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

maintain his outward calm, Locke cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon?”
    â€œI’m sorry.” The merchant blinked at him guilelessly. “I merely wished you a pleasant night, gentlemen.”
    â€œRight.” Locke eyed him for a moment or two longer, then stepped back, turned on his heel, and began to walk across the Night Market once more. Jean was at his side immediately.
    â€œYou heard that,” whispered Locke.
    â€œVery clearly,” said Jean. “I wonder who our friendly scorpion merchant works for?”
    â€œIt’s not just him,” muttered Locke. “The fruit seller called me ‘Lamora’ as well. You didn’t hear that one, but I damn well did.”
    â€œShit. Want to double back and grab one of them?”
    â€œGoing somewhere, Master Lamora?”
    Locke almost whirled on the middle-aged female merchant who stepped toward them from their right; he managed to keep the six-inch stiletto concealed up his coat sleeve from flying reflexively into his hand. Jean put one arm beneath the back of his coat.
    â€œYou seem to be mistaken, madam,” said Locke. “My name is Leocanto Kosta.”
    The woman made no further move toward them; she merely smiled and chuckled. “Lamora…Locke Lamora.”
    â€œJean Tannen,” said the scorpion merchant, who had stepped out from behind his little cage-covered table. Other merchants were moving slowly behind them, staring fixedly at Locke and Jean.
    â€œThere seems to be a, ah,
misunderstanding
afoot,” said Jean. He slid his right hand back out from under his coat; Locke knew from long experience that the head of one of his hatchets would be cupped in his palm, with the handle concealed up his sleeve.
    â€œNo misunderstanding,” said the scorpion merchant.
    â€œThorn of Camorr…,” said a little girl who stepped out to block their progress toward the Savrola side of the Great Gallery.
    â€œThorn of Camorr…,” said the middle-aged woman.
    â€œGentlemen Bastards,” said the scorpion merchant. “Far from home.”
    Locke glanced around, his heart hammering in his chest. Deciding that the time for discretion was past, he let his stiletto fall into his itching fingers. All the merchants in the Night Market seemed to have taken an interest in them; they were surrounded, and the merchants were slowly tightening the circle. They cast long dark shadows upon the stones at Locke and Jean’s feet. Was Locke imagining things, or were some of the lights dimming? Already the Night Gallery seemed darker—damn, some of the lanterns were indeed going out right before his eyes.
    â€œThat is
far enough
.” Jean let his hatchet fall visibly into his right hand; he and Locke pressed their backs against one another.
    â€œNo closer,” shouted Locke. “Cut the weird shit, or there’s going to be blood!”
    â€œThere has already been blood…,” said the little girl.
    â€œLocke Lamora…,” muttered a soft chorus of the people surrounding them.
    â€œThere has already been blood, Locke Lamora,” said the middle-aged woman.
    The last alchemical lanterns within the periphery of the Night Market dimmed; the last few fires banked down, and now Locke and Jean faced the circle of merchants solely by the wan light coming from the inner harbor, and from the eerie flicker of distant lamps beneath the vast, deserted Gallery, much too far away for comfort.
    The little girl took one last step toward them, her eyes gray and unblinking.
    â€œMaster Lamora, Master Tannen,” she said in her clear, soft voice, “the Falconer of Karthain sends his regards.”
    6
    LOCKE STARED at the little girl, jaw half-open. She glided forward like an apparition, until just two paces separated them. Locke felt a pang of foolishness at holding a stiletto on a girl not yet three feet high, but then she smiled coldly in the near darkness, and the