know. They try to bring me the exact same amount, week after week after week, until I finally lose patience and correct them. Do you know what that sort of garrista must have, Locke?”
“Ah. A…very boring life?”
“Ha! Yes, exactly. How very stable of them to have the exact same income every single week, so they might give me the exact same percentage as a cut. As though I were an infant who would not notice. And then there are garristas such as yourself. I know you bring me the honest percentage, because you’re not afraid to walk in here and apologize for having less than last week.”
“I, ah, do hope I’m not considered shy about sharing when the balance tilts the other way….”
“Not at all.” Barsavi smiled and settled back in his chair. Ominous splashing and muffled banging was coming from beneath the floor in the vicinity of the hatch that Julien had vanished down. “You are, if anything, the most reliably correct garrista in my service. Like Verrari clockwork. You deliver my cut yourself, promptly and without a summons. For four years, week in and week out. Unfailing, since Chains died. Never once did you suggest that anything took precedence over your personal appearance before me, with that bag in your hand.”
Capa Barsavi pointed at the small leather bag Locke held in his left hand, and gestured to Nazca. Her formal role in the Barsavi organization was to act as finnicker, or record-keeper. She could rattle off the running total of the payments made by any gang in the city, itemized week by week and year by year, without error. Locke knew she updated records on parchment for her father’s private use, but so far as the Capa’s subjects in general knew, every coin of his fabled treasure was catalogued solely behind her cold and lovely eyes. Locke tossed the leather purse to her, and she plucked it out of the air.
“Never,” said Capa Barsavi, “did you think to send a pezon to do a garrista’s job.”
“Well, ah, you’re most kind, Your Honor. But you made that very easy today, since only garristas are allowed past the door.”
“Don’t dissemble. You know of what I speak. Nazca, love, Locke and I must now be alone.”
Nazca gave her father a deep nod, and then gave a much quicker, shallower one to Locke. She turned and walked back toward the doors to the entrance hall, iron heels echoing on the wood.
“I have many garristas,” Barsavi said when she was gone, “tougher than yourself. Many more popular, many more charming, many with larger and more profitable gangs. But I have very few who are constantly at pains to be so courteous, so careful.”
Locke said nothing.
“My young man, while I take offense at many things, rest assured that courtesy is not one of them. Come, stand easy. I’m not fitting you for a noose.”
“Sorry, capa. It’s just…you’ve been known to begin expressing your displeasure in a very…ahhh…”
“Roundabout fashion?”
“Chains told me enough about scholars of the Therin Collegium,” said Locke, “to understand that their primary habit of speech is the, ah, booby trap.”
“Ha! Yes. When anyone tells you habits die hard, Locke, they’re lying—it seems they never die at all.” Barsavi chuckled and sipped from his wine before continuing. “These are…alarming times, Locke. This damn Gray King has finally begun to get under my skin. The loss of Tesso is particularly…Well, I had plans for him. Now I am forced to begin bringing other plans forward sooner than intended. Tell me, pezon…What do you think of Anjais and Pachero?”
“Uh. Ha. Well…my honest opinion, Your Honor?”
“Full and honest, pezon. By my command.”
“Ah. They’re very respected, very good at their jobs. Nobody jokes about them behind their backs. Jean says they really know how to handle themselves in a fight. The Sanzas are nervous about playing fair card games with them, which is saying something.”
“This I could hear from two dozen spies any time I wanted to. This I know. What is your personal opinion of my sons?”
Locke swallowed and looked Capa Barsavi straight in the eyes. “Well, they are worthy of respect. They are good at their jobs, and they must know their business in a fight. They’re fairly hard workers and they’re bright enough…but…Your Honor, begging your pardon, they tease Nazca when they should be heeding her warnings and taking her advice. She has the patience and the subtlety that…that…”
“Elude them?”
“You knew what I was going to say, didn’t you?”
“I said you were a careful