The Lies of Locke Lamora - By Scott Lynch Page 0,86

capa’s problems are very real. But you’ve helped me put one of them to rest.”

Locke walked back toward the entrance hall, thoughts racing. The capa sat on his chair behind him, staring at nothing, saying no more. The only sounds after that were Locke’s own footsteps and the steady drip of blood from the gore-soaked bag around Federico’s head.

8

“WELL, NAZCA, if I were a thousand years old and had already seen everything there is to see six times over, that still would have been about the last damn thing I’d have ever expected!”

She was waiting for him in the little hall beyond the foyer; once the clockwork mechanisms had sealed the door to the main hall behind them, she gave him a wry and apologetic look.

“But don’t you see that it would have been even stranger if I’d explained it beforehand?”

“The whole mess would be hard-pressed to get any gods-damned weirder. Look, please, don’t take any of this the wrong way. I—”

“I don’t take any of it the wrong way, Locke…”

“You’re a good friend, and—”

“I feel the same way, and yet—”

“It’s hard to put this right…”

“No, it isn’t. Look.” She grabbed him by the shoulders and bent down slightly to look right into his eyes. “You are a good friend, Locke. Probably the best I have. My loyal pezon. I am extremely fond of you, but not… as a possible husband. And I know that you—”

“I… ah…”

“Locke,” said Nazca, “I know that the only woman with the key to that peculiar heart of yours is a thousand miles away. And I know you’d rather be miserable over her than happy with anyone else.”

“Really?” Locke balled his fists. “Seems like it’s pretty common fucking knowledge. I bet the duke gets regular reports. Seems as though your father is the only person who doesn’t know.”

“Or doesn’t care.” Nazca raised her eyebrows. “Locke, it’s capa to pezon. It’s not personal. He gives the orders and you carry them out. In most cases.”

“But not this one? I thought you’d be happy. At least he’s making plans for the future again.”

“I said reasonable plans.” Nazca smiled—a real smile this time. “Come on, pezon. Play along for a few days. We can go through the motions and put our heads together to come up with a way out of this. It’s you and me we’re talking about, right? The old man can’t win, and he won’t even know he’s lost.”

“Right. If you say so.”

“Yes, I say so. Come back the day after tomorrow. We’ll scheme. We’ll slip this noose. Now go tend to your boys. And be careful.”

Locke stepped back out into the entrance hall, and Nazca pushed the doors shut behind him; he stared back at her as the space between the black doors narrowed, gradually sealing her off from view until they slammed shut with the click of tumbling locks. He could have sworn she winked just before the heavy black doors closed between them.

“… and this is the card you picked. The six of spires,” said Calo, holding up a card and displaying it for the entrance-hall guards.

“Fuck me,” said one of them, “that’s sorcery.”

“Nah, it’s just the old Sanza touch.” Calo reshuffled his deck one-handed and held it out toward Locke. “Care to give it a go, boss?”

“No thanks, Calo. Pack up, lads. Our business here is finished for the day, so let’s quit bothering the folks with the crossbows.” He punctuated this with hand gestures: Major complications; discuss elsewhere.

“Damn, I’m hungry,” said Jean, picking up the cue. “Why don’t we get something at the Last Mistake and take it up to our rooms?”

“Yeah,” said Bug. “Beer and apricot tarts!”

“A combination so disgusting I feel oddly compelled to actually try it.” Jean swatted the smallest Gentleman Bastard on the back of his head, then led the way as the gang made for the slender wooden path that tied the Floating Grave to the rest of the world.

9

SAVE CAPA Barsavi (who imagined that Locke’s gang merely continued sitting the steps a few days of the week even with Chains in his grave), no Right People of Camorr knew that the Gentlemen Bastards still worked out of the House of Perelandro. Calo and Galdo and Bug let rooms at various points in and around the Snare, moving every few months. Locke and Jean had maintained the fiction of rooming together for several years. By a great stroke of luck (though whether it was good or ill had yet to be determined, really) Jean had