[Gentlemen Bastards 02] Red Seas Under Read Skies Read Online Free PDF Page A

?”
    “Oh, very little, to be sure, Master Kosta. It’s so hard to think, overawed as I am with the sublime genius of your plan.”
    “That bears some vague resemblance to sarcasm.”
    “Gods forfend,” said Jean. “You wound me! Your inexpressible criminal virtues have triumphed again, as inevitably as the tides come and go. I cast myself at your feet and beg for absolution. Yours is the genius that nourishes the heart of the world.”
    “And now you’re—”
    “If only there was a leper handy,” interrupted Jean, “so you could lay your hands on and magically heal him.”
    “Oh, you’re just farting out your mouth because you’re jealous.”
    “It’s possible,” said Jean. “Actually, we are substantially enriched, not caught, not dead, more famous, and welcome on the next floor up. I must admit that I was wrong to call it a silly scheme.”
    “Really? Huh.” Locke reached under his coat lapels as he spoke. “Because I have to admit, it was a silly scheme. Damned irresponsible. One drink more and I would have been finished. I’m actually pretty bloody surprised we pulled it off.”
    He fumbled beneath his coat for a second or two, then pulled out a little pad of wool about as wide and long as his thumb. A puff of dust was shaken from the wool when Locke slipped it into one of his outer pockets, and he wiped his hands vigorously on his sleeves as they walked along.
    “Nearly lost is just another way to say finally won,” said Jean.
    “Nonetheless, the liquor almost did me in. Next time I’m that optimistic about my own capacity, correct me with a hatchet to the skull.”
    “I’ll be glad to correct you with two .”
    It was Madam Izmila Corvaleur who’d made the scheme possible. Madam Corvaleur, who’d first crossed paths with “Leocanto Kosta” at a gaming table a few weeks earlier, who had the reliable habit of eating with her fingers to annoy her opponents while she played cards.
    Carousel Hazard really couldn’t be cheated by any traditional means. None of Requin’s attendants would stack a deck, not once in a hundred years, not even in exchange for a dukedom. Nor could any player alter the carousel, select one vial in favor of another, or serve a vial to anyone else. With all the usual means of introducing a foreign substance to another player guarded against, the only remaining possibility was for a player to do herself in by slowly, willingly taking in something subtle and unorthodox. Something delivered by a means beyond the ken of even a healthy paranoia.
    Like a narcotic powder, dusted on the playing cards in minute quantities by Locke and Jean, then gradually passed around the table to a woman continually licking her fingers as she played.
    Bela paranella was a colorless, tasteless alchemical powder also known as “the night friend.” It was popular with rich people of a nervous disposition, who took it to ease themselves into deep, restful slumber. When mixed with alcohol, bela paranella was rapidly effective in tiny quantities; the two substances were as complementary as fire and dry parchment. It would have been widely used for criminal purposes, if not for the fact that it sold for twenty times its own weight in white iron.
    “Gods, that woman had the constitution of a war galley,” said Locke. “She must have started getting some of the powder by the third or fourth hand…probably could’ve killed a pair of wild boars in heat with less.”
    “At least we got what we wanted,” said Jean, removing his own powder reservoir from his coat. He considered it for a moment, shrugged, and slipped it in a pocket.
    “We did indeed…and I saw him!” said Locke. “Requin. He was on the stairs, watching us for most of the hands in the middle game. We must have excited a personal interest.” The exciting ramifications of this helped clear some of the haze from Locke’s thoughts. “Why else send Selendri herself to pat our backs?”
    “Well, assume you’re correct. So what