by Eyal Kless
I cursed under my breath. The elderly waiter wasn’t just one of the city’s last true gentlemen, he was one of my best guys, always ready to share information for the right price. As far as I knew, he had only cheated me twice. I did notice my waiter betrayed information about the length of Sammarkhand’s absence rather than waiting for me to ask and extorting coin for the privilege. Perhaps I had gotten the better deal after all. Old Sammarkhand would never have made such an amateurish mistake.
“Dead, is he?” I could think of several reasons why he would be. The old bugger nourished vices as if they were his beloved children.
“Oh no, sir, although some people say he got it worse. He got married and moved back to his hometown.” The waiter smiled at his own jest.
“Sammarkhand? Married?” It was too weird a story to be a lie.
“Yes, Master. Him . . . and one of the workers . . . one of the girls, ladies,” Raviel corrected himself quickly.
“Well well.” I shrugged theatrically. “And where would his hometown be? He is such a dear friend. I will have to go visit and offer my congratulations to the newlywed.”
My waiter smiled knowingly. “I do not know where that be, Master, but . . . I could find out for you.” He did not let the offer speak for itself but made sure I understood his meaning with the universal gesture of rubbing his fingertips together. Well, he’d finally caught on. Sammarkhand would have fleeced half my purse by now. Did I really need to throw my towers at this guy?
“You do that, and on your way, bring me a glass of apple brandy.” I made eye contact. “Make sure it is from the lower barrel.”
He bowed and retreated. This was going to be an expensive encounter—another reason why I didn’t want Galinak with me.
I stretched back and waited. Two women approached me, all smiles and sweetness, but I waved them away, noting the redhead in the back corner. She was sweet-talking two inebriated Upper Towers gentlemen into buying her another overly priced drink. The way she faked laughter at their clumsy jokes was absolutely endearing, and I’d always had a soft spot for redheads. There would be time for that later, I told myself, assuming I still had coin on me.
Raviel came back holding a clean-enough glass and a very small, antique ceramic pitcher and laid them carefully in front of me. As he leaned down to pour, he murmured, “Regarding your question, it will cost fifteen in coin, no kind, and might take a day or two.”
What a stupid lie. He either knew where the man was or not. No one kept tabs on the likes of Sammarkhand.
I sipped from the brandy, and for some reason knew immediately its alcohol contents. I couldn’t really tell if it was from the lower barrel; I just wanted an expensive drink to go with my story. I counted fifteen towers slowly, making him watch as I did so, and added another five. “Let me know by the time I leave here, which will be by tomorrow.”
The waiter pocketed the sum and smiled knowingly. “Would you be taking residence then, Master?”
“By all means. Are your beds clean?”
He was almost genuine in his shock. “Why, of course, Master. We are renowned—”
“Fine.” I waved my hand dismissively. “I’ll take your word for it, but make sure the sheets are changed before I get there.”
He bowed lightly. “It will be taken care of, Master.” Lowering his voice slightly, he added, “Should you be pleased with the company of any of our ladies, I could arrange a discreet rendezvous in your private chamber.”
Looking at the redhead, I was almost tempted, but I had enough self-control to shake my head. “No, I don’t see what I want here.”
He smiled knowingly. “If it pleases you, we have several young gentlemen that could be fine company, or even something else entirely—”
“No,” I said a little too harshly, trying not to think about the alternatives he was offering. A few heads turned in our direction. I lowered my voice to a more discreet tone. “I am looking for someone specific, a woman who calls herself Fay.”
He was slightly taken aback but there was recognition behind his eyes. “I am sorry, Master, we have no lady with that name here.”
“Tall, blond, I mean really blond, green eyes, a strange accent, not from these parts. Not a young lass, for sure, but I remember her fondly, and she could do things with her mouth no one else could.” That was a fairly accurate description. The memories of my first and few consecutive encounters with Fay kept me awake many nights.
“I will go and ask, Master.”
It was an odd response. Surely even this plank of a waiter should know who worked the establishment. It was an odd chance that she would still be working in the Green Meadows. The profession was a hard one and the women never aged well, but a lead was a lead was a lead.
The waiter didn’t come back. Instead the Madam sat herself next to me. They say the Madams were those women who survived the hardest of professions, but I could not have imagined her working her feminine charms on anyone. She was almost impossibly thin; her shiny dyed black hair was rolled up in a tight bun on top of her head and her eyes, and her nails and lips were painted black. Her smile was not alluring, and her eyes shone with the calculated shrewdness of a predator when she said, “Are you not satisfied with our fine selection of ladies, Master?”
“I told your waiter who I would be pleased to see,” I answered in the haughtiest of airs I could muster.
“I believe I have not seen you before.”
“It has been a long time since I was here.”
“I have a very good memory for faces, Master . . .”
“Sammarkhand would have known me.” That, at least, was a true enough statement and perhaps rang as such with the Madam. She hesitated.
I leaned a little towards her, noticing the clean scent of perfume she wore. Not the sickly sweet stuff many of the prostitutes poured on themselves. No doubt she was informed I carried metal and was willing to spend.
“You know who I am looking for. I am ready to pay double for an evening with her,” I said, and sipped from my wine again.
She sighed softly. “Fay was not getting any younger, and then had an . . . unfortunate accident, several years ago. She still works here, but as a helper. She makes the best pies in the city. There are plenty of fine ladies here. I saw you looking at Bernadette over there. I might be able to persuade her to disappoint those two gentlemen. I assure you, she has exceptional talents.”
I held her gaze when I said slowly, “I am not a man accustomed to being refused. Fay might not be a pretty young maiden anymore, but I hold fond memories of her.” I raised my hand sharply when the Madam opened her mouth to make a polite refusal. “I’ll tell you what—go and ask her if she is willing. I will pay triple the rate for the entire night. Surely you can find someone else to cook those simple pies for you.”
It was meant to be the insult of an aristocrat, and by the thin line of the Madam’s lips it was recognised as such, but coin was coin, and a triple rate piled those towers high enough not to be ignored.
The Madam slickly slid away. “I will check with her and notify you shortly.”
I was already draining my second glass and losing hope when Raviel approached me again.
“Lady Fay kindly accepts your offer.” The amusement in his voice was barely concealed. “But she asks for your kind patience as she prepares herself.”
I nodded. “I will retire to the room, then. Please send up two meals and a pitcher of the same brandy you served me.”
The waiter bowed in acknowledgement but before I could get up from my seat he leaned over, blocking my path. “The Madam insists that the payment be made in advance.”
It was the logical thing to do, of course, but the crudeness of it was an offence to who I pretended to be, and perhaps momentarily believed I was.
“I will pay you half the fee now.”
“I’m afraid I must insist, Master.”
“If this is a setup and you send me someone other than my Fay—”
“I assure you,
Master, you will be satisfied.”
It seemed the Madam was literally making me pay for the pie comment. I counted the towers, then got up from the table and climbed to the third floor.
It was not spacious, but a decent room all in all. A small dining table for two was set up. The large bed took most of the space but it also contained a delicate side table, a wash basin, and a small sit-in tub. I checked but could not find any spy holes in the walls or ceiling, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any.
I spent quite a lot of time rearranging the candles and dimming the oil lamps so when, finally, the soft knock came and Fay entered, she was blind to the shadowy corner where I sat. There was light in the middle of the room, centred on the dining table, and she hesitantly approached it while looking around.
“Hello?” she said. “Master, are you here?”
She’d tried, she really had. Her fading hair was expertly gathered for volume and a pretence of youth. Her body was trapped in a much-too-tight corset, which made bulges in all the right places, and the rest of her was cleverly covered. She was once a great beauty, but the passing of time, like a carriage on a muddy road, had left deep marks that could not be wiped away. My enhanced sight saw it all: the busted nose, the missing teeth, and the fearful, haunted look in her eyes.
“Please sit down,” I said, and saw her turn sharply to where my voice came from. She knew at once this was not going to be what she’d prepared herself for. I could see her holding on to her composure, which was why I had gone through all the trouble in the first place. Rule one of interrogation: do it on your terms.
She moved cautiously to the only chair at the table and after a brief hesitation sat herself down.
“There is food and drink on the table.” I pointed out the obvious. “Please help yourself.”
“If I scream, they will come,” she said. Even after all those years her foreign accent was still very much apparent.
“There will be no need for you to scream,” I said softly. “I bear you no harm or ill will—on the contrary.”
She squinted towards me but I was pretty sure she could not see my features.
“Please, help yourself to some apple brandy.”
She didn’t touch either. Her eyes lingered on the wooden knife at the table. “What’s this about? I assume this is all a . . . ruse of some sort? They told me we’ve been together before, that you still harbour a flame for this . . .” Her hand went up and down her body in a dismissive gesture. “It was all a lie, yes? You are here for something else.”
“It was not a lie,” I said. For some reason it was important to me that she believed me. “We’ve met. You were my first, and you were”—I was glad she could not see my blush—“very memorable.”
She squinted at me again, trying to penetrate the darkness.
“We lay together,” I continued quickly, “as often as I could afford it. You were gentle with me.”
“Ah, sweetheart.” She relaxed a little, her hand finally went for the drink. “I am sorry, but there were plenty of yous around. Is this why you’re really here?” She took a tentative sip from the brandy. By the look on her face, it pleased her. I remembered her telling me that apple brandy was her favourite drink. I do not know if it was true or just her way of milking more metal out of me, but the young Twinkle Eyes spent every tower he had trying to impress her.
“That is not why I am here tonight, though. I am here for something else,” I said, trying to block images that were flashing before my eyes.
She placed the glass back on the table, ready and alert once more.
“I’m here for a story—your story. I want to hear it. It might take a while, but we have all night.”
“What story?” Fay was taken aback. She would have stood up, but I saw her take control of herself. She still needed time to assess the situation.
“Your life. How you came here.”
She laughed out loud. “Are you serious? You went to all this trouble for me to tell you about my childhood?”
“Skip the childhood bit. Concentrate on your time with a man called Mannes.” I saw her pale.
“Who . . . ?”
“Don’t serve me rust, Lady Fay. Mannes, the murderer from the south, the alien demigod, the bookworm butcher.”
“I have no idea—”
“You were with him, his concubine.”
She shook her head. “How do you know that?”
“Does it matter? I am good at adding bits of information together. People talk, and I listen. I am sure you can relate.”
Fay’s expression was bitter. “And why should I tell you anything?”
She couldn’t see the small coin bag in my hand but she heard the jingle. “Because I will pay you handsomely, my dear, and feed you, and treat you with courtesy.”
I think it was the last bit that persuaded her. And the fact that she had nothing to lose.
She looked like she was going to take another sip from the brandy. Instead, she downed the whole thing, then poured herself another one.
“What would you like to know, mystery man?”
“You were his lover.”
She downed another glass. I was beginning to worry I had made a mistake ordering a pitcher of the stuff. It would all be an expensive waste of towers if she passed out on me. “Hardly a ‘lover,’” she suddenly said. “I was just a child when my father joined Mannes’s army and fifteen when he presented me to him.” Her eyes were looking to the distance. “A beauty I was, but still just a girl in a young woman’s body, and my father gave me to this man, to warm his bed at night. I guess he was thinking he was securing my future, or simply wanted me out of the way.”
She turned her gaze at me. It was so fierce I feared she might see through both darkness and cowl. “It wasn’t just my father’s idea. Mannes had plenty like me around him. Half a dozen, sometimes more, but for a while I was his favourite.”
“How could you tell?” It wasn’t an important question but I couldn’t help myself but ask.
“I just knew.” Fay looked a little more confident. “He talked to me sometimes, you know, as men do when they lie with a woman.” She chuckled to herself. “They worshipped him like a god, but I knew he was just a man. He lay with me like a man, he stank like a man, he snored like a man, and he talked to me, like all men do after their souls escape from between their legs.
“We travelled to the very edge of the world, where your nose or ears would freeze off if you’re not careful. Then he turned us around and we headed to warmer lands. We stayed on the shore long enough for me to think this would be my new home, but one day a ship came. It was huge, bigger than this building several times together, and was made of metal, but it floated on the water.” Fay shook her head slightly. “Father was long dead, and Mannes made me go on the ship. I was terrified we’d sink and drown, but we all went inside it and spent months cooped up in there until he brought me across to this land. Then one day, he just gave me some coin and told me to go.” Fay took another sip, thankfully slowing down her pace.
“Sounds like he was not such a bad fellow,” I said quietly. “I mean, he gave you coin and—”
Fay was shaking her head and I sensed anger growing in her. “Oh, my dear stranger, he might have once been a nice man, but he is the cruelest, foulest, most insane killer, have no doubt. He will not hesitate to destroy the world again.”
That made me straighten up in my seat. “That is a very astute observation. How do you know that he destroyed the world in the first place?”
“He told me so, many times. He said that he and this other man, Vitor, that they destroyed the old world and that the new one was not worth saving. He said that we are all doomed as a race. Would you like to know what Mannes did to me?” Fay downed her third drink and continued, words cascading out of her in an accelerating pace but already a little slurred.
“He put me on that table of his, with the metal arms that move by themselves. I don’t know what happened because he put a spell on
me and I fell into deep sleep, but when I woke up, something in me”—she pointed downwards—“something was wrong. I could tell. Then he told me that children should not be brought up in this broken world and now I wouldn’t have to worry about it, and I knew what he did. He must have done the same thing to the other girls, too. Otherwise how could it have been that he was surrounded by young and healthy women in their prime, and not one of them carried his child. Instead, he gave them abandoned children, orphans that he saved or took in. He gave most of the girls a child or two to mind, like little pets, but it was never for long. The children would eventually disappear, run away, die of sickness, or join his army, at least that’s what they told us. One of the guards told me that Mannes used those children for his black magic, devouring them so he could keep on living. He ate their hearts and wore their skin. I don’t know if this is true or just a cruel joke, but knowing the man, this is something Mannes could have done, the same way he gelded me like I was livestock.”
Fay looked straight at the shadowy corner, her eyes glistening. “If you want to hear more, you’d better show me some metal.”
I could have haggled, or used other manipulations to keep her talking, just like I had done with Vincha, but I was too rusting tired and I sensed it was going to be a long night. I threw the coin bag on the table. It landed true with a satisfying clunk. Fay fished it up, weighed it in her hand, opened the string and looked inside, then, satisfied, secured it away.
“Fine,” she said, wiping her eyes with two quick strokes, “I’ll tell you what you want. Rust, it’s been a while since I thought of that Arschloch . . .”
“A word of caution, my Lady. I am an expert at detecting cross-wiring, general bullshitting, and such. Please don’t make me come back for the coin.”
Her eyes were now dry and her smile tired, sad, and surprisingly genuine “I’m an old whore no one wants anymore, with no child or even a house to my name. I’ve got nothing to lose. Your metal is solid, and so is my story.”
I leaned back in my chair. It creaked a little. “Let me tell you where to begin,” I said.
