Scilio scratched his dingy beard as he scrutinized the boy sitting on the cushion before his table. People were not inclined to offer goods and services, especially of the complimentary variety, without some manner of gain in return. Dailan, being a worldly child of the streets, was no naif. He was abundantly aware of human nature and would not easily fall to deception.
Scilio collected his cards and stuffed them into his pack. He was one of the last remaining vendors on the square, as most of the others had already given up the afternoon. It had been something less than a lucrative day. The dismal overcast skies and teasing showers did not invite tourists and pedestrians. The square was mostly empty, but for the ever present eyes that seemed to follow Scilio everywhere this day. He was likely indulging the paranoia enhanced by his fatigue from the sleepless, drenching night.
“For what benevolent purpose would some random citizen grant us sanctuary?” Scilio asked as he slid his Guardian sword through the strap on his back.
“I helped out their ward. Saved her from getting plowed over by a speeding airskiff, then I toted her home on my back 'cause her ankle was all swelled up like yeasty bread. When they heard about our plight, they figured to repay the kindness.”
“What exactly did you divulge?”
“Don't worry. I was careful. Just gave them a sob story to strum the heartstrings a mite. Worked like a charm. They're real obliging.”
“They?”
“Well, it's a special they. Run by a Magister. She's the one done the offering. And I think you'll like the place. It's called Chalice House. Real prim fancy. Your kind'a hole.”
“A Magister? If I didn't know any better, I might think you were describing a house of many pleasures.”
“Yup. It's a grand one, too.” Dailan helped Scilio unhook the sheet from the fence. He rolled it up and shoved it into the pack with the rest of Scilio's occupational instruments.
How much of Toma Scilio's young life was spent in the brothellas of Mercaria? A fine, incalculable amount. When kissed by the call of bardhood at age seventeen, Scilio had left his family's noble house and set upon the road in answer. In the meager times, enchantresses of such establishments always granted a warm place to stay, often without charge, for Scilio's gifts of song were negotiated as payment. He had not dared broach the option here in Havenlen; a remaking of himself had disallowed such familiar ways. He could not parade his charming bardhood gifts or deviant fancies, for the danger inherent. Alokien's spies would certainly be listening.
Scilio was well familiar with the allure and comforts of a brothella house. He was also aware of the seductive powers of the courtesans in said houses. They were trained as enchantresses, utilizing Psychonics and the rare Prophetics to worm their way into a client's will. Sometimes the pleasure was physical, and sometimes it was entirely encased in a fantasy derived of one's own deepest desires. Scilio's downfall had been crafted through the enchantress workings of a courtesan named Quarinia. Long had Scilio dreamed of attracting the seductive honor of a Berndian Beauty, the most famous and gifted of all enchantress courtesans in the kingdom. His dream had been realized, unbeknownst to him, in the form of Quarinia. She had woven obsessive love into his impressionable mind and not once had she betrayed any inkling of her mission. Scilio had been so bound in Quarinia's spell that he probably would not have noticed if she had. He had sworn to never again allow an enchantress' will to manipulate his own.
The fact that courtesans could influence people and access private, intimate thoughts meant they were a danger to those guarding a well of royal secrets. It was a risk. Too much to allow.
“While we appreciate the gesture, we must decline,” Scilio said, hauling the pack to his shoulder.
“But Tosh...”
“We'll discuss it later. We cannot afford to issue trust to complete strangers. It is impossible to gauge where their political aspirations lean, and they have us to disadvantage in the intelligence department. How do you know they are not vehement in their loyalties to particular institutions? We must assume that everyone and anyone with an outstretched hand means only to snatch our collars with it.”
Scilio did not have to translate for Dailan to understand. The boy leaned in and lowered his voice a decibel. “I don't know what their politics is. But I do know what their fresh food felt like in my belly, and what their hot bath felt like on my dirt. Even if it's just for a night or two, I vote we shack up with them. We don't have to give them any more than our concocted story, which I already done. The Magister says she can help you get a library pass. If you can get into the archives and find what you're looking for, we might could solve all our problems in one swoop. And get a comfy bed tonight, to boot.”
It was tempting, and it took every good sense in Scilio's body to turn down the offer. “The risk remains greater than the reward. I trusted too much. That misplaced trust led us here. I will never again issue it so freely. Especially not to alluring Psychonics with the power to pry open the vital secrets of what we guard.”
Dailan huffed as he scooped up the table and cushion, but he did not argue.
Scilio crossed the street to the library steps, where Vann sat. His cup held only two lorans, including the one placed there for suggestion. As Scilio coaxed the reluctant puppet to his feet, he noticed immediately the pallor and sunken cheeks. A brushed hand against Vann's forehead registered a low grade fever settling in.
“Is Rel sick?” Dailan asked.
“Not enough to worry yet,” Scilio answered, masking his unease. “Shivering in drenched clothes all night did him no favors.”
“Go on and take him home,” Dailan said. “I'll catch up.”
“You're returning to the brothella?”
“Yeah. If we're gonna stay on the roof, I want to give 'em back these duds. They belong on a dandy, not a gutter rat. 'Sides, I left something behind.”
It was then Scilio noticed what was missing from Dailan's person. “You left Kir's shortsword there? Are you daft?”
“Well, it's not exactly there... it's a long story.” Dailan looked disheartened.
The boy could certainly get himself out of any manner of mischief, but there was obviously much more to the tale than he had shared. Considering courtesans were involved, it was best for Scilio to intervene. He had an abundance of experience in dealing with brothellas, where Dailan's was lacking. If Kir's precious shortsword was involved in a mishap, Scilio could not stay out of it.
“Then do tell it on the way.”
The Chalice House was not overburdened with golds and lumaneres as Scilio had expected. Instead, it was garnished largely with polished brass, copper, wrought iron and book leather. It still boasted a luster and richness of its own, though it was more earthy and homey than the Mercarian brothellas Scilio had known in his youth. The style and theme was common to Havenlen, blending metallurgics with the plush and modern in a charming way that worked to its benefit. Even without the glittery abundance that was common to some other brothellas, one would not be deceived into believing the house was anything less than the finest White Tower had to offer. It was a handsome manor, warm and inviting, and it spoke to the erudite tastes of its clientele.
Scilio had approached the brothella with his mental barrier solidly erected. He pulled the ideal of Kionara to the forefront of his mind. Mastering the moment, as Kir had taught him, would be vital to maintaining his composure and iron will in this den of temptresses. He would allow no access to his inclinations, as the courtesans were sure to try. By their nature, they would attempt to bind him into their charms the moment his foot crossed the threshold. They did not disappoint.
Dailan was welcomed inside with all the flair befitting a client. Scilio and Vann were greeted likewise. A courtesan named Bressalin offered to take his pack. Scilio insisted he maintain its immediate possession, clutching it with stubborn resolve. They were led into a comfortable receiving room where Vann was guided into a chair. Scilio refused his own. Bressalin brough
t trays of warm drink and tasting morsels. Scilio dared not lift the cup to his lips, no matter how tempting. Enticements and veracity potions were tools of the trade in brothellas. He could not risk consuming anything, no matter the yearning of his parched tongue.
The courtesans worked their charms as expected. Scilio could almost feel their woven enchantments bounce off his defenses. No access to any corner of his mind would he allow. Their offers of massage and refreshment were declined politely, but adamantly.
On the walk, Dailan had shared the story of his encounter with the redheaded courtalelih and the theft of Kir's shortsword. It was the sole purpose Scilio allowed, and he preferred to hasten the weapon's retrieval.
“Appreciated though your efforts are, we did not come to indulge in pleasantries,” Scilio insisted again, though he had already made the claim upon first entry into the receiving room.
“How can we deny hospitality, when dear Dainn lent his back to one of ours?” Bressalin cooed. “We are in your debt, Master Tosh. Debts do not go unpaid in our house.”
“Tweren't nothing,” Dailan said uneasily, throwing a glance at Scilio. They had agreed to make their stay as brief as possible. The boy was doing well to reject any urgencies the courtesans were pressing. “I just need to talk to Emmi real quick, then we'll be on our way.”
“Poor Emerald is indisposed,” Bressalin apologized. “Her ankle was terribly sprained. Until she is rested, allow us to service your weary feet, Master Tosh. We have courtesors, if that's more to your fancy.”
Scilio fought to maintain his patience against their ever increasing probes. “The hour wanes. If your ward is unavailable, we will call again another time.”
“Might I ask why you deny yourself the pleasures freely granted, Master Tosh?” A new voice lilted from the entry. “Few who enter here reject our charms so completely.”
Scilio turned to see a tall woman, buxom of figure, full in the shoulder and hip, standing in the doorway with a confidence that bespoke of ownership. The sparkles in her sculpted ebony hair winked in the light. Her dark almond eyes twinkled with knowledge.
“Magister,” Scilio greeted without needing introduction. “Many thanks for your kind offerings to my servie. Likewise, for your gracious hospitality and warm reception. As a lowly man of the streets, I cannot accept anything my purse is too light to pay in coin. Your ward Emmi holds the location to something of mine, an object of sentimental value. I require it back. That is the sum of my purpose in being here, and the extent of our relationship with your house. Might I speak with your ward, that we may conclude our business and remove ourselves from your burden?”
“Considering your brother's fevered condition, one might expect you to be more accepting of aid,” the Magister said lightly, with feigned concern.
“My brother's condition will improve with rest, which he cannot achieve in this house, thank you,” Scilio countered.
“It looks to be the pleurafever. Quite common this time of year, but deadly if left untreated. Time and rest will not mend your brother, Master Tosh. Only a Master Healer, perhaps one of Bressalin's skills, can do.”
Scilio hesitated. Vann's fever was still low grade, but he had worried that it might progress to something worse. Scilio's Healing magics were not noteworthy. He had never developed them beyond the very basic childhood lessons. If Vann were to deteriorate, they could not afford a healer. Even with the tantalization of the flesh that would have driven his younger self wild, this was the first honest temptation that Scilio was serious to consider.
“I am afraid your courtesan's healing services would outweigh my Dainn's transport services in value. It does not seem a fair trade. I have no funds to make up the difference,” Scilio said. He did not have to fake the humility.
“You will find, Master Tosh, that there are more kinds of currency than just lorans. Loyalty and friendship are commodities of value in our house. Worth much more than measly coinage. If none of our talents are to your taste, at least allow us to shelter you for the night. For your brother's sake, if not for your own. Bressalin can treat Master Rel's illness and when he is well, you can return to your table on the square. It will lighten my heart to know that I only allowed you to leave after our debt is no longer outstanding. Will that suffice?”
Scilio studied Vann, taking in his sunken, stone-washed cheeks. The options were limited. In point of fact, they were nonexistent.
“Very well. One night, I will allow,” he agreed.
The Magister waved a hand to Bressalin, who swept in to Vann's side.
“Let us find a more comfortable room,” Bressalin said, smooth as satin ribbons.
Scilio moved in protectively, supporting Vann as he rose.
“Master Rel is in the very best of hands,” the Magister said. “You need not fear leaving him in Bressalin's care.”
“I do not leave my brother in anyone's care,” Scilio returned curtly. “Where he goes, so do I.”
“As you wish,” the Magister said gently. “Escort our guests to the Camellia suite, please, Bressalin. Show them all the comforts they will accept. I will send Hessalin up to your aid.”
Bressalin inclined her head gracefully. She guided them to a far wing, through a long hallway and into a wooden lift that raised them up two stories.
The Camellia suite was not as floral as its name would suggest, but the door was inlaid with pressed blossoms. It boasted the scent, along with hints of the bloom's shape in subtle details. Scilio might once have taken joy in exploring the symbolic nuances of the room, from color palate to the arrangement of furnishings. Being in the clutches of enchantresses no longer left room for distraction. Scilio focused his attentions on Vann as they eased him to the bed and propped him against a mountain of pillows.
Bressalin's exact duplicate slipped quietly into the room and offered a respectful gesture of greeting before introducing herself as Hessalin. The identical twins spoke to each other with their eyes, or more likely, with a Psychonic link. Scilio knew of such communicative links. Even without an ability to access Psychonics, the Guardian Bonding had allowed him to enter similar connections with Vann and the Guardians. Normally, Psychonic connections would be draining to maintain, but it stood to reason that identical twins would not require as much focus of mana.
“While Bressalin tends to your brother, I shall see to you, Master Tosh,” Hessalin said evenly. Scilio's protest was interrupted with a mild reprimand. “You must not fall to illness yourself. A simple bath and trimming. We need not leave this suite.”
Scilio sighed, but he could not argue. He was long overdue for a shave and a scrub. Never in his life had his pristine body mingled for so long with such grime and odor. The only bathing he had done of late was at the fountain on Samsil Circle, but he had managed to wash nothing but his face before being chased away by law-arms.
“Do not move your person from Rel's side,” Scilio commanded Dailan, who saluted and plopped himself at the foot of Vann's bed.
Scilio followed Hessalin into the adjacent room where a large copper steam bath, spacious enough to comfortably allow four rotund bodies, rose from the tiles. Scilio stood in the doorway, toggling between the twins. Bressalin's hands glowed with remedial spells for Vann while Hessalin's hands moved expertly in preparing the tub's hot water with scented oils.
When she was finished, Hessalin glided forward artistically and tried to slip her hands along the hems of Scilio's ratty shirt. He took a long step backward, gesturing toward the door in dismissal.
“I can see to myself, thank you.”
“Come now, Master Tosh. You don't have to be shy,” Hessalin coaxed, teasing fingers along his chest.
Scilio was anything but bashful, and his old self would have entertained no second thoughts at bearing all. This situation, however, was precarious. He had more than just the secrets of his mind to hide. His vambrace had not seen the light of Havenlen skies since their arrival. It must stay shrouded under the cover of his sleev
e. The vambrace was permanently affixed to his arm by the Binding magic of the Gods. Even black in its taint, it was too obvious a marker and must not be noticed.
“I most certainly do,” Scilio answered smartly. He gripped Hessalin's wrists firmly to stifle any further suggestion and temptation. “Modesty is the whole of me. I'll summon you when I have finished.” He guided her swiftly out the door. The heavy bolt was latched firmly in place to discourage any additional attempts at seduction.
In what world would Toma Scilio have ever turned away an obliging female hand? Not in any that he could have imagined, even in his wildest Alokien-touched nightmares. It struck Scilio that the Shunatar would never recognize his current self.
The scrub station dissolved the weeks away under dutiful sponge and lather. When he was completely cleansed and rinsed, Scilio slipped into the copper tub. The steaming water and rejuvenating tonics melted the strain in his muscles almost instantly. If not for Vann and Dailan, alone with prying temptresses in the other room, Scilio might have lingered. The heavenly bath and its glories demanded more attention. It deserved appreciation and delectation. It deserved time and delightful company. Such was not in Scilio's luxury to offer it. When he was sufficiently refreshed, Scilio dried and wrapped himself in the long robe that was left for him. He called for Hessalin, who waited patiently in a chair outside the bathchamber.
Her expert hands clipped and trimmed, tidying up the uneven ends where he had chopped his ponytail weeks before. The scraggly excuse for a beard fell in clumps to the tiles as Hessalin shaved his face smooth. The courtesan made polite conversation as she worked, taking care not to inundate Scilio with questions. She was obviously respecting his discomfort with sharing personal information. Instead, she made small talk to ease away his tension. She did not use enchantment spells this time, but honest charm. It took half of an hour before the task was complete. Toward the end of the treatment, Scilio almost felt himself lower his guard. A clean tunic and trousers were laid out to replace the hideous old rags. Hessalin excused herself so Scilio could change in privacy.
Bardian's Redemption: Book Four of the Guardian's Vambrace (The Guardian Vambrace 4) Page 17
