The Republic of Thieves by Scott Lynch

saw who it was coming around the corner, the slate slipped from his fingers and clattered against the floor.
    “My dear,” cried Chains, “you’ve come back to us early!”
    She was, if anything, taller even than Locke remembered, and her hair was well-dyed a uniform shade of light brown. But it
was
her. It was undeniably Beth.

3
    “ YOU CAN ’ T be here,” said Locke. “You’re dead!”
    “I certainly can be here. I live here.” Beth dropped the brown leather bag she was carrying and unbound her hair, letting it fall to her shoulders. “Who might you be?”
    “I … um … you don’t know?”
    “Should I?”
    Locke’s astonishment merged with a sour disappointment. While the gears of his mind turned furiously to conjure a reply, she studied him. Her eyes widened.
    “Oh, gods. The Lamora boy, isn’t it?”
    “Yes,” said Chains.
    “Bought him as well, have you?”
    “I’ve paid more for some of my lunches, but yes, I’ve taken him from your old master.” Chains ruffled Beth’s hair with fatherly affection, and she kissed the back of his hand.
    “But you were dead,” insisted Locke. “They said you’d drowned!”
    “Yeah,” she said, mildly.
    “But why?”
    “Our Sabetha has a complicated past,” said Chains. “When I took her out of Shades’ Hill, I arranged a bit of theater to cover the trail.”
    Beth. Sabetha. They’d mentioned
Sabetha
at least a dozen times since he’d come to live here. Locke suddenly felt like an idiot for notconnecting the two names before … but then, he’d thought she was dead, hadn’t he? Beneath his astonishment, his embarrassment, his frustration, a warmth was rising in the pit of his stomach. Beth was alive … and she lived
here
!
    “Well, where have … where did you go?” Locke asked.
    “For training,” said Sabetha.
    “And how was it?” asked Chains.
    “Mistress Sibella said that I wasn’t as vulgar and clumsy as most of the Camorri she teaches.”
    “So you … are, um—” said Locke.
    “High praise, coming from that gilded prune,” said Chains, ignoring Locke. “Let’s see if she was on the mark. Galdo, take Sabetha’s side for a four-step.
Complar entant
.”
    “Must I?”
    “Good question. Must I continue feeding you?”
    Galdo hurried out from behind Chains and gave Sabetha a bow so exaggerated his nose nearly brushed the floor. “Enchanted, demoiselle. May I beg the pleasure of a dance? My patron won’t feed me anymore if I don’t pretend to enjoy this crap.”
    “What a bold little monkey you are,” said the girl. The two of them moved into the widest clear area of the room, between the table and the counters.
    “Calo,” said Chains, “if you would.”
    “Yes, yes, I have it.” Calo fiddled with his harp for a moment before he began to pluck out a fast, rhythmic tune, more complex than the ditties he’d been playing before.
    Galdo and Sabetha moved in unison, slowly at first but gaining confidence and speed as the tune went on. Locke watched, baffled but fascinated, as they danced in a manner that was more controlled than anything he’d ever seen in a tavern or a back alley. The key to the dance seemed to be that they would strike the ground with their heels forcefully, four taps between each major movement of the arms. They joined hands, twirled, unjoined, switched places, and all the while kept up a near-perfect rhythm with their feet.
    “It’s popular with the swells,” said Chains, and Locke realized he was speaking for his benefit. “All the dancers form a circle, and the dancing master calls out partners. The chosen couple dances in themain, in the center of everything, and if they screw it up, well … penalties. Teasing. Romantic frustration, I would imagine.”
    Locke was only half-listening, his eyes and thoughts lost in the dance. In Galdo he recognized the nervous quickness of a fellow orphan, the grace born of need that separated the living in Shades’ Hill from the likes of No-Teeth. Yet