The Lies of Locke Lamora - By Scott Lynch Page 0,38

specific as possible, but the don might have sources of intelligence the Gentlemen Bastards hadn’t spotted in their weeks of surveillance and preparation. The parts about the Black Table and the impending civil war were solid, educated speculation; the part about a sudden port closure and house arrests was pure homespun bullshit. In Locke’s estimation, the real mess in Emberlain wouldn’t start for a few months. If the don was wise to this, the game might be blown. Conté might be trying to pin Locke to the table with his daggers in just a few seconds. And then Jean would pull out the hatchets he had concealed down the back of his vest, and everyone in the little group beneath the silk awning would get very, very uncomfortable.

But the Salvaras said nothing; they merely continued to stare at him with eyes that plainly invited him to go on. Emboldened, he continued: “This situation is unbearable. We will neither be hostages to a cause that we barely profess, nor victims for the Graf’s vengeance upon his inevitable return. We choose a… somewhat risky alternative. One that would require substantial aid from a noble of Camorr. You, Don Salvara, if it is within your means.”

The don and his wife had clasped hands under the table; he waved his hand at Locke excitedly.

“We can surrender our funds. By taking no steps to secure them, we buy ourselves more time to act. And we are quite confident that replacing those funds will merely be a matter of time and effort. We can even abandon”—Locke gritted his teeth—“we can even abandon our vineyards. We will completely burn them ourselves, leaving nothing to anyone else. After all, we enhance the soil ourselves, alchemically. And the secret of that enhancement is kept only in the hearts of our Planting Masters.”

“The Austershalin Process,” Sofia breathed, betrayed by her own rising excitement.

“Of course, you’ve heard of it. Well, there are only three Planting Masters at any given time. And the Process is complex enough to defy soil examination—even by someone with talents such as yours, my lady. Many of the compounds our alchemists use are inert, and intended only to confuse the matter. So that’s that.

“The one thing we cannot abandon is our stock of aging blends; the last six years, batched in their casks. And certain rare vintages and special experiments. We store the Austershalin in thirty-two gallon casks; there are nearly six thousand such casks in our possession. We have to get them out of Emberlain. We have to do it in the next few weeks, before the Black Table imposes harsher control measures and before the Graf begins laying siege to his canton. And now our ships are under guard, and all of our funds are untouchable.”

“You want… you want to get all of these casks out of Emberlain? All of them?” The don actually gulped.

“As many as possible,” said Locke.

“And for this you would involve us how?” Doña Sofia was fidgeting.

“Emberlain-flagged ships can no longer leave port, nor enter if they wish to escape again. But—a small flotilla of Camorr-flagged ships, with Camorri crews, financed by a Camorri noble…” Locke set his glass of brandy down and spread both his hands in the air.

“You wish me to provide… a naval expedition?”

“Two or three of your larger galleons should do it. We’re looking at a thousand tons of cargo—casks and brandy alike. Minimal crew, say fifty or sixty men a ship. We can take our pick of the docks and get sober, trustworthy captains. Six or seven days beating north, plus however long it takes to scratch the crews and ships together. I guess less than a week. Do you concur?”

“A week… yes, but… you’re asking me to finance all of this?”

“In exchange for a most handsome recompense, I assure you.”

“Provided everything goes well, yes, and we’ll come to the matter of recompense in a moment. But just the rapid acqusition of two galleons, good captains, and very reliable crews—”

“Plus,” said Locke, “something to stick in the hold for the trip north. Cheap grain, dried cheese, low-grade fresh fruit. Nothing special. But Emberlain will shortly be under siege; the Black Table will be happy to have a cache of extra supplies offloaded. Emberlain’s position is too tenuous to fail to respect the sovereign neutrality of Camorr; that’s what my masters are counting on to get the ships in and out. But added insurance cannot hurt.”

“Yes,” said Don Lorenzo, tugging on his lower lip. “Two galleons, crews,