it, jogging with a covered basket larger than his chest cradled in his arms. Locke smiled.

‘Our dinner concludes our business,’ he said as the boy approached and handed the basket up to Jean.

‘Very good, Mater Fehrwight. Tell me, will you be putting out—’

‘Immediately,’ said Locke. ‘We have . . . a great many things to leave behind.’

‘Will you require assistance?’

‘We had expected a third,’ said Locke quietly. ‘But the two of us will suffice.’ He stared at their new boat, at the once-alien arrangement of sails, rigging, mast, tiller. ‘We’re always sufficient.’

It took them less than five minutes to load the boat with their baggage from the carriage; they had little to speak of. A few spare clothes, work tunics and breeches, weapons and their little kit of thieves’ conveniences.

The sun was settling into the west as Jean began to untie them from the dock. Locke hopped down onto the sterndeck, a room-sized space surrounded by raised gunwales, and as his last act before their departure he opened the burlap sack and released the contents onto the boat.

The black kitten looked up at him, stretched and began to rub himself against Locke’s right boot, purring loudly.

‘Welcome to your new home, kid. All that you survey is yours,’ said Locke. ‘But this doesn’t mean I’m getting attached to you.’