The Gentleman Bastard Series 3-Book Bundle: The Lies of Locke Lamora, Red Seas Under Red Skies, The Republic of Thieves by Scott Lynch Read Free Book Online

confidence game took three months to
     plan, three weeks to rehearse, and three seconds to win or lose the victim’s trust
     forever. This time around, he planned to spend those three seconds getting strangled.
    Locke was on his knees, and Calo, standing behind him, had a hemp rope coiled three
     times around his neck. The rough stuff
looked
impressive, and it would leave Locke’s throat a very credible shade of red. No genuine
     Camorri assassin old enough to waddle in a straight line would garrote with anything
     but silk or wire, of course (the better to crease the victim’s windpipe). Yet if Don
     Lorenzo Salvara could tell a fake strangling from the real thing in the blink of an
     eye at thirty paces, they’d badly misjudged the man they planned to rob and the whole
     game would be shot anyway.
    “Can you see him yet? Or Bug’s signal?” Locke hissed his question as lightly as he
     could, then made a few impressive gurgling sounds.
    “No signal. No Don Salvara. Can you breathe?”
    “Fine, just fine,” Locke whispered, “but shake me some more. That’s the convincer.”
    They were in the dead-end alley beside the old Temple of Fortunate Waters; the temple’s
     prayer waterfalls could be heard gushing somewherebehind the high plaster wall. Locke clutched once again at the harmless coils of rope
     circling his neck and spared a glance for the horse staring at him from just a few
     paces away, laden down with a rich-looking cargo of merchant’s packs. The poor dumb
     animal was Gentled; there was neither curiosity nor fear behind the milk-white shells
     of its unblinking eyes. It wouldn’t have cared even had the strangling been real.
    Precious seconds passed; the sun was high and bright in a sky scalded free of clouds,
     and the grime of the alley clung like wet cement to the legs of Locke’s breeches.
     Nearby, Jean Tannen lay in the same moist muck while Galdo pretended (mostly) to kick
     his ribs in. He’d been merrily kicking away for at least a minute, just as long as
     his twin brother had supposedly been strangling Locke.
    Don Salvara was supposed to pass the mouth of the alley at any second and, ideally,
     rush in to rescue Locke and Jean from their “assailants.” At this rate, he would end
     up rescuing them from boredom.
    “Gods,” Calo whispered, bending his mouth to Locke’s ear as though he might be hissing
     some demand, “where the hell is that damn Salvara? And where’s Bug? We can’t keep
     this shit up all day; other people
do
walk by the mouth of this damned alley!”
    “Keep strangling me,” Locke whispered. “Just think of twenty thousand full crowns
     and keep strangling me. I can choke all day if I have to.”
2
    EVERYTHING HAD gone beautifully that morning in the run-up to the game itself, even
     allowing for the natural prickliness of a young thief finally allowed a part in his
     first big score.
    “Of course I know where I’m supposed to be when the action starts,” Bug whined. “I’ve
     spent more time perched up on that temple roof than I did in my mother’s gods-damned
     womb!”
    Jean Tannen let his right hand trail in the warm water of the canal while he took
     another bite of the sour marsh apple held in his left. The forward gunwale of the
     flat-bottomed barge was a choice spot for relaxation in the watered-wine light of
     early morning, allowing all sixteen stone of Jean’s frame to sprawl comfortably—keg
     belly, heavy arms, bandy legs, and all. The only other person (and the one doing all
     of the work) in the empty barge was Bug: a lanky, mop-headed twelve-year-old braced
     against the steering pole at the stern.
    “Your mother was in an understandable hurry to get rid of you, Bug.”Jean’s voice was soft and even and wildly incongruous. He spoke like a teacher of
     music or a copier of scrolls. “We’re not. So indulge me once more with proof of your
     penetrating comprehension of our game.”
    “Dammit,” Bug replied, giving the barge