Gornack was also making a hasty exit. She nodded at me as she went past, as though we knew each other, and I felt a little pang. There was something about her that reminded me of my friend Previous.
Filchis was wiping juice from his face – it had been some sort of fruit, not a rock – and ranting at the Militia. ‘This is
none
of my doing. I was stating my opinion, as the laws and ordinances of the city entitle me to do, and I was viciously attacked by some thug…of course they’ve disappeared. That sort isn’t going to stand around and face the consequences. No, I did no such thing. It’s because of what I was saying, isn’t it? There are forces in this city… oh, I could be a babe in arms, and somehow this would be made to be
my
fault…’ and so forth. Well, he did bear some resemblance to a baby, I suppose – babbling nonsense and creating shit. I didn’t wait to hear the rest.
I walked home with my insides all of an itch. And it might have been my imagination, but I couldn’t help feeling that there were more sideways looks, more mutterings, more people huddled in groups like nervy sheep who’ve smelled a wolf, than was normal for Scalentine.
This city’s not the safest in the planes. But generally, it’s an accepting sort of place. If you’re willing to rub along with your fellow creatures and don’t cause more trouble than you can help, it’ll welcome you with open arms, at least one of which won’t be holding a dagger because it needs to be free to take your money.
Seemed like Filchis and his friends wanted to change that.
CHAPTER
TWO
I
FOUND
L
ANEY
in the hall, hands on her hips, staring at the curtains with such fine Fey disdain they should really have crumbled to dust out of sheer shame.
“I think we should have yellow,” Laney said. “They’d make everything look so much brighter.” The old curtains, their once rich crimson velvet now faded in stripes, drooped mournfully, as though aware they were about to be retired.
“The only thing is, Laney,” I said, “not all our clients want it that bright, you know? Especially the new ones. Some of them prefer things a little more... discreet.”
“Hmm. True. I must
think.
” She pushed her blonde curls back behind her elegantly pointed little ears and frowned fiercely.
“Try not to think of anything too expensive, there’s a love. I’ve already had Flower moaning at me about food prices. Bread keeps rising, he said. I thought that was a good thing, but apparently I was wrong.”
“Babylon
.
We have to do things properly, or what’s the point?”
“The point is spending money faster than we make it. Look what happened the last time. How many clients do you think we can take on?”
The knocker boomed. “Speaking of clients...” I said, and went to open the door.
The doorway was full of furry muscles. I looked up; masses of shaggy hair, moustaches as long as my arm, eyebrows you could lose a dog in.
“
Flossy!
” Laney sped past me, and caught our visitor by the hand.
“That is a very disrespectful name,” he complained, as she tugged him into the hall. Well, she pretended to, and he allowed it, despite the complaints.
“But you’re my own dear Flossy,” Laney said. “Stay and talk to Babylon, darling, I won’t be a moment. I must change.” She sped away up the stairs.
“Why must she change?” Flosgrim said, frowning. He was wearing embroidered linen trousers with a hole for his tail, and his own tawny fur. That’s practically overdressed, for a Nederan not actually on the battlefield.
“Beats me,” I said. Laney was, as usual, wearing about two hints and a shimmer; I always had a problem telling the difference between her bedroom clothes and her casual-lounging-around clothes. “Come into the parlour a moment, she won’t be long.”
Flower was putting out some fresh pastries on the sideboard. “Afternoon,” he said. Flosgrim nodded, a little stiffly. Flower is even bigger than a Nederan, has four-inch tusks, muscles in competition with his other muscles, and some serious battle-scars lacing his smooth green hide – all things a Nederan can respect. But he also wears an apron, and cooks. Very well, as it happens.
“Anything for you?” I said.
Flosgrim swallowed and looked away. “No.” I could swear, the bits of his face that weren’t covered in hair were actually blushing. It was almost sweet. I picked up one of the pastries, like a little gold cloud laced with honey, and took a bite just as Laney reappeared. She shook her head at me and led her prize away to her room.
Flower growled. “Sometimes I wonder why I bother.”
“You haven’t been to Nederan, have you?” I said. “Know much about it?”
“I know they like fighting and very long poems.”
“Well, you know how the Vessels of Purity regard sex?”
“Yes?”
“The Nederans are kind of that way about food. Decent food, anyway.”
Flower looked at me with horror all over his big tusky face. “What?”
“Anything that’s too much pleasure to eat is a bit dodgy. Corrupting. They take their food as plain and indigestible as they can get it.”
“That’s...” Flower shook his head. “No wonder they fight all the time.”
I
HAD TWO
clients that afternoon; one a rollicking wine-merchant of generous dimensions and roaring laugh who was hairy enough to be a were in change and as enthusiastic and easily pleased as a puppy; the other a rather stately and subtle lady from Third Turning, whose profession I hadn’t yet discovered but whose shimmering skin, graceful snakelike appendages and liking for taking things extremely slowly made for a pleasing contrast. They managed to keep my mind mostly off the morning’s events, until it was time to bathe and get ready for my last client of the day.
An hour later I was perfumed, silk-clad from the skin out and leaning against one of the exquisitely gilded columns in the main ballroom of the Roundhouse Tower, Scalentine’s most expensive place to throw a party. The wine, I’d bet a fair sum, had cost more than its taste would suggest, and the crowd had the heft and sheen of the elite. An orchestra played something fashionably forgettable, just loud enough so as not to drown out the light chatter. Talk of styles and scandals, deal-making that could reshape countries and more rivalries than a deer-wood in rutting season. There were a handful of children, too; some racing about, shrieking with laughter, others trying to look grown-up and sneak drinks off the server’s trays.
I’d been paid for my time, but the gentleman who had hired me to accompany him had gone off into a side room with some other people of serious and moneyed aspect. It’s always a little delicate in these situations; one must remain available to one’s client, without looking abandoned. For the moment I contented myself with watching the floorshow.
A lean, pale creature in full Perindi Empire court dress, high embroidered collar standing halfway up his face, glided across the room as though on wheels, the motion of his feet invisible under the stiff brocade of his gown. A pair of carefully matched and extremely handsome human bodyservants strode after him. They wore loose silk trousers and nothing else but jewellery, oiled torsos gleaming in the lamplight, bearing his writing implements, paper, and personal spice-box. Servers in the Roundhouse Tower’s gold-trimmed grey satin livery moved among the crowds with trays; the drinks brimming in small glasses, the food piled high on small platters. Three silver-skinned beings with smooth domed heads, wearing what looked like armour in shades of blue and green, hovered over a spread of delicacies, pointing them out to each other and making a low hooting noise.
I thought for a moment I saw Enthemmerlee over the shoulder of one of the silver-skins; a slight female with pale hair and humanlike, faintly green-tinged features.
Why, she hasn’t changed much at all,
I thought; but when I looked closer it wasn’t Enthemmerlee. This woman was not unlike Enthemmerlee as I’d last seen her, but older; dressed in an odd garment like a tube of cloth hanging from some kind of internal ruff below the neck. Definitely Gudain. Whoever she was, she was smiling and seemed to be enjoying herself despite the Gudain reputation for xenophobia. Perhaps she was stunned into enjoyment by the sheer expense of her surroundings.
A very small child with a mop of bright silver hair, dancing solemnly by herself, stamping her feet carefully in time to the music.
A tiny glimmering Fey, in a vast gauzy puff of a dress that made her resemble a glittering beetle in the heart of a chrysanthemum, her slender arms waving like feelers, chattering up at someone I couldn’t see.
The crowd parted, revealing her companion; shoulders broad and flat in his bright red uniform and long greying hair pulled back behind his head, bending low in order to hear her. Hargur, doing the polite. I hadn’t even known he was going to be here. She gestured to the small girl, who stopped her dancing long enough to trot over to them and raise her arms imperiously at the Chief. He bowed gravely, took her hands, and danced a measure with her, bent almost double.
“Ah, now, that’s better,” said a voice beside me. “A lovely woman should always smile.”
My new friend was a tall, solid fella in understated but expensive tailoring. He had sleekly cut grey hair, a full-lipped mouth and blue, assessing eyes. “Now, I wonder what
made
you smile, and whether I can make it happen again?”
“I’m at a party in the Roundhouse Tower, drinking
very
expensive wine, and watching the powerful at play. Why wouldn’t I be smiling?” I said.
He held out his hand. I put mine in it. He had soft, well-kept hands; when he bent and kissed my fingers, his mouth felt, somehow, slightly too warm. “Thasado Heimarl.”
“Babylon Steel.”
“Ah, indeed? I
am
privileged,” he said.
“You have me at a disadvantage, Mr Heimarl.”
“I have nothing like your reputation, Madam Steel. I am merely a trader, you know.”
“Oh? And what do you trade in?”
“This and that. There’s no reason at all why you should have heard of me,” he said, with a self-deprecating shrug.
“But without trade, no country survives, Mr Heimarl.”
“I am sure Scalentine would manage adequately without my meagre services,” he said. “I’m only attending this very glittering occasion because of a lucky deal or two and the hope of making more of the same. One must, as they say, spend money to make it.”
“So I’m told,” I said, looking down at my gown. Not as extravagant as one of Laney’s, but it hadn’t been cheap.
“Speaking of spending money,” he looked around, and lowered his voice, “I wondered if I might put a proposition to you.”
I wondered what good he thought lowering his voice would do, since anyone in the room interested in such things would already have assumed he was trying to book me.
“I’m afraid my books are rather full at the moment.” The words were out before I could stop them. He seemed pleasant enough, and I had space for another client; but it’s a gut thing. That overwarm touch of his lips on my hand had been enough to tell me we wouldn’t suit.
“Oh, no, I apologise, you mistake me,” he said. “Not that I wouldn’t be delighted, but it would be an unwarranted extravagance in these difficult times. No, I just wondered... some of your clientele must talk about their business. You could turn such knowledge to your advantage.”
I thought I knew where this was going, but I’d give him the benefit of the doubt. “Oh, certainly, sometimes they can put me on to a good bargain,” I said. “Knowing when a fresh shipment of rare fruits is coming in always pleases my cook.”
“I was thinking more of knowledge they might let slip, about the turn of the market, or perhaps new customs laws that a man might find useful to know about before they were implemented... there are those who would be willing to pay for such information, you know.”
“Ah.” I smiled. Not the first time I’ve received such a proposition. “I’m afraid, Mr Heimarl, that I have no memory at all for such things. I concentrate on the matter in hand, as it were, and after that, I can barely remember a thing my clients might have said. I’d never retain any information of the slightest use to anyone.”
He looked down at his glass and sighed. “A pity. A good memory is so useful. But discretion, of course, is also a quality to be greatly valued, and is no doubt essential to building a reputation such as yours.”
“I see you understand my position.”
“Oh, indeed. You can’t blame a man for trying, I hope. With things as they are, we’re all struggling, you know, all looking for that extra edge.”
“I most certainly don’t blame you for trying,” I said.
“Well, I suppose I had better tear myself away and go talk to the rich and powerful, who will no doubt turn me down with far less courtesy.” He bowed, smiled, and walked away. He had a certain charm, no doubt of it. And I really didn’t blame him; but passing on pillow-confidences is very bad business. I have been known to do it, but only in cases of serious crime or danger to others in the profession. That’s not betrayal of confidence, it’s more of a civic duty.
I glanced around for Hargur, and found him leaning against the wall, surrounded by a gaggle of youngsters. He took off his helmet and perched it on the head of a small boy, who – despite looking like a toadstool as a result (a toadstool that couldn’t see) – was instantly the object of envy. Hargur laughed, as the rest of the children clamoured for some equal sign of favour, and held his hands up helplessly.
I felt my heart contract.
As though he’d heard something, he looked over the children’s heads right at me, and smiled, the long lines of his face tilting up. I smiled back, then turned away before we became completely obvious.
Those who knew about us, knew. But we didn’t make our liaison too public. Some people don’t think the Chief of the City Militia should be associating with a whore, even though whoring is legal in Scalentine. Anyway, it was no one else’s business.
But that wasn’t the only reason I turned away. Seeing Hargur with the children got me thinking about things I didn’t want to think about, and I didn’t want him to see something in my face. He was too sharp.