“When you don’t know everything you could know, it’s a fine time to shut your fucking noisemaker and be polite.”

Jean hoisted him up off the ground with one quick yank by the front of his tunic, and then he shoved Gathis with all his might into the stone wall to the left of the window. The big man’s head bounced off the hard surface and he stumbled forward; the blurred arc of Jean’s right fist met his jaw with a crack, abruptly canceling his forward momentum.

It was strange, how readily authority could be conjured with nothing but a bit of strutting jackassery.

“Gods, I love this place,” Locke said, drumming his fingers against his thighs. “Sometimes I think this whole city was put here simply because the gods must adore crime. Pickpockets rob the common folk, merchants rob anyone they can dupe, Capa Barsavi robs the robbers and the common folk, the lesser nobles rob nearly everyone, and Duke Nicovante

“Embarrass me? Jean, you misunderstand.” Maranzalla kicked idly at the toy rapier, and it clattered across the tiles of the rooftop. “Those prancing little pants-wetters come here to learn the colorful and gentlemanly art of fencing, with its many sporting limitations and its proscriptions against dishonorable engagements. “You, on the other hand,”

“Ibelius,” groaned Jean, “let him alone; you are henpecking him without having the decency to marry him first.”

“Here’s to living out the night,” said Jean, miming the clink of a cup against Locke’s own. “Mmm.” Locke sipped hesitantly, then tilted the cup back and poured it down his throat in one smooth series of gulps. “Actually not bad at all. Tastes minty, very refreshing.” “A worthy epitaph,” said Jean, taking the cup.

“Chains used to claim that there’s no freedom quite like the freedom of being constantly underestimated,”

“So that makes us robbers of robbers,” said Bug, “who pretend to be robbers working for a robber of other robbers.”