The Lies of Locke Lamora - By Scott Lynch Page 0,190

tonight to dine with several very important contacts, one of them a don, to discuss the business matter I have been sent to Camorr to see through. I, ah… this is most embarrassing, but I fear I have been the victim of a rather substantial theft.”

“A theft, Master Callas? What do you mean?”

“My wardrobe,” said Locke. “All of my clothing, and all of my belongings, were stolen while I slept. The tavern-master, why, confound the bastard, he claims that he can bear no responsibility for the crime, and he insists I must have left my door unlocked!”

“I can recommend a solicitor that would suit, for such a case.” Previn opened a desk drawer and began hunting through the parchments that lay within. “You could bring the tavern-master before the Common Claims court at the Palace of Patience; it might take as little as five or six days, if you can get an officer of the watch to corroborate your story. And I can draw up all the documents necessary to—”

“Master Previn, forgive me. That is a wise course of action; in most other circumstances I would gladly pursue it, and ask you to draw out whatever forms were required. But I don’t have five or six days; I fear I have only hours. The dinner, sir, is this evening, as I said.”

“Hmmm,” said Previn. “Could you not reschedule the dinner? Surely your associates would understand, with you facing such an extremity.”

“Oh, if only I could. But Master Previn, how am I to appear before them, asking them to entrust tens of thousands of crowns to the ventures of my combine, when I cannot even be entrusted to vouchsafe my own wardrobe? I am… I am most embarrassed. I fear I shall lose this affair, let it slip entirely through my fingers. The don in question, he is… he is something of an eccentric. I fear he would not tolerate an irregularity such as my situation presents; I fear, if put off once, he would not desire to meet again.”

“Interesting, Master Callas. Your concerns may be… valid. I shall trust you to best judge the character of your associates. But how may I be of assistance?”

“We are of a like size, Master Previn,” said Locke. “We are of a like size, and I very much appreciate your subtle eye for cuts and colors—you have a singular taste. What I propose is the loan of a suitable set of clothing, with the necessary trifles and accoutrements. I shall give you five crowns as an assurance for their care, and when I am finished with them and have returned them, you may keep the assurance.”

“You, ah… you wish me to loan you some of my clothes?”

“Yes, Master Previn, with all thanks for your consideration. The assistance would be immeasurable. My combine would not be ungrateful, I daresay.”

“Hmmm.” Previn closed the drawer of his desk and steepled his fingers beneath his chin, frowning. “You propose to pay me an assurance worth about one-fourth of the clothing I would be loaning you, were you to be attending a dinner party with a don. One-fourth, at a minimum.”

“I, ah, assure you, Master Previn, that with the sole exception of this unfortunate theft, I have always thought of myself as the soul of caution. I would look after your clothing as though my life depended upon it—indeed, it does. If these negotiations go amiss, I am likely to be out of ajob.”

“This is… this is quite unusual, Master Callas. Quite an irregular thing to ask. What combine do you work for?”

“I—I am embarrassed to say, Master Previn. For fear that my situation should reflect poorly on them. I am only trying to do my duty by them, you understand.”

“I do, I do, and yet it must be plain to you that no man could call himself wise who would give a stranger thirty crowns in exchange for five, without… something more than earnest assurances. I do beg your pardon, but that’s the way it must be.”

“Very well,” said Locke. “I am employed by the West Iron Sea Mercantile Combine, registered out of Tal Verrar.”

“West Iron Sea Mercantile… hmmm.” Previn opened another desk drawer and flipped through a small sheaf of papers. “I have Meraggio’s Directory for the current year, Seventy-eighth Year of Aza Guilla, and yet… Tal Verrar… there is no listing for a West Iron Sea Mercantile Combine.”

“Ah, damn that old problem,” said Locke. “We were incorporated in the second month of the year; we are