“Imagine my surprise when Moncraine attacked me!” said Boulidazi. “You’re putting me between two fires, my friends. I can protect my dignity according to the laws and customs of Espara, or I can grant this request, to which I would normally be very happily disposed. I can’t do both.”

“If you withdrew from chastising Moncraine out of cowardice or indifference,” said Sabetha, “then I agree, your behavior would be improper. But what if your peers could see that you had forgiven him for the sake of a greater design?”

“Mercy,” said Locke, bringing his hands slowly together as though squeezing his words into one mass as he spoke them, “ambition, artistry, and good old-fashioned financial sense. All at once.”

“Moncraine wants nothing to do with me,” said Boulidazi, “and I’m pleased to return the sentiment. Let the bastard rot for a year and a day. Maybe he’ll grow some discretion when he loses his hand.”

“I don’t have a year and a day, Gennaro,” said Sabetha.

“Then why not see Basanti? He’s the success. Built his own theater, even. I’m sure he’d put you onstage in a heartbeat. You’re certainly, uh …”

“Yes?”

“You’d certainly have a great many eyes following you attentively, if you’ll pardon my boldness.”

“Pardon gladly extended. But if Basanti’s really the thing, why didn’t you approach him about a partnership rather than Moncraine?”

“Basanti has no need of a bandage on his finances. Besides, there’s nothing to buildwhere he’s concerned. It’s hard to take credit for something already achieved.”

“Believe it or not, we feel much the same about Moncraine,” said Sabetha. “He’s a means to an end. Forgive him. Let him go free, and I guarantee he’ll accept your patronage.”

“What makes you assume I’m still willing to offer it?”

“Come now, Gennaro,” said Sabetha, deepening her voice a little, adopting a slightly teasing tone. “Don’t punish yourselffor Moncraine’s stupidity. Your plan was a good one.”

“If you help us in this,” said Locke, “you’ll have him entirely in your power. Financial debt and moral debt, and you’ll have us to keep him in line.”

“The Moncraine-Boulidazi Company,” said Sabetha.

“Or the Boulidazi-Moncraine Company,” said Locke.

“I’ll look weak,” said the baron, but his voice had the wavering quality of a man nearly ready to go over the edge of the precipice they were nudging him toward.

“You’ll look clever,” he said. “Hells, you’ll look like you might have planned the whole thing all along to stir up notice!”

“That’s marvelous!” said Sabetha. “At the end of the summer, after we’ve whipped satisfaction out of Moncraine, you let slip that the whole affair was just a ploy for attention. That’s the payoff for a little bit of pain in court tomorrow! Basanti will be forgotten in a moment, and all the city’s admiration will settle on what you’ve done.”

“You’ll look like a bloody genius,” said Locke, immensely pleased with himself.

“The Boulidazi-Moncraine company,” said the baron. “It does have a certain … weight. A certain noble ring to it.”

“Help me have a season or two in the lights,” said Sabetha. “Then bring the company touring to Camorr. We’ll introduce you to Grandfather, all the counts and countesses, the duke …”

“They could play all the Five Towers in turn,” said Locke. “The rooftop gardens. Verena and I would have to disappear as actors, of course, but we’d be delighted to attend the shows as your hosts.”

“Isn’t that worth temporary inconvenience?” said Sabetha with a smile that could have coaxed steam out of ice.

“I will require … a moment to reflect,” said Boulidazi.

“Shall we leave you alone?” said Sabetha, rising partway from her chair.

“Yes, for but a moment. Tymon will fetch you anything you desire in the reception hall.”

Locke rose as well, but Boulidazi held up a hand.

“Not you, Lucaza, if you please. I’d appreciate a word.”

Locke sank back into his chair, stole a brief glance at Sabetha, and caught the slightest hint of a nod from her. She withdrew the way she and Locke had come.

“Lucaza,” said the baron, leaning forward and lowering his voice, “I hope that I might be forgiven this liberty; I know that Camorri are not to be trifled with in matters touching family honor, and I mean no offense.”

“Truly, Gennaro, we’ve asked for a favor tomorrow in exchange for promises that will take months or years to fully play out. I doubt you could find two people in Espara more difficult to offend than Verena or myself at this moment.”

“You’re both so well spoken,” said Boulidazi. “I can see why you’d want to dabble on the stage. But now let me have your confidence. Your cousin … has an aspect that blossomsupon consideration. When she entered this room she was merely pretty, but after watching her, listening to her … I feel as though the air has been taken straight out of my lungs.”

Locke felt as though the air had been taken straight out of hislungs.

“Tell me, please,” said Boulidazi, clearly noticing the change in Locke’s demeanor as Locke fought for self-control. “Does she really love the theater? And bladework?”

“She, uh, lives for them,” said Locke.

“Are you betrothed to her?”

Locke was overwhelmed by a flurry of immediate reactions; the urge to stand up, say yes, slap Boulidazi across the face, grab him by his hair and dig wide furrows in the felt of his billiards table using his teeth … Then came the secondary calculations like a bucket of cold water: Boulidazi would kill him, Sabetha would gladly help, the intrusion of his personal jealousy into his professional character would doom the Gentlemen Bastards to utter failure.

“No,” he said, almost calmly, “no, I’ve been meant for someone else … since I was barely old enough to walk. We’ll wed when she comes of age.”

“And Verena?” said Boulidazi.

(Another less than helpful flash from Locke’s imagination, protesting what his higher reasoning knew to be unavoidable. Jean Tannen smashing in through a back door, hoisting Boulidazi over his head, slamming him down across the billiards table … Why were all his fantasies so calamitous for that table, which had done him no injury? And gods damn it anyway, it was never going to happen!)

“Unattached,” said Locke, hating the word even as he brought it forth. “Father and Grandfather have always felt that Verena … is a fruit best left hanging, uh, until they know how she might be most advantageously … plucked.”

“Thank you,” said the baron. “Thank you! That’s … welcome news. I hope you won’t think of me as, as grasping beyond my station, Lucaza. I come from a long and honorable line. I hold several estates with secure incomes. I’ve much to offer by way of … of a match.”

“I’m sure you do,” said Locke slowly. “Were she pleased, and with Count Blackspear’s consent.”

“Yes, yes. With the family’s blessing … and were she pleased.” Boulidazi ran a hand through his hair and made nervous, meaningless adjustments to his white silk neck-cloth. “I’ll do it, Lucaza. I’ll forgive Moncraine, and trust you to keep him under my thumb. I’ll provide whatever you need to settle his debts and tame his troupe. All I ask …”

“Yes?”

“Help me,” said Boulidazi. “Help me show Verena my quality. My honorable intentions. Teach me how I might better please her. Advise her favorably on my behalf.”

“If Moncraine goes free …”

“He will,” said Boulidazi. “He won’t be at the Weeping Tower a moment longer than he has to be.”

“Then I am your man,” said Locke softly, fighting back further visions of Gennaro Boulidazi spitting up fragments of his billiards table. “I am for you,my friend.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE FIVE-YEAR GAME: COUNTERMOVE

1

“WHAT THE HELL’S the matter with us, Jean?” Locke rubbed his eyes and noticed certain discomforts in his gut and around his ankles, in that order. “She’s rolled us up like a couple of old tents. And what the fuck are these things on my legs?”