hurt to check?” asked Reynart.
Locke looked up at Reynart with gratitude on his face. “No, it can’t, Reynart. Please do.”
Doña Vorchenza massaged her temples. “This is quite out of hand,” she said. “Stephen, throw this man somewhere secure until after the feast. A room without windows, please.”
“Doña Vorchenza,” said Locke, “what does the name Avram Anatolius mean to you?”
Her eyes were cold. “I couldn’t begin to say,” she said. “What do you imagine it means to you?”
“Capa Barsavi murdered Avram Anatolius twenty-two years ago,” said Locke. “And you knew about it. You knew he was a threat to the Secret Peace.”
“I can’t see what relevance this has to anything,” said Doña Vorchenza.
“You will be silent now, or I’ll have you silenced.”
“Anatolius had a son,” said Locke with desperate haste, as Stephen took a step toward him. “A surviving son, Doña Vorchenza. Luciano Anatolius. Luciano is Capa Raza. Luciano took revenge on Barsavi for the murder of his parents and his siblings—now he means to have revenge on you as well! You and all your peers.”
“No,” said Doña Vorchenza, touching her head again. “No, that’s not right. I enjoyed the time I spent with Capa Raza. I can’t imagine he would do anything like this.”
“The Falconer,” said Locke. “Do you recall the Falconer?”
“Raza’s associate,” said Vorchenza distantly. “I… I enjoyed my time with him, as well. A quiet and polite young man.”
“He did something to you, Doña Vorchenza,” said Locke. “I’ve seen him do it, right before my eyes. Did he speak your true name? Did he write something on a piece of parchment?”
“I… I… cannot… this is…” Doña Vorchenza cringed; the wrinkles of her face bent inward, as though she were in pain. “I must invite Capa Raza… It would be impolite not to invite him to the… to the feast…” She slumped against her chair and screamed.
Lorenzo and Sofia rushed to her aid; Reynart picked Locke up by the front of his vest and slammed him against the north wall, hard. Locke’s feet dangled a foot off the ground.
“What did you do to her?” bellowed Reynart.
“Nothing,” gasped Locke. “A Bondsmage cast a spell over her! Think, man—is she being rational about the sculptures? The bastard did something to her mind.”
“Stephen,” said Doña Vorchenza in a hoarse voice, “put the Thorn down. He’s right. He’s right… Raza and the Falconer… It’s like I’d forgotten, somehow. I wasn’t going to accept Raza’s request… Then the Falconer did something at the desk, and I…”
She stood up once more, assisted by Sofia. “Luciano Anatolius, you said. Capa Raza is Avram Anatolius’ son? How could you possibly know that?”
“Because I tied that Bondsmage to the floor just an hour or two ago,” said Locke as Reynart let him slide back down the wall. “I cut off his fingers to get him to talk, and when he’d confessed everything I wanted to hear, I had his fucking tongue cut out, and the stump cauterized.”
Everyone in the room stared at him.
“I called him an asshole, too,” said Locke. “He didn’t like that.”
“It’s worse than death, to slay a Bondsmage,” said Doña Vorchenza.
“He’s not dead. He’s just very gods-damned sorry.”
Doña Vorchenza shook her head. “Stephen, the sculptures. There’s one on this floor, isn’t there? Beside the bar?”
“Yes,” said Reynart, moving for the door. “What else do you know about them, Thorn?”
“They’ve got alchemical fuses,” said Locke. “And clay pots of fire-oil. At Falselight, that fire-oil goes up; this whole tower fills with Wraithstone smoke. And Anatolius sails away, laughing his head off.”
“This Luciano Anatolius,” said Sofia, “is he the one we met on the stairs?”
“One and the same,” said Locke. “Luciano Anatolius, also known as Capa Raza, also known as the Gray King.”
“If these things are alchemical,” said Sofia, “I’d better be the one to have a look at them.”
“If it’s going to be dangerous, I’m going as well,” said Lorenzo.
“And me,” said Conté.
“Great! We can all go! It’ll be fun!” Locke waved his tied hands at the door. “But hurry it up, for fuck’s sake.”
Conté took him by the arm and pushed him along at the rear of the procession; Reynart and Vorchenza led their way out past the startled blackjackets. Reynart beckoned for them to follow. They left the hallway and returned to the main gallery.
“On the other side of the bar, by the glasses,” said Locke. “Behind one of the velvet ropes, I think.”
The crowd of red-faced revelers parted as the strange procession swept through the gallery. Reynart strode up to the blackjacket standing