Locke Lamora and the Bottled Serpent. Part 1

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There was a place in the alley where the odorous slops and shards of daily proceedings were to be set, which was Locke Lamora’s job, until the mess could be hauled up the crooked stairs and around the block to the public dross-yard, which was also Locke Lamora’s job. This was never done before the sun was long-buried and the Falselight glass bled of illumination, so every awkward step chanced a painful adventure. Here in the Dregs, light was not so cheap that folk would gladly waste it on the eyeballs of passing strangers. One might catch a break from boat-lanterns on the canal, or from cloudless moonlight, but more often one tripped on stone or trash or bodies. Muttering curses at his own feet in the middle of the night was also Locke Lamora’s job.

How refreshing, then, to find Cyril and Vilius out back wrestling with a corpse while the thin band of sky over the alley was still hazy blue rather than starry black.

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