Free The Republic of Thieves by Scott Lynch

beatifically. “Some problems just solve themselves.”
    “How can I make amends?” said Jean.
    “You can’t.” Cortessa stood up, laughing.
    “Please don’t do anything to my friend. He had nothing to do with the physiker. Do whatever you like with me. I’ll cooperate. Just—”
    “My, you’ve gone from hard to soft, big man. You’ll cooperate? Of course you’ll fucking cooperate, you’ve got four of my men sitting on you.”
    “There’s money,” said Jean. “Money, or I could work for you—”
    “You’ve got nothing I want,” said Cortessa. “And that’s your problem. But I have a serious problem of my own.”
    “Oh?”
    “Ordinarily, this is the part where we’d make soup out of your balls and watch you drink it. Ordinarily. But we have what you might call a
conflict of interest
. On the one hand, you’re an outlander and you touched a Lashani with all the right friends. That says we fucking kill you.
    “On the other hand, it’s plain you are or were some sort of connected man in Camorr. Big Barsavi might not be with us anymore, gods rest his crooked soul, but nobody in their right mind wants to fuck with the capas. You could be somebody’s cousin. Who knows? A year or two from now, maybe someone comes looking for you. Asks around town. Whoops! Someone tells them to look on the bottom of the lake. And who gets sent back to Camorr in a box to pay the debt? Yours truly. That says we
don’t
fucking kill you.”
    “Like I said, I have some money,” said Jean. “If that can help.”
    “It’s not your money anymore. But what does help is that your friend here is already dying … and from the looks of it, he’ll be pretty damn glad to go.”
    “Look, if you’ll just let him stay, he needs rest—”
    “I know. That’s why I’m kicking your asses out of Lashain.” Cortessa waved his hands at his people. “Strip the place. All the food, all the wine. Blankets, bandages, money. Take the wood out of the fireplace. Throw the water out of the jug. Pass word to the innkeeper that these two fucks are under the interdict.”
    “Please,” said Jean. “Please—”
    “Shut up. You can keep your clothes and your weapons. I won’t send you out completely naked. But I want you gone. By sunrise, you’re out of the city or Zodesti gets to cut your ears off himself. Your friend can find somewhere else to die.” Cortessa gave Locke a pat on the leg. “Think fondly of me in hell, you poor bastard.”
    “You might not be long in getting there yourself,” said Locke. “I’ll have a big hug waiting for you.”
    Cortessa’s people ransacked the suite. They carefully piled Jean’s weapons on the floor; everything else was taken or smashed. Locke was left on the empty bed in his bloodstained breeches and tunic. Jean’s private purse and the one that had contained their general funds were both emptied. A few moments later, one of Cortessa’s men stuffed the empty purses into his pockets as well.
    “Oh,” said Cortessa to Jean as the tumult was winding down, “one thing more. Leone gets a minute alone with you in the corner. For his nose.”
    “Bleth you, bothss,” muttered Leone, gingerly poking at the swollen bruises that had spread to his lips.
    “And you get to take it, outlander. Lift so much as a finger and I’ll have your friend gutted.” Cortessa patted Jean on the cheek and turned to leave. “Sunrise. Get the fuck out of Lashain. Or our next conversation takes place in Scholar Zodesti’s cellar.”

10
    “ JEAN ,” WHISPERED Locke as soon as the last of Cortessa’s bruisers had left. “Jean! Are you all right?”
    “I’m fine.” Jean was huddled where the linens table had been before Cortessa’s men removed it. Leone had been straightforward but enthusiastic, and Jean felt as though he’d been thrown down a rocky hillside. “I’m just … enjoying the floor. It was kind enough to catch me when I fell.”
    “Jean, listen. I took some of the money when we got here