Red Seas Under Red Skies by Scott Lynch Read Free Book Online

crunched it loudly, and swallowed it all but for the stem, which he flicked away.
    â€œThirteen gods,” said Locke, “
must
you do that?”
    â€œI like the cores,” said Jean sulkily. “All the little crunchy bits.”
    â€œ
Goats
eat the gods-damned crunchy bits.”
    â€œYou’re not my mother.”
    â€œWell, true. Your mother would be ugly. Oh, don’t give me that look. Go on, eat your other core; it’s got a nice juicy pear wrapped around it.”
    â€œWhat did the woman say?”
    â€œShe said…oh, gods, she said nothing. I’m tipsy, is all.”
    â€œAlchemical lanterns, sirs?” A bearded man held his arm out toward them; at least half a dozen little lanterns in ornamental gilt frames hung from it. “A pair of well-dressed gentlemen should not be without light; only scrubs scuttle about in darkness with no way to see! You’ll find no better lanterns in all the Gallery, not by night or day.”
    Jean waved the man off while he and Locke finished their pears. Locke carelessly tossed his core over his shoulder, while Jean popped his into his mouth, taking pains to ensure that Locke was watching when he did.
    â€œMmmmmm,” he muttered with a half-full mouth, “ambrosial. But you’ll never know, you and all your fellow culinary cowards.”
    â€œGentlemen. Scorpions?”
    That brought Locke and Jean up short. The speaker was a cloaked, baldheaded man with the coffee-colored skin of an Okanti islander; the man was several thousand miles from home. His well-kept white teeth stood out as he smiled and bowed slightly over his wares. He stood over a dozen small wooden cages; dark shapes could be seen moving about in several of them.
    â€œScorpions? Real scorpions? Live ones?” Locke bent down to get a better look at the cages, but kept his distance. “What on earth for?”
    â€œWhy, you must be fresh visitors here.” The man’s Therin had a slight accent. “Many on the Sea of Brass are only too familiar with the gray rock scorpion. Can you be Karthani? Camorri?”
    â€œTalishani,” said Jean. “These are gray rock scorpions, from here?”
    â€œFrom the mainland,” said the merchant. “And their use is primarily, ahh, recreational.”
    â€œRecreational? Are they pets?”
    â€œOh no, not really. The sting, you see—the sting of the gray rock scorpion is a complex thing. First there is pain, sharp and hot, as you might expect. But after a few minutes, there is a pleasant numbness, a dreamy sort of fever. It is not unlike some of the powders smoked by Jeremites. After a few stings, a body grows more used to it. The pain lessens and the dreams deepen.”
    â€œAstonishing!”
    â€œCommonplace,” said the merchant. “Quite a few men and women in Tal Verrar keep one close at hand, even if they don’t speak of it in public. The effect is as pleasing as liquor, yet ultimately far less costly.”
    â€œHmmm.” Locke scratched his chin. “Never had to stab myself with a bottle of wine, though. And this isn’t just some ruse, some amusement for visitors who wouldn’t know any better?”
    The merchant’s smile broadened. He extended his right arm and pulled back the sleeve of his cloak; the dark skin of his slender forearm was dotted with little circular scars. “I would never offer a product for which I was not prepared to vouch myself.”
    â€œAdmirable,” said Locke. “And fascinating, but…perhaps there are some customs of Tal Verrar best left unexplored.”
    â€œTo your own tastes be true.” Still smiling, the man pulled his cloak sleeve back up and folded his hands before him. “After all, a scorpion
hawk
was never to your liking, Master Lamora.”
    Locke felt a sudden cold pressure in his chest. He flicked a glance at Jean, and found the larger man instantly tense as well. Struggling to