the hook.”
“Uh, okay. Where are we going?”
“Just around the corner here…We need an inn.”
The Welcoming Shade was just around the block from Meraggio’s Countinghouse. It was tolerably clean, cheap, and devoid of luxuries—the sort of place that hosted couriers, scholars, scribes, attendants, and lesser functionaries rather than the better classes of businessfolk. The place was a two-story square, built around an open central space in the fashion of a Therin Throne villa. At the center of this courtyard was a tall olive tree with leaves that rustled pleasantly in the sunlight.
“One room,” said Locke, “with a window, just for the day.” He set coins down on the counter. The innkeeper scurried out, key in hand, to show Locke and the waiter to a second-story room marked “9.”
Chamber nine had a pair of folding cots, an oiled-paper window, a small closet, and nothing else. The master of the Welcoming Shade bowed as he left, and kept his mouth shut. Like most Camorri innkeepers, any questions he might have had about his customers or their business tended to vanish when silver hit the counter.
“What’s your name?” Locke drew the room’s door closed and shot the bolt.
“Benjavier,” said the waiter. “You’re, ah, sure…this is going to work out like you say it is?”
In response, Locke drew out his coin purse and set it in Benjavier’s hand. “There’s two more full crowns in there, above and beyond what you’ll receive. Plus quite a bit of gold and silver. My word’s as good as my money—and you can keep that purse, here, as an assurance until I return.”
“Gods,” said Benjavier. “This is…this is all so very odd. I wonder what I’ve done to deserve such incredible fortune?”
“Most men do nothing to deserve what the gods throw their way,” said Locke. “Shall we be about our business?”
“Yes, yes.” Benjavier untied his apron and tossed it to Locke; he then began to work on his jacket and breeches. Locke slipped off his velvet cap.
“I say, gray hair—you don’t look your age, in the face, I mean.”
“I’ve always been blessed with youthful lines,” said Locke. “It’s been of some benefit, in the duke’s service. I’ll need your shoes, as well—mine would look rather out of place beneath that finery.”
Working quickly, the two men removed and traded clothing until Locke stood in the center of the room, fully garbed as a Meraggio’s waiter, with the maroon apron tied at his waist. Benjavier lounged on one of the sleeping pallets in his undertunic and breechclout, tossing the bag of jingling coins from hand to hand.
“Well? How do I look?”
“You look right smart,” said Benjavier. “You’ll blend right in.”
“Good. You, for your part, look right wealthy. Just wait here with the door locked; I’ll be back soon enough. I’ll knock exactly five times, savvy?”
“Sounds fine.”
Locke closed the door behind him, hurried down the stairs, across the courtyard, and back out into the street. He took the long way around to return to Meraggio’s, so he could enter via the front and avoid the guard at the service entrance.
“You’re not supposed to come and go this way,” said the directory guard when Locke burst into the foyer, red-cheeked and sweating.
“I know, sorry.” Locke waved his blank roll of parchment at the man. “I was sent out to fetch this for one of the lawscribes; one of the private gallery members, I should say.”
“Oh, sorry. Don’t let us keep you; go right through.”
Locke entered into the crowd on the floor of Meraggio’s for the third time, gratified by how few lingering looks he received as he hurried on his way. He wove deftly between well-dressed men and women and ducked out of the path of waiters bearing covered silver trays—he was careful to give these men a friendly, familiar nod as they passed. In moments, he found what he was looking for—two guards lounging against a back wall, their heads bent together in conversation.
“Look lively, gentlemen,” said Locke as he stepped up before them; either one of them had to outweigh him by at least five stone. “Either of you lads know a man named Benjavier? He’s one of my fellow waiters.”
“I know him by sight,” said one of the guards.
“He’s in a heap of shit,” said Locke. “He’s over at the Welcoming Shade, and he’s just fucked up one of Meraggio’s tests. I’m to fetch him back; I’m supposed to grab you two for help.”
“One of Meraggio’s tests?”
“You know,” said Locke. “Like he did to Willa.”
“Oh, her. That clerk in the public