The Republic of Thieves by Scott Lynch (English) Paperback Book

Description: The Republic of Thieves by Scott Lynch NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • In the third book of the "gorgeously realized" (George R. R. Martin) epic fantasy caper Gentleman Bastard Sequence, Locke Lamora must make the hardest decision of his life . . . or death. "Fast paced, fun, and impossible to put down . . . Locke and company remain among the most engaging protagonists in fantasy."—Publishers Weekly (starred review) ONE OF PASTES BEST FANTASY BOOKS OF THE DECADE With the greatest heist of their career gone spectacularly sour, con artist extraordinaire Locke Lamora and his trusted partner, Jean, have barely escaped with their lives. Or at least Jean has. Locke is slowly succumbing to a lethal poison that no alchemist can cure. With the end nearing, Lockes only hope is to accept a mysterious Bondsmages offer: act as a political pawn in the Magi elections, and in exchange be healed. But the lifesaving sorcery promises to rival even the most excruciating death, and Locke refuses. Until the Bondsmage invokes the name of Sabetha, the love of Lockes life, his equal in skill and wit . . . and now his greatest rival. From his first glimpse of Sabetha as a fellow orphan and thief-in-training, Locke was smitten. But after a tumultuous courtship, she broke away. Now they will reunite in another clash of wills. Faced with his only equal in both love and trickery, Locke must choose whether to fight Sabetha—or woo her. It is a decision on which both of their lives may depend. Dont miss any of Scott Lynchs epic fantasy Gentleman Bastard Sequence:THE LIES OF LOCKE LAMORA • RED SEAS UNDER RED SKIES • THE REPUBLIC OF THIEVES FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Author Biography Scott Lynch is the author of The Lies of Locke Lamora and Red Seas Under Red Skies. He lives in Wisconsin and frequently visits Massachusetts, the home of his partner, SF/F writer Elizabeth Bear. He moonlights as a volunteer firefighter. Review PRAISE FOR SCOTT LYNCH "A bright new voice in the fantasy genre."—George R. R. MartinThe Republic of Thieves "Fast paced, fun, and impossible to put down . . . Locke and company remain among the most engaging protagonists in fantasy."—Publishers Weekly (starred review) "The Republic of Thieves has all the colorful action, witty repartee, and devious scheming that fans of the series have come to expect."—Wired "A fantasy world unique among its peers . . . If youre looking for a great new fantasy series this is one you wont want to miss. . . . In a word: AWESOME!"—SF Revu Red Seas Under Red Skies"Lynch hasnt merely imagined a far-off world, hes created it, put it all down on paper—the smells, the sounds, the people, the feel of the place. The novel is a virtuoso performance, and sf/fantasy fans will gobble it up."—Booklist (starred review) "Red Seas Under Red Skies firmly proves that Scott Lynch isnt a one-hit wonder. . . . Itll only be a matter of time before Scott Lynch is mentioned in the same breath as George R. R. Martin and Steven Erikson."—Fantasy Book Critic "Grand, grandiose, grandiloquent . . . No critic is likely to fault Lynch in his overflowing qualities of inventiveness, audacious draftsmanship, and sympathetic characterization."—Locus "The kind of witty romp that reminds you exactly how much fun heroic fantasy is supposed to be."—SFXThe Lies of Locke Lamora "Right now, in the full flush of a second reading, I think The Lies of Locke Lamora is probably in my top ten favorite books ever. Maybe my top five. If you havent read it, you should. If you have read it, you should probably read it again."—Patrick Rothfuss, New York Times bestselling author of The Name of the Wind Review Quote PRAISE FOR SCOTT LYNCH Excerpt from Book I HER SHADOW "I CANNOT tell you now; When the winds drive and whirl Blow me along no longer, And the winds a whisper at last--- Maybe Ill tell you then some other time." -- Carl Sandburg from "The Great Hunt" Chapter One THINGS GET WORSE 1 Weak sunlight against his eyelids drew him out of sleep. The brightness intruded, grew, made him blink groggily. A window was open, letting in mild afternoon air and a freshwater smell. Not Camorr. Sound of waves lapping against a sand beach. Not Camorr at all. He was tangled in his sheets again, light-headed. The roof of his mouth felt like sun--dried leather. Chapped lips peeled apart as he croaked, "What are you ..." "Shhhh. I didnt mean to wake you. The room needed some air." A dark blur on the left, more or less Jeans height. The floor creaked as the shape moved about. Soft rustle of fabric, snap of a coin purse, clink of metal. Locke pushed himself up on his elbows, prepared for the dizziness. It came on punctually. "I was dreaming about her," he muttered. "The times that we ... when we first met." "Her?" "Her. You know." "Ah. The canonical her." Jean knelt beside the bed and held out a cup of water, which Locke took in his shaking left hand and sipped at gratefully. The world was slowly coming into focus. "So vivid," said Locke. "Thought I could touch her. Tell her ... how sorry I am." "Thats the best you can manage? Dreaming of a woman like that, and all you can think to do with your time is apologize?" "Hardly under my control---" "Theyre your dreams. Take the reins." "I was just a little boy, for the gods sakes." "If she pops up again move it forward ten or fifteen years. I want to see some blushing and stammering next time you wake up." "Going somewhere?" "Out for a bit. Making my rounds." "Jean, theres no point. Quit torturing yourself." "Finished?" Jean took the empty cup from him. "Not nearly. I---" "Wont be gone long." Jean set the cup on the table and gave the lapels of his coat a perfunctory brushing as he moved to the door. "Get some more rest." "You dont bloody listen to reason, do you?" "You know what they say about imitation and flattery." The door slid shut and Jean was gone, out into the streets of La- shain. 2 Lashain was famous as a city where anything could be bought and anything could be left behind. By the grace of the regio, the citys highest and thinnest order of nobility (where a title that could be traced back more than two generations qualified one for the old guard), just about anyone with cash in hand and enough of a pulse to maintain semiconsciousness could have their blood transmuted to a reasonable facsimile of blue. From every corner of the Therin world they came---merchants and criminals, mercenary captains and pirates, gamblers and adventurers and exiles. As commoners they entered the chrysalis of a countinghouse, shed vast quantities of precious metal, and as newborn peers of Lashain they emerged into daylight. The regio minted demibarons, barons, viscounts, counts, and even the occasional marquis, with styles largely of their own invention. Honors were taken from a list and cost extra; "Defender of the Twelvefold Faith" was quite popular. There were also half a dozen meaningless orders of knighthood that looked marvelous on a coat lapel. Because of the novelty of this purchased respectability to those who brokered it for themselves, Lashain was the most violently manners--conscious city Jean Tannen had ever visited. Lacking centuries of aristocratic descent to assure them of their worth, the neophytes of Lashain overcompensated with ceremony. Their rules of precedence were like alchemical formulae, and dinner parties killed more of them each year than fevers and accidents combined. It seemed that little could be more thrilling for those whod just bought their family names than to risk them (not to mention their mortal flesh) over minor insults. The record, as far as Jean had heard, was three days from counting--house to dueling green to funeral cart. The regio, of course, offered no refunds to relations of the deceased. As a result of this nonsense, it was difficult for those without titles, regardless of the color of their coin, to gain ready access to the citys best physikers. They were made such status symbols by their noble clients that they rarely had to scamper after gold from other sources. The taste of autumn was in the cool wind blowing off the Amathel, the Lake of Jewels---the freshwater sea that rolled to the horizon north of Lashain. Jean was conservatively dressed by local standards, in a brown velvet frock coat and silks worth no more than, say, three months wages for an average tradesman. This marked him instantly as someones man and suited his current task. No gentleman of consequence did his own waiting at a physikers garden gate. Scholar Erkemar Zodesti was regarded as the finest physiker in Lashain, a prodigy with the bone saw and the alchemists crucible. Hed also shown complete disinterest, for three days straight, in Jeans requests for a consultation. Today Jean once again approached the iron--barred gate at the rear of Zodestis garden, from behind which an elderly servant peered at him with reptilian insolence. In Jeans outstretched hand was a parchment envelope and a square of white card, just like the three days previous. Jean was getting testy. The servant reached between the bars without a word and took everything Jean offered. The envelope, containing the customary gratuity of (far too many) silver coins, vanished into the servants coat. The old man read or pretended to read the white card, raised his eyebrows at Jean, and walked away. The card said exactly what it always did---Contempla va cora frata eminenza. "Consider the request of an eminent friend," in the Throne Therin that was the polite affectation for this sort of gesture. Rather than giving an aristocrats name, this message meant that someone powerful wished to pay anonymously to have someone else examined. This was a common means of bringing wealth to bear on the problem of, say, a pregnant mistress, without directly compromising the identity of anyone important. Jean passed the long minutes of his wait by examining the physikers house. It was a good solid place, about the size of a smaller Alcegrante mansion back in Camorr. Newer, though, and done up in a mock Tal Verrar style that labored to proclaim the importance of its inhabitants. The roof was tiled with slats of volcanic glass, and the windows bordered with decorative carvings that would have better suited a temple. From the heart of the garden itself, closed off from view by a ten--foot stone wall, Jean could hear the sounds of a lively party. Clinking glasses, shrieks of laughter, and behind it all the hum of a nine--stringed viol and a few other instruments. "I regret to inform your master that the scholar is presently unable to accommodate his request for a consultation." The servant reappeared behind the iron gate with empty hands. The envelope, a token of earnestness, was of course gone. Whether into the hands of Zodesti or this servant, Jean couldnt say. "Perhaps you might tell me when it would be more convenient for the scholar to receive my masters petition," said Jean, "the middle of the afternoon for half a week now being obviously unsuitable." "I couldnt say." The servant yawned. "The scholar is consumed with work." "With work." Jean fumed as the sound of applause drifted from the garden party. "Indeed. My master has a case which requires the greatest possible skill and discretion---" "Your master could rely upon the scholars discretion at all times," said the servant. "Unfortunately, his skill is urgently required elsewhere at the moment." "Gods damn you, man!" Jeans self--control evaporated. "This is important!" "I will not be spoken to in a vulgar fashion. Good day." Jean considered reaching through the iron bars and seizing the old man by the throat, but that would have been counter-productive. He wore no fighting leathers under his finery, and his decorative shoes would be worse than bare feet in a scuffle. Despite the pair of hatchets tucked away under his coat, he wasnt equipped to storm even a garden party by choice. "The scholar risks giving offense to a citizen of considerable importance," growled Jean. "The scholar is giving offense, you simple fellow." The old man chuckled. "I tell you plainly, he has little interest in the sort of business arranged in this fashion. I dont believe a single citizen of quality is so unfamiliar with the scholar that they need fear to be received by the front door." "Ill call again tomorrow," said Jean, straining to keep his composure. "Perhaps I might name a sum that will penetrate even your masters indifference." "You are to be commended for your persistence, if not for your perception. Tomorrow you must do as your master bids. For now, I have already said good day." "Good day," growled Jean. "May the gods cherish the house wherein such kindness dwells." He bowed stiffly and left. There was nothing else to be done at the moment, in this gods--damned city where even throwing envelopes of coins was no guarantee of attracting attention to a problem. As he stomped back to his hired carriage, Jean cursed Maxilan Stragos for the thousandth time. The bastard had lied about so much. Why, in the end, had the damned poison been the one thing hed chosen to tell the truth about? 3 Home for the time being was a rented su Details ISBN0553588966 Author Scott Lynch Short Title REPUBLIC OF THIEVES Language English ISBN-10 0553588966 ISBN-13 9780553588965 Media Book DEWEY 813.6 Year 2014 Publication Date 2014-07-29 Series Number 3 Country of Publication United States AU Release Date 2014-07-29 NZ Release Date 2014-07-29 US Release Date 2014-07-29 Place of Publication New York UK Release Date 2014-07-29 Pages 704 Publisher Random House USA Inc Format Paperback Imprint Del Rey Books Audience General Series The Gentleman Bastard Sequence We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:82083107;

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