The Lies of Locke Lamora - By Scott Lynch Page 0,192

easily dealt with.

“I say,” said Locke in his brightest, most conversational I’m-not-from-your-city tone of voice, “how would you like to find your pockets laden down with five white iron crowns before the afternoon is done?”

“I… that… five… sir, you seem to have me at a disadvantage. What can I do for you, and indeed, who are you?”

“My name is Galdo Avrillaigne,” said Locke. “I’m from Talisham.”

“You don’t say,” said the man. “Five crowns, you mentioned? I usually don’t charge that much for my services, but I’d like to hear what you have in mind.”

“Your services,” said Locke, “your professional services, that is, are not what I’ll be requiring, Master…”

“Magris, Armand Magris,” said the man. “But you, you don’t know who I am and you don’t want my—”

“White iron, I said.” Locke conjured the same piece he’d set down on Koreander Previn’s desk two hours before. He made it seem to pop up out of his closed knuckles and settle there; he’d never developed the skill for knuckle-walking that the Sanzas had. “Five white iron crowns, for a trifling service, if somewhat unusual.”

“Unusual how?”

“I have had a streak of rather ill fortune, Master Magris,” said Locke. “I am a commercial representative of Strollo and Sons, the foremost confectioner in all of Talisham, purveyor of subtleties and sweets. I took ship from Talisham for a meeting with several potential clients in Camorr—clients of rank, you understand. Two dons and their wives, looking to my employers to liven up their tables with new gustatory experiences.”

“Do you wish me to draw up documents for a potential partnership, or some sale?”

“Nothing so mundane, Master Magris, nothing so mundane. Pray hear the full extent of my misfortune. I was dispatched to Camorr by sea, with a number of packages in my possession. These packages contained spun sugar confections of surpassing excellence and delicacy; subtleties the likes of which even your famed Camorri chefs have never conceived. Hollow sweetmeats with alchemical cream centers… cinnamon tarts with the Austershalin brandy of Emberlain for a glaze… wonders. I was to dine with our potential clients, and see that they were suitably overcome with enthusiasm for my employer’s arts. The sums involved for furnishing festival feasts alone, well… the engagement is a very important one.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said Magris. “Sounds like very pleasant work.”

“It would be, save for one unfortunate fact,” said Locke. “The ship that brought me here, while as fast as had been promised, was badly infested with rats.”

“Oh dear… surely not your—”

“Yes,” said Locke. “My wares. My very excellent wares were stored in rather lightweight packages. I kept them out of the hold; unfortunately, this seems to have given the rats an easier time of it. They fell upon my confections quite ravenously; everything I carried was destroyed.”

“It pains me to hear of your loss,” said Magris. “How can I be of aid?”

“My wares,” said Locke, “were stored with my clothes. And that is the final embarrassment of my situation; between the depredations of teeth and of, ah, droppings, if I may be so indelicate… my wardrobe is entirely destroyed. I dressed plainly for the voyage, and now this is the only complete set of clothes to my name.”

“Twelve gods, that is a pretty pickle. Does your employer have an account here at Meraggio’s? Do you have credit you might draw against for the price of clothes?”

“Sadly, no,” said Locke. “We have been considering it; I have long argued for it. But we have no such account to help me now, and my dinner engagement this evening is most pressing; most pressing indeed. Although I cannot present the confections, I can at least present myself in apology—I do not wish to give offense. One of our potential clients is, ah, a very particular and picky man. Very particular and picky. It would not do to stand him up entirely. He would no doubt spread word in his circles that Strollo and Sons was not a name to be trusted. There would be imputations not just against our goods, but against our very civility, you see.”

“Yes, some of the dons are… very firmly set in their customs. As yet I fail to see, however, where my assistance enters the picture.”

“We are of a similar size, sir, of a fortuitously similar size. And your taste, why, it is superlative, Master Magris; we could be long-lost brothers, so alike are we in our sense for cuts and colors. You are slightly taller than I am, but surely I can