reaching around Don Salvara, and gently setting Conté’s matching fighting knives down on the desktop.
“I see. I trust that he’ll be well.” Don Salvara drummed his fingers on his writing desk and stared at the scarred intruder. “I should be very displeased otherwise.”
“He is completely unharmed; I give you my word as the duke’s man.”
“I shall hold that sufficient. For the time being.”
The scarred man sighed and rubbed his eyes with two gloved fingers. “There’s no need for us to begin like this, m’lord. I apologize for the abruptness of our appearance and the manner of our intrusion, but I believe you’ll find that your welfare is paramount in our master’s eyes. I’m instructed to ask—did you enjoy yourself at the Revel today?”
“Yes…” Don Salvara spoke carefully, as though to a solicitor or a court recorder. “I suppose that would be an accurate assessment.”
“Good, good. You had company, didn’t you?”
“The Doña Sofia was with me.”
“I refer to someone else. Not one of His Grace’s subjects. Not Camorri.”
“Ah. The merchant. A merchant named Lukas Ferhwight, from Emberlain.”
“From Emberlain. Of course.” The scarred man folded his arms and looked around the don’s study. He stared for a moment at a pair of small glass portraits of the old Don and Doña Salvara, set in a frame decked with black velvet funeral ribbons. “Well. That man is no more a merchant of Emberlain than you or I, m’lord Salvara. He’s a fraud. A sham.”
“I…” Don Salvara nearly jumped to his feet, but remembered the man standing behind him and seemed to think better of it. “I don’t see how that could be possible. He…”
“Beg pardon, m’lord.” The scarred man smiled, gruesomely and artificially, as a man without children might smile when trying to comfort an upset babe. “But let me ask you—have you ever heard of the man they call the Thorn of Camorr?”
2
“I ONLY steal because my dear old family needs the money to live!”
Locke Lamora made this proclamation with his wineglass held high; he and the other Gentlemen Bastards were seated at the old witchwood table in the opulent burrow beneath the House of Perelandro; Calo and Galdo on his right, Jean and Bug on his left. A huge spread of food was set before them, and the celestial chandelier swung overhead with its familiar golden light. The others began to jeer.
“Liar!” they chorused in unison.
“I only steal because this wicked world won’t let me work an honest trade!” Calo cried, hoisting his own glass.
“Liar!”
“I only steal because I have to support my poor lazy twin brother, whose indolence broke our mother’s heart!” Galdo elbowed Calo as he made this announcement.
“Liar!”
“I only steal,” said Jean, “because I’ve temporarily fallen in with bad company.”
“Liar!”
At last the ritual came to Bug; the boy raised his glass a bit shakily and yelled, “I only steal because it’s heaps of fucking fun!”
“BASTARD!”
With a general clamor of whooping and hollering the five thieves banged glasses together; light glittered on crystal and shone through the misty green depths of Verrari mint wine. The four men drained their glasses in one go and slammed them back down on the tabletop. Bug, already a bit cross-eyed, handled his somewhat more delicately.
“Gentlemen, I hold in my hands the first fruits of all our long weeks of study and suffering.” Locke held up a rolled parchment embossed with ribbons and a blue wax seal—the color of the lesser nobility of Camorr. “A letter of credit for five thousand full crowns, to be drawn tomorrow against Don Salvara’s funds at Meraggio’s. And, I daresay, the first score our youngest member has ever helped us to bring in.”
“Barrel boy!” the Sanza brothers hollered in unison; a moment later a small almond-crusted bread roll arced from between their seats, hit Bug right between the eyes, and plopped down onto his empty plate. Bug tore it in half and responded in kind, aiming well despite his wobbliness. Locke continued speaking as Calo scowled and rubbed crumbs out of his eyes.
“Second touch this afternoon was easy. But we wouldn’t have gotten so far, so fast, if not for Bug’s quick action yesterday. What a stupid, reckless, idiotic, ridiculous damn thing to do! I haven’t the words to express my admiration.” Locke had managed to work a bit of wine-bottle legerdemain while speaking; the empty glasses were suddenly full. “To Bug! The new bane of the Camorr city watch!”
When the cheering and the guzzling from this toast had subsided and Bug had been smacked upon the back