The Lies of Locke Lamora - By Scott Lynch Page 0,115

his letter—and look, the royal ‘we.’ What an affectation!”

“Your Honor… what if he does understand what he’s done?”

“The possibility is very remote, Locke.” The capa chuckled sadly. “Or else he would not have done it.”

“Not if you presume that the meeting at the Echo Hole is an ambush. That he wants to get you off the Floating Grave and into a place where he has prepared some real harm for you.”

“Your prudence again.” Barsavi smiled without humor. “The thought has occurred to me, Locke. But if he wanted me dead, why not strike from surprise months ago, before he started killing my garristas? No, I believe he genuinely thinks that if he frightens me enough, I will negotiate in good faith. I am indeed going to the Echo Hole. We shall have our meeting. And for my counselors, I will bring my sons, my Berangias sisters, and a hundred of my best and my cruelest. And I will bring you and your friend Jean.”

Locke’s heart beat against the inside of his chest like a trapped bird. He wanted to scream.

“Of course,” he said. “Of course! Jean and I will do anything you ask. I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

“Good. Because the only negotiation we’ll be doing is with bolt, blade, and fist. I’ve got a surprise for that gray piece of shit, if he thinks to dictate terms to me over the body of my only daughter!”

Locke ground his teeth together. I know what can bring him out from that soggy fortress of his, the Gray King had said.

“Capa Barsavi,” said Locke, “have you considered… well, the things they say about the Gray King? He can kill men with a touch, he can walk through walls; he can’t be harmed by blades or by arrows…”

“Stories told in wine. He does as I did, when I first took this city; he hides himself well and he chooses his targets wisely.” The capa sighed. “I admit that he is good at it, perhaps as good as I was. But he’s not a ghost.”

“There is another possibility,” said Locke, licking his lips. How much of what was said here might reach the Gray King’s ears? He’d unraveled the secrets of the Gentlemen Bastards thoroughly enough. To hell with him. “The possibility of a… Bondsmage.”

“Aiding the Gray King?”

“Yes.”

“He’s been vexing my city for months, Locke. It might explain some things, yes, but the price… Even I could not pay a Bondsmage for that length of time.”

“Scorpion hawks,” said Locke, “aren’t just created by the Bondsmagi. As far as I know, only Bondsmagi themselves keep them. Could an ordinary… falconer train a bird that could kill him with one accidental sting?” Bullshit well, he thought. Bullshit very well. “The Gray King wouldn’t need to have kept one this whole time. What if the Bondsmage is newly arrived? What if the Bondsmage has only been hired for the next few days, the critical point of whatever the Gray King’s scheme is? The rumors about the Gray King’s powers… could have been spread to prepare for all of this.”

“Fantastical,” said Barsavi, “and yet it would explain much.”

“It would explain why the Gray King is willing to meet you alone and unarmed. With a Bondsmage to shield him, he could appear both yet be neither.”

“Then my response is unchanged.” Barsavi squeezed one fist inside the other. “If one Bondsmage can best a hundred knives—including you and I, my sons, my Berangias sisters, your friend Jean and his hatchets—then the Gray King has chosen his weapons better than I. But for my part, I do not imagine that he has.”

“You will keep the possibility in mind?” Locke persisted.

“Yes. I shall.” Barsavi placed a hand on Locke’s shoulder. “You must forgive me, my boy. For what has happened.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Your Honor.” When the capa changes the subject, thought Locke, the subject is finished. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“It is my war. It’s me the Gray King truly wishes to cut.”

“You offered me a great deal, sir.” Locke licked his lips, which had suddenly gone dry. “I’d very much like to help you kill the bastard.”

“So we shall. At the ninth hour of the evening, on Duke’s Day, we begin to gather. Anjais will come to fetch you and Tannen at the Last Mistake.”

“What of the Sanzas? They’re good with knives.”

“And with cards, or so I hear. I like them well enough, Locke, but they’re fiddlers. Amusers. I’m taking serious folk for serious business.”

“As you say.”

“Now.” Barsavi took a silk handkerchief