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Since Locke didn’t need him with Mister Linch, Jean wandered around the city to find more information about Riyria. The actors couldn’t tell him more about them than they’d said the night before, so he decided to sneak something off the palace’s guards: even if they were unable to catch the thief that’d escaped the room, they should have seen something recognizable out of him that confirmed Jean they, indeed, stepped into Riyria.
Moreover, from the previous night’s interrogation, he’d overheard the guards talking about a drunken who had distracted them: Jean was sure he was an accomplice of the thief, because such a diversion was something the Gentlemen Bastard would have done, even if in a refined manner. And Riyria was composed of two people.
The Nameless One was on his side that day, because, as he turned the corner, he noticed soldiers kicking out a man from their quartiers in a very vocal manner, despite the man trying to apologize to them. Obvious, they were angry at him because his attics had sidetracked them from a robbery, which hadn’t looked good in the eyes of their employer.
Jean observed the man from his hidden corner.
He remained to stand in front of the door for a while, hoping for an opening, then shook his head. As he walked away, Jean noticed he had three swords – two on his belt and a gigantic one on his back.
Just like the thief of the play.
It couldn’t be a coincidence.
Even if he wasn’t at ease as he would on Camorr’s street, Jean followed the man through the crowded street of Vania, trying to be unsuspicious in his stalk. Locke’s plan didn’t consider outing Riyria or having them arrested, but he couldn’t be bad to be aware of their movements.
Jean was waiting for an occasion to observe better the man with the three swords, when he slowed down his steps. His attention had been attracted by a street fight between two thugs, with a tumbler as a host, collecting bets from the crowd around.
Before the three-swords-man could leave, Jean was at his side, throwing a handful of coins in one of the two bronze buckets that represent the fighters, the empty one. The gesture drew some stares: if no one would bet on that opponent, there was probably a reason.
“He’s going to win,” Jean commented, to no one in particular but hoping to lure his mark’s attention. “It seems he’s losing, but only because his opponent attacks more. Most of them went to nothing as he wears out.”
“Yeah, and he also had a poor balance,” three-swords-man added, after throwing a glance in Jean’s direction. He proceeded to add his own bet to Jean’s. “One hit well done and a kick on his leg will draw him on his knees.”
It happened exactly as he’d foreseen, with much disdain from the other present. Jean snorted inside himself: a con like that was incredibly common in Camorr, especially from gangs that worked for Barsavi. Let everyone believe in the winner only to have him lose in the end.
“If you’re so good,” the tumbler commented in their direction, “why don’t you give our audience a demonstration?”
“Actually, I am-” the three-swords-man tried to say, but the tumbler didn’t let him finish.
“We want to see something new, right? Who wants to see it? Please scream!” The crowd cheered him, as he clapped his hands to encourage the reaction.
Jean faked an apologetic smile, as the people started to push them. “Guess we hadn’t much choice,” he said, but he wasn’t annoyed at the half. He didn’t mind testing the other’s abilities in a safe environment.
When they both were on top of the small wooden platform that served as an arena, after the three-swords-man had abandoned his weapons, much to his disdain, the tumbler presented them to the public, inviting them to bet once more. It would probably keep part of that money.
The three-swords-man took off his shirt too, revealing a well-built torso crossed by some faded scars. Definitely, the body of a fighter, and he was a few inches taller than Jean. He was handsome, too, probably, over the layer of sloppiness and the unshaved beard. Definitely similar to how he was depicted in the tale, as the gorgeous blond swordsman thief.
“One, two, three, go!” the tumbler said, jumping out the platform.
The first attack from Jean was sloppy, made only to check on his opponent’s reflex. The punch passed next to the three-swords-man ad he dodged with a swift movement, before grabbing Jean’s wrist and jerking it down. Jean was fast to pivoting on his feet, unbalanced the other, then kicked him on the right knee. But the three-swords-man was fast to parry it with his own legs, even if he was forced to free Jean’s wrist, before taking a step backward.
“Can you please avoid my face?” he asked, with an amicable smile. “Girls like it.”
“A good reason to ruin it, then,” Jean replied.
The rest of their fight was like a dance, to the point that the crowd’s cheers from one or the other fell into a stunning silence. Jean’s specialty was fighting with the Sisters, but Don Maranzalla had taught him well about hand-to-hand combat, something that was extremely helpful during his teenage years in Camorr. Yet, he hadn’t seen anyone, not even Maranzalla, fight like the man in front of him.
Then, one of his punches reached his target: three-swords-man was too slow to parry him. Jean went for another hit, but was just a faint because, with the other hand, he grabbed the other’s wrist as he tried to dodge the punch. Then, using the arm as leverage, he placed his foot between the other’s legs and forc, forcing him to tumble on it.
The crowd roared as the three-swords-man was forced to the ground, head pressed against the wood and Jean’s keen pressing on his back.
“I can’t believe the glasses won!” one complained, something that made Jean snort. He couldn’t help to be born being born with bad eyesight, but he definitely didn’t mind being underestimated, if people didn’t see who they had in front.
He offered his hands to the three-swords-man, who accepted it with a smile. Jean pulled him standing again.
“I won, but at least your face is safe.”
“Small graces,” the three-swords-man commented, but he didn’t appear disappointed at all. “Thank you for that.”
Without another word, he recollected his blades and left the platform. Jean dodged the public that tried to convince him for another round, grabbed the money the tumbler was offering him, and flanked the three-swords-man again.
“Thank you for letting me win,” he said.
Jean had noticed the moment his hand had smashed against the other’s chest: his body hadn’t flinched at all, as he expected the hit and was focused not on dodging it, but on avoiding being hurt too much by it. He’d let Jean grab his wrists.
“If you think so, you may give me a percentage,” three-swords-man replied, with a soft smile that didn’t reveal anything of his thoughts. The man was tough.
“Why don’t you let me offer you a drink?”
Three-swords-man pondered the question. “You know a place here when the ale doesn’t taste like piss?”
“I can promise you a place where it doesn’t taste like hot piss.”
“Guess I have to settle for that.” Three-swords-man laughed. He offered his hand. “Hadrian Blackwater.”
“Jerome Valora.”
As Jean guided him towards the tavern, he wondered how deadly three-swords-man could be if allowed to actually use his blades, especially considering Jean’s own ability if allowed to use the Sisters. Jean missed his dear weapons.
But the more urgent matter was finding a way to explain to Locke that they had now a dangerous swordsman who was probably affiliated with Riyria and, reasonably, irritated with them for having ruined their robbery, in their inn.
And how to deal with him.
The ale smelled better than the one he’d tried before in Varia, yet Hadrian decided not to taste it until his host returned. Even if he’d observed the tavern’s owned, he couldn’t rule out the possibility of drugging, and he had his fair share of it. He also couldn’t rule out the possibility it was a trap and that Jerome hadn’t gone to his room to change but to call reinforcement.
A man able to see thought Hadrian’s trick to appear weaker didn’t need to be underestimated.
Of course, there was still the possibility that Jerome was who he affirmed to be, which Hadrian would have preferred because he kinda liked the man, even though they spoke only for their brief walking towards the tavern.
However, he trusted Royce’s eyesight enough to be suspicious, and the man appeared too similar to the description Royce had done of one of the two he’d seen inside Mister Lynch’s office.
Since Jerome was taking too much time to return, Hadrian decided to follow him. The tavern’s owner was busy with another customer, so Hadrian slipped swiftly towards the stairs to the upper floor. He found himself in a narrow hallway, with only a window at the end of it. Six closed doors, three for each side, peered out on it and no rumors came from them.
Hadrian walked with light steps, but the wooden floor creaked under his heavy weight. As he passed the first two doors, he placed both hands on the hilt of his swords, ready to draw them: fighting in such a narrow place wasn’t ideal, but at least he would be ready.
Still, no other rumors but his breath. He took another step and, this time, he heard whispers from the last door on the right side, just near the window.
Then, Royce’s voice resounded. “Come and join us.”
With an annoyed snort, Hadrian relaxed and trumped forwards.
When he opened the door, a strange scene appeared in front of him. Jerome was back against the wall, a pair of hatchets drolly in his hands, but not in a threatening way. The reason was clear: at the center of the small room, a man was wrapped up in ropes against a chair. Hadrian didn’t recognize him, but could imagine who he was.
And then there was Royce: he sat on another chair, his legs sloppily placed on his prisoner’s one, an arm around the other’s shoulders and Alverstone kept at his throat. Royce had an amiable smile on his face, which was making him more menacing.
Hadrian shook his head. As he closed the door, he commented, “I guess I won’t have that ale now.” Then, he gestured at Jerome’s hatchets. “Nice weapons.”
“They’re even nicer when they’re stuck in someone’s head, like this poor excuse of a filthy shit of a dog,” the other man snarled, nodding a Royce. He then added, in another tongue, “Can you please do something?”
“Do you want me to risk and throw one of the sisters?” Jerome replied with the same tongue.
“Please don’t,” Hadrian stated. “Yes, I speak Therin,” he added, to the two man’s surprise. “This is the accent from Camorr, right? I had been there for a while.”
Then, he pointed at Royce. “He would just dodge your hatchet and then things would become messy.” At Jerome’s frown, he added, “it’s not you, it’s him. I saw him dodging arrows too.”
“He can dodge arrows?”
“Sometimes. Let’s not make such a big fuss of it.”
Jerome threw a look at Royce, who hadn’t moved an inch for the entire discussion, nor let his smirk fade, Alverstone glinted in the light from outside.
“That wasn’t in the play,” he commented. “Riyria, I guess?”
Hadrian nodded. “Believe me, that play let out most of the absurd things that happened.”
“What kind of idiotic thieves let a play about them going around?” the prisoner stated. “Are you born so stupid or you damage your brain by suffocating in a whore’s pussy?”
Royce’s eyes darkened, while Hadrian cringed. Definitely not a good idea to talk bad about prostitutes.
“Give me a good reason not to slit your throat right now.”
“Because if you do, you won’t have leverage anymore for my friend, and you don’t want to spend the rest of your life with hatchets upon your ass, you cocksucker.”
“Does he always talk like this?” Hadrian asked Jerome.
“Yes, especially when someone is threatening him.”
“And how come no one has stabbed him yet?” Royce appeared genuinely curious.
“Oh, no, they did. But Gods are too much entertained to let him die.”
Before Hadrian could try again to ease the situation, the prisoner spoke again. “The last time a man threatened me, I tortured him to death.”
“Oh, really.” Royce’s voice was sweet.
“Unclog your shit-filled ears. I tortured a man to death.”
“Only one?” Hadrian had an eyebrow raised, and while his expression made Jerome and his friend perplexed, Royce snickered.
“I see you have a habit of being threatening,” he commented. “Wonder why.”
“To his defense, last time wasn’t asked for,” Jerome said. There was something in his eyes that remembered Hadrian of the time he’d failed to protect Rose.
“What happened?”
“We were involved in something we had nothing to do about. Our band- our family was killed. That man deserved every inch of torture he got.”
“I’m sorry,” Hadrian said sincerely.
His eyes fell on Royce, who was frowning. Hadrian could see very well his interior drama: you shouldn’t trust con men, yet torturing someone to death for revenge was something that hit Royce too close.
“Maybe we start with the wrong foot,” Hadrian said. “So. Hadrian Blackwater, Royce Melborn. Better known as Riyria.”
“Oh, so that was your real name?” Jerome looked baffled.
“Yeah, he’s stupid that way.” Royce moved his legs away and used Alverstone to cut the ropes. He eyed his prisoner, who stumbled out of the way with a grimace.
“Jean Tannen. And this is Locke Lamora,” Jerome said then.
“Well, now that nobody is threatened anymore,” Hadrian began, “you were the one after Mister Lynch’s painting?”
“Yeah, and you ruined the plan we prepared so carefully,” Locke commented.
Royce opened his mouth but Hadrian was faster, stepping forwards to avoid any diplomatic incident. “Why?”
“Miss Tiffany hired us.”
“Miss Nerily’s sister,” Royce commented. “The one that hired us.” He purposefully ignored Locke to address Jean. “I’m wrong in thinking she mistook you two for Riyria?”
“No, we suspect much so,” Jean nodded. “But we didn’t know until yesterday. Which was when I saw the play.”
“Before that, we didn’t even know you existed,” Locke pointed out. “Not so much famous as you think you are.”
“There is a reason why famous living thieves don’t exist,” Royce replied. “I care about me living.”
Hadrian tried to put back the conversation on the right path. “Well, Miss Tiffany and Miss Nerily want the same thing, since Lynch’s painting was owned originally by their father. We may find an agreement, to avoid stepping in each other’s path again.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Locke said. “You can have the painting. After all, I’m used to stealing from nobles, not being their lapdogs. We even made things easier for you.”
“Like we need it.” Royce snorted.
“You think you’re so smart and skilled, just because you sneak on me, right?” Locke commented. “Well, then I challenge you. Do you accept, or you use so much dark to hide you don’t have any balls down there?”
Hadrian groaned. Since Jean seemed as much unconvinced at him, he murmured, “Royce had been challenged once. It didn’t end well.”
“For him, or for his opponent?”
“For both.”
On the way back to their inn, Hadrian wasn’t sure how to address the argument, but Royce, who was walking in front of him, anticipated it.
“I must accept. We can’t have anyone going around and pretending to be us. We have a reputation.”
“Well, maybe it is time to retire,” Hadrian stated. “Recently, we accept jobs only to continue our search for DeWitt, but we don’t really need the money. We have been in the business for more than twelve years, it’s time to leave it to a new generation.”
“They aren’t much younger than us.” Royce glared at him.
Hadrian eyed him. “This isn’t about Riyria’s reputation. This is about your pride. You don’t like being challenged and you like even less being questioned about your skills as a thief. Like with dwarfs.”
“If I lost against that man, maybe I will need to retire for real,” Royce commented. “If you want that winery, bet against me.”
“Like I could,” Hadrian replied. “But he’s that bad?”
Royce’s eyes darkened. “No. He’s damn good. He was working his way out of the ropes before your arrival, and his way with disguises… I wouldn’t have recognized him if I didn’t see him change. I’m good with faking another personality, but he’s a master.”
Since Hadrian didn’t say anything, Royce added, “And his partner?”
“He’s good too.” Hadrian recalled his friendly sparring: he’d let the other win, but that didn’t impede Hadrian from noticing that there was no casualty in the way Jean fought.
“Can you beat him?”
Despite not having seen Jean fight with his weapon of choice, Hadrian was confident. “Yes, but it won’t be easy.”
Royce shook his head. “So we just accept a challenge with high stacks. Just another ordinary Riyria day.”
“Well, you accepted, so for once it isn’t my fault,” Hadrian pointed out. “I would have preferred a drinking challenge.”
“Which you would have lost.”
“Maybe, but at least I would have been too drunk to realize. Instead, something tells me I will have to be sober for the time being.”
The meeting point had been decided for a small, mountain town which was far enough from Varia not to attract suspects but not as far to take too many days from Riyria to reach after they completed their assignment.
Since Locke was busy rearranging his make-up set, Jean was the one opening the door. Locke didn’t even ask how Riyria had located their inn so easily: in such a small town, strangers weren’t hard to find, so the Gentlement hadn’t tried to disguise themselves much.
Once they were all sit down, Royce on the windowsill, Hadrian peaceful on the bed, and Jean in a chair near the door, Locke put away his tools and lifted his head.
“Everything good?” Jean asked Hadrian, who nodded.
“The painting was unattended, just like you said. And the two sisters were pleased. We guessed there was a little bit of miscommunication between the two of them, which resulted in all this mess.”
“Good,” Locke said. “Now that this matter is settled, we should talk about the real deal. We have an idea for our challenge?”
Royce wasn’t looking at anyone in the room, his head tilted a little towards the outside, as he was on duty guard. He murmured, “Delgos’ Declaration of Freedom.”
As Locke’s mount bent in a smirk, Jean shook his head. “It isn’t the one Father Chain spoke about? The ‘un-robbable’ object ever?”
“That’s how it been said,” Royce confirmed. “Impossible to steal.”
“It seems fit for such a challenge.” Locke couldn’t help but keep grinning.
“Okay,” Hadrian huffed. “Since I’m the only one who had the faintest idea what the hell are you talking about, care to explain?”
Royce looked at him, condescending. “Delgos’ Declaration was a document written after the fall of the steward’s reign, so around… seven hundred years ago? When Delgos marked its borders and created its republic. Over there, there are written the laws that even now constituted Delgos as a land.”
“So it’s just a… piece of paper?”
“It’s a lot more than that,” Jean intervened. “Since the importance of the moment, the document was compiled using the most refined techniques of the period and decorated by the most famous painter of that age, Hugues De Pain. Its importance lies in both art and history. In the black market, it has no price.”
“It can’t be forged too,” Locke added, his hands resting on the table. “It has three different writing styles, the paper was treated with a process long lost and someone goes as far as saying it had been enchanted, since it’s from the time mages still existed freely. It would take months to do a perfect copy and no one was granted such a long time in its presence.”
“A copy of it existed.” Now Royce was looking at Locke. “Professor Yassin was the only one permitted to study it, since is the maximum expert on Delgos’ history. But the copy had a distinctive sign so it can be distinguished from the original.”
Hadrian crossed his arms. “No forgery, then. But why is it un-robbable?”
As Locke and Royce shared a glare, the first nodded at the second to continue. “It’s kept under a closed case on the fourth floor of the Minareth, Cartiya’s old palace. The case is impossible to pick and the floor had no windows.”
“Is the case dwarfen made?” Hadrian asked.
“Yes. No gemlocks, luckily, but close enough. It can be open only with three keys.”
“Which are impossible to forge too,” Locke added. “Made with a special metal that can’t be stamped.”
“But if there are normal locks, why can’t they be picked?” Hadrian, with a frown, passed his eyes over both Royce and Locke.
“I’ll tell you when I grow a damn third hand.” Locke snorted.
“The mechanism works only if the locks turn at the same time,” Royce repeated patiently. “You would need three people to pick each lock individually, but you can never be sure to time at the same.”
“I mean, you might.” Locke moved his long fingers. “But it’ll take a huge amount of time and the possibilities to train with a perfect copy of the case, which is even harder to replicate.”
“So, no picks,” Hadrian stated. “What about the keys?”
Royce lifted three fingers. “Each key is guarded by one of Delgos’ mayor, the governors of the three provinces. They keep the key always with them, with no exception.”
“Are you saying you won’t be able to lift a key from them?”
“We are. I mean, at least I am,” Royce said. “But they live in three different cities. Only Lord Primul stays in Cartiya, while Lord Pontrivit in Arkin and Lady Treilea in Vandor. This means that you have to spend a huge amount of time to steal all three of them and the possibility that one of them notice before you have even one chance to step into Cartiya is too great.”
Locke decided to ignore Royce’s remark to address Hadrian directly. “If you can count on more people, you may be able to steal the keys at the same time, but you’ll still need time to reach Cartiya, which you can’t do in one day. They can.”
“Well, then.” Hadrian widened his arms. “Why are still talking about it? I suggest leaving this at it.”
“There is a possibility.” Now Jean’s brain was in action, much to Locke’s satisfaction. “There is a week during the years where the three Mayors are together in Cartiya.”
Locke didn’t miss the disappointment in Hadrian’s voice when he said, “and I guess it’s soon?”
“Two weeks,” Royce confirmed.
“It’s the Quares Feast, right?” Jean continued, as he hadn’t heard any of the two. “Which, conveniently, happens the same day they believe Delgos’ Declaration was signed. This is the reason they celebrate it there.”
Hadrian rubbed his chin. “I think I heard about it. It’s the celebration that comes after one month of fasting?”
“Not really fasting, but they can’t eat anything with sugar or drink wine,” Jean replied. “So, you can imagine just how much wine will be spilled during the Quares Feast.”
“Having many people celebrating gives us the possibility to be invisible.” Locke had no doubt it was one of the reasons Royce was proposing it. “Nobody would care about foreigners, thinking they’re there for the Feast.”
Royce’s eyes were again on the windows. “Of course, stealing the keys is only part of the plan. You have to get access to the Minareth. And this is another impossible task.”
“Please, don’t tell me it is another Drumindor,” Hadrian deadpanned.
“No, but it’s not easy. The Minareth is a four-store tall tower inside the old city hall palace. It is surveilled night and day by the division that had its base just next to the palace. The Minareth has no windows on the last floor, which is where the case is.”
“Okay, but someone can access it?”
“The Republicans. They are a special force of Delgos’ army deputed only to surveil the Minareth. Two of them stood on each floor of the Minareth but the fourth, because nobody could enter without the Mayors’ presence. They are very few, selected soldiers, so it is impossible to take their place because they all know each other.”
It was with satisfaction that Locke noticed Royce’s stare as he spoke the last words. Maybe impossible for everyone else but a master of disguise like Locke, who gave no satisfaction. He might be able to fake himself as one of the Republicans, but he had no desire to do so. Such a thing would be too rough for the Thorn of Camorr, but Royce could keep thinking it might be Locke’s plan.
“Let me summarize this.” Hadrian counted on his fingers. “We have to go in a city, steals three keys that aren’t replaceable, praying Maribor not to be found as we try to enter to an over surveilled tower to lift out a document. Did I understand correctly?”
“You forgot at least two people need to access that tower,” Royce added, much with Hadrian’s grimace. “Because only one person can’t unlock three locks at the same time.”
“Oh, right.”
Royce smirked. “But, of course, if someone here thinks it’s too hard, we may-”
“Oh, cut the crap,” Locke interrupted him. “Now that you proposed it, anything less than accepting it would be seen as cowardice, and the Crooked Warned can thunder me if I back down.”
Royce just shrugged.
“I do suggest we do not step in each other, trying to get the others arrested,” Jean said. “This thing will be hard enough by ourselves. Especially with only two weeks of preparation.”
“Right.” Locke nodded and looked straight at Royce. “But I have another condition. Since you were the one deciding the challenge, it’s only fair.”
“What condition?” There was a scold on Royce’s face, which Locke appreciated.
Stealing Delgos’ Declaration was almost an impossible task, but Locke was confident it could be done. The harder part wouldn’t be stealing it, but impeding Royce from doing it first, so he had to incapacitate him somehow.
“We’re going to exchange our partners,” Locke stated, as a moment of silence that increased the tension around. “I’ll work with Hadrian and you’ll work with Jean.”
“You know,” Jean started, as they were arranging their luggage. “You’re smarter than me when it comes to planning fraud, but I’m able at least to follow your lead. This time, I’m in the dark.”
“And you’re not as timid as a noble virgin,” Locke replied, with a snort. “Ask what you want.”
Jean let his backpack fall with a thud sound on the floor. Since Locke had spent the recent months mopping about the Grey King’s incident, he almost forgot how much an ass Locke could be when he decided so.
“Why in the Nameless One’s name you propose the change between Hadrian and me?”
“Aww, Jean, are you jealous?” Locke replied, with a smug expression. “But come on, after you illustrate to me all of Hadrian’s quality. I just have-”
“Asshole,” Jean interrupted him.
Locke sneered. “This is all part of my plan, I assure you.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Even if we decide not to step into each other’s plan, it’s almost impossible not to when we’re after the same mark.” Locke wrapped a rope around his pack. “The only way for us to win is to elaborate a plan that, at the same time, impedes Riyria from completing theirs.”
“So you want me to tell you Royce’s plan?” Jean understood. “But Hadrian will do the same with yours. And, by the way, I doubt Royce will share anything with me.”
“Oh, no, he’ll do it. Just, it won’t be his real plan, as I won’t reveal mine to Hadrian.”
Jean took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, then put them back. “Damn the day I didn’t let you rot.”
“Listen.” Locke closed his luggage after taking off a couple of vests. “It’s a matter of skills. Over an already hard fraud, we need to elaborate on two different plans, one real, one fake for the other group. It’s part of the challenge.”
“Whatever.” Jean lifted his hands in surrender. “I’m just happy to see you back in the business, even if over such bullshit. I guess you don’t have any ideas yet?”
Locke smirked with satisfaction. “Oh, no. I have. I had a plan even before Father Chain’s death.”
“What?” And then he understood. “Of course. Of course you have planned on it since he told us about it. Spit it out.”
“When Royce proposed it, I couldn’t believe my luck.” Locke walked to the center of the room and made an elaborate curtsy. “Forget about all that Royce said about stealing keys. That’s a completely shit attempt of being a gracious thief, and nothing to do with the Gentlemen Bastards.”
“Yeah, you’re in any shape to do something like that. And definitely not as good as Royce.”
“You’re hurting my feeling by pointing out that. I’m just a brainer kind of thief than that moneky, thank you very much.” Locke snorted. “No, my plan was a lot more refined than that. It was about having the Mayors give us the Declaration on a silver plate. I was supposed to be a Professor Yassif’s student in Cartiya to complete his studies. I would have been young, naïve, but incredibly intelligent and knowledgeable.”
“And inexistent, I add,” Jean said, amused.
“Absolutely. So would have you, an antiquities collector who just have been offered for the stolen copy of the Declaration, and the Sanzas with the duty of being various characters we might need to keep the farce up.” Locke’s expression fell as he was talking. “Sabetha was supposed to have a role too, before, you know.”
“Did you change the plan after Sabetha left? Like, giving her role to Bug?”
Unwillingly, Locke smiled. “Sure. I would have put a wing on him and hoped that the guards are attracted to a masculine woman with a dead raccoon as a braid.”
There was sadness in their laugh, but it was pleasant to remember their family again in such a funny way. Jean was especially satisfied to see Locke back to himself: he couldn’t say he approved the entire challenge thing, but everything was good as long he had the Thorn back. And nothing was better than a contest with a skilled opponent that, at the same time, didn’t want to kill them.
Maybe. With Royce, Jean couldn’t tell with certainty.
“But you can’t use this plan now.”
“Oh, no, I will. I just need to re-arranging it a little and give Royce the Sanzas’ role as conspirators. It can be done.”
“Not alone,” Jean replied. “And you can trust Hadrian barely, by your own doing.”
“Are you doubting me, Jean?”
“Of course not, but…” Jean breathed heavily. “So that’s the reason you proposed this exchange for real. You don’t want to remember we miss people doing the job with me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
But Jean knew Locke enough to not mistake the way he moved to avoid any unwanted questions, so he decided to let the argument fall.
“You need help for this,” Jean stated again.
“And I’ll have it. Pretty sure Cartiya had enough dregs to find someone ready to do everything for some coins.”
It wasn’t how the Gentlemen Bastards worked usual, not like Locke worked usually. He used a lot more time to elaborate a plan, even if Jean had seen him working faster under pressure.
However, Jean wasn’t about to point it out, not when Locke seemed so eager to start working.
So he changed the subject. “And you already have something in mind to ask Riyria when we win?”
“Oh, that.” Locke made a devilish face. “To be honest, not yet. I mean, the first thing I wished was to have Royce arrested but only after having him do a nice bath in a shit pool, but why limiting our fantasy?”
“You really don’t like people sneaking at you.”
“I don’t like people threatening me.” Locke clenched his teeth.
Sure, Royce hadn’t killed anyone in their family, but Jean felt it was a dreadful remainder of the Falconer; summarized to the fact Royce was a thief too, it wasn’t surprising Locke wanted to give a lesson about who was the king of thieves.
His pride was on the line.
Unfortunately, from the brief encounter they had with Royce, Jean felt that being his partner put a little more than his pride in play.
“Put this on.”
Abruptly, Locke threw Hadrian a bundle of clothes, which definitely saw better days. They were rough, smelly and torn; when Hadrian unwrapped them, he realized they were nothing more than a monk robes. Locke had already finished dressing up as one, so he was now loading his horse.
“Not to make a stupid question,” Hadrian said, “but why?”
“We aren’t going to Cartiya as our own self,” Locke replied, without looking at him. “I don’t give two fuck about how you’re used to, now we play under my rules. And for the Nameless One, hid that swords.” After passing him a piece of cloth, Locke mumbled under his breath, “It’s like they walk around with a sign ‘hey, it’s me, come arrest me’.”
Thinking Locke did manage in a couple of minutes to be more tyrannical than Royce, Hadrian didn’t discuss further. As much as he felt naked, he wrapped his two swords in the fabric and put them in his backpack. He only kept the spadone, which could be hidden under the hood of the monk’s vest.
“We’re going a little bit south,” Locke informed him, as they guided the horses outside the stable. “Joining a monastery down then until Cartiya.”
“Won’t it be longer?”
“Just barely. And there no sense following Jean and Royce’s journey, not if we want to beat them.”
Mounting, Hadrian just nodded. He was used to following instructions, since Royce was more the schemer and the brain of the couple, but he couldn’t deny being a little bit nervous. Despite more than twelve years in the business, Hadrian didn’t feel like a thief completely. He was a fighter and Royce’s partner. Going around and joining another band felt strange.
He eyed Locke, who kept his face hidden under the hood, wondering if he was chattier than Royce. He definitely had a lot to say back then. When they were far enough from the city, Hadrian felt safe enough to give it a try.
“So… How come two people from Camorr are so far home?” he started.
At first, the silence stretched, therefore Hadrian sighed, preparing for another journey with a monologue until Locke answered.
“We made a big mess there. Well, not everything was our fault, but tell them that. So we have to leave.”
“How big?” Hadrian asked. “Like, big level of ‘people find us’ or-”
“Big like I cut the tongue and fingers of a Bondsmage, then helped save all the nobles of Camorr before conning them into letting a ship with all their money explode. Oh, without counting the other big mess about killing the boss of the Camorr’s bands.”
“Yeah, I can see the problem.” Hadrian wondered why Locke and Royce didn’t get along. “The boss was the one killing your family?”
Locke’s jaws clenched a little. “I’m not a murderer, but that motherfucked asked for it.” Then, as to change the argument, Locke tilted his head, observing Hadrian carefully. “And you? When were you in Camorr and why?”
“Back then, I was a mercenary. I changed armies a lot.” Hadrian sighed. “After the Battle of Vilan Hills, I left and went south, trying to find another who could hire me. Duke Nicovante was busy submitting some of the areas around, so plenty of work for me.”
“I heard about Vilan Hills Battle. It was more than a decade ago.” Locke narrowed his eyes. “Just how old are you?”
“Not as much as you may think. I was seventeen back then.”
“And you were a mercenary?”
Hadrian shrugged. “Got an early start.”
“And Royce? Was he a mercenary too?”
“No. Used to be a bucket man, but…” Despite not knowing for real what happened in Colnora, the few bits he’d heard were more than enough. “I won’t ask more, not if you care about your life.”
“A bucket man means paid assassin, right?” Locke snorted, but didn’t add anything. “How long were you in Camorr?”
“Couple of months, more or less. When the raids ended, there was no place for me. It wasn’t like I didn’t try, but… I kinda got in trouble with the Contrarequiallas, so…”
“You got trouble with them?” Locke sneered. “What did you do? Sneaking in their changing room? Hitting on two of them at the same time?”
“No! I mean, yes, but that wasn’t the reason.” Hadrian shook his head. “They didn’t appreciate me participating in their battle. Stealing their privileges, they said. They weren’t wrong, so, like usual, I got away. Find me another arena to fight in.”
Since Locke didn’t answer, Hadrian turned: Locke was staring at him with wide eyes. “You’re the fucking Dimachaerus?! The only man allowed in the Teeth Show?! Crooked Warden, people still talk about you. The Contrarequiallas still cursed your name.”
“You know, it’s not nice telling people that wonderful women used your name as a swearing,” Hadrian replied, with a pout.
The information didn’t surprise him, though. Unfortunately, nobody had forgotten about him in Calis, and even worse, sometimes not even in Avryn.
“Yeah, well, damn. Jean wasn’t wrong about you.”
For a while, Locke didn’t talk, but Hadrian could feel his gaze on him, the way he was scrutinizing him as to find out some sort of secret about him. But Hadrian didn’t really have any secret, just a long list of bad decisions and regrets.
“I was an orphan,” Locke said, at last. “I got trained to be a thief, and I’m good at it. But you? With your kind of talent, anyone with some coins in their purse will hire you. It’s like having a feast and choosing to knell and suck someone’s else toe.”
Hadrian looked at him curiously. “You know, something working under someone’s order is to suck their toes.”
Locke snorted. “That is true. Still, it doesn’t explain how you ended up with Royce.”
“Destiny? Fate? The Gods mocking us?” Hadrian shrugged. “I needed a change of life, and Royce was… how to put it, thrown at me.” He chuckled. “You don’t like him very much, do you?”
“Oh, what give me away?” Locke asked, with a witty smile. “The fact that I hope to see him hang by his balls at the end of this?”
Hadrian could have explained to Locke that, although Royce’s attitude was unnerving, threatening him was never a good idea, but he decided not to. Despite everything, Locke stood to him like someone that could actually appreciate Royce, at least under the layers of brooding and dark clothes.
So, he said instead, “Don’t worry, you’re not the only one. Most people hate Royce at first sight. I wanted to kill him once.”
“Oh, and why didn’t you do that? It could have spared us a lot of trouble.”
“I guess you won’t like me much when I tell you that, instead of killing him, I saved his life.”
Locke snorted. “Either you are a very good actor, in that case, I applaud your talent, or you are a very good person, in that case, I pity for your soul.”
Hadrian decided not to answer about it, so Locke pressed. “Who knows, at the end of it, you can give a shot of becoming a Gentlemen Bastard.”
“Another change of career?” Hadrian laughed.
“Why not? We may be assassins, but we never targeted innocents. Perelandro’s balls, I risked my life, my freedom, and my revenge because I didn’t think children should be murdered, not even noble children. Royce stuck me out like someone that didn’t care about the life of anyone.”
There was a part of Hadrian that might reflect on how Royce was and how he changed during the years of their partnership. But it wasn’t the point of Riyria: when Hadrian’d decided to remain with him, Royce had been exactly as Locke described him. And yet, Hadrian had accepted to be his partner.
“You may think Royce’s a monster,” he stated. “And you won’t be the only one thinking it. But, for me, he’s just one that hasn’t filled his cup yet. Unlike me.”
“His cup?” Locke frowned. “Is it a sexual metaphor of some sort?”
“No, but I’m telling you that it isn’t tea that we used.”
Because Locke ignored, or didn’t understand, that Hadrian had been a monster too.
The monastery of Azri wasn’t anything like Winds Abbey: it was smaller, nothing more than a cluster of ruined stone houses. But the monks were nice, the food tasty, and Hadrian didn’t mind sleeping on the floor if he had at least a roof under his head.
The next day, they left with a group of other monks, all direct to Cartiya for the celebration. Locke had enough knowledge of Azri’s rites to be mistaken for a real monk, but Hadrian didn’t, so he remained silent most of the time, pretending he didn’t know the language.
When they were on the road, he and Locke regained their conversation in Therin, still paying attention that no one else was listening to them.
“How do you think Royce will proceed?”
“You mean with the theft?”
“No, with his attempt of having someone stick a blade upon his ass.” Locke rolled his eyes.
“Oh, about that. Pretty good, I’d say. The problem isn’t the reason, Royce gives people plenty, it is to find the right moment.”
Hadrian smiled back at Locke’s amused smirk, then added, “He’ll climb the Minareth.”
“Are you hundred percent sure about it?”
“Yep.” Hadrian shrugged. “It’s what Royce does. And he does it well. If you have seen him move, even for a while, you’d know.”
Locke pulled out a reluctant nod, before stroking his chin with three fingers. “But the Minareth has no window.”
“He’ll pass through the roof. We did it once.” Hadrian shook his head, remembering the event of Ballentyne’s letters. That had been fun. “People overlook it most of the time, especially in tall buildings, because no one expects Royce.”
“And about the keys? Even if he manages to steal them, he can’t swipe the three locks by himself. And I can’t see Jean climbing with him.”
“I can’t see Royce let Jean climb, unless he wants to cut the rope,” Hadrian replied, half joking. “No, technically Royce can bring Jean with him. He’s done it with me more than once.”
“But he won’t,” Locke understood. “Pretty sure he’s enough of a back-stabbed bitch to risk anyone pulling the same shit on him.”
“I need to point out that Royce prefers people seeing him when he kills them. But in any case, no, he won’t trust Jean with it.”
“So the problem remains: how can he do that?”
Hadrian passed a hand through his hair. “Maybe a system of straps that connects the keys? I don’t know. I’m only sure about him climbing the tower.”
Locke scrutinized him. “Or, maybe, you’re lying to me so I will lower my guard.”
“Your guard is horrible,” Hadrian replied. “I do hope you didn’t pay whoever gave you sword lessons; otherwise, I suggest you a refund.” At Locke’s offended expression, he added, “But no, I’m not lying to you.”
“Why not?”
“I want to win. And, right now, it looks like I’m on your team.” He winked
Locke’s perplex face turned soon in an amused sneer. “I’m not surprised Royce has such good friends.”
“What about you? Do you have a plan?”
Hadrian understood that asking so blunt may cause Locke to be even more reserved, but he was tired of not being informed. With Royce, after years, it was a matter of trust, even if still annoying. He didn’t extend the same courtesy to Locke, especially because he knew Locke would lie to him.
“Not really, but it’s not a problem. Most of my best idea comes like that,” Locke replied. “I know only one thing for certain. We need that reply of the Declaration. And that will be our job: go to Professor Yassin’s house and steal it.”
If Hadrian remembered correctly, Yassin lived in an isolated villa a few days of travel from Cartiya, which meant that, to arrive in time, he needed to leave immediately.
“Is this your trick to have me out of the way?” Hadrian asked, but Locke only answered with a smart grin. Then, Hadrian shook his head. “And here I think we were bonding.”
As much as Royce hated the idea of being alone with a complete stranger who was, by Hadrian’s own words, a good fighter, at least he appreciated the fact that Jean was less annoying than Hadrian. He didn’t try to start a conversation during his travel nor didn’t complain about Royce’s silence. He just followed his gesture about the path Royce chose, the places where they slept, and when they ate.
That was a nice change in their habits. Even if, at last, a small part of Royce admitted he missed Hadrian’s blabbering.
“Two rooms, please,” Royce said to the owner, placing a couple of silver tenents on the desk.
Again, Jean didn’t complain. In silence, he took the second key and moved after Royce towards his room, where he deposited his luggage in a very neat manner. After all, Royce had seen him shaving as much as possible during their travel, a habit that Hadrian hadn’t.
Only when Royce was about to leave for a scout in the city, Jean spoke. “I come with you.”
“No,” Royce answered curtly.
“It wasn’t a request.”
Royce looked at him: Jean’s expression and eyes were quiet, his weapon of choice invisible, hidden inside his sleeves. Royce knew danger when he saw it.
“You don’t like this situation. Good news, asshole, I don’t too,” Jean continued. “But as long as we’re here, I’m not going to be a piece of furniture.”
It was true, Royce didn’t like that situation. He knew Locke put him in a box, but he couldn’t say no to his condition not to show weakness. Being challenged never suited Royce with good decisions. Jean was there to do nothing more than spying on Royce, so Royce would have preferred just keeping him out of the way instead of lying to him.
But people never got what they deserved.
“Fine. You can come with me.” Royce smirked. “If you can keep up.”
Then, in a swift movement, he was out, merging himself in the crowd of Cartiya as if it was his homeland, not looking back at Jean.
Like many of Delgos’ cities, it was a multicultural place filled with people from every part of the continent. The locals could be recognized by their clothes and hats, as they wore those long vests with sandals and decorated cloth belts, their heads covered with a fez, some of them with a veil to cover part of their face or nape. But they weren’t the majority, so Royce, with his pale features and his dark hood, didn’t stand up too much.
The suq was the main street of Cartiya, a long serpentine path filled with shops and stalls; their tents covered the entire large of the road, making the sky invisible from above and the air chilling. At the end of it, started the Upper Road, the only access to the citadel, where the building of the officials and governors stood. During the day, the access was free, so Royce entered without being disturbed.
When Jean reached him, he was sitting at a table with a clear view of the city hall – not the one with the Minareth, the new one. Long rows of people were waiting to access the offices.
Jean joined him just the moment one waiter delivered them two cups and a carafe of cold tea. The surprise on Jean’s face made Royce smirk, so he felt amiable enough to pour the tea from both of them.
“Thanks.” Jean wiped out the sweat from his forehead before taking a sip. “You’re fast.”
And you’re not as bad as I thought, unfortunately, Royce thought to himself. Even if Royce made a point of letting Jean follow him, he was fast and even enough silent, for one of his sizes. It was something Hadrian had never learned.
“What are we doing here?” Jean asked.
Royce nodded at the city hall. “We need to find out where the other two Mayors stay during the feast. I doubt they’re already there, but palaces should be arranged for them.”
“Stealing documents from an office?”
Instead of answering, Royce asked, “How good you are at diversion?”
Jean only smiled. Then, he kissed the back of his hand. “When we start?”
“What was that?” Royce asked, curious. He’d seen many tics from thief in the Black Diamon, but that was peculiar.
“What? Oh, this.” Jean watched his hand. “Just paying my respect to the Nameless One. The God of Thieves,” he added, at Royce’s silent question.
“The God of Thieves, eh.” Royce smiled. “If I grow up with this, maybe I would be a religious person too.”
Unfortunately, he’d learned early on that there was no god to help him.
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