by Джеффри Лорд
Blade’s size and strength were an asset in this work. He outweighed the average Dahauran by at least twenty pounds, and could pick up many of the house’s customers with one hand and disarm them with the other. In his first five weeks at the House of the Night’s Tale, Blade never had to draw his sword on a customer.
More dangerous to Blade than the customers was Hadish, the senior guard at the house. Hadish was only a little smaller than Blade, and was all muscle. He had only one ear and one eye, and no liking whatever for Blade. He felt that Blade had been promoted to a position of trust he didn’t deserve. What’s more, this had been done without Hadish’s consent.
«What’s Kubin coming to?» Hadish growled once. «Did you ram him so good he wanted to keep you around?»
Blade knew that Hadish often insisted on younger guards in Kubin’s service submitting to his attentions before he’d recommend them for promotion. He smiled blandly and shrugged. «I don’t know about Kubin, but something’s certainly nipping at you. Does it bother you, that you can’t get it off with me? I suppose it might, since now you’ll have to try the women, and I doubt if any of them will put up with your scars and your stinks.»
Blade had to draw his sword then, at least briefly, to keep Hadish from trying to push him down the basement stairs. After that they weren’t quite open enemies-Kubin’s discipline was too tight for that. But Blade was aware that he’d better keep his back covered when Hadish was around.
Fortunately, Blade had an ally in the House of the Night’s Tale after his first few weeks there. It began just before dawn one morning, when the sky was paling and the breeze through the windows already held the first hints of a scorching hot day. Dahaura wasn’t in the desert, but you could never have told it from the daytime temperatures. Everyone who could afford it had a villa or house outside the city, away from the heat, dust, and smells, with trees, grass, and flowing water close at hand.
Blade climbed the stairs to the third-floor loft where he and the other male servants slept. He stepped onto the floor, hearing a board creak under his foot, and turned toward the loft door.
Then suddenly he felt two hands grip him from behind.
Blade realized just in time that the hands were small and soft. He was already turning, one hand on his sword hilt and the other arm doubling up to drive his elbow backward into his attacker’s stomach. Then the «attacker» giggled. Slowly Blade turned around, hand still on the sword hilt, and looked down.
The woman giggled again, and looked up. She had to crane her neck to meet Blade’s eyes, for she was no more than five feet tall. Blade recognized Esseta, one of the four High Women of the House of the Night’s Tale.
The women of Kubin’s brothels were seldom entirely what they seemed, but in Esseta’s case appearances were more than usually deceiving. She was close to thirty, but showed not a line or a wrinkle. In the dim light of the house where she did her business, she could and often did pass for a girl of seventeen.
It was not only her face and body that could seem to be a girl’s. She could adopt all the mannerisms of one, convincing any customer that he was dealing with a green, inexperienced girl, new to her trade, almost innocent. This notion inspired many of her customers to extraordinary performances and extraordinary generosity.
Other men preferred a mature woman, experienced, skilled, and perhaps even comforting. Esseta was able to please them also. In fact, there was hardly a male desire she could not satisfy. She had great skill, no inhibitions, and a cool head.
After twelve years in Kubin’s houses, Esseta also had enough money to buy a house of her own and say good-bye forever to his service, or even retired completely. She preferred not to. Women Beyond the Law had a good deal of independence. In that way they were better off than the more respectable wives, daughters, and mothers held «Within the Law,» always under the protection of some man.
On the other hand, a Woman Beyond the Law was still on her own, in a land where men ruled, sometimes with a heavy hand. She didn’t have to have a protector, but she often found it helpful to hire one. Esseta was now in effect hiring Kubin Ben Sarif as her protector, and for the price she paid he gave very good protection indeed. If you kept your agreements with Kubin, he would do the same in return, and at much risk and even expense to himself. On the other hand, if you cheated him, then Junah help you!
Esseta giggled again as her eyes met Blade’s. He frowned, not quite able to match her lighthearted mood. «I hope you realize how nearly you came to getting knocked flat,» he said quietly. «Grabbing a fighting man from behind that way, in the dark, is not wise.»
«I’m sorry. I thought I could get your attention quietly.» She giggled again.
That giggle was infectious. Blade found it impossible to stay in a bad mood. He smiled at Esseta. «Does that giggle mean that I’m dealing with the girl instead of the woman?»
Suddenly the giggle changed to the full-throated laughter of an adult woman. «Why don’t you try finding out for yourself, Blade?» She slipped a hand into his and led him in the opposite direction from the door to the sleeping loft.
With a finger to her lips, she led Blade along a dark passage he’d seen but never explored. It ended in a plain wooden door. Esseta pointed to a carved knob. Blade gripped the knob and heaved. The door slid aside with a faint grating of wood on wood. Beyond lay a square windowless chamber, dimly lit by an oil lamp in an iron bracket on one wall. The light showed dust on the floor, and Blade felt it prickling in his nostrils as his feet kicked it up.
The light also showed a wooden bed, piled with clean but worn quilts and rugs. Blade turned to pull the door shut behind them. He heard a whimper of cloth and another faint giggle as the door thudded home. He turned and saw Esseta standing in the middle of the room: Her robe had fallen into a neat pile at her feet, and she was totally nude.
For a moment Blade felt that his breath was about to stop. In Esseta’s five feet there was more beauty than he’d imagined possible in any three women. Every curve flowed into every other curve as if there was only one possible way to do it. Scented oil gave her pale brown skin the sheen of fine bronze. Her hair was a tight cap of dark curls. Both her snub nose and the nipples of her delicate breasts had an impudent upward tilt.
Then her mouth curled up into a smile that was both a girl’s and a woman’s. She fingered her chin with one hand, resting the other hand on a well-turned hip. Slowly she walked in a circle around Blade. Without the smile on Esseta’s face, Blade would have felt unpleasantly like a horse being examined by a particularly skeptical buyer. As it was, he could anticipate what would happen as soon as Esseta had finished her inspection.
At last Esseta came up to Blade from behind, and again her arms went around him and small soft hands pressed against him. He wore nothing but trousers and boots, and her fingers danced up and down his bare chest swiftly, delicately, and precisely. At the same time she brought her face close to his back, until her curls tickled his skin and her lips could caress the line of his backbone.
She did all of this with such skill that Blade was soon as aroused as if they’d already joined. He bit back a gasp, sensing that she wanted him to remain passive as long as he could. It was more of her playfulness.
At last Esseta stepped away from Blade and came around in front of him. She raised herself on tiptoe until her lips could curl themselves warmly and wetly against his. The kiss faded away with tantalizing slowness, and Blade felt her lips drifting down with the same luxurious warmth over his skin. She kissed his ribs and his stomach while her fingers twined themselves in the hair on his chest. Then her lips swooped down like a bird of prey, and suddenly his erection was swallowed up.
Blade’s gasp turned into a groan of the most exquisite agony he’d ever felt or could have imagined feeling. Then for a moment he could not speak, because he could not breathe. Esseta’s lips swept along his swollen flesh, kissed the tip, sought the inside of both thighs, then returned to their original place.
Esseta repeated th
e pattern some unguessable number of times, then began varying it. As her lips worked, her hands were pulling Blade’s trousers farther and farther down his legs. Blade was hardly aware of this, or of anything else except the almost terrifying delight her lips on his flesh were bringing him.
Then he was aware of pain that was also pleasure, bubbling up within him and ready to boil over. In silence he fought against the agony, in silence Esseta’s lips went on working to make that fight hopeless, and in silence Blade lost it. The ecstasy of total release seared through him, as he bowed backward, away from those lips, pumping heat up between them. He bowed so far backward that he fell over, and Esseta fell on top of him. For a moment her lips were no longer on him, but not for long. There was too much more she wanted from him.
She took it; and went on taking it, until Blade could not have given her any more if his life had depended on it. Perhaps Esseta herself had reached the point where she could take no more. In any case, she finally collapsed to lie beside him, one leg raised over his, her breasts against his side and the fingers of one hand spread on his chest.
Then she sat up and smiled. She raised her arms above her head and stretched like a cat. The movements of her breasts would have awakened desire in a corpse, but not in Richard Blade at this moment. Then she laughed, and this time the woman’s laugh turned into the girl’s giggle.
Blade shook his head. «You have the skills of an actress, as well as all your other gifts. Has anyone ever told you that?»
«Not many. I have shown how I play my game to only a few, and only two of those who paid for me have ever guessed.»
«What happened then?»
«Both stayed all night, and poured gold into my lap when morning came. They wanted to see what else I could do.»
Blade laughed. «Is there anything you can’t deal with?»
For a moment her face was a pale mask. «Yes. The years. Against them I have no power.»
«You’ve done well so far.»
«So far, yes.» Suddenly she was smiling again. «And shall I tell you why I’ve done so well? It is my secret.»
«I’m listening.»
«This life is not easy, and much of it gives no pleasure. So when I have a chance, I play, to amuse myself and give myself pleasure. I do not have as many chances as I wish, but I have enough. As long as I can play, I can fight off the years.» She bent down and kissed Blade. «Will you help me play, Blade from the desert?»
Silently Blade nodded, and by the time he finished kissing her he found that somehow desire was again rising in him.
Blade’s being Esseta’s recognized lover didn’t make things any easier between him and Hadish. It wasn’t that the senior guard was jealous of Blade’s delightful hours in bed with her-he didn’t care for women. He did see very clearly that with Esseta’s support Blade could go almost anywhere and do almost anything. Furthermore, if it came to a clash between him and Blade, Kubin would be far more likely to support a man on good terms with one of his favorite ladies. Not being a fool, Hadish was afraid of Kubin Ben Sarif.
That same fear kept him quiet for some time. Meanwhile, Blade began escorting the ladies of the House of the Night’s Tale when they went out to shop or take the air in the parks by the Da. For this Esseta bought him several new sets of clothes, as well as a jeweled dagger that would have looked at home on a nobleman’s belt.
«We of the House of the Night’s Tale have our reputation to uphold,» she said. «Can we be escorted by a man who does not look his best?»
«Hardly,» said Blade. He noted that in spite of all its jewels, the knife was well-balanced and sharp. Esseta was a good judge of weapons.
The knife might be able to gut a human attacker like a fish, but it couldn’t do anything against flies and foul smells. For some time that was all Blade faced as he escorted Esseta and her companions about Dahaura.
Dahaura was even busier and more prosperous than he’d imagined. It was hard to believe that any sane man could conceive of overthrowing this bustling city and the empire it ruled with no more than five thousand fighting men.
But then, the Master of the Hashomi was not entirely sane. Immensely gifted, to be sure, but also somewhat mad-and all the more dangerous because he was both. He would certainly try to carry out his plans, and even if he failed and the Hashomi perished, so would thousands of innocent people.
Even worse, it was possible that he might not fail. Blade kept his ears and eyes open, and what he heard and saw told him much about the religious conflict within Dahaura. The Fighters of Junah were despised and openly persecuted, in a way that turned Blade’s stomach. He saw them stoned and beaten in the marketplaces, thrown into the rivers, driven out of shops and taverns. He saw two or three of them cut to bloody ribbons when they openly raised a hand in their own defense. He saw them treated in a way that would not have been wise even if they’d been incapable of resistance.
Since they were steadily organizing for battle, the persecution was worse than unwise. It was criminally stupid. It was sowing the seeds of religious warfare in Dahaura, just as the Master of the Hashomi expected. That warfare would come sooner or later-Blade was certain of that. And then? Religious warfare had brought down empires before, even without the aid of the Hashomi to make things worse.
The Master of the Hashomi might be mad, but his plan to overthrow the Baranate of Dahaura was not a madman’s fantasy. It was a real danger, and that meant Blade’s information about the Hashomi had to reach the Baran.
How? He might be able to speak to Kubin Ben Sarif and get some results. Kubin had no great love for the Fighters of Junah, even if he’d operated on the fringes of the Baran’s law most of his life. He could be trusted. Unfortunately, he would also be hard to find-Blade hadn’t seen him since their first strange interview.
Send a message? Not on this matter, and not with Hadish around. Esseta? Blade saw her every day. She was cool-headed, discreet, and loyal to the Baranate. Unfortunately, she’d also made it clear that she never mixed in high politics. That was one reason she was still alive and unbranded, so she intended to go on that way for the rest of her life.
The word had to get to the Baran somehow. But if he spoke to the wrong person, it might also get to the ears of someone ready to pay for having Blade’s gutted corpse floating in the Da. It was a delicate situation, and likely to get worse rather than better.
Sooner or later, though, he’d have to gamble. The only alternative was to remain completely silent, and that he would not do. He had a debt to pay to the Master of the Hashomi.
Chapter 15
It promised to be a hot day even for Dahaura. The only air moving was a faint breeze from the river that seemed to be passing over the tanneries on its way. The foul reek of curing leather surrounded the little party as they left the House of the Night’s Tale.
Blade was the escort for a party that included Esseta, two of the other women of the house, and three servant girls to carry the purchases. They were going to walk, as their destination was the Street of the Perfumers on the bank of a canal less than half a mile away.
They walked swiftly, Blade in the lead and Esseta bringing up the rear. Blade’s size and appearance cleared a path, and few of the beggars and street boys even bothered to shout at them. They were a slave and six Women Beyond the Law, but the sashes they wore showed that they were also under the protection of Kubin Ben Sarif.
They passed donkey carts and sedan chairs, fruit juice vendors, porters and puppet shows, a squad of the Baran’s soldiers, and three mounted noblemen. At last they made their way into the Street of the Perfumers. It was oven-hot in the narrow street, but the delicate scents drifting out of the shops and booths drove out the stink of the tanneries.
Esseta was bargaining vigorously over a jar of mint-scented green lotion when Blade noticed an odd trio moving toward him from the far end of the street. Down the middle of the street a small pudgy man was walking with slow precise steps. He wore the turban of a tribal chief from the mountains in th
e north of the Baranate, but he wore the robes and ankle boots of a high-class merchant of Dahaura. He also wore a purse and an ornamental dagger on his belt. Blade had seen men in the same mixture of clothing before. They were usually men of mixed blood, acting as traders and agents for their fathers’ tribes.
Moving parallel to the merchant and almost level with him were two other men. One wore nothing but a breechcloth stiff with filth, and his matted hair and beard did not conceal his thinness or his scars. One of Dahaura’s beggars, with nothing unusual about him-except the purposeful way he was keeping pace with the robed man.
On the other side of the street was a man in a workman’s breeches and full-sleeved tunic. He had a full beard and a surprisingly bushy head of red-brown hair. The color of his hair was not unusual, but the sheer mass of it drew Blade’s eye.
Blade was shifting his glance back to the beggar, when suddenly the man ran out into the middle of the street and threw himself on his knees in front of the merchant. «Alms, alms, for the love of Junah,» the man cried. «Alms, that my children may eat. Alms, alms, and my prayers will be with you in all your wakings and sleepings. Alms, alms. alms!»
The skinny arms reached out, pressing long-fingered hands with black nails against the front of the merchant’s robes. «Peace, my friend,» he replied. «Alms shall be yours, and bread in the mouths of your children.» He reached for his purse.
As he did, the beggar’s hands clamped hard on the man’s belt. With surprising strength, the beggar jerked the merchant forward, off balance. At the same time the bushy-haired man broke out of the crowd and came running up to the merchant from behind. As he ran one hand darted up inside the other sleeve and came out holding a short knife. With both speed and grace, he stabbed at the merchant’s exposed back.
