The Lies of Locke Lamora - By Scott Lynch Page 0,132

After we get the goods and pull the vanish and there’s nothing they can do about it?”

The light from the hearthstone sank several stages further before Jean answered.

“I thought we’d agreed long ago that they get what they deserve, Locke. Nothing more. This is a fantastically silly moment to start giving a shit.”

“Giving a shit?” Locke started, blinking as though he had just woken up. “No, don’t get me wrong. It’s just this sewn-up feeling. ‘No way out’ is for other people, not for the Gentlemen Bastards. I don’t like being trapped.”

At a sudden gesture from Locke, Jean pulled him to his feet. Jean wasn’t sure if the tea was any more responsible than the cloak, but Locke was no longer shivering.

“Too right,” Locke continued, his voice gaining strength. “Too right I don’t like it. Let’s get this shit job over with. We can have a good ponder on the subject of our favorite gray rat-fucker and his pet mage after I’ve danced to their little tune.”

Jean grinned and cracked his knuckles, then ran a hand down the small of his back. The old familiar gesture, making sure that the Wicked Sisters were ready for a night out.

“You sure,” he said, “that you’re ready for the Vine Highway?”

“Ready as I can be, Jean. Hell, I weigh considerably less than I did before I drank that potion. Climbing down’ll be the easiest thing I do all night.”

5

THE TRELLIS ran up the full height of the Broken Tower, on the westward face of the structure, overlooking a narrow alley. The lattice of wood was threaded with tough old vines and built around the windows on each floor. Though something of a bitch to climb, it was the perfect way to avoid the few dozen familiar faces that were sure to be in the Last Mistake on any given night. The Gentlemen Bastards used the Vine Highway frequently.

The alley-side shutters banged open on the top floor of the Broken Tower; all the light inside Locke and Jean’s suite of rooms had been extinguished. A large dark shape slid out into the mass of trellised vines, and was shortly followed by a smaller shape. Clinging with white-knuckled determination, Locke gently eased the shutters closed above him, then willed his queasy stomach to quit complaining for the duration of the climb. The Hangman’s Wind, on its way out to the salty blackness of the Iron Sea, caught at his cap and cloak with invisible fingers that smelled of marshes and farmers’ fields.

Jean kept himself two or three feet under Locke, and they descended steadily, one foothold or handhold at a time. The windows on the sixth floor were shuttered and dark.

Thin slivers of amber light could be seen around the shutters on the fifth floor. Both climbers slowed without the need for words and willed themselves to be as quiet as possible; to be patches of gray invisible against deeper darkness, nothing more. They continued down.

The fifth-floor shutters flew outward as Jean was abreast with them on their left.

One hinged panel rebounded off his back, almost startling him out of his hold on the trellis. He curled his fingers tightly around wood and vine, and looked to his right. Locke stepped on his head in surprise, but quickly pulled himself back up.

“I know there’s no other way out, you miserable bitch!” hissed a man’s voice.

There was a loud thump, and then a shudder ran up and down the trellis; someone else had just gone out the window, and was scrabbling in the vines beside and just below them. A black-haired woman stuck her head out of the window, intent on yelling something in return, but when she caught sight of Jean through the cracks in her swinging shutter, she gasped. This in turn drew the attention of the man clinging just beneath her; a larger man even than Jean.

“What the hell is this shit?” he gasped. “What are you doing outside this window?”

“Amusing the gods, asshole.” Jean kicked down and tried to nudge the newcomer further down the trellis, to no avail. “Kindly heave yourself down!”

“What are you doing outside this window, huh? You like to sneak a peek? You can sneak a peek of my fist, cocksucker!”

Grunting with exertion, he began to climb back upward, grabbing at Jean’s legs. Jean narrowly yanked himself out of the way, and the world reeled around him as he regained his balance. Black wall, black sky, wet black cobblestones fifty feet below. That was a bad fall, the