The Gentleman Bastard Series 3-Book Bundle: The Lies of Locke Lamora, Red Seas Under Red Skies, The Republic of Thieves by Scott Lynch
Authors: Scott Lynch
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and Bug might have looked like the
crew of a for-hire barge, slacking their way toward a cargo pickup at the junction
of the Via Camorrazza and the Angevine River. As Bug poled them closer and closer
to the Shifting Market, the water was getting thicker with such barges, and with sleek
black cockleshell boats, and battered watercraft of every description, not all of
them doing a good job of staying afloat or under control.
“Speaking of our game,” said Locke, “how is our eager young apprentice’s understanding
of his place in the scheme of things?”
“I’ve been reciting it to Jean all morning,” said Bug.
“And the conclusion is?”
“I’ve got it down cold!” Bug heaved at the pole with all of his strength, driving
them between a pair of high-walled floating gardens with inches to spare on either
side. The scents of jasmine and oranges drifted down over them as their barge slipped
beneath the protruding branches of one of the gardens; a wary attendant peeked over
one garden-boat’s wall, staff in hand to fend them off if necessary. The big barges
were probably hauling transplants to some noble’s orchard upriver.
“Down cold, and I won’t screw it up. I promise! I know my place, and I know the signals.
I won’t screw it up!”
3
CALO WAS shaking Locke with real vigor, and Locke’s performance as his victim was
a virtuoso one, but still the moments dragged by. They were all trapped in their pantomime
like figures out of the richly inventive hells of Therin theology: a pair of thieves
destined to spend all eternity stuck in an alley, mugging victims that never passed
out or gave up their money.
“Are you as alarmed as I am?” Calo whispered.
“Just stay in character,” Locke hissed. “You can pray and strangle at the same time.”
There was a high-pitched scream from their right, echoing across the cobbles and walls
of the Temple District. It was followed by shouts and thecreaking tread of men in battle harness—but these sounds moved away from the mouth
of the alley, not toward it.
“That sounded like Bug,” said Locke.
“I hope he’s just arranging a distraction,” said Calo, his grip on the rope momentarily
slackening. At that instant, a dark shape darted across the gap of sky between the
alley’s high walls, its fluttering shadow briefly falling over them as it passed.
“Now what the hell was that, then?” Calo asked.
Off to their right, someone screamed again.
4
BUG HAD poled himself, Locke, and Jean from the Via Camorrazza into the Shifting Market
right on schedule, just as the vast Elderglass wind chime atop Westwatch was unlashed
to catch the breeze blowing in from the sea and ring out the eleventh hour of the
morning.
The Shifting Market was a lake of relatively placid water at the very heart of Camorr,
perhaps half a mile in circumference, protected from the rushing flow of the Angevine
and the surrounding canals by a series of stone breakwaters. The only real current
in the market was human-made, as hundreds upon hundreds of floating merchants slowly
and warily followed one another counterclockwise in their boats, jostling for prized
positions against the flat-topped breakwaters, which were crowded with buyers and
sightseers on foot.
City watchmen in their mustard-yellow tabards commanded sleek black cutters—each rowed
by a dozen shackled prisoners from the Palace of Patience—using long poles and harsh
language to maintain several rough channels through the drifting chaos of the market.
Through these channels passed the pleasure barges of the nobility, and heavily laden
freight barges, and empty ones like that containing the three Gentlemen Bastards,
who shopped with their eyes as they sliced through a sea of hope and avarice.
In just a few lengths of Bug’s poling, they passed a family of trinket dealers in
ill-kept brown cockleshells, a spice merchant with his wares on a triangular rack
crew of a for-hire barge, slacking their way toward a cargo pickup at the junction
of the Via Camorrazza and the Angevine River. As Bug poled them closer and closer
to the Shifting Market, the water was getting thicker with such barges, and with sleek
black cockleshell boats, and battered watercraft of every description, not all of
them doing a good job of staying afloat or under control.
“Speaking of our game,” said Locke, “how is our eager young apprentice’s understanding
of his place in the scheme of things?”
“I’ve been reciting it to Jean all morning,” said Bug.
“And the conclusion is?”
“I’ve got it down cold!” Bug heaved at the pole with all of his strength, driving
them between a pair of high-walled floating gardens with inches to spare on either
side. The scents of jasmine and oranges drifted down over them as their barge slipped
beneath the protruding branches of one of the gardens; a wary attendant peeked over
one garden-boat’s wall, staff in hand to fend them off if necessary. The big barges
were probably hauling transplants to some noble’s orchard upriver.
“Down cold, and I won’t screw it up. I promise! I know my place, and I know the signals.
I won’t screw it up!”
3
CALO WAS shaking Locke with real vigor, and Locke’s performance as his victim was
a virtuoso one, but still the moments dragged by. They were all trapped in their pantomime
like figures out of the richly inventive hells of Therin theology: a pair of thieves
destined to spend all eternity stuck in an alley, mugging victims that never passed
out or gave up their money.
“Are you as alarmed as I am?” Calo whispered.
“Just stay in character,” Locke hissed. “You can pray and strangle at the same time.”
There was a high-pitched scream from their right, echoing across the cobbles and walls
of the Temple District. It was followed by shouts and thecreaking tread of men in battle harness—but these sounds moved away from the mouth
of the alley, not toward it.
“That sounded like Bug,” said Locke.
“I hope he’s just arranging a distraction,” said Calo, his grip on the rope momentarily
slackening. At that instant, a dark shape darted across the gap of sky between the
alley’s high walls, its fluttering shadow briefly falling over them as it passed.
“Now what the hell was that, then?” Calo asked.
Off to their right, someone screamed again.
4
BUG HAD poled himself, Locke, and Jean from the Via Camorrazza into the Shifting Market
right on schedule, just as the vast Elderglass wind chime atop Westwatch was unlashed
to catch the breeze blowing in from the sea and ring out the eleventh hour of the
morning.
The Shifting Market was a lake of relatively placid water at the very heart of Camorr,
perhaps half a mile in circumference, protected from the rushing flow of the Angevine
and the surrounding canals by a series of stone breakwaters. The only real current
in the market was human-made, as hundreds upon hundreds of floating merchants slowly
and warily followed one another counterclockwise in their boats, jostling for prized
positions against the flat-topped breakwaters, which were crowded with buyers and
sightseers on foot.
City watchmen in their mustard-yellow tabards commanded sleek black cutters—each rowed
by a dozen shackled prisoners from the Palace of Patience—using long poles and harsh
language to maintain several rough channels through the drifting chaos of the market.
Through these channels passed the pleasure barges of the nobility, and heavily laden
freight barges, and empty ones like that containing the three Gentlemen Bastards,
who shopped with their eyes as they sliced through a sea of hope and avarice.
In just a few lengths of Bug’s poling, they passed a family of trinket dealers in
ill-kept brown cockleshells, a spice merchant with his wares on a triangular rack
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